‘Young man,’ said she, ‘are there many o’ your sort among the Gorgios?’

‘I don’t know and I don’t care,’ said I.

‘’Cause,’ said she, ‘that sayin’ o’ yourn is a fine sight liker a Romany chi’s nor a Romany chal’s.  It’s the chies as sticks to the dials, cuss or no cuss.  I wish the chals ’ud stick as close to the chies.’

After much persuasion, however, I induced the Gypsy to let me accompany her, promising to abide implicitly by her instructions.

Even while we were talking the rain had ceased, and patches of stars were shining brilliantly.  These patches got rapidly larger.  Sinfi Lovell proposed that we should go to the cottage, dry our clothes, and furnish ourselves with a day’s provisions, which she said a certain cupboard in the cottage would supply, and also with her crwth, which she appeared to consider essential to the success of the enterprise.

‘She’s fond o’ the crwth,’ she said.  ’She allus wanted Mrs. Davies to larn her to play it, but her aunt never would, ’cause when it’s played by a maid on the hills to the Welsh dukkerin’ gillie, [Footnote 1] the spirits o’ Snowdon and the livin’ mullos [Footnote 2] o’ them as she’s fond on will sometimes come and show themselves, and she said Winnie wasn’t at all the sort o’ gal to feel comfable with spirits moving round her.  She larnt me it, though.  It’s only when the crwth is played by a maid on the hills that the spirits can follow it.’

[Footnote 1:  Dukkerin gillie, incantation song.]

[Footnote 2:  Livin’ mullos, wraiths.]

We did as Shift suggested, and afterwards began our search.  She proposed that we should go at once to Knockers’ Llyn, where she had seen Winifred the day before sitting and talking to herself.  We proceeded towards the spot.

IV

The Gypsy girl was as lithe and active as Winifred herself, and vastly more powerful.  I was wasted by illness and fatigue.  Along the rough path we went, while the morning gradually broke over the east.  Great isles and continents of clouds were rolled and swirled from peak to peak, from crag to crag, across steaming valley and valley; iron-grey at first, then faintly tinged with rose, which grew warmer and richer and deeper every moment.

‘It’s a-goin’ to be one of the finest sunrises ever seed,’ said the Gypsy girl.  ‘Dordi! the Gorgios come to see our sunrises,’ she continued, with the pride of an owner of Snowdon.  ’You know this is the only way to see the hills.  You may ride up the Llanberis side in a go-cart.’

Racked with anxiety as I was.  I found it a relief during the ascent to listen to the Gypsy’s talk about Winifred.  She gave me a string of reminiscences about her that enchained, enchanted, and yet harrowed me.  A strong friendship had already sprung up between me and my companion; and I was led to tell her about the cross and the curse, the violation of my father’s tomb and its disastrous consequences.  She was evidently much awed by the story.