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. On the other side of the wall the
Admiral lay for some time and bellowed for help, until his frightened
family bore him in, and attempted to put him to bed.

But mark the heroism of the truly great. In spite of his late
treatment at the hands of his fellow-citizens--treatment which still
rankled--here was no Coriolanus to depart in a huff to Antium.
The Admiral had a duty to perform, a service due to this ungrateful
Town, and on the subject of going to bed he was adamant.

"Cease, Emily. Your tears, your protestations are in vain.
Stop, I tell you! Get me my uniform."

Surely some desperate, some decisive step was contemplated when the
Admiral ordered out that gold-laced coat and cocked hat that once had
shone in the Blue Squadron of Her Majesty's Navy. What could this
stern magnificence portend?