Lorry threw a wrapper about her and ran with her along the hall, almost dark and full of rending noises, and down the stairs that Aunt Ellen said afterward she thought "were going to come loose every minute." A long clattering crash made her scream, "There--it's the house--we're killed!" And Lorry, wrestling with the front door, answered in that hard, breathless tone, "No, we're not--we're all right." The door swung open. "Mind the glass, don't step in it. Down the steps--on the lawn--_quick_!" They came to a stand by the front gate, were aware of the frantic leaps of the earth subsiding into a long, rhythmic roll, and stood dumbly, each staring at the other's face, unfamiliar in a blanched whiteness. There were people in the street, scatterings, and huddled clusters and solitary figures. They were standing motionless in attitudes of poised tension, as if stricken to stone. Holding snatched up garments over their night clothes, they waited to see what was coming next, not speaking or daring to move, their eyes set in terrified expectancy. Lorry saw them like dream figures--the fantastic exaggerations of nightmare--and looked from them to the garden, the house--the solid realities. The ruins of the chimney lay sprawled across the flower beds, the splintered trunk of the fig tree rising from the debris. Stepping nimbly among the bricks, in his white coat and trousers as if prepared to wait on table, was Fong. "Oh, Fong!" she cried. "Thank heaven, you're all 're all right!" Fong, picking his way with cat-like neatness, answered cheerfully: "I velly well. I see chimley fall out and know you and Missy Ellen all 'ighty. If chimley fall in you be dead." "Oh, Fong!" Aunt Ellen wailed; "it's like the Day of Judgment." Fong, having no opinions to offer on this view of the matter, eyed her costume with disapproval. "I get you cover. Velly bad stand out here that way. You ketch cold," and turning went toward the house. "He'll be killed!" Aunt Ellen cried. "He mustn't go!" Then suddenly she appeared to relinquish all concern in him as if on this day of doom there was no use troubling about anything. Her eye shifted to Lorry, and scanning her became infused with a brisk surprise. "Why, Lorry, you're all dressed. Did you sleep in your clothes? You certainly never had time to put them on." Lorry was spared the necessity of answering. A violent quake rocked the ground and Aunt Ellen, clasping her hands on her breast, closed her eyes. "It's beginning again--it's coming back. Oh, God, have mercy--God, have mercy!" The figures in the street, emitting strangled cries, made a rush for the center of the road. Here they stood closely packed in a long line like a great serpent, stationary in the middle of the thoroughfare. The low mutter, the quiver under their feet, died away; Aunt Ellen dropped her hands and opened her eyes. "Is this going to go on? Isn't one enough?" she wailed. "I'll never enter a house again, never in this world."