So she departed.
I suppose that this particular volume was hard to find, for she must have been a long time away, and I had actually fallen into a doze when I was roused in an instant by a dreadful crash and a piercing scream from Mrs.
Rusk.

Scream followed scream, wilder and more terror-stricken.

I shrieked to Mary Quince, who was sleeping in the room with me:--'Mary, do you hear?
what is it?
It is something dreadful.' The crash was so tremendous that the solid flooring even of my room trembled under it, and to me it seemed as if some heavy man had burst through the top of the window, and shook the whole house with his descent.
I found myself standing at my own door, crying, 'Help, help! murder! murder!' and Mary Quince, frightened half out of her wits, by my side.
I could not think what was going on.

It was plainly something most horrible, for Mrs.Rusk's screams pealed one after the other unabated, though with a muffled sound, as if the door was shut upon her; and by this time the bells of my father's room were ringing madly.
'They are trying to murder him!' I cried, and I ran along the gallery to his door, followed by Mary Quince, whose white face I shall never forget, though her entreaties only sounded like unmeaning noises in my ears.
'Here! help, help, help!' I cried, trying to force open the door.
'Shove it, shove it, for God's sake! he's across it,' cried Mrs.Rusk's voice from within; 'drive it in.

I can't move him.' I strained all I could at the door, but ineffectually.