The wind was somewhat behind them, though in the collision of the reflected waves from the houses on the south side, the vexed air shot about them in a hundred contradictory directions, and held them in a tempest of draughts. And now they were at the northern slope of the mounds; the cut was open; it had been cleared a minute before. Through it they saw more plainly that the bank steps and the corner of St. David street presented more favorable conditions; a dash and they would effect their escape. Leacraft had not failed to notice that the intervals between the inexplicable down-rushes of snow into the gap, were about three minutes, and that something more than that time elapsed before their expulsion. He whispered to Thomsen, whose fatigue was becoming too evident, “Keep up, sir. Once through this hole, and we are safe.” During all this time since their entrance through the window of the church, Leacraft and Jim had remained tied together, and the strong, steady haul of the workman upon the rope now greatly assisted Leacraft, who was quite sensible that he must largely depend on his strength at this critical moment for their preservation. It was certainly no exaggeration to say that as they entered that rather inconspicuous gateway, between two snow drifts in George street, Edinburgh, in November 1909, they stood on that metropolitan thoroughfare, in the Jaws of Death. The simile may sound and look shockingly untrue. It is the exact truth. The white inclines rose on each side of them, and the width of the wintry embrasure was about twenty feet; in less than a minute even with their lagging steps they would have crossed it. Suddenly Leacraft felt himself pulled sideways; only the rope stretched tightly between himself and Jim saved him from falling, if falling it could be called, where they were so immersed in snow. Thomsen had dropped in his tracks and with a low cry of fear the woman’s arm slipped from his neck and she clung convulsively to Leacraft. It was critical. In a little more than two minutes they would probably be buried--which at this stage of exhaustion meant death. Leacraft tugged savagely at the rope, and the surprised Jim, almost thrown on his back, returned. A glance told him everything. Leacraft, without speaking, nodded to the motionless figure, beginning by reason of the icy chill smiting his face from the snow, to stir, and seizing the girl, passed on. Jim managed to jerk Thomsen to his feet, and half holding, half pushing him, hastened, lest Leacraft should feel his weight on the rope, and be hampered in his own struggles. It was slow work, the snow-shoes, so essential for their safety, could only be painfully shoved forwards beneath the snow. It was like wading in deep water but it was a likeness enormously enlarged in difficulty and strain.