Mrs. Smith-Parvis turned her face toward him. A spark of enthusiasm flashed for an instant in her tired eyes. "How many times did he knock him down at Spangler's?" she inquired. "Four," said Mr. Smith-Parvis, proudly. "And that dreadful woman was the cause of it all, writing notes to Stuyvesant and asking him to meet her--What was it Stuyvesant called them?" "Crush-notes, Angie. Now, try to go to sleep, dearie." CHAPTER XIX FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT "GOODNESS! What's that?" whispered Lady Jane, starting violently. For what seemed to them many hours, she and Thomas Trotter had sat, quite snugly comfortable, in the dark air-chamber. Comfortable, I say, but I fear that the bewildering joy of having her in his arms rendered him impervious to what under other conditions would most certainly have been a severe strain upon his physical endurance. In other words, she rested very comfortably and cosily in the crook of his arm, her head against his shoulder, while he, sitting bolt upright with no support whatsoever--But why try to provide him with cause for complaint when he was so obviously contented? Her suppressed exclamation followed close upon the roar and crash of an ear-splitting explosion. The reverberation rolled and rumbled and dwindled away into the queerest silence. Almost immediately the clatter of falling debris assailed their ears. She straightened up and clutched his arm convulsively. "Rain," he said, with a short laugh. For an instant his heart had stood still. So appalling was the crash that he involuntarily raised an arm to shield his beloved companion from the shattered walls that were so soon to tumble about their ears. "Beating on the tin roof," he went on, jerkily. "Oh,--wasn't it awful?" she gasped, in smothered tones. "Are you sure?" "I am now," he replied, "but, by Jove, I wasn't a second or two ago. Lord, I thought it was all over." "If we could only see!" she cried nervously. "Any how," he said, with a reassuring chuckle, "we sha'n't get wet." By this time the roar of rain on the roof so close to their heads was deafening. "Goodness, Eric,--it's--it's leaking here," she cried out suddenly, after a long silence. "That's the trouble with these ramshackle old--Oh, I say, Jane, your frock! It will be ruined. My word! The confounded roof's like a sieve." He set out,--on all fours,--cautiously to explore. "I--I am frightfully afraid of thunder," she cried out after him, a quaver in her voice. "And, Eric, wouldn't it be dreadful if the building were to be struck by lightning and we should be found up here in this--this unexplainable loft? What _could_ we say?" "Nothing, dearest," he replied, consolingly. "That is, provided the lightning did its work properly. Ouch! It's all right! Don't bother, dear. Nothing but a wall. Seems dry over here. Don't move. I'll come back for you."