rather than abating, and it kept on all that night, and for two nights and two days more.
Then it fell calm.
"I trust in Heaven," said M'Vayne, "that Sandie, our shepherd, has reached the shelter of some hut, but I fear the worst. The sheep may be buried, but they will survive; but without food poor Sandie cannot have withstood the brunt of that awful blizzard.
"Boys," he continued, "I shall start at once on a search, and the keeper will come with me."
"And we too."
"Wowff! wowff!" barked Vike, as much as to say, "You'd be poorly off without my assistance."
It was a lovely forenoon now, with a clear sky, but not as much wind as would suffice to lift one feathery flake.
They meant to find the shepherd, but it was his hard-frozen corpse they expected to dig out of a snow-drift.
CHAPTER VI. – "THE BREATH OF GOD WAS OVER ALL THE LAND."
There were two huts on the moorland, one in the open, another close against a ridge of rocks, and in one or other poor Sandie would surely have found shelter.
So to the first they bent their footsteps. It stood with its back to the east, and on the west it was entirely covered with great banks of snow, some of them shaped like waves on the sea-shore, that are just on the eve of breaking.
It took the keeper and two men nearly an hour to break through the barrier and find the doorway.
They could see nothing when they opened it, for all were partially snow-blind.
But they groped around, and called the shepherd by name; then convinced that he was not there, dead or alive, they came sadly away, and joined the group outside.
There was still the other hut to be examined, and this was a good mile higher up the hill.
Thither, therefore, the party now wended their way, but so completely covered up did they find it, that another long hour of hard work was spent in reaching the doorway.
Like the last which they had explored, it was cold, dark, and deserted.
No one had any hope now of finding Sandie alive, but after a hurried luncheon they spread themselves out across the hill and moor somewhat after the fashion of skirmishers, and the ground was thoroughly searched.
But all in vain.
No frozen corpse was found.
They were about to return now sorrowfully homewards, when high up the hill and at the foot of a semi-lunar patch of rocks-an upheaval that had taken place probably millions of years ago-Vike was noticed, and his movements attracted the attention of all.
He was yap-yapping as if in great grief, tearing up the snow at the foot of a mighty drift and casting it behind him and over him.
A pure white dog was the Newfoundland at present, so laden was his coat with the powdery drift.
"Come on, men, come on," cried Glenvoie, "there yet is hope! The good dog scents something in spite or the snow. It may only be sheep, and yet poor dead frozen Sandie may be amongst them."
It took them but a few minutes to reach the cliff and the huge snowdrift that covered its western side. It was then that Duncan remembered something about these rocks.
"Why, father," he said, "now that I think of it, this is Prince Charlie's cave."
"You are right, lad, and my hopes are certainly in the ascendant."
"Conal and I have often been inside, and there is room enough inside to shelter a flock of sheep, or a regiment of soldiers."
"Now then, lads," cried the laird, "work away with a will. I'll take care you don't lose by it."
He handed them his flask as he spoke, and thus refreshed by the wine of their native land, they did work, and with a will too.
But hard work it was, from the fact that the snow was loose and powdery.
But at long, long last they reached the mouth of the cave.
And now a curious spectacle was witnessed, for to the number of at least a hundred, and headed by a huge curly-horned ram, with a chorus of baa-a-ing, out rushed the imprisoned sheep, kicking and leaping with joy to see once more the light of day.
Behind them came the shepherd's bawsont-faced collie Korran. But after licking Vike's ear he rushed back once more into the cave, and the rescuers quickly lighting a fire with some withered grass, found the body of the shepherd with Korran standing over it. Was he dead?
That had yet to be seen. They carried him out, and placing him on plaids, began to rub his face with snow and chafe his cold, hard hands.
In less than ten minutes Sandie opened his wondering eyes.
He could swallow now, and a restorative was administered.
I need scarcely say that this restorative was Highland whisky.
After about half an hour Sandie was able not only to eat and talk but to walk.
His story was a very brief one. He had, with the assistance of Korran, driven the sheep into the cave, and never dreaming that he would be snowed up, and remained with them for a time. Alas! it was a long time for the poor fellow and his faithful dog!
Two days and two nights without food and only snow to keep body and soul together. And the cold-oh, so intense!
"How did you feel?" asked Frank.
The shepherd hadn't "a much English", as he phrased it, but he answered as best he could.
"Och, and och! then, my laddie, she was glad the koorich (sheep) was safe, and she didna thinkit a much aboot hersel. But she prayed and she prayed, and then she joost fell asleep, and the Lord of Hosts tookit a care of her."
Well, this honest shepherd was certainly imbued with the sincere and beautiful faith of the early Covenanters, but, after all, who shall dare to say that there is no efficacy in real prayer. Not in the prayers that are said, but in the prayers that are prayed.
Well, spring returned at last. Soft blew the winds from off the western sea; all the hills were clad in green; the woods burst into bud and leaf; in their darkest thickets the wild doves' croodle was heard, droning a kind of bass to the mad, merry lilt of the chaffie, the daft song of the mavis, or low sweet fluting of the mellow-voiced blackbird.
But abroad on the moors the orange-scented thorny whins, resplendent, hugged the ground, and here the rose-linnets built and sang, while high above, fluttering against some fleecy cloudlet, laverocks (larks) innumerable could be heard and dimly seen.
Oh it was a beautiful time, and the breath of God seemed over all the land.
Frank Trelawney had adopted, not only all the methods of life of his Scots 42nd cousins, but even their diet.
Almost from the date of his arrival he had taken a shower-bath or sponge-bath before breakfast, and this breakfast was for the most part good oatmeal porridge, with the sweetest of butter and freshest of milk.
Now that spring had really come, he went every morning with Duncan and Conal
