Then began a weary search for shelter. At some of the huts the inmates would not even open the door, for fear of letting in a blast of freezing wind; they shouted to them through the frosted windows there was no room for them there. There were no young children in the homeless band, but the five women and the two girls who had survived the terrible journey were suffering from the intense cold. Their spirits, too, were depressed at the sight of the savage and inhospitable spot to which their husbands had been exiled for several years. Some of them would have wept but for fear of the tears freezing on their eyelashes. Khariton Kondraty silently thanked God that his wife and daughters had been mercifully taken from him. At length, after traversing the village from end to end, they returned to the hut where a withered bush frosted over delicately proclaimed the village inn. They were quickly admitted, and the door closed behind them. The atmosphere was almost as foul as that of the kameras they had slept in, but they had grown used to it, and this roof was at least a shelter. Here they could rest and warm themselves, and get food to eat. The innkeeper was a Jew, and more intelligent than anyone they had yet seen. But he could not tell them of any hut or barn, or shed even, where they could find a refuge. Nor could he tell them of any place where more than one could be lodged. The dwellings were all too full already. No work could possibly be had until the thaw came, and then strong labourers might earn a few pence a day on the common lands. No one wanted any women, he said; there were women enough and to spare. At last he bethought himself of a half-ruined hut at the extreme end of the village, which had been empty for some years, ever since a whole family had been horribly murdered by some runaway convicts from mines. The innkeeper gave the details of the crime, with zest; and the women shuddered as they heard them. "Folks here say the spirits of the dead people have never left the spot," he added; "they'll not go till murderers are punished. But you can have it for small rent if you dare." The men went off, as soon as they had finished their meal, to inspect the place. It was a fair-sized hut, and the log walls and great stove were in tolerable repair, but the frozen snow showed white through the clunks in the roof. There were some out-buildings that also needed restoring. But little could be done before the thaw came. There were thirteen of them; the nine men and the four boys who had outlived their hardships. They were gaunt, haggard, and emaciated; the women they had left in the inn were almost skeletons. Yet as they stood under the ragged roof, they lifted up their hands, and in solemn words dedicated themselves afresh to the service of their Lord. Here they would make homes; and here, too, should there be a church where they could worship God according to their conscience.