She whispered back:
"I will let you know.... I will write."
Suddenly she started. Amaldi, too, looked up at the dark stairway.
"I heard a door open.... We must go...." she murmured.
"Wait. Let me go first," he said, taking out a box of matches. "These will be better than nothing...."
He mounted slowly before her, lighting the little wax-matches as he went. It seemed to her that the stairway was endless—she was so tired! She dragged herself up, watching his face and figure spring out in the orange wax-light against the darkness, then fade again as the light died down. Now she could not see him. Then again came the spurt of bluish flame deepening to orange, and again she would see his slight, strong figure and the clear-cut mask of his face.
As they turned the last landing, and went up the flight leading direct to her apartment, they saw that the door was open and Rosa standing with a candle at the top of the stairs. She gave a cry of joy as she caught sight of Sophy—and came rushing down to meet her. Oh, the Madonna and San Guiseppe be praised! Oh, what had happened? She and Miladi had been so afraid—so terribly afraid!...
As she was speaking, a tall figure appeared in the open doorway. Sophy's heart seemed to lose a beat. Lady Wychcote acknowledged Amaldi's greeting, then called to Sophy:
"Are you really unhurt?... I fancied all sorts of horrid accidents...."
Sophy answered in the natural voice that astonishes one's self at such moments: