"Where is she?" said Aymer. "Come, Guy, you must show me the way. You come after us, girls."
Guy was nearly fainting from pure weariness and terror, yet he roused himself and took his brother's outstretched hand.
"Run, Aymer; never mind me; if I fall, you can pull me along."
But the running was soon over, for they came to a little creek, or bay, where a tiny rivulet emptied itself into the Slaney, and Guy said, "We climbed up here. It is quite near now."
Aymer lifted the child and pushed him up as high as he could, scrambling after him. The rooks were not difficult to climb, and the little waterfall guided them. They were soon at the top, and Guy pointed down into the bed of the stream, which had hollowed out as deep a channel for its insignificant waters as though it had been a much larger affair than it was. Down there, partly in the water, lay Clarice. From the edge of the bank, just where Aymer stood, a large stone had fallen; its bed was sharply defined in the black peaty soil, and the stone lay on the child, who was quite still and silent, uttering neither moan nor cry.
"Stand here, Guy; don't follow me."
And Aymer jumped down. He touched the child's forehead, and she moaned faintly. Just then Helen and Lizzie reached the bank where Guy stood, looking down.
"Oh, Aymer, is she dead?" cried Helen.
"No. She moaned just now. The stone must be moved somehow; it's on her right knee."
"You'll never be able to move it, it's far too heavy. Shall I run down to the boat and bring some one to help you—Katty, or mother?"