But she kept her head to the end of the chase; she followed him--all in the dark, remember--down to the bottom of the staircase, and, guided by the clatter of his apron, through a back kitchen in the basement which opened into a yard--there she stopped--she heard him clatter through this cellar, banging the door--which had been left open, and through which he had evidently made his way into the house--after him, as if to prevent her following him farther.

Poor thing, she certainly had no wish to do so; she felt her way to the door and felt for the key to lock it securely.
But alas, when she pushed the door closely to, preparatory to locking it, it resisted her.

Some one or something seemed to push against her from the outside.

Then for the first time her courage gave way, and thinking that the man had returned, with others perhaps, she grew sick and faint with fright.

She sank down helplessly on the floor for a moment or two.
But all seemed quiet; her courage and common sense returned; she got up and felt all about the door carefully, to try to discover the obstacle.
To her delight she found that some loose sand or earth driven into a little heap on the floor was what prevented the door shutting.