Aylwin

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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed 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 gla.s.sed 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 trushul." [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 n.o.ble 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.]

VII

After losing Sinfi I hired some men to a.s.sist me in my search. Day after day did we continue the quest; but no trace of Winifred could be found. The universal opinion was that she had taken sudden alarm at something, lost her foothold, and fallen down a precipice, as so many unfortunate tourists had done in North Wales. One day I and one of my men met, on a spur of the Glyder, the tourist of the flint implements with whom I had conversed at Bettws y Coed. He was alone, geologising or else searching for flint implements on the hills.

Evidently my haggard appearance startled him. But when he learnt what was my trouble he became deeply interested. He told me that one day after our meeting at "The Royal Oak," Bettws y Coed, he had met a wild-looking girl as he was using his geologist"s hammer on the mountains. She was bareheaded, and had taken fright at him, and had run madly in the direction of the most dangerous chasm on the range; he had pursued her, hoping to save her from destruction, but lost sight of her close to the chasm"s brink. The expression on his face told me what his thoughts were as to her fate. He accompanied me to the chasm. It was indeed a dreadful place. We got to the bottom by a winding path, and searched till dusk among the rocks and torrents, finding nothing. But I felt that in wild and ragged pits like those, covered here and there with rough and s.h.a.ggy brushwood, and full of wild cascades and deep pools, a body might well be concealed till doomsday.

My kind-hearted companion accompanied me for some miles, and did his best to dispel my gloom by his lively and intelligent talk. We parted at Pen y Gwryd. I never saw him again. I never knew his name. Should these lines ever come beneath his eyes he will know that though the great ocean of human life rolls between his life-vessel and mine, I have not forgotten how and where once we touched.

But how could I rest? Though Hope herself was laughing my hopes to scorn, how could I rest? How could I cease to search?

Bitter as it was to wander about the hills teasing my soul by delusions which other people must fain smile at, it would have been more bitter still to accept for certainty the intolerable truth that Winifred had died famished, or that her beloved body was a mangled corpse at the bottom of a cliff. If the reader does not understand this, it is because he finds it impossible to understand a sorrow like mine. I refused to return to Raxton, and took Mrs. Davies"s cottage, which was unoccupied, and lived there throughout the autumn.

Every day, wet or dry, I used to sally out on the Snowdonian range, just as though she had been lost but yesterday, making inquiries, bribing the good-natured Welsh people (who needed no bribing) to aid me in a search which to them must have seemed monomaniacal.

The peasants and farmers all knew me. "Sut mae dy galon? (How is thy heart?)" they would say in the beautiful Welsh phrase as I met them.

"How is my heart, indeed!" I would sigh as I went on my way.

Before I went to Wales in search of Winifred I had never set foot in the Princ.i.p.ality. Before I left it there was scarcely a Welshman who knew more familiarly than I every mile of the Snowdonian country.

Never a trace of Winifred could I find.

At the end of the autumn I left the cottage and removed to Pen y Gwryd, as a comparatively easy point from which I could reach the mountain llyn where I had breakfasted with Winifred on that morning.

Afterwards I took up my abode at a fishing-inn, and here I stayed the winter through--scarcely hoping to find her now, yet chained to Snowdon. After my labours during the day, scrambling among slippery boulders and rugged rocks, crossing swollen torrent-beds, amid rain and ice and snow and mist such as frightened away the Welsh themselves--after thus wandering, because I could not leave the region, it was a comfort to me to turn into the low, black-beamed room of the fishing-inn, with drying hams, flitches of bacon, and fishing-rods for decorations, and hear the simple-hearted Cymric folk talking, sometimes in Welsh, sometimes in English, but always with that kindness and that courtesy which go to make the poetry of Welsh common life.

Meantime, I had, as I need scarcely say, spared neither trouble nor expense in advertising for information about Winifred in the Welsh and the West of England newspapers. I offered rewards for her discovery, and the result was merely that I was pestered by letters from people (some of them tourists of education) suggesting traces and clues of so wild, and often of so fantastic a kind, that I arrived at the conviction that of all man"s faculties his imagination is the most lawless, and at the same time the most powerful. It was perfectly inconceivable to me that the writers of some of these letters were not themselves demented, so wild or so fanciful were the clues they suggested. Yet. when I came to meet them and talk with them (as I sometimes did), I found these correspondents to be of the ordinary prosaic British type. All my efforts were to no purpose.

Among my longer journeys from the fishing-inn, the most frequent were those to Holywell, near Flint, to the Well of St. Winifred--the reader need not be told why. He will recollect how little Winnie, while plying me with strawberries, had sagely recommended the holy water of this famous well as a "cure for crutches." She had actually brought me some of it in a lemonade bottle when she returned to Raxton after her first absence, and had insisted on rubbing my ankle with it. She had, as I afterwards learnt from her father, importuned and at last induced her aunt (evidently a good-natured and worthy soul) to take her to visit a friend at Holywell, a journey of many miles, for the purpose of bringing home with her a bottle of the holy water. Whenever any ascent of the gangways had proved to be more successful than usual, Winifred had attributed the good luck to the virtues contained in her lemonade bottle. Ah! superst.i.tion seemed pretty enough then.

At first in the forlorn hope that memory might have attracted her thither, and afterwards because there was a fascination for me in the well on account of its a.s.sociation with her, my pilgrimages to Holywell were as frequent as those of any of the afflicted devotees of the olden time, whose crutches left behind testified to the genuineness of the Saint"s pretensions. Into that well Winnie"s innocent young eyes had gazed--gazed in the full belief that the holy water would cure me--gazed in the full belief that the crimson stains made by the _byssus_ on the stones were stains left by her martyr-namesake"s blood. Where had she stood when she came and looked into the well and the rivulet? On what exact spot had rested her feet--those little rosy feet that on the sea-sands used to flash through the receding foam as she chased the ebbing billows to amuse me, while I sat between my crutches in the cove looking on? It was, I found, possible to gaze in that water till it seemed alive with her--seemed to hold the reflection of the little face which years ago peered anxiously into it for the behoof of the crippled child-lover pining for her at Raxton, and unable to "get up or down the gangways without her."