The question was not so much as heard. A prolonged heavy crash sounded; not a crash only, but a reverberating mixture of sounds; both roar and rattle, with a continuous grinding downpour, as if some semi-solid Niagara had launched itself into the house from above; and the whole room shook with the concussion. Voices were not at first audible. Prue made one hasty movement to her mother's side, and Mrs. Valentine grew pale; while Nan stared at them both, aghast. "What is that?" burst from all three, as soon as words could be distinguished. Shrieks arose from lower regions; and shouts in Mr. Valentine's hearty voice. "Something must have fallen—or been blown down," said Prue, not losing her composure. "Father is not hurt. I hear him calling out." "Thank God," passed Mrs. Valentine's lips. "Wait, Nan! Don't go! It must be a chimney, and more of it may fall." "Then you're not to go either," declared Nan. "I will only look-out." She opened the door of the drawing room, which was on the first floor, over the dining room—the back of the house being given up to bedrooms,—and came face to face with her father, hurrying upstairs. "All right? Nobody hurt?" he called. "Mother safe? That's a mercy! One of the biggest mercies I ever had to do with! Not a soul in the back of the house! Must have been killed if—just look here!" A cry escaped from Prue, and Nan shrieked outright, as Mr. Valentine flung open the door of the bedroom, across the passage. On that side, the house was a wreck. Almost the whole stack of chimneys had crashed downward, breaking through floor after floor, till the basement was reached by a mighty mass of bricks and broken beams, flooring, ceiling, furniture, all jumbled together. Above, the sky was visible through the rent roof; below yawned a cavern. "And nobody hurt?" asked the gentle voice of Mrs. Valentine, who had followed her daughters. "Not a soul. The servants were in front." "But I should have been behind in another moment," Nan said, in awe-stricken tones. "I was just going into the downstairs back bedroom! I should have been underneath all—that!" "Hush! Don't talk of it now!" whispered Prue, seeing her mother's cheeks whiten. "Now, look here, you've all got to get out of this as soon as possible," ordered Mr. Valentine. "There's more to come down, yet, maybe; and any part of the house may give way, after such a shake. You get hats and shawls, sharp—eh, what? Everything in the back rooms! Well, pick up what wraps you can." "Where are we to go, father?" asked Prue. "Out of this, my girl! That's certain! Somewhere over the street we must get taken in, I suppose." CHAPTER XVI. A PERSONAL APPEAL.