Meanwhile, the man in the next tent who had called to Saul to give him a hand had not been idle. He found a plank and was raising it to the roof, with the purpose of resting it upon a branch of the tree. As with more than a man's strength he lifted the plank forward, Saul heard a thud beneath him, and looking down saw that the walls of the tent in which David and his wife were had given way, and that the snow was toppling over. He turned his head; he was powerless to help them. The tears ran down his face and beard, and he waited, awe-struck by the terror of the time. He thought he heard the voice of David's wife cry, 'Good-bye, my child! God preserve you!' In a choking voice, he said solemnly to David's little daughter, 'Say, God bless you, mother and father!' 'The child repeated the words in a whisper, and nestled closer to Saul, and said, 'I'm so cold! Where's mother and father? Why don't they come up? Saul, with a shiver, looked down. Nothing of David or of David's wife did he see. The tent was not in sight. The snow had covered it. And still it fell, and still it drifted. The digger who occupied the next tent had fined his plank; not a moment was to be lost; his tent was cracking. Creeping along the plank, with the nervous strength of desperation, clinging to it like a cat, he reached the tree and was saved for a time. As he reached it, the plank slipped into the snow. And still it fell, and rose higher and higher. Men signalled to each other from tent to tent, and bade God bless each other, for they felt that, unless the snowdrift and snowfall should instantly cease, there was no hope for them. But still it fell; fell softly into the holes in the canvas roofs and sides, into the chambers below; crept up to them inch by inch; wrapt yellow gold and mortal flesh in soft shrouds of white, and hid the adventurers from the light of day. Only three remained. Soul, and David's little daughter, in the uppermost branches of the tree. The digger from the nearest tent clinging to a lower branch. This man was known by the name of Edward Beaver; a silent man at best, and one who could not win confidence readily. His face was covered with hair fast turning gray. Between him and Saul but little intercourse had taken place. Saul had not been attracted by Beaver's manner, although often when he looked at the man, a strange impression came upon him that he knew the face. Saul spoke to Beaver once, and asked him where he cane from; but Beaver answered him roughly, and Saul spoke to him no more. In this dread time, however, Beaver's tongue was loosened. 'This is awful,' he said, looking up at Saul.