there was a sudden splitting crack as if a thousand rifles had been discharged in the ballroom. the floor rose on one side to a perilous angle, considering the slippery nature of its surface. such a shower of white flakes fell from the ceiling that dark dresses and naval uniforms looked as if their wearers had been out in a snowstorm.

cracks and fissures started in the walls with pantomimic effect, on all sides could be heard the rattle and splinter of falling glass. a voice suddenly uprose in a piercing scream, a yell proclaimed that one of the great crystal chandeliers was falling. there was a rush and a rustle of skirts, and a quick vision of white, beautiful faces, and with a crash the great pendant came to the floor.

a yell proclaimed that one of the great crystal chandeliers was falling.

the whole world seemed to be oscillating under frightened feet, the palace was humming and thrumming like a harpstring. the panic was so great, the whole mysterious tragedy so sudden, that the bravest there had to battle for their wits. save for a few solitary branches of candles, the big room was in darkness.

there were fifteen hundred of england's bravest, and fairest, and best, huddled together in what might be a hideous deathchamber for all they knew to the contrary. women were clinging in terror to the men, the fine lines of class distinction were broken down. all were poor humanity now in the presence of a common danger.

in a little time the earth ceased to sway and rock, the danger was passing. a little colour was creeping back to the white faces again. men and women were conscious that they could hear the beating of their own hearts. nobody broke the silence yet, for speech seemed to be out of place.

"an earthquake," somebody said at length. "an earthquake, beyond doubt, and a pretty bad one at that. that accounts for the failure of the electric light. there will be some bad accidents if the gas mains are disturbed."

the earth grew steady underfoot again, the white flakes ceased to fall. amongst the men the spirit of adventure was rising; the idea of standing quietly there and doing nothing was out of the question.

anyway, there could be no further thought of pleasure that night. there were many mothers there, and their uppermost thought was for home. never, perhaps, in the history of royalty had there been so informal a breaking up of a great function. the king and queen had retired some little time before—a kindly and thoughtful act under the circumstances. the women were cloaking and shawling hurriedly; they crowded out in search of their carriages with no more order than would have been obtained outside a theatre.

but there were remarkably few carriages in waiting. an idiotic footman who had lost his head in the sudden calamity sobbed out the information that oxford street and bond street were impassable, and that houses were down in all directions. no vehicles could come that way; the road was destroyed. as to the rest, the man knew nothing; he was frightened out of his life.

there was nothing for it but to walk. it wanted two good hours yet before dawn, but thousands of people seemed to be abroad. for a space of a mile or more there was not a light to be seen. round buckingham palace the atmosphere reeked with a fine irritating dust, and was rendered foul and poisonous by the fumes of coal gas. there must have been a fearful leakage somewhere.

nobody seemed to know what was the matter, and everybody was asking everybody else. and in the darkness it was very hard to locate the disaster. generally, it was admitted that london had been visited by a dreadful earthquake. never were the daylight hours awaited more eagerly.

"the crack of doom," sir george egerton remarked to his companion, lord barcombe.

they were feeling their way across the park in the direction of the mall.

"it's like a shuddering romance that i read a little time since. but i must know something about it before i go to bed. let's try st. james's street—if there's any st. james's street left."

"all right," lord barcombe agreed, "i hope the clubs are safe. is it wise to strike a match with all this gas reeking in the air?"

"anything's better than the gas," sir george said tersely.

the vesta flared out in a narrow, purple circle. beyond it was a glimpse of a seat with two or three people huddled on it. they were outcasts and companions in the grip of misfortune, but they were all awake now.

"can any of you say what's happened?" lord barcombe asked.

"the world's come to an end, sir, i believe," was the broken reply. "you may say what you like, but it was a tremendous explosion. i saw a light like all the world ablaze over to the north, and then all the lights went out, and i've been waiting for the last trump to sound ever since."

"then you didn't investigate?" lord barcombe asked.

"not me, sir. i seem to have struck a bit of solid earth where i am. and then it rained stones and pieces of brick and vestiges of creation. there's the half of a boiler close to you that dropped out of the sky. you stay where you are, sir."

but the two young men pushed on. they reached what appeared to be st. james's street at length, but only by stumbling and climbing over heaps of débris.

the roadway was one mass of broken masonry. the fronts of some of the clubs had been stripped off as if a titanic knife had sliced them. it was like looking into one of the upholsterers' smart shops, where they display rooms completely furnished. there were gaps here and there where houses had collapsed altogether. seeing that the road had ceased to exist, it seemed impossible that an earthquake could have done this thing. a great light flickered and roared a little way down the road. at an angle a gas main was tilted up like the spout of a teapot, upheaved and snapped from its twin pipes. this had caught fire in some way, so that for a hundred yards or so each way the thoroughfare was illuminated by a huge flare lamp.

it was a thrilling sight focussed in that blue glare. it looked as if london had been utterly destroyed by a siege—as if thousands of well-aimed shells had exploded. houses looked like tattered banners of brick and mortar. heavy articles of furniture had been hurled into the street; on the other hand, little gimcrack ornaments still stood on tiny brackets.

a scared-looking policeman came staggering along.

"my man," lord barcombe cried, "what has happened?"

the officer pulled himself together and touched his helmet.

"it's dreadful, sir," he sobbed. "there has been an accident in the tubes; and they have been blown all to pieces."