The sound of that unknown voice--quiet, commanding, and infinitely reassuring--was like a hand laid on her heart and stilling its terrified throbbing.
She heard someone tugging at the handle of the door.

There came a moment's pause while the strained woodwork resisted the pull, then with a scrape of jarring fittings the door jerked open and a man's figure loomed in the aperture.
"Where are you ?" he asked, peering through the dense gloom.

"Ah!" She felt his outstretched hands close on her shoulders as she knelt huddled on the floor.

"Can you get up?
Or are you hurt ?" Magda tested her limbs cautiously, to discover that no bones were broken, though her head ached horribly, so that she felt sick and giddy with the pain.
"No, I'm not hurt," she answered.
"Then come along.

The car's heeled up a bit, but I'll lift you out if you can get to the door." She stumbled forward obediently, groping her way towards the vague panel of lighter grey revealed by the open door.
Once more, out of the swathing fog, hands touched her.
"There you are! That's right.