She heard a hurried scrambling,
the trampling of feet below, and the quick rustling of a skirt in the
passage, as if some one had precipitately fled from her room. Yet no one
had called to her--even HE had said nothing. Whatever had happened they
clearly had not cared for her to know.
The jarring and rattling ceased as suddenly, but the house seemed silent
and empty. She moved to the door, which had now swung open a few inches,
but to her astonishment it was fixed in that position, and she could not
pass. As yet she had been free from any personal fear, and even now it
was with a half smile at her imprisonment in the major's study, that she
rang the bell and turned to the window. A man, whom she recognized
as one of the ranch laborers, was standing a hundred feet away in the
garden, looking curiously at the house. He saw her face as she tried to
raise the sash, uttered an exclamation, and ran forward. But before she
could understand what he said, the sash began to rattle in her hand, the
jarring recommenced, the floor shook beneath her feet, a hideous sound
of grinding seemed to come from the walls, a thin seam of dust-like
smoke broke from the ceiling, and with the noise of falling plaster a
dozen books followed each other from the shelves, in what in the frantic
hurry of that moment seemed a grimly deliberate succession; a picture
hanging against the wall, to her dazed wonder, swung forward, and
appeared to stand at right angles from it; she felt herself reeling
against the furniture; a deadly nausea overtook her; as she glanced
despairingly towards the window, the outlying fields beyond the garden
seemed to be undulating like a sea.
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