The consequences of that meeting in the dusk of Diana’s Grove were acute and far-reaching, and not only to the two engaged in it.  From Oolanga, this might have been expected by anyone who knew the character of the tropical African savage.  To such, there are two passions that are inexhaustible and insatiable—vanity and that which they are pleased to call love.  Oolanga left the Grove with an absorbing hatred in his heart.  His lust and greed were afire, while his vanity had been wounded to the core.  Lady Arabella’s icy nature was not so deeply stirred, though she was in a seething passion.  More than ever she was set upon bringing Edgar Caswall to her feet.  The obstacles she had encountered, the insults she had endured, were only as fuel to the purpose of revenge which consumed her.

As she sought her own rooms in Diana’s Grove, she went over the whole subject again and again, always finding in the face of Lilla Watford a key to a problem which puzzled her—the problem of a way to turn Caswall’s powers—his very existence—to aid her purpose.

When in her boudoir, she wrote a note, taking so much trouble over it that she destroyed, and rewrote, till her dainty waste-basket was half-full of torn sheets of notepaper.  When quite satisfied, she copied out the last sheet afresh, and then carefully burned all the spoiled fragments.  She put the copied note in an emblazoned envelope, and directed it to Edgar Caswall at Castra Regis.  This she sent off by one of her grooms.  The letter ran:

“DEAR MR. CASWALL,

“I want to have a chat with you on a subject in which I believe you are interested.  Will you kindly call for me one day after lunch—say at three or four o’clock, and we can walk a little way together.  Only as far as Mercy Farm, where I want to see Lilla and Mimi Watford.  We can take a cup of tea at the Farm.  Do not bring your African servant with you, as I am afraid his face frightens the girls.  After all, he is not pretty, is he?  I have an idea you will be pleased with your visit this time.

“Yours sincerely,

“ARABELLA MARCH.”

At half-past three next day, Edgar Caswall called at Diana’s Grove.  Lady Arabella met him on the roadway outside the gate.  She wished to take the servants into her confidence as little as possible.  She turned when she saw him coming, and walked beside him towards Mercy Farm, keeping step with him as they walked.  When they got near Mercy, she turned and looked around her, expecting to see Oolanga or some sign of him.  He was, however, not visible.  He had received from his master peremptory orders to keep out of sight—an order for which the African scored a new offence up against her.  They found Lilla and Mimi at home and seemingly glad to see them, though both the girls were surprised at the visit coming so soon after the other.

The proceedings were a repetition of the battle of souls of the former visit.  On this occasion, however, Edgar Caswall had only the presence of Lady Arabella to support him—Oolanga being absent; but Mimi lacked the support of Adam Salton, which had been of such effective service before.  This time the struggle for supremacy of will was longer and more determined.  Caswall felt that if he could not achieve supremacy he had better give up the idea, so all his pride was enlisted against Mimi.  When they had been waiting for the door to be opened, Lady Arabella, believing in a sudden attack, had said to him in a low voice, which somehow carried conviction:

“This time you should win.  Mimi is, after all, only a woman.  Show her no mercy.  That is weakness.  Fight her, beat her, trample on her—kill her if need be.  She stands in your way, and I hate her.  Never take your eyes off her.  Never mind Lilla—she is afraid of you.  You are already her master.  Mimi will try to make you look at her cousin.  There lies defeat.  Let nothing take your attention from Mimi, and you will win.  If she is overcoming you, take my hand and hold it hard whilst you are looking into her eyes.  If she is too strong for you, I shall interfere.  I’ll make a diversion, and under cover of it you must retire unbeaten, even if not victorious.  Hush! they are coming.”

The two girls came to the door together.  Strange sounds were coming up over the Brow from the west.  It was the rustling and crackling of the dry reeds and rushes from the low lands.  The season had been an unusually dry one.  Also the strong east wind was helping forward enormous flocks of birds, most of them pigeons with white cowls.  Not only were their wings whirring, but their cooing was plainly audible.  From such a multitude of birds the mass of sound, individually small, assumed the volume of a storm.  Surprised at the influx of birds, to which they had been strangers so long, they all looked towards Castra Regis, from whose high tower the great kite had been flying as usual.  But even as they looked, the cord broke, and the great kite fell headlong in a series of sweeping dives.  Its own weight, and the aerial force opposed to it, which caused it to rise, combined with the strong easterly breeze, had been too much for the great length of cord holding it.

Somehow, the mishap to the kite gave new hope to Mimi.  It was as though the side issues had been shorn away, so that the main struggle was thenceforth on simpler lines.  She had a feeling in her heart, as though some religious chord had been newly touched.  It may, of course, have been that with the renewal of the bird voices a fresh courage, a fresh belief in the good issue of the struggle came too.  In the misery of silence, from which they had all suffered for so long, any new train of thought was almost bound to be a boon.  As the inrush of birds continued, their wings beating against the crackling rushes, Lady Arabella grew pale, and almost fainted.

“What is that?” she asked suddenly.

To Mimi, born and bred in Siam, the sound was strangely like an exaggeration of the sound produced by a snake-charmer.

Edgar Caswall was the first to recover from the interruption of the falling kite.  After a few minutes he seemed to have quite recovered his sang froid , and was able to use his brains to the end which he had in view.  Mimi too quickly recovered herself, but from a different cause.  With her it was a deep religious conviction that the struggle round her was of the powers of Good and Evil, and that Good was triumphing.  The very appearance of the snowy birds, with the cowls of Saint Columba, heightened the impression.  With this conviction strong upon her, she continued the strange battle with fresh vigour.  She seemed to tower over Caswall, and he to give back before her oncoming.  Once again her vigorous passes drove him to the door.  He was just going out backward when Lady Arabella, who had been gazing at him with fixed eyes, caught his hand and tried to stop his movement.  She was, however, unable to do any good, and so, holding hands, they passed out together.  As they did so, the strange music which had so alarmed Lady Arabella suddenly stopped.  Instinctively they all looked towards the tower of Castra Regis, and saw that the workmen had refixed the kite, which had risen again and was beginning to float out to its former station.

As they were looking, the door opened and Michael Watford came into the room.  By that time all had recovered their self-possession, and there was nothing out of the common to attract his attention.  As he came in, seeing inquiring looks all around him, he said:

“The new influx of birds is only the annual migration of pigeons from Africa.  I am told that it will soon be over.”

The second victory of Mimi Watford made Edgar Caswall more moody than ever.  He felt thrown back on himself, and this, added to his absorbing interest in the hope of a victory of his mesmeric powers, became a deep and settled purpose of revenge.  The chief object of his animosity was, of course, Mimi, whose will had overcome his, but it was obscured in greater or lesser degree by all who had opposed him.  Lilla was next to Mimi in his hate—Lilla, the harmless, tender-hearted, sweet-natured girl, whose heart was so full of love for all things that in it was no room for the passions of ordinary life—whose nature resembled those doves of St. Columba, whose colour she wore, whose appearance she reflected.  Adam Salton came next—after a gap; for against him Caswall had no direct animosity.  He regarded him as an interference, a difficulty to be got rid of or destroyed.  The young Australian had been so discreet that the most he had against him was his knowledge of what had been.  Caswall did not understand him, and to such a nature as his, ignorance was a cause of alarm, of dread.

Caswall resumed his habit of watching the great kite straining at its cord, varying his vigils in this way by a further examination of the mysterious treasures of his house, especially Mesmer’s chest.  He sat much on the roof of the tower, brooding over his thwarted passion.  The vast extent of his possessions, visible to him at that altitude, might, one would have thought, have restored some of his complacency.  But the very extent of his ownership, thus perpetually brought before him, created a fresh sense of grievance.  How was it, he thought, that with so much at command that others wished for, he could not achieve the dearest wishes of his heart?

In this state of intellectual and moral depravity, he found a solace in the renewal of his experiments with the mechanical powers of the kite.  For a couple of weeks he did not see Lady Arabella, who was always on the watch for a chance of meeting him; neither did he see the Watford girls, who studiously kept out of his way.  Adam Salton simply marked time, keeping ready to deal with anything that might affect his friends.  He called at the farm and heard from Mimi of the last battle of wills, but it had only one consequence.  He got from Ross several more mongooses, including a second king-cobra-killer, which he generally carried with him in its box whenever he walked out.

Mr. Caswall’s experiments with the kite went on successfully.  Each day he tried the lifting of greater weight, and it seemed almost as if the machine had a sentience of its own, which was increasing with the obstacles placed before it.  All this time the kite hung in the sky at an enormous height.  The wind was steadily from the north, so the trend of the kite was to the south.  All day long, runners of increasing magnitude were sent up.  These were only of paper or thin cardboard, or leather, or other flexible materials.  The great height at which the kite hung made a great concave curve in the string, so that as the runners went up they made a flapping sound.  If one laid a finger on the string, the sound answered to the flapping of the runner in a sort of hollow intermittent murmur.  Edgar Caswall, who was now wholly obsessed by the kite and all belonging to it, found a distinct resemblance between that intermittent rumble and the snake-charming music produced by the pigeons flying through the dry reeds.

One day he made a discovery in Mesmer’s chest which he thought he would utilise with regard to the runners.  This was a great length of wire, “fine as human hair,” coiled round a finely made wheel, which ran to a wondrous distance freely, and as lightly.  He tried this on runners, and found it work admirably.  Whether the runner was alone, or carried something much more weighty than itself, it worked equally well.  Also it was strong enough and light enough to draw back the runner without undue strain.  He tried this a good many times successfully, but it was now growing dusk and he found some difficulty in keeping the runner in sight.  So he looked for something heavy enough to keep it still.  He placed the Egyptian image of Bes on the fine wire, which crossed the wooden ledge which protected it.  Then, the darkness growing, he went indoors and forgot all about it.

He had a strange feeling of uneasiness that night—not sleeplessness, for he seemed conscious of being asleep.  At daylight he rose, and as usual looked out for the kite.  He did not see it in its usual position in the sky, so looked round the points of the compass.  He was more than astonished when presently he saw the missing kite struggling as usual against the controlling cord.  But it had gone to the further side of the tower, and now hung and strained against the wind to the north.  He thought it so strange that he determined to investigate the phenomenon, and to say nothing about it in the meantime.

In his many travels, Edgar Caswall had been accustomed to use the sextant, and was now an expert in the matter.  By the aid of this and other instruments, he was able to fix the position of the kite and the point over which it hung.  He was startled to find that exactly under it—so far as he could ascertain—was Diana’s Grove.  He had an inclination to take Lady Arabella into his confidence in the matter, but he thought better of it and wisely refrained.  For some reason which he did not try to explain to himself, he was glad of his silence, when, on the following morning, he found, on looking out, that the point over which the kite then hovered was Mercy Farm.  When he had verified this with his instruments, he sat before the window of the tower, looking out and thinking.  The new locality was more to his liking than the other; but the why of it puzzled him, all the same.  He spent the rest of the day in the turret-room, which he did not leave all day.  It seemed to him that he was now drawn by forces which he could not control—of which, indeed, he had no knowledge—in directions which he did not understand, and which were without his own volition.  In sheer helpless inability to think the problem out satisfactorily, he called up a servant and told him to tell Oolanga that he wanted to see him at once in the turret-room.  The answer came back that the African had not been seen since the previous evening.

Caswall was now so irritable that even this small thing upset him.  As he was distrait and wanted to talk to somebody, he sent for Simon Chester, who came at once, breathless with hurrying and upset by the unexpected summons.  Caswall bade him sit down, and when the old man was in a less uneasy frame of mind, he again asked him if he had ever seen what was in Mesmer’s chest or heard it spoken about.

Chester admitted that he had once, in the time of “the then Mr. Edgar,” seen the chest open, which, knowing something of its history and guessing more, so upset him that he had fainted.  When he recovered, the chest was closed.  From that time the then Mr. Edgar had never spoken about it again.

When Caswall asked him to describe what he had seen when the chest was open, he got very agitated, and, despite all his efforts to remain calm, he suddenly went off into a faint.  Caswall summoned servants, who applied the usual remedies.  Still the old man did not recover.  After the lapse of a considerable time, the doctor who had been summoned made his appearance.  A glance was sufficient for him to make up his mind.  Still, he knelt down by the old man, and made a careful examination.  Then he rose to his feet, and in a hushed voice said:

“I grieve to say, sir, that he has passed away.” 7AJJatRcOTKtMEBcykbpv4YEMz2P+f9KNirxLzMVFdceCoOmTXC37Jub8pEor1n4