She soon reached her own gate, ran down the avenue, and with her key opened the iron door leading to the well-hole.
She felt well satisfied with herself.

All her plans were maturing, or had already matured.

The Master of Castra Regis was within her grasp.
The woman whose interference she had feared, Lilla Watford, was dead.
Truly, all was well, and she felt that she might pause a while and rest.
She tore off her clothes, with feverish fingers, and in full enjoyment of her natural freedom, stretched her slim figure in animal delight.

Then she lay down on the sofa--to await her victim! Edgar Caswall's life blood would more than satisfy her for some time to come..