He had spoken no word of encouragement, and the lads knew that he was troubled beyond expression.
The wind was rising.

In sudden gusts of anger it dashed the snow against the tent in swirling blasts, and moaned dismally through the tree tops.

The crackling fire in the stove, usually so cheerful, only served now to increase their sorrow.

It offered warmth and comfort and protection from the night and cold and drifting snow, which Jamie, if he had not perished, was denied.

They could only think of him as wandering and suffering in the cold and darkness, hungry and miserable, and they condemned themselves.
When sleep finally carried the lads into unconsciousness, Doctor Joe's tall figure was still crouching before the stove, and when they awoke he was already up and had kindled a fresh fire in the stove, though it was not yet day, and the tent was lighted by the flickering flame of a candle.
"'Twill be daylight by the time we've finished breakfast," said Doctor Joe as the lads sat up.