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.