It was almost quite dark when they reached the other side of the high altar. Griggs walked beside her in silence, trying to understand the meaning of what she had said.
The gloom was terrible. The enormous statues loomed faintly like vast ghosts, high up, between the floor and the roof, their whiteness glimmering where there seemed to be nothing else but darkness below them and above them. A low, far sound that was a voice but not a word, trembled in the air. Francesca shuddered.
"They have not gone yet," said Griggs. "They are still talking. But we must hurry."
"No," said Francesca, "that was not any one talking." And her teeth chattered. "Give me your arm, please—I am frightened."
He held out his arm till she could feel it in the dark, and she took it. He pressed her hand to his side and drew her along, for he feared that the doors might be already shut.
"Not so fast! Oh, not so fast, please!" she cried. "I shall fall. They do not shut the doors—"
"Yes, they do! Let me carry you. I can run with you in the dark—there is no time to be lost!"
"No, no! I can walk faster—but there is really no danger—"
It is a very long way from the high altar to the main entrance of the church. Francesca was breathless when they reached the door and Griggs lifted the heavy leathern curtain. If the door had been still open, he would have seen the twilight from the porch at once. Instead, all was black and close and smelled of leather. Francesca was holding his sleeve, afraid of losing him.
"It is too late," he said quietly. "We are probably locked in. We will try the door of the Sacristy."