And the echoes cried 'Jane! Jane!' dying away mournfully. The sound frightened him, and he called no more. Then his reason came back to him. They could keep the snow away from their tents; all they had to do was to shovel it down; all they had to do was to be vigilant. He comforted himself with this thought, and slowly, painfully, retraced his steps to his tent, and crept among his blankets again. As he lay, he heard a moan. How every little sound frightened him! It was but the wind. But the moan grew louder, grew into a shriek, and rushed past the tent, and over the hills, like an angry spirit. And it brought the Snow-Drift with it! But he did not think of that, as he lay shivering. He did not know the new danger that threatened him. 'God shield you, dear woman!' he murmured, as he fell into a doze. 'God bring me to you!' All night long the wind shrieked and whistled through the tents; the men, tired out with their exertions, did not wake. But the women did, and lay and trembled. David's wife awoke. 'David!' she whispered, but he did not hear her. 'What's the matter, mother?' murmured her daughter. 'Nothing, child, nothing. It's only the wind. Hush! we mustn't wake father. Go to sleep, darling!' The sun rose late the next morning, and a dim blood-veil was in the sky, which made some of them think that it was night still. The miners found the snow round their huts to be three feet deep. They looked anxious at this. 'We can master the snow,' they whispered to one another, 'but the snow-drift will master us.' Even as they spoke, the wind, which had lulled, began to moan again, and before they had been working an hour shovelling away the snow, the wind-storm, bringing the snow with it from the heights over which it rushed, blinded them, and drove them into their tents for shelter. They could not hold their feet. 'Let us hope it'll not last long,' they said; and they took advantage of every lull to work against their enemy, not like men, but like heroes. 'What makes you so downcast, Saul?' asked David; he had not begun to lose heart. Saul looked in silence at David's wife and David's daughter; they were at the far end of the hut. 'You are not frightened, Saul, surely?' said David. 'Not for my self, David,' whispered Saul. 'But tell me. What kind of love do you bear for your wife and child?' David's look was sufficient answer. 'I have a perfect love for a woman also, David. If she were here, as your wife is with you, I could bear it, and so could she. David, we are beset by a terrible danger. Listen to the wind. I am afraid we may never get out of this.' David's lips quivered, but he shook away the fear. 'We mustn't lose heart, Saul, and we must keep this danger from the wife and little one. There's men's work before us, and we must do it--like men!' 'Trust me, David,' said Saul; 'my heart beats to the pulse of a willing hand;' and said no more.