Page:Hopkinson Smith--armchair at the inn.djvu/151

, had paused to watch the sea, now bawled up the staircase ordering every man out. The last moment of safety had arrived. Lemois, intent on rescuing a particular portfolio of etchings, either would not or did not hear. Gaston, more alert, and who had been helping him to carry down an armful of the more precious books, sprang past Herbert, despite his cry, and dashed back up the steps, shouting as he raced on that Lemois was still upstairs. Herbert made a plunge to follow when Louis threw his arms around him.

“No, for God’s sake! She’s going! Out of this!—quick! Jump, Herbert, or you’ll be killed!”

As the two men cleared the doorway there came a racking, splitting, tearing noise; a doubling under of the posts of the front porch; a hail of broken glass and clouds of blinding dust from squares of plaster as the ceilings collapsed; then the whole structure canted—slid ten feet and stopped, the brick chimneys smashing their full length into the crumbling mass. When the dust and flying splinters settled, Herbert and Louis were standing on firm ground within a foot only of the upheaved edge of raw earth. Staring them in the face,