He had the carpet-bag in his hand.
Meanwhile, within, Jane had heaved herself to her knees, and then to her feet.
She staggered to the window. The table was before it. By an effort she succeeded in mounting the table, and then, with her bound hands she plucked at the curtain and drew it, next by a pull tore down the little blind. And now she could look out.
Looking out she saw Dench standing irresolute—as one dazed.
She saw something more.
At that moment, the house swayed like a ship. The surface of the land broke up, and seemed transmuted into fluid, for in one place it heaved like a mounting billow, and in another sank like the trough of a wave.
It was to Jane, peering through the little window as though she were looking at a tumbling sea through the porthole of a cabin.
Again the house lurched, and so suddenly and to such an acute angle, that Jane fell from the table.