A ripping crash brought her to her feet; everybody sprang up. Under their hands the table was shuddering convulsively. Suddenly it split open as though rent by a bolt, and fell like a live thing in agony, a mass of twisted fibres protruding like viscera from its shattered core.
Stunned silence; and Malcourt turned to his sister and spoke in a low voice, but she only shook her head, shivering, and stared at the wreck of wood as though revolted.
"W-what happened?" faltered Portlaw, bewildered.
"I don't know," said Malcourt unsteadily.
"Don't know! Look at that table! Why, man, it's—it's dying!"
Tressilvain stood as though stupefied. Malcourt walked slowly over to where Shiela stood.
She shrank involuntarily away from him as he bent to pick up the pad which had fallen from her hands.
"There's nothing to be frightened about," he said, forcing a smile; and, holding the pad under the light, scanned it attentively. His sister came over to him, asking if the letters made any sense.
He shook his head.
They studied it together, Shiela's fascinated gaze riveted on them both. And she saw Lady Tressilvain's big eyes widen as she laid her pencil on a sequence; saw Malcourt's quick nod of surprised comprehension when she checked off a word, then another, another, another; and suddenly her face turned white to the lips, and she caught at her brother's arm, terrified.