placed," she
said, "or I am afraid your mother would have shot right down to the
Hofers' doorstep. I am fairly at ease about The Otis, for in spite of
the old drifting sand-lots that district is built on, its foundations go
down to bed-rock, and thanks to the strikers there is nothing to fall
off the steel frame. But I am rather worried about the islands. San
Francisco Bay is supposed to have been a valley some two hundred years
ago, and if it dropped once it might again. Those islands are only
hilltops."

The islands, however, looked as serene as the rest of nature, although
most of the chimneys were fallen or twisted, and there were the same
groups of people in the open, awaiting another throe. These, however,
had had time to recover their balance and clothe themselves. The launch,
which had a new engine, had been driven at top speed, and it was not yet
seven o'clock, barely the beginning of day to these luxurious people,
but a day that would doubtless be remembered as the longest of their
lives. On the military islands, routine, apparently, had received no
dislocation, and on the steep romantic slopes of Belvedere the villas
might have sunken their talons to the very vitals of the rock. The most
precariously perched had paid no toll but the chimney.

As the launch bounded past the long eastern side of Angel Island, Gwynne
contracted his eyelids. "Have you noticed that black cloud over the
city?" he asked. "At first it did not strike me particularly--but--it
looks as if there might be a big fire."

Isabel, who faced him, turned her head. "There are always fires in San
Francisco after an earthquake," she said, indifferently. "And about
seven a day at any time. There are none on the hills, so your mother is
not having a second fright. Poor thing! I am afraid she is terribly
upset. I wish she had gone."

She sat about, to observe the city more critically. Already its sky-line
was changed, for every chimney, smokestack, and steeple, commonly
visible, was shattered or down. The smoke cloud, which looked like a
great ostrich plume bent at the tip, was as stationary as the hills, and
had a confident permanent air that they would lack for some time. And
fixed as it was it seemed to grow larger.

"Steer to the east of Alcatraz," said Isabel, suddenly; "and towards
Yerba Buena. I should like to see where the fires are."

When the launch was well off the point of Telegraph Hill, they saw
several large fires on the western