Her suppressed exclamation followed close upon the roar and crash of an ear-splitting explosion. The reverberation rolled and rumbled and dwindled away into the queerest silence. Almost immediately the clatter of falling debris assailed their ears. She straightened up and clutched his arm convulsively.
"Rain," he said, with a short laugh. For an instant his heart had stood still. So appalling was the crash that he involuntarily raised an arm to shield his beloved companion from the shattered walls that were so soon to tumble about their ears. "Beating on the tin roof," he went on, jerkily.
"Oh,—wasn't it awful?" she gasped, in smothered tones. "Are you sure?"
"I am now," he replied, "but, by Jove, I wasn't a second or two ago. Lord, I thought it was all over."
"If we could only see!" she cried nervously.
"Any how," he said, with a reassuring chuckle, "we sha'n't get wet."
By this time the roar of rain on the roof so close to their heads was deafening.
"Goodness, Eric,—it's—it's leaking here," she cried out suddenly, after a long silence.
"That's the trouble with these ramshackle old—Oh, I say, Jane, your frock! It will be ruined. My word! The confounded roof's like a sieve."
He set out,—on all fours,—cautiously to explore.