quite out of the reach of his hand as he had lain there.  What on earth was the matter with the bed?  Was it bewitched?  Who had uncovered him in that unceremonious way, leaving him perished with cold?  No wonder he had dreamt of that chilly wind, numbing his body as he stood naked by the pool.  Had he by any chance kicked the coverlet off in his sleep, as he engaged in that dream-struggle with the absurdly impossible Buskin-Lubin who had attempted to pitch him into the dark water?  Clearly not; for that would not account for the sheet and blanket being dragged so carefully out of the range of his hands, and hung over the foot-rail so that they touched the floor.

Such were the thoughts that flashed through his mind as he stood motionless by the window, with wide open eyes, in the chill morning light.  Suddenly a rending, bursting noise was heard in the ceiling.  The crack widened into a chasm, and then, with a heavy thud, down fell a confused mass of old bricks, crumbling mortar, and rotten, worm-eaten wood full on the mattress he had just relinquished, scattering pulverised rubble in all directions, and covering the bed with a layer of horrible dust and debris.

Chapter the Sixth

Had her very life depended on it, old Martha would have been totally unable to give any coherent account of what she felt, said, or did, when she came into Master Austin’s room that morning at half-past seven with his hot water.  She thought she must have screamed, but such was her bewilderment and terror she really could not remember whether she did or no.  But she never had any doubt as to what she saw.  Instead of a fair white bed with Austin lying in it, she was confronted by the sight of a gaping hole in the roof, something that looked like a rubbish heap in a brickfield immediately underneath, and the long slender form of Austin himself wrapped in a comfortable wadded dressing-gown fast asleep upon the sofa.  “Bless us and save us!” she ejaculated under her breath.  “And to think that the boy’s lived through it!”

Austin, roused by her entrance, yawned, stretched himself, and lazily opened his eyes.  “Is that you already, Martha?” he said.  “Oh, how sleepy I am.  Is it really half-past seven?”

“But what does it all mean—­how it is you’re not killed?” cried Martha, putting down the jug, and finding her voice at last.  “The good Lord preserve us—­here’s the house tumbling down about our ears and never a one of us the wiser.  And the man was to ’ave come this very day to see to that blessed roof.  Come, wake up, do, Master Austin, and tell me how it happened.”

“Is Aunt Charlotte up yet?” asked Austin turning over on his side.

“Ay, that she be, and making it lively for the maids downstairs.  Whatever will she say when she hears about this to-do?” exclaimed Martha, with her hands upon her hips as she gazed at the desolation round her.