Berkley rose, looking upward at the ceiling as the noise grew in volume like a torrent of water flowing over rocks.
Ailsa also had risen, laying one hand on his arm, listening intently.
"What is it?" she breathed.
"It is the noise made by thousands of bullets streaming through the air above us. It sounds like that in the rifle-pits. Listen!"
The strange, bewildering sound filled the room. And now, as the wind shifted, the steady rattle of musketry became suddenly audible. Another sound, sinister, ominous, broke on their ears, the clang of the seminary bell.
"Is it an attack on this place?" she asked anxiously. "What can we do? There are no troops here! I—I must go to my sick boys——"
Her heart stood still as a cannon thundered, followed by the fearful sound of the shell as it came tearing toward them. As it neared, the noise grew deafening; the air vibrated with a rushing sound that rose to a shriek.
Ailsa's hands grasped his arm; her ears seemed bursting with the abominable sound; pain darted through her temples, flashing into agony as a heavy jar shook the house, followed by a dazzling light and roar.
Boom! Boom! came the distant, sullen thunder, followed by the unmistakable whir of a Parrott shell. Suddenly shrapnel shells began to come over, screaming, exploding, filling the air with the rush and clatter of bullets.
"Lie down," he said. "You can't go out in this. It will veer off in a few moments, when they find out that they're shelling our hospitals."