A whimsical fancy made him think of the fabled boat of Charon which will float a thousand bodiless spirits over the Styx but which sinks to the water-line with the weight of a single human being.
So he passed forward like one in a fabric of spider-webs almost fearing to breathe lest the whole house should puff away to shreds before him.
Half the boards, fallen from the ceiling, revealed the bare rafters above; below there were ragged holes in the flooring.

In one place a limb, torn by lightning or wind from its overhanging tree, had crashed through the corner of the roof and dropped straight through to the ground.
At last he reached a habitable room in the front of the house.

It was a new shell built inside the old wreck, with four stout corner-posts supporting cross-beams, which in turn held up the mouldering roof.

In the centre was a rude table and on either side a bunk built against the wall.

Perhaps this was where Drew lived on the occasions of his visits to the old ranchhouse.
Out of the gloom of the place, Bard stepped with a shrug of the shoulders, like one who shakes off the spell of a nightmare.