CHAPTER LVIII.
NIGHT AND MORNING.
Scarcely an hour later than Sidney's arrival Margaret came to Brackenburn, with the large party of her companions and servants. It did not strike her or Philip that there could be much danger in a storm such as they had passed through coming from the south. But Dorothy and the servants belonging to Brackenburn looked grave. The men, huddled in the porch, held a consultation. It was impossible to do anything until the downfall abated. The giddy maze of snowflakes was more bewildering than the darkest night, for lanterns could be of no use in such a storm, as they would have been in utter darkness.
"Oh! Miss Dorothy," cried Mary, "you know this country's ways better than us from the south. Is there nothing we can do?"
"Nothing," she answered; "we must wait till the snow abates. Nobody could go out in a storm like this."
"Would not your St. Bernard track them?" asked Philip.
"No," she said, "none of the men could venture out now. Oh! you don't know what it is. You cannot go, Philip; you could not find your way for five minutes."
"They'll be frozen to death before morning," wailed Mary.
"No," answered Dorothy in a faltering voice; "Martin would get to his cave, and they are safe there. But there is your father, Philip."
"He hasn't been gone an hour," said Mary, "and the others have been out six hours or more."