As he came forth of the thicket, a charge of laden wind near took him off his feet. Staggering and half-blinded, it was some moments before he could collect his sight and his senses. Then he saw his companions huddled about the trunk of a little beech tree, and ran to them, foretasting the peril. One and all they were now menaced by a loss more final than that of any stone, however costly. While they were within, the wind had called up its reserves and the undulating plain was all one sheeted spectre of driving white. “We must make the attempt,” said Tuke. “To stay here is to perish.” He took Blythewood’s arm, and drove into the whirl as he spoke. The other two followed apart. The snow was up to their ankles; it hurtled into their faces and stung their blinking eyelids. Every minute they felt the labour of progress more acute. “My God!” cried Sir David--“seven miles of this!” “Oh, courage, man! There is no hope but to keep going!” For long they marked their bearings pretty well. Then, looking over his shoulder, Tuke uttered an exclamation and stopped. “Dennis!” he yelled, for the man had disappeared. He ran back in their fast-vanishing tracks--stumbled over the fallen body. “Up!” he shrieked--“don’t give in like this!” The poor fellow begged to be allowed to sleep--just forty winks, he said. “Forty winking devils!” shouted his master. He had him up and on in a moment--placed him between himself and Sir David. Thenceforward the three held together, swaying and struggling. The wiry soldier could take and keep his own measure of endurance. But now, confused by the temporary delay, they fell doubtful in their landmarks, wavered, and woke to the knowledge that they were lost. Dennis, who alone of them knew something of the road, was fallen into a state of semi-stupefaction and could scarce speak coherently. Indeed, it was all one for that, for the prospect was quite blotted out in the mist of twinkling flakes; and to keep the wind at their backs was become their only guide. It was a long, agonized advance against the forces of Death. They dared not stop for an instant to breathe or think. They must plod their frantic way whose every step was a lifted labour, and hardly could they cheer on any fainting spirit amongst them who threatened to lag to his destruction. The snow deepened; and often now they floundered into drifts, and must struggle forth and on with their hearts sobbing in their breasts.