In spite of all her efforts to repress it, a little gasping squeal of affright broke from her.

The Admiral, with a start, withdrew his eye quickly from the glass, and looked over the wall.
"Damnation!" (This was the Admiral, by the way.) What happened exactly at this moment will never be known.

Whether a stone underfoot gave way, or whether the Admiral's voice brought down a _serac_ of rotten wall, is not clear.

There was a rumbling sound, an oath or two--and then both telescope and Admiral disappeared, with a crash, from view.
Miss Limpenny screamed, dropped her telescope, which went rattling down the steps, cowered desperately against the wall, shut her eyes, screamed again, trod on a tilting slab, hung for a moment, toppled, clutched wildly at space, and shot, with a rush and shower of stones, straight to the very bottom.
Miss Lavinia Limpenny, who, startled by the screams, had rushed to the window and witnessed the last stages of the catastrophe, was out in a minute.

Tenderly raising her sobbing sister, she assisted her back to the house, and attended to the bruises with a combination of arnica, vinegar, and brown paper.