“Of course she was,” acquiesced Miss Amilly with emphasis.  “Did the bridemaids—­”

What pertinent question relating to the bridemaids Miss Amilly was about to put, never was known.  A fearful sound interrupted it.  A sound nearly impossible to describe.  Was it a crash of thunder?  Had an engine from the distant railway taken up its station outside their house, and gone off with a bang?  Or had the surgery blown up?  The room they were in shook, the windows rattled, the Misses West screamed with real terror, and Jan started from his seat.

“It can’t be an explosion of gas!” he muttered.

Bursting out of the room, he nearly knocked down Martha, who was bursting into it.  Instinct, or perhaps sound, took Jan to the surgery, and they all followed in his wake.  Bob, the image of terrified consternation, stood in the midst of a debris of glass, his mouth open, and his hair standing-upright.  The glass bottles and jars of the establishment had flown from their shelves, causing the unhappy Bob to believe that the world had come to an end.

But what was the debris there, compared to the debris in the next room, Jan’s!  The window was out, the furniture was split, the various chemical apparatus had been shivered into a hundred pieces, the tamarind jar was in two, and Master Cheese was extended on the floor on his back, his hands scorched, his eyebrows singed off, his face black, and the end of his nose burning.

“Oh! that’s it, is it?” said Jan, when his eyes took in the state of things.  “I knew it would come to it.”

“He have been and blowed hisself up,” remarked Bob, who had stolen in after them.

“Is it the gas?” sobbed Miss Amilly, hardly able to speak for terror.

“No, it’s not the gas,” returned Jan, examining the debris more closely.  “It’s one of that gentleman’s chemical experiments.”

Deborah West was bending over the prostrate form in alarm.  “He surely can’t be dead!” she shivered.

“Not he,” said Jan.  “Come, get up,” he added, taking Master Cheese by the arm to assist him.

He was placed in a chair, and there he sat, coming to, and emitting dismal groans.

“I told you what you’d bring it to, if you persisted in attempting experiments that you know nothing about,” was Jan’s reprimand, delivered in a sharp tone.  “A pretty state of things this is!”

Master Cheese groaned again.

“Are you much hurt?” asked Miss Deb in a sympathising accent.

“Oh-o-o-o-o-o-h!” moaned Master Cheese.

“Is there anything we can get for you?” resumed Miss Deb.

“Oh-o-o-o-o-o-h!” repeated Master Cheese.  “A glass of wine might revive me.”

“Get up,” said Jan, “and let’s see if you can walk.  He’s not hurt, Miss Deb.”

Master Cheese, yielding to the peremptory movement of Jan’s arm, had no resource but to show them that he could walk.  He had taken a step or two as dolefully as it was possible for him to take it, keeping his eyes shut, and stretching out his hands before him, after the manner of the blind, when an interruption came from Miss Amilly.