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.