'I promised to bring her livin' mullo,' said Sinfi, 'and I have kept
my word, and now we are all going up to the top together.'
Winnie at once proceeded to pack up the breakfast things in Sinfi's
basket. While she was doing this Sinfi and I went to the side of the
llyn.
'Sinfi, I know all--all you have done for Winnie, all you have done
for me.'
'You know about me takin' the cuss?' she said in astonishment.
'Gorgio cuss can't touch Romany, they say, but it did touch me. I wur
very bad, brother. Howsomedever, it's all gone now. But how did you
come to know about it? Winnie don't know herself, so she couldn't ha'
told you; and I promised Mr. D'Arcy that if ever I wur to see you
anywheres I wouldn't talk about it--leaseways not till he could tell
you hisself or write to you full.'
'Winnie does not know about it,' I said, 'but I do. I know that in
order to save her life--in order to save us both--you allowed her
illness to pass on to you, at your own peril. But you mustn't talk of
its being a curse, Sinfi. It was just an illness like any other
illness, and the doctor passed it on to you in the same way that
doctors sometimes do pass on such illnesses. Doctors can't cure
curses, you know. You will soon be quite well again, and then you
will forget all about what you call the curse.'
'I'm well enough now, brother; but see, Winnie has packed the things,
and she's waiting to go up.'
We then began the ascent.
Ah, that ascent! I wish I had time and space to describe it. Up the
same path we went which Sinfi and I had followed on that memorable
morning when my heart was as sad as it was buoyant now.
Reaching the top, we sat down in the hut and made our simple
luncheon. Winnie was a great favourite with the people there, and
she could not get away from them for a long time. We went down to
Bwlch Glas, and there we stood gazing at the path that leads to
Llanberis.
I had not observed, but Winnie evidently had, that Sinfi wanted to
speak to me alone; for she wandered away pretending to be looking
for a certain landmark which she remembered; and Sinfi and I were
left together.
'Brother,' said Sinfi, 'I ain't a-goin' to Llanberis an' Carnarvon
with you two. You take that path; I take this.'
She pointed to the two downward paths.
'Surely you are not going to leave us at a moment like this?' I said.
'That's jist what I am a-goin' to do,' she said. 'This is the very
time an' this is the very place where I am a-goin' to leave you an'
all Gorgios.'
'Part on Snowdon, Sinfi!' I exclaimed.
'That's what we're a-goin' to do, brother. What I sez to myself when
I made up my mind to take the cuss on me wur this: "I'll make her
dukkeripen come true; I'll take her to him in Wales, and then we'll
part. We'll part on Snowdon, an' I'll go one way an' they'll go
another, jist like them two streams as start from Gorphwysfa an' go
runnin' down till one on 'em takes the sea at Carnarvon, and t'other
at Tremadoc." Yis, brother, it's on Snowdon where you an' Winnie
Wynne sees the last o' Sinfi Lovell.'
Distressed as I was at her words, that inflexible look on her face I
understood only too well. 'But there is Mr. D'Arcy to consider,' I
said. 'Winnie tells me that it is the particular wish of Mr. D'Arcy
that you and she should return to him at Hurstcote Manor. He has been
wonderfully kind, and his wishes should be complied with.'
'No, brother,' said Sinfi, 'I shall never go to Hurstcote Manor no
more.'
'Surely you will, Sinfi. Winnie tells me of the deep regard that Mr.
D'Arcy has for you.'
'Never no more. Winifred's dukkeripen on Snowdon has come true, and
it wur me what made it come true. Yis, it wur Sinfi Lovell and nobody
else what made that dukkeripen come true.'
And again her face was illuminated by the triumphant expression which
it wore when she returned to Knockers' Llyn with Winnie.
'It was indeed your noble self-sacrifice for Winnie and me that made
the dukkeripen of the Golden Hand come true.'
'It worn't all for you and Winnie, Hal. I ain't a-goin' to let you
think better on me than I desarve. It wur partly for you, and it wur
partly for my dear mammy, and it wur partly for myself. Listen to me,
Hal Aylwin. _When I made Winnie's dukkeripen come true I made my own
dukkeripen come to naught at the same time_. The only way to make a
dukkeripen come to naught is to make another dukkeripen what
conterdicks it come true. That's the only way to master a dukkeripen.
It ain't often that Romanies or Gorgios or anything that lives can
master his own dukkeripen. I've been thinkin' a good deal about sich
things since I took that cuss on me. Night arter night have I laid
awake thinkin' about these 'ere things, and, brother, I believe I
have done what no livin' creatur ever done before--I've mastered my
own dukkeripen. My mammy used to say that the dukkeripen of every
livin' thing comes true at last. "Is there anythink in the whole
world," she would say, "more crafty nor one o' those old broad-finned
trouts in Knockers' Llyn? But that trout's got his dukkeripen, an' it
comes true at last. All day long he's p'raps bin a-flashin' his fins
an' a-twiddlin' his tail round an' round the may-fly or the brandlin'
worrum, though he knows all about the hook; but all at wonst comes
the time o' the bitin', and that's the time o' the dukkeripen, when
every fish in the brook, whether he's hungry or not, begins to bite,
an' then up comes old red-spots, an' grabs at the bait because he
_must_ grab, an' swallows it because he _must_ swallow it; an'
there's a hend of old red-spots jist as sure as if he didn't know
there wur a hook in the bait." That's what my mammy used to say. But
there wur one as could, and did, master her own dukkeripen--Shuri
Lovell's little Sinfi.'
'You have mastered your dukkeripen, Sinfi?' 'Yes, I've mastered
mine,' she said, with the same look of triumph on her face--'I swore
I'd master my dukkeripen, brother, an' I done it. I said to myself
the dukkeripen is strong, but a Romany chi may be stronger still if
she keeps a-sayin' to herself "I WILL master it; I WILL, I WILL."'
'Then that explains something I have often noticed, Sinfi. I have
often seen your lips move and nothing has come from them but a
whisper, "I will, I will, I will."'
'Ah, you've noticed that, have you? Well then, _now_ you know what
it meant.'
'But, Sinfi, you have not told me what your dukkeripen is. You have
often alluded to it, but you have never allowed me even to guess what
it is.'
Sinfi's face beamed with pride of triumph.
'You never guessed it? No, you never could guess it. An' months an'
months have we lived together an' you heard me whisper "I will, I
will," an' you never guessed what them words meant. Lucky for you, my
fine Gorgio, that you didn't guess it,' she said, in an altered tone.
'Why?'
''Cos if you had a-guessed it you'd ha' cotch'd a left-hand body-blow
that 'ud most like ha' killed you. That's what you'd ha' cotch'd. But
now as we're a-goin' to part for ever I'll tell you.'
'Part for ever, Sinfi?'
'Yis, an' that's why I'm goin' to tell you what my dukkeripen wur.
Many's the time as you've asked me how it was that, for all that you
and I was pals, I hate the Gorgios in a general way as much as Rhona
Boswell likes 'em. I used to like the Gorgios wonst as well as ever
Rhona did--else how should I ever ha' been so fond o' Winnie Wynne?
Tell me that,' she said, in an argumentative way as though I had
challenged her speech. 'If I hadn't ha' liked the Gorgios wonst, how
should I ha' been so fond o' Winnie Wynne? An' why don't I like
Gorgios now? Many's the time you've ax'd me that question, an' now's
the time for me to tell you. I know'd the time 'ud come, an' this is
the time to tell you, when you and me and Winnie are a-goin' to part
for ever at the top o' the biggest mountain in the world, this 'ere
blessed Snowdon, as allus did seem somehow to belong to her an' me.
When I wur fond o' the Gorgios,--fonder nor ever Rhona Boswell wur at
that time ('cos she hadn't never met then with the Gorgio she's
a-goin' to die for),--it wur when I war a little chavi, an' didn't
know nothink about dukkeripens at all; but arterwards my mammy told
my dukkeripen out o' the clouds, an' it wur jist this: I wur to
beware o' Gorgios, 'cos a Gorgio would come among the Kaulo Camloes
an' break my heart. An' I says to her, "Mammy dear, afore my heart
shall break for any Gorgio I'll cut it out with this 'ere knife," an'
I draw'd her knife out o' her frock an' put it in my own, and here it
is.' And Sinfi pulled out her knife and showed it to me. 'An' now,
brother, I'm goin' to tell you somethink else, an' what I'm goin' to
tell you'll show we're goin' to part for ever an' ever. As sure as
ever the Golden Hand opened over Winnie Wynne's head an' yourn on
Snowdon, so sure did I feel that you two 'ud be married, even when it
seemed to you that she must he dead. An' as sure as ever my mammy
said I must beware o' Gorgios, so sure was I that you wur the very
Gorgio as wur to break the Romany chi's heart--if that Romany chi's
heart hadn't been Sinfi Lovell's. You hadn't been my pal long afore
I know'd that. Arter I had been with you a-lookin' for Winnie or
fishin' in the brooks, many's the time, when I lay in the tent with
the star-light a-shinin' through the chinks in the tent's mouth, that
I've said to myself, "The very Gorgio as my mother seed a-comin' to
the Lovells when she penned my dukkerin, he's asleep in his
livin'-waggin not five yards off." That's what made me seem so
strange to you at times, thinkin' o' my mammy's words, an' sayin'
"I will, I will." An' now, brother, fare you well.'
'But you must bid Winnie good-bye,' I said, as I saw her returning.
'Better not,' said she. 'You tell her I've changed my mind about
goin' to Carnarvon. She'll think we shall meet again, but we
sha'n't. Tell her that they expect you and her at the inn at
Llanberis. Rhona will be there to-night with Winnie's clo'es and
things.'
'Sinfi,' I said, 'I cannot part from you thus. I should be miserable
all my days. No man ever had such a noble, self-sacrificing friend as
you. I cannot give you up. In a few days I shall go to the tents and
see you and Rhona, and my old friends, Panuel and Jericho; I shall
indeed, Sinfi. I mean to do it.'
'No, no,' cried Sinfi; 'everythink says "No" to that; the clouds an'
the stars says "No," an' the win' says "No," and the shine and the
shadows says "No," and the Romany Sap says "No." An' I shall send your
livin'-waggin away, reia; yis, I shall send it arter you, Hal, and
your two beautiful gries; an' I shall tell my daddy--as never
conterdicks his chavi in nothink, 'cos she's took the seein' eye from
Shuri Lovell--I shall tell my dear daddy as no Gorgio and no Gorgie,
no lad an' no wench as ever wur bred o' Gorgio blood an' bones,
mustn't never live with our breed no more. That's what I shall tell
my dear daddy; an' why? an' why? 'cos that's what my mammy comes an'
tells me every night, wakin' an' sleepin'--that's what she comes an'
tells me, reia, in the waggin an' in the tent, an' aneath the sun an'
aneath the stars--an' that's what the fiery eyes of the Romany Sap
says out o' the ferns an' the grass, an' in the Londra streets,
whenever I thinks o' you. "The kair is kushto for the kairengro, but
for the Romany the open air." [Footnote] That's what my mammy used to
say.'
[Footnote: The house is good for the house-dweller, the open air for
the Gypsy.]
She then left me and descended the path to Capel Curig, and was soon
out of sight.