At two o’clock in the morning he was dozing in his chair.  Old Sophy had lain down on her bed, and was muttering in troubled dreams.

All at once a loud crash seemed to rend the very heavens above them:  a crack as of the thunder that follows close upon the bolt,—­a rending and crushing as of a forest snapped through all its stems, torn, twisted, splintered, dragged with all its ragged boughs into one chaotic ruin.  The ground trembled under them as in an earthquake; the old mansion shuddered so that all its windows chattered in their casements; the great chimney shook off its heavy cap-stones, which came down on the roof with resounding concussions; and the echoes of The Mountain roared and bellowed in long reduplication, as if its whole foundations were rent, and this were the terrible voice of its dissolution.

Dudley Venner rose from his chair, folded his arms, and awaited his fate.  There was no knowing where to look for safety; and he remembered too well the story of the family that was lost by rushing out of the house, and so hurrying into the very jaws of death.

He had stood thus but for a moment, when he heard the voice of Old Sophy in a wild cry of terror:—­

“It’s the Las’ Day!  It’s the Las’ Day!  The Lord is comin’ to take us all!”

“Sophy!” he called; but she did not hear him or heed him, and rushed out of the house.

The worst danger was over.  If they were to be destroyed, it would necessarily be in a few seconds from the first thrill of the terrible convulsion.  He waited in awful suspense, but calm.  Not more than one or two minutes could have passed before the frightful tumult and all its sounding echoes had ceased.  He called Old Sophy; but she did not answer.  He went to the western window and looked forth into the darkness.  He could not distinguish the outlines of the landscape, but the white stone was clearly visible, and by its side the new-made mound.  Nay, what was that which obscured its outline, in shape like a human figure?  He flung open the window and sprang through.  It was all that there was left of poor Old Sophy, stretched out, lifeless, upon her darling’s grave.

He had scarcely composed her limbs and drawn the sheet over her, when the neighbors began to arrive from all directions.  Each was expecting to hear of houses overwhelmed and families destroyed; but each came with the story that his own household was safe.  It was not until the morning dawned that the true nature and extent of the sudden movement was ascertained.  A great seam had opened above the long cliff, and the terrible Rattlesnake Ledge, with all its envenomed reptiles, its dark fissures and black caverns, was buried forever beneath a mighty incumbent mass of ruin.

CHAPTER XXXI.

MR. SILAS PECKHAM RENDERS HIS ACCOUNT.