The Island of Appledore
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and turned back to smile at him. She was certainly not afraid; she was of an equal certainty rather pleased at his helplessness to stop her.
She turned at the landing to go up the next flight. There must have been a draught under the closed door at the top, for it made her candle wink and flicker, but she marched on undismayed. She looked a dauntless, little figure as she went up from step to step, the moving light shining on her thick, yellow braids and the crossed straps of her white apron, and making her fat little shadow dance behind her on the wall.
