VI

'_Now_ I can follow her,' said Sinfi; 'but you mustn't try to come

along here. Wait till I come back. I suppose you've given her all the

breakfiss. Give me a drop of brandy out o' your flask.'

I gave her some brandy and took a long draught of the burning liquor

myself, for I was fainting.

'I shall go with you,' I said.

'Dordi,' said the Gypsy, 'how quickly you'd be a-layin' at the bottom

there!' and she pointed down into the gulf at our feet.

'I shall go with you,' I said.

'No, you won't,' said the Gypsy doggedly; ''cause _I_ sha'n't go. I

shall git round and meet her. I know where we shall strike across her

slot. She'll be makin' for Llanberis.'

'I let her escape,' I moaned. 'I had her in my arms once; but you

signalled to me not to grip her.'

'If you had ha' grabbed her,' said the Gypsy, 'she'd ha' pulled you

along like a feather--she's so mad strong. You go hack to the llyn.'

The Gypsy girl passed along the shelf and was soon lost in the veil

of vapour.

I returned to the llyn and threw myself down upon the ground, for my

legs sank under me, but the dizziness of fatigue softened the effect

of my distress. The rocks and peaks were swinging round my head. Soon

I found the Gypsy bending over me.

'I can't find her,' said she. 'We had best make haste and strike

across her path as she makes for Llanberis. I have a notion as she's

sure to do that.'

As fast as we could scramble along those rugged tracks we made our

way to the point where the Gypsy expected that Winifred would pass.

We remained for hours, beating about in all directions in search of

her,--Sinti every now and then touching her crwth with the bow,--but

without any result.

'It's my belief she's gone straight down to Llanberis,' said Sinfi;

'and we'd best lose no time, but go there too.'

We went right to the top of the mountain and rested for a little time

on y Wyddfa, Sinfi taking some bread and cheese and ale in the cabin

there. Then we descended the other side. I had not sense then to

notice the sunset-glories, the peaks of mountains melting into a sky

of rose and light-green, over which a phalanx of fiery clouds was

filing; and yet I see it all now as I write, and I hear what I did

not seem to hear then, the musical chant of a Welsh guide ahead of

us, who was conducting a party of happy tourists to Llanberis.

When we reached the village, we spent hours in making searches and

inquiries, but could find no trace of her. Oh, the appalling thought

of Winifred wandering about all night famishing on the hills! I went

to the inn which Sinfi pointed out to me, while she went in quest of

some Gypsy friends, who, she said, were stopping in the

neighbourhood. She promised to come to me early in the morning, in

order that we might renew our search at break of day.

When I turned into bed after supper I said to myself: 'There will be

no sleep for me this night.' But I was mistaken. So great was my

fatigue that sleep came upon me with a strength that was sudden and

irresistible; when the servant came to call me at sunrise, I felt as

though I had but just gone to bed. It was, no doubt, this sound

sleep, and entire respite from the tension of mind I had undergone,

which saved me from another serious illness.

I found the Gypsy already waiting for me below, preparing for the

labours before her by making a hearty meal on salt beef and ale.

'Reia,' said she, pointing to the beef with her knife, 'we sha'n't

get bite nor sup, 'cept what we carry, either inside or out, for

twelve hours,--perhaps not for twenty-four. Before I give up this

slot there ain't a path, nor a hill, nor a rock, nor a valley, nor a

precipuss as won't feel my fut. Come! set to.'

I took the Gypsy's advice, made as hearty a breakfast as I could, and

we left Llanberis in the light of morning. It was not till we had

reached and passed a place called Gwastadnant Gate that the path

along which we went became really wild and difficult. The Gypsy

seemed to know every inch of the country.

We reached a beautiful lake, where Sinfi stopped, and I began to

question her as to what was to be our route.

'Winnie know'd,' said she, 'some Welsh folk as fish in this 'ere

lake. She might ha' called 'em to mind, poor thing, and come off

here. I'm a-goin' to ask about her.'

Sinfi's inquiries here--her inquiries everywhere that day--ended in

nothing but blank and cruel disappointment.

Remembering that Winifred's very earliest childhood was passed near

Carnarvon, I proposed to the Gypsy that we should go thither at once.

After sleeping again at Llanberis, we went to Carnarvon, but soon

returned to the other side of Snowdon, for at Carnarvon we could find

no trace of her.

'Oh, Sinfi,' I said; as we stood watching the peculiar bright yellow

trout in Lake Ogwen, 'she is starving--starving on the hills--while

millions of people are eating, gorging, wasting food. I shall go

mad!'

Sinfi looked at me mournfully, and said:

'It's a bad job, reia, but if poor Winnie Wynne's a-starvin' it ain't

the fault o' them as happens to ha' got the full belly. There ain't a

Romany in Wales, nor there ain't a Gorgio nuther, as wouldn't give

Winnie a crust, if wonst we could find her.'

'To think of this great, rich world,' I exclaimed (to myself, not to

the Gypsy), 'choke-full of harvest, bursting with grain, while

famishing on the hills for a mouthful is she--the one!'

'Reia,' said Sinfi, with much solemnity, 'the world's full o'

vittles; what's wanted is jist a hand as can put the vittles and the

mouths where they ought to be--cluss togither. That's what the hungry

Romany says when he snares a hare or a rabbit.'

We walked on. After a while Sinfi said: 'A Romany knows more o' these

here kinds o' things, reia, than a Gorgio does. It's my belief as

Winnie Wynne ain't a-starvin' on the hills; she ain't got to starve;

she's on'y got to beg her bread. She'll have to do that, of course;

but beggin' ain't so bad as starvin', after all! There's some as begs

for the love on it. Videy does.'

I knew by this time that it was useless to battle against Sinfi's

conviction that the curse would have to be literally fulfilled, so I

kept silence. While she was speaking I was suddenly struck by a

thought that ought to have come before.

'Sinfi,' I said, 'didn't you know an English lady named Dalrymple,

who lodged with Mrs. Davies for some years?'

'Yis,' said Sinfi, 'and I did think o' her. She went to live at

Carnarvon. But supposin' that Winnie had gone to the English

lady--supposin' that she know'd where to find her--the lady 'ud

never ha' let her go away, she was so fond on her. It was Miss

Dalrymple as sp'ilt Winnie, a-givin' her lady-notions.'

However, I determined to see Miss Dalrymple, and started alone for

Carnarvon at once. By making inquiries at the Carnarvon post-office

I found Miss Dalrymple, a pale-faced, careworn lady of extraordinary

culture, who evinced the greatest affection for Winifred. She had

seen nothing of her, and was much distressed at the fragments of

Winifred's story which I thought it well to give her. When she bade

me good-bye, she said, 'I know something of your family. I know your

mother and aunt. The sweet girl you are seeking is in my judgment one

of the most gifted young women living. Her education, as you may be

aware, she owes mainly to me. But she took to every kind of

intellectual pursuit by instinct. Reared in a poor Welsh cottage as

she was, there is, I believe, almost no place in society that she is

not fitted to fill.'

On leaving Carnarvon I returned to Sinfi Lovell.

But why should I weary the reader by a detailed account of my

wanderings and searchings with my strange guide that day, and the

next, and the next? Why should I burthen him with the mental agonies

I suffered as Sinfi and I, during the following days, explored the

country for miles and miles--right away beyond the Cross Foxes, as

far as Dolgelley and the region of Cader Idris? At last, one evening,

when I and Rhona Boswell and some of her family were walking down

Snowdon towards Llanberis, Sinfi announced her conviction that

Winifred was no longer in the Snowdon region at all, perhaps not even

in Wales at all.

'You mean, I suppose, that she is dead,' I said.

'Dead?' said Sinfi, the mysterious sibylline look returning

immediately to her face, that had just seemed so frank and simple.

'She ain't got to _die_; she's only got to beg. But I shall ha' to

leave you now. I can't do you no more good. And besides, my daddy's

goin' into the Eastern Counties with the Welsh ponies, and so is

Jasper Bozzell and Rhona. Videy and me are goin' too, in course.'

With deep regret and dismay I felt that I must part from her. How

well I remember that evening. I feel as now I write the delicious

summer breeze of Snowdon blowing on my forehead. The sky, which for

some time had been growing very rich, grew at every moment rarer in

colour, and glassed itself in the llyns which shone with an enjoyment

of the beauty like the magic mirrors of Snowdonian spirits. The

loveliness indeed was so bewitching that one or two of the

Gypsies--a race who are, as I had already noticed, among the few

uncultivated people that show a susceptibility to the beauties of

nature--gave a long sigh of pleasure, and lingered at the llyn of the

triple echo, to see how the soft iridescent opal brightened and

shifted into sapphire and orange, and then into green and gold. As a

small requital of her valuable services I offered her what money I

had about me, and promised to send as much more as she might require

as soon as I reached the hotel at Dolgelley, where at the moment my

portmanteau was lying in the landlord's charge.

'_Me_ take money for tryin' to find my sister, Winnie Wynne?' said

Sinfi, in astonishment more than in anger. 'Seein', reia, as I'd jist

sell everythink I've got to find her, I should like to know how many

gold balansers [sovereigns] 'ud pay me. No, reia, Winnie Wynne ain't

in Wales at all, else I'd never give up this patrin-chase. So fare ye

well;' and she held out her hand, which I grasped, reluctant to let

it go.

'Fare ye well, reia,' she repeated, as she walked swiftly away; 'I

wonder whether we shall ever meet agin.'

'Indeed, I hope so,' I said.

Her sister Videy, who with Rhona Boswell was walking near us, was

present at the parting--a bright-eyed, dark-skinned little girl, a

head shorter than Sinfi. I saw Videy's eyes glisten greedily at sight

of the gold, and, after we had parted, I was not at all surprised,

though I knew her father, Panuel Lovell, a frequenter of Raxton

fairs, to be a man of means, when she came back and said, with a

coquettish smile,

'Give the bright balansers to Lady Sinfi's poor sister, my rei; give

the balansers to the poor Gypsy, my rei.'

Rhona, however, instead of joining Videy in the prayer for

backsheesh, ran down the path in the footsteps of Sinfi.

What money I had about me I was carrying loose in my waistcoat

pocket, and I pulled it out, gold and silver together. I picked

out the sovereigns (five) and gave them to her, retaining

half-a-sovereign and the silver for my use before returning to the

hotel at Dolgelley. Videy took the sovereigns and then pointed, with

a dazzling smile, to the half-sovereign, saying, 'Give Lady Sinfi's

poor sister the posh balanser [half-sovereign], my rei.'

I gave her the half-sovereign,' when she immediately pointed to a

half-crown in my hand, and said, 'Give the poor Gypsy the

posh-courna, my rei.'

So grateful was I to the very name of Lovell, that I was hesitating

whether to do this, when I was suddenly aware of the presence of

Sinfi, who had returned with Rhona. In a moment Videy's wrist was in

a grip I had become familiar with, and the money fell to the ground.

Sinfi pointed to the money and said some words in Romany. Videy

stooped and picked the coins up in evident alarm. Sinfi then said

some more words in Romany, whereupon Videy held out the money to me.

I felt it best to receive it, though Sinfi never once looked at me;

and I could not tell what expression her own honest face wore,

whether of deadly anger or mortal shame. The two sisters walked off

in silence together, while Rhona set up a kind of war-dance behind

them, and the three went down the path.

In a few minutes Sinfi again returned and, pointing in great

excitement to the sunset sky, cried, 'Look, look! The Dukkeripen of

the trúshul.' [Footnote] And indeed, the sunset was now making a

spectacle such as might have aroused a spasm of admiration in the

most prosaic breast. As I looked at it and then turned to look at

Sinfi's noble features, illumined and spiritualised by a light that

seemed more than earthly, a new feeling came upon me as though y

Wyddfa and the clouds were joining in a prophecy of hope.

[Footnote: Cross.]