And now a few flakes of snow fluttered round me, and I held on hopelessly, thinking that surely I should come to some place that would give me a lee of rock that I could creep under.
Then the snow swooped down on me heavily, with a whirl and rush of wind from the sea, and I tried to hurry yet more from the chill.
Then I was sure that I heard voices calling after me, and I ran, not rightly knowing where to go, but judging that the coastline would lead me to some fishers' village in the end.

There seemed no hope from the land I had seen.
Again the voices came--nay, but there was one voice only, and it called me by my name: "Oswald, Oswald!" I stopped and listened, for I thought of Thorgils.

But the voice was silent, and again I pressed on in the blinding snow, and at once it came, wailing: "Oswald, Oswald!" It was behind me now and close at hand, and I turned with my hand on my sword hilt.

But there was nothing.

Only the snow whirled round me, and the wind sung in the rocks.