erous to send to such a height.

So he looked around for something more solid with which to experiment.
His eye caught sight of an object which at once attracted him. This was
a small copy of one of the ancient Egyptian gods--that of Bes, who
represented the destructive power of nature. It was so bizarre and
mysterious as to commend itself to his mad humour. In lifting it from
the cabinet, he was struck by its great weight in proportion to its size.
He made accurate examination of it by the aid of some instruments, and
came to the conclusion that it was carved from a lump of lodestone. He
remembered that he had read somewhere of an ancient Egyptian god cut from
a similar substance, and, thinking it over, he came to the conclusion
that he must have read it in Sir Thomas Brown's _Popular Errors_, a book
of the seventeenth century. He got the book from the library, and looked
out the passage:

"A great example we have from the observation of our learned friend Mr.
Graves, in an AEgyptian idol cut out of Loadstone and found among the
Mummies; which still retains its attraction, though probably taken out of
the mine about two thousand years ago."

The strangeness of the figure, and its being so close akin to his own
nature, attracted him. He made from thin wood a large circular runner,
and in front of it placed the weighty god, sending it up to the flying
kite along the throbbing cord.

CHAPTER XIII--OOLANGA'S HALLUCINATIONS

During the last few days Lady Arabella had been getting exceedingly
impatient. Her debts, always pressing, were growing to an embarrassing
amount. The only hope she had of comfort in life was a good marriage;
but the good marriage on which she had fixed her eye did not seem to move
quickly enough--indeed, it did not seem to move at all--in the right
direction. Edgar Caswall was not an ardent wooer. From the very first
he seemed _difficile_, but he had been keeping to his own room ever since
his struggle with Mimi Watford. On that occasion Lady Arabella had shown
him in an unmistakable way what her feelings were; indeed, she had made
it known to him, in a more overt way than pride should allow, that she
wished to help and support him. The moment when she had gone across the
room to stand beside him in his mesmeric struggle, had been the very
limit of her voluntary action. It was quite bitter enough, she felt,
that he did not come to her, but now that she had made that advance, sh