Sim had not seen the girls, and in the prevailing wind his quick ear had not caught the sound of their footsteps until they were nearly abreast of him.  When he became fully conscious of their presence, Rotha was standing by his side, with her hand on his arm.  Liza was a pace or two behind.

“Father,” said Rotha, “are you strong enough to make a long journey?”

Sim had turned his face full on his daughter’s with an expression of mingled shame, contrition, and pride.  It was as though his heart yearned for that love which he thought he had forfeited the right to claim.

In a few words Rotha explained the turn of events.  Sim’s agitation overpowered him.  He walked to and fro in short, fitful steps, crying that there was no help, no help.

“I thought I saw three men leading three horses up High Seat from behind the smithy.  It must have been those very taistrels, it must.  I was looking at them the minute you came up.  See, there they are—­there beyond the ghyll on the mere side of yon big bowder.  But they’ll be at the top in a crack, that they will—­and the best man in Wythburn will be taken—­and there’s no help, no help.”

The little man strode up and down, his long, nervous fingers twitching at his beard.

“Yes, but there is help,” said Rotha; “there must be.”

“How?  How?  Tell me—­you’re like your mother, you are—­that was the very look she had.”

“Tell me, first, if Ralph intended to be on Stye Head or Wastdale Head.”

“He did—­Stye Head—­he left me to go there at daybreak this morning.”

“Then he can be saved,” said the girl firmly.  “The mourners must follow the path.  They have the body and they will go slowly.  It will take them an hour and a half more to reach the foot of the pass.  In that time Liza and I can cross the fell by Harrop Tarn and Glaramara and reach the foot, or perhaps the head, of the pass.  But this is not enough.  The constables will not follow the road taken by the funeral.  They know that if Ralph is at the top of Stye Head he will be on the lookout for the procession, and must see them as well as it.”

“It’s true, it is,” said Sim.

“They will, as the blacksmith said, go through Honister and Scarf Gap and over the Black Sail to Wastdale.  They will ride fast, and, returning to Stye Head, hope to come upon Ralph from behind and capture him unawares.  Father,” continued Rotha,—­and the girl spoke with the determination of a strong man,—­“if you go over High Seat, cross the dale, walk past Dale Head, and keep on the far side of the Great Gable, you will cut off half the journey and be there as soon as the constables, and you may keep them in sight most of the way.  Can you do this?  Have you the strength?  You look worn and weak.”

“I can—­I have—­I’ll go at once.  It’s life or death to the best man in the world, that it is.”

“There’s not a moment to be lost.  Liza, we must not delay an instant longer.”