diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 13454-0.txt | 19530 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/13454-8.txt | 19919 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/13454-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 378953 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/13454.txt | 19919 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/13454.zip | bin | 0 -> 378813 bytes |
8 files changed, 59384 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/13454-0.txt b/13454-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..23bc99b --- /dev/null +++ b/13454-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,19530 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13454 *** + +AYLWIN + +With Two Appendices, One Containing a Note on the Character of +D'arcy; the Other a Key to the Story, Reprinted from _Notes and +Queries_ + +by + +THEODORE WATTS-DUNTON + +Author of 'The Coming of Love: Rhona Boswell's Story,' etc. etc. + + + + + + + +TO +C. J. R. +IN REMEMBRANCE OF SUNNY DAYS AND STARLIT NIGHTS +WHEN WE RAMBLED TOGETHER ON CRUMBLING CLIFFS THAT +ARE NOW AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA +THIS EDITION OF A STORY WHICH HAS BEEN A LINK BETWEEN US +IS INSCRIBED + + + +CAUGHT IN THE EBBING TIDE + +A REMINISCENCE OF RAXTOX CLIFFS + +The mightiest Titan's stroke could not withstand + An ebbing tide like this. These swirls denote + How wind and tide conspire. I can but float +To the open sea and strike no more for land. +Farewell, brown cliffs, farewell, beloved sand + Her feet have pressed--farewell, dear little boat + Where Gelert,[Footnote] calmly sitting on my coat, +Unconscious of my peril, gazes bland! + +All dangers grip me save the deadliest, fear: + Yet these air-pictures of the past that glide-- + These death-mirages o'er the heaving tide-- +Showing two lovers in an alcove clear, + Will break my heart. I see them and I hear +As there they sit at morning, side by side. + +[Footnote: A famous swimming dog.] + + +THE VISION + +_With Barton elms behind--in front the sea, + Sitting in rosy light in that alcove, +They hear the first lark rise o'er Raxton Grove: +'What should I do with fame, dear heart?' says he, +'You talk of fame, poetic fame, to me + Whose crown is not of laurel but of love-- + To me who would not give this little glove +On this dear hand for Shakespeare's dower in fee. + +While, rising red and kindling every billow, + The sun's shield shines 'neath many a golden spear, +To lean with you, against this leafy pillow, + To murmur words of love in this loved ear-- +To feel you bending like a bending willow, + This is to be a poet--this, my dear!'_ + +O God, to die and leave her--die and leave + The heaven so lately won!--And then, to know + What misery will be hers--what lonely woe!-- +To see the bright eyes weep, to see her grieve +Will make me a coward as I sink, and cleave + To life though Destiny has bid me go. + How shall I bear the pictures that will glow +Above the glowing billows as they heave? + +One picture fades, and now above the spray + Another shines: ah, do I know the bowers + Where yon sweet woman stands--the woodland flowers, +In that bright wreath of grass and new-mown hay-- + That birthday wreath I wove when earthly hours +Wore angel-wings,--till portents brought dismay? + +Shall I turn coward here who sailed with Death + Through many a tempest on mine own North Sea, + And quail like him of old who bowed the knee-- +Faithless--to billows of Genesereth? +Did I turn coward when my very breath + Froze on my lips that Alpine night when He + Stood glimmering there, the Skeleton, with me, +While avalanches rolled from peaks beneath? + +Each billow bears me nearer to the verge + Of realms where she is not--where love must wait. +If Gelert, there, could hear, no need to urge + That friend, so faithful, true, affectionate, + To come and help me, or to share my fate. +Ah! surely I see him springing through the surge. + [_The dog, plunging into the tide and striking + towards his master with immense strength, + reaches him and swims round him._] + +Oh, Gelert, strong of wind and strong of paw, + Here gazing like your namesake, 'Snowdon's Hound,' + When great Llewelyn's child could not be found, +And all the warriors stood in speechless awe-- +Mute as your namesake when his master saw + The cradle tossed--the rushes red around-- + With never a word, but only a whimpering sound +To tell what meant the blood on lip and jaw! + +In such a strait, to aid this gaze so fond, + Should I, brave friend, have needed other speech +Than this dear whimper? Is there not a bond + Stronger than words that binds us each to each?-- +But Death has caught us both. 'Tis far beyond + The strength of man or dog to win the beach. + +Through tangle-weed--through coils of slippery kelp + Decking your shaggy forehead, those brave eyes + Shine true--shine deep of love's divine surmise +As hers who gave you--then a Titan whelp!-- +I think you know my danger and would help!-- + See how I point to yonder smack that lies + At anchor--Go! His countenance replies. +Hope's music rings in Gelert's eager yelp! + [_The dog swims swiftly away down the tide._] + +Now, life and love and death swim out with him! + If he should reach the smack, the men will guess + The dog has left his master in distress. +She taught him in these very waves to swim-- +'The prince of pups,' she said, 'for wind and limb'-- + And now those lessons come to save--to bless. + + +ENVOY + +(_The day after the rescue: Gelert and his master walking along +the sand._) + +'Twas in no glittering tourney's mimic strife,-- + 'Twas in that bloody fight in Raxton Grove, + While hungry ravens croaked from boughs above, +And frightened blackbirds shrilled the warning fife-- +'Twas there, in days when Friendship still was rife. + Mine ancestor who threw the challenge-glove + Conquered and found his foe a soul to love, +Found friendship--Life's great second crown of life. + +So I this morning love our North Sea more + Because he fought me well, because these waves +Now weaving sunbows for us by the shore + Strove with me, tossed me in those emerald caves + That yawned above my head like conscious graves-- +I love him as I never loved before. + + + +PREFACE TO THIS EDITION + +The heart-thought of this hook being the peculiar doctrine in Philip +Aylwin's _Veiled Queen_, and the effect of it upon the fortunes +of the hero and the other characters, the name 'The Renascence of +Wonder' was the first that came to my mind when confronting the +difficult question of finding a name for a book that is at once a +love-story and an expression of a creed. But eventually I decided, +and I think from the worldly point of view wisely, to give it simply +the name of the hero. + +The important place in the story, however, taken by this creed did +not escape the most acute and painstaking of the critics. Madame +Galimberti, for instance, in the elaborate study of the book which +she made in the Rivista d' Italia, gave great attention to its +central idea: so did M. Maurice Muret, in the _Journal des +Débats_; so did M. Henri Jacottet in _La Semaine Littéraire_. +Mr. Baker, again, in his recently published work on fiction, +described _Aylwin_ as 'an imaginative romance of modern days, +the moral idea of which is man's attitude in face of the unknown,' +or, as the writer puts it, 'the renascence of wonder.' With regard to +the phrase itself, in the introduction to the latest edition of +Aylwin--the twenty-second edition--I made the following brief reply +to certain questions that have been raised by critics both in England +and on the Continent concerning it. The phrase, I said, 'The +Renascence of Wonder,' + + Is used to express that great revived movement of the soul of man + which is generally said to have begun with the poetry of + Wordsworth, Scott, Coleridge, and others, and after many varieties + of expression reached its culmination in the poems and pictures of + Rossetti. The phrase 'The Renascence of Wonder' merely indicates + that there are two great impulses governing man, and probably not + man only but the entire world of conscious life--the impulse of + acceptance--the impulse to take unchallenged and for granted all + the phenomena of the outer world as they are, and the impulse to + confront these phenomena with eyes of inquiry and wonder. + +The painter Wilderspin says to Henry Aylwin, 'The one great event of +my life has been the reading of _The Veiled Queen_, your +father's hook of inspired wisdom upon the modern Renascence of Wonder +in the mind of man.' And further on he says that his own great +picture symbolical of this renascence was suggested by Philip +Aylwin's vignette. Since the original writing of Aylwin, many years +ago, I have enlarged upon its central idea in the _Encyclopaedia +Britannica_ and in the introductory essay to the third volume of +Chambers's _Cyclopædia of English Literature_, and in other +places. Naturally, therefore, the phrase has been a good deal +discussed. Quite lately Dr. Robertson Nicoll has directed attention +to the phrase, and he has taken it as a text of a remarkable +discourse upon the 'Renascence of Wonder in Religion.' I am tempted +to quote some of his words:-- + + Amongst the Logia recently discovered by the explorers of the Egypt + Fund, there is one of which part was already known to have occurred + in the Gospel according to the Hebrews. It runs as follows:--'Let + not him that seeketh cease from his search until he find, and when + he finds he shall wonder: wondering he shall reach the kingdom, and + when he reaches the kingdom he shall have rest.'...We believe that + Butler was one of the first to share in the Renascence of Wonder, + which was the renascence of religion....Men saw once more the + marvel of the universe and the romance of man's destiny. They + became aware of the spiritual world, of the supernatural, of the + lifelong struggle of the soul, of the power of the unseen. + +The words quoted by Dr. Nicoll might very appropriately be used as a +motto for _Aylwin_ and also for its sequel _The Coming of +Love: Rhona Boswells Story_. + + + + +PREFACE TO THE TWENTY-SECOND EDITION OF 1904 + +Nothing in regard to Aylwin has given me so much pleasure as the way +in which it has been received both by my Welsh friends and my Romany +friends. I little thought, when I wrote it, that within three years +of its publication the gypsy pictures in it would be discoursed upon +to audiences of 4000 people by a man so well equipped to express an +opinion on such a subject as the eloquent and famous 'Gypsy Smith,' +and described by him as 'the most trustworthy picture of Romany life +in the English language, containing in Sinfi Lovell the truest +representative of the Gypsy girl.' + +And as regards my Welsh readers, they have done me the honour of +suggesting that an illustrated edition of the work would be prized by +all lovers of 'Beautiful Wales.' + +Although such an edition is, I am told, an expensive undertaking, my +friend and publisher, Mr. Blackett, sees his way, he tells me, to +bringing it out. + +Since the first appearance of the book there have been many +interesting discussions by Welsh readers, in various periodicals, +upon the path taken by Sinfi Lovell and Aylwin in their ascent of +Snowdon. + +A very picturesque letter appeared in _Notes and Queries_ on May +3rd, 1902, signed _C. C. B._ in answer to a query by E. W., +which I will give myself the pleasure of quoting because it describes +the writer's ascent of Snowdon (accompanied by a son of my old friend +Harry Owen, late of Pen-y-Gwryd) along a path which was almost the +same as that taken by Aylwin and Sinfi Lovell, when he saw the same +magnificent spectacle that was seen by them:-- + + The mist was then clearing (it was in July) and in a few moments + was entirely gone. So marvellous a transformation scene, and so + immense a prospect, I have never beheld since. For the first and + only time in my life I saw from one spot almost the whole of North + and Mid-Wales, a good part of Western England, and a glimpse of + Scotland and Ireland. The vision faded all too quickly, but it was + worth walking thirty-three or thirty-four miles, as I did that day, + for even a briefer view than that. + +Referring to Llyn Coblynau this interesting writer says-- + + Only from Glaslyn would the description in _Aylwin_ of y Wyddfa + standing out against the sky 'as narrow and as steep as the sides of + an acorn' be correct, but from the north and north-west sides of + Glaslyn this answers with quite curious exactness to the appearance + of the mountain. We must suppose the action of the story to have + taken place before the revival of the copper-mining industry on + Snowdon. + +With regard, however, to the question here raised, I can save myself +all trouble by simply quoting the admirable remarks of _Sion o +Ddyli_ in the same number of _Notes and Queries:_-- + + None of us are very likely to succeed in placing this llyn, because + the author of _Aylwin_, taking a privilege of romance often + taken by Sir Walter Scott before him, probably changed the + landmarks in idealising the scene and adapting it to his story. It + may be, indeed, that the Welsh name given to the llyn in the book + is merely a rough translation of the gipsies' name for it, the + 'Knockers' being gnomes or goblins of the mine; hence 'Coblynau' + equals goblins. If so, the name itself can give us no clue unless + we are lucky enough to secure the last of the Welsh gipsies for a + guide. In any case, the only point from which to explore Snowdon + for the small llyn, or perhaps llyns (of which Llyn Coblynau is a + kind of composite ideal picture), is no doubt, as E. W. has + suggested, Capel Curig; and I imagine the actual scene lies about a + mile south from Glaslyn, while it owes something at least of its + colouring in the book to that strange lake. The 'Knockers,' it must + be remembered, usually depend upon the existence of a mine near by, + with old partly fallen mine-workings where the dropping of water or + other subterranean noises produce the curious phenomenon which is + turned to such imaginative account in the Snowdon chapters of + _Aylwin_. + +There is another question--a question of a very different +kind--raised by several correspondents of _Notes and Queries_, +upon which I should like to say a word--a question as to _The +Veiled Queen_ and the use therein of the phrase 'The Renascence of +Wonder'--a phrase which has been said to 'express the artistic motif +of the book.' The _motif_ of the book, however, is one of +emotion primarily, or it would not have been written. + +There is yet another subject upon which I feel tempted to say a few +words. D'Arcy in referring to Aylwin's conduct in regard to the cross +says:-- + + You were simply doing what Hamlet would have done in such + circumstances--what Macbeth would have done, and what he would have + done who spoke to the human heart through their voices. All men, I + believe, have Macbeth's instinct for making 'assurance doubly + sure,' and I cannot imagine the man who, entangled as you were in a + net of conflicting evidence--the evidence of the spiritual and the + evidence of the natural world--would not, if the question were that + of averting a curse from acting on a beloved mistress, have done as + you did. That paralysis of Hamlet's will which followed when the + evidence of two worlds hung in equipoise before him, no one can + possibly understand better than I. + +Several critics have asked me to explain these words. Of course, +however, the question is much too big and much too important to +discuss here. I will merely say that Shakespeare having decided in +the case of 'Macbeth' to adopt the machinery he found in Holinslied, +and in the case of 'Hamlet' the machinery he found in the old +'Hamlet,' seems to have set himself the task of realising the +situation of a man oscillating between the evidence of two worlds, +the physical and the spiritual--a man in each case unusually +sagacious, and in each case endowed with the instinct for 'making +assurance doubly sure'--the instinct which seems, from many passages +in his dramas, to have been a special characteristic of the poet's +own, such for instance as the words in _Pericles_: + + + For truth can never be confirm'd enough, + Though doubts did ever sleep. + +Why is it that, in this story, Hamlet, the moody moraliser upon +charnel-houses and mouldy bones, is identified with the jolly companion +of the Mermaid, the wine-bibbing joker of the Falcon, and the Apollo +saloon? It is because Hamlet is the most elaborately-painted character +in literature. It is because the springs of his actions are so +profoundly touched, the workings of his soul so thoroughly laid bare, +that we seem to know him more completely than we know our most intimate +friends. It is because the sea which washes between personality and +personality is here, for once, rolled away, and we and this Hamlet +touch, soul to soul. That is why we ask whether such a character can +be the mere evolvement of the artistic mind at work. That is why we +exclaim: 'The man who painted Hamlet must have been painting himself.' +The perfection of the dramatist's work betrays him. For, really and +truly, no man can paint another, but only himself, and what we call +'character painting' is, at the best, but a poor mixing of painter and +painted, a 'third something' between these two; just as what we call +colour and sound are born of the play of undulation upon organism. + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE SNOWDON EDITION OF 1901 + +Though written many years ago this story was, for certain personal +reasons easy to guess, withheld from publication--withheld, as _The +Times_ pointed out, because 'with the _Dichtung_ was mingled +a good deal of _Wahrheit_,' But why did I still delay in +publishing it after these reasons for withholding it had passed away? +This is a question that has often been put to me both in print and in +conversation. And yet I should have imagined that the explanation was +not far to seek. It was simply diffidence; in other words it was that +infirmity which, though generally supposed to belong to youth, comes +to a writer, if it comes at all, with years. Undoubtedly there was a +time in my life when I should have leapt with considerable rashness +into the brilliant ranks of our contemporary novelists. But this was +before I had reached what I will call the diffident period in the +life of a writer. And then, again, I had often been told by George +Borrow, and also by my friend Francis Groome, the great living +authority on Romany matters, that there was in England no interest in +Gypsies. Altogether then, had it not been for the unexpected success +of _The Coming of Love_, a story of Gypsy life, it is doubtful +whether I should not have delayed the publication of _Aylwin_ +until the great warder of the gates of day we call Death should close +his portal behind me and shut me off from these dreams. However, I am +very glad now that I did publish it; for it has brought around me a +number of new friends--brought them at a time when new friends were +what I yearned for--a time when, looking back through this vision of +my life, I seem to be looking down an Appian way--a street of +tombs--the tombs of those I loved. No wonder, then, that I was deeply +touched by the kindness with which the Public and the Press received +the story. + +One critic did me the honour of remarking upon what he called the +'absolute newness of the plot and incidents of _Aylwin_.' He +seems to have forgotten, however, that one incident--the most daring +incident in the book--that of the rifling of a grave for treasure +--is not new: it will at once remind folk-lorists of certain +practices charged against our old Norse invaders. And students of +Celtic and Gaelic literature are familiar with the same idea. Quite, +lately, indeed, Mr. Alfred Nutt, in his analysis of the Gaelic +_Agallamh na Senorach_, or 'Colloquy of the Elders,' has made +some interesting remarks upon the subject. + + +As far as I remember, the only objection made by the critics to +_Aylwin_ was that I had imported into a story written for +popular acceptance too many speculations and breedings upon the +gravest of all subjects--the subject of love at struggle with death. +My answer to this is that although it did win a great popular +acceptance I never expected it to do so. I knew the book to be an +expression of idiosyncrasy, and no man knows how much or how little +his idiosyncrasy is in harmony with the temper of his time, until his +book has been given to the world. It was the story of _Aylwin_ +that was born of the speculations upon Love and Death; it was not the +speculations that were pressed into the story; without these +speculations there could have been no story to tell. Indeed the chief +fault which myself should find with _Aylwin_, if my business +were to criticise it, would be that it gives not too little but too +much prominence to the strong incidents of the story--a story written +as a comment on love's warfare with death--written to show that +confronted as a man is every moment by signs of the fragility and +brevity of human life, the great marvel connected with him is not +that his thoughts dwell frequently upon the unknown country beyond +Orion where the beloved dead are loving us still, but that he can +find time and patience to think upon anything else--a story written +further to show how terribly despair becomes intensified when a man +has lost--or thinks he has lost--a woman whose love was the only +light of his world--when his soul is torn from his body, as it were, +and whisked off on the wings of the 'viewless winds' right away +beyond the farthest star, till the universe hangs beneath his feet a +trembling point of twinkling light, and at last even this dies away +and his soul cries out for help in that utter darkness and +loneliness. + +It was to depict this phase of human emotion that both _Aylwin_ +and its sequel, _The Coming of Love_, were written. They were +missives from the lonely watch-tower of the writer's soul, sent out +into the strange and busy battle of the world--sent out to find, if +possible, another soul or two to whom the watcher was, without +knowing it, akin. + + +And now as to my two Gypsy heroines, the Sinfi Lovell of +_Aylwin_ and the Rhona Boswell of _The Coming of Love_. +Although Borrow belonged to a different generation from mine, I +enjoyed his intimate friendship in his later years--during the time +when he lived in Hereford Square; and since his death I have written +a good deal about him--both in prose and in verse--in the Athenæum, +in the Encyclopædia Britannica, and in other places. When, some seven +or eight years ago, I brought out an edition of _Lavengro_ (in +Messrs. Ward, Lock & Co.'s Minerva Library), I prefaced that +delightful book by a few desultory remarks upon Sorrow's Gypsy +characters. On that occasion I gave a slight sketch of the most +remarkable 'Romany Chi' that had ever been met with in the part of +East Anglia known to Borrow and myself--Sinfi Lovell. I described +her playing on the crwth. I discussed her exploits as a boxer, and I +contrasted her in many ways with the glorious Anglo-Saxon road-girl +Isopel Berners. Since the publication of _Aylwin_ and _The +Coming of Love_ I have received very many letters from English and +American readers inquiring whether 'the Gypsy girl described in the +introduction to _Lavenyro_ is the same as the Sinfi Lovell of +_Aylwin_,' and also whether 'the Rhona Boswell that figures in +the prose story is the same as the Rhona of _The Coming of +Love_?' The evidence of the reality of Rhona so impressed itself +upon the reader that on the appearance of Rhona's first letter in the +_Athenæum_, where the poem was printed in fragments, I got among +other letters one from the sweet poet and adorable woman Jean +Ingelow, who was then very ill,--near her death indeed,--urging me to +tell her whether Rhona's love-letter was not a versification of a +real letter from a real Gypsy to her lover. As it was obviously +impossible for me to answer the queries individually, I take this +opportunity of saying that the Sinfi of _Aylwin_ and the Sinfi +described in my introduction to _Lavengro_ are one and the same +character--except that the story of the child Sinfi's weeping for the +'poor dead Gorgios' in the churchyard, given in the Introduction, is +really told by the Gypsies, not of Sinfi, but of Rhona Boswell. Sinfi +is the character alluded to in the now famous sonnet describing 'the +walking lord of Gypsy lore,' Borrow, by his most intimate friend Dr. +Gordon Hake. + + 'And he, the walking lord of Gypsy lore! + How often 'mid the deer that grazed the Park, + Or in the fields and heath and windy moor, + Made musical with many a soaring lark, + Have we not held brisk commune with him there, + While Lavengro, then towering by your side, + With rose complexion and bright silvery hair, + Would stop amid his swift and lounging stride + To tell the legends of the fading race--. + As at the summons of his piercing glance, + Its story peopling his brown eyes and face, + While you called up that pendant of romance + To Petulengro with his boxing glory + Your Amazonian Sinfi's noble story?' + +Now that so many of the griengroes (horse-dealers), who form the +aristocracy of the Romany race, have left England for America, it is +natural enough that to some readers of _Aylwin_ and _The +Coming of Love_ my pictures of Romany life seem a little +idealised. The _Times_, in a kindly notice of _The Coming of +Love_, said that the kind of Gypsies there depicted are a very +interesting people, 'unless the author has flattered them unduly.' +Those who best knew the Gypsy women of that period will be the first +to aver that I have not flattered them unduly. But I have fully +discussed this matter, and given a somewhat elaborate account of +Sinfi Lovell and Rhona Boswell, in the introduction to the fifth +edition of _The Coming of Love: Rhona Boswell's Story._ + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAP. + +1. THE CYMRIC CHILD +2. THE MOONLIGHT CROSS OF THE GNOSTICS +3. WINIFRED'S DUKKERIPEN +4. THE LEADER OF THE AYLWINIANS +5. HAROUN-AL-RASCHID THE PAINTER +6. THE SONG OF Y WYDDFA +7. SINFI'S DUKKERIPEN +8. ISIS AS HUMOURIST +9. THE PALACE OF NIN-KI-GAL +10. BEHIND THE VEIL +11. THE IRONY OF HEAVEN +12. THE REVOLVING CAGE OF CIRCUMSTANCE +13. THE MAGIC OF SNOWDON +14. SINFI'S COUP DE THÉÂTRE +15. THE DAUGHTER OF SNOWDON'S STORY +16. D'ARCY'S LETTER +17. THE TWO DUKKERIPENS +18. THE WALK TO LLANBERIS +APPENDICES + + + +AYLWIN + +THE RENASCENCE OF WONDER + + + +I + +THE CYMRIC CHILD + + +I + +'Those who in childhood have had solitary communings with the sea +know the sea's prophecy. They know that there is a deeper sympathy +between the sea and the soul of man than other people dream of. They +know that the water seems nearer akin than the land to the spiritual +world, inasmuch as it is one and indivisible, and has motion, and +answers to the mysterious call of the winds, and is the writing +tablet of the moon and stars. When a child who, born beside the sea, +and beloved by the sea, feels suddenly, as he gazes upon it, a dim +sense of pity and warning; when there comes, or seems to come, a +shadow across the waves, with never a cloud in the sky to cast it; +when there comes a shuddering as of wings that move in dread or ire, +then such a child feels as if the bloodhounds of calamity are let +loose upon him or upon those he loves; he feels that the sea has told +him all it dares tell or can. And, in other moods of fate, when +beneath a cloudy sky the myriad dimples of the sea begin to sparkle +as though the sun were shining bright upon them, such a child feels, +as he gazes at it, that the sea is telling him of some great joy near +at hand, or, at least, not far off.' + +One lovely summer afternoon a little boy was sitting on the edge of +the cliff that skirts the old churchyard of Raxton-on-Sea. He was +sitting on the grass close to the brink of the indentation cut by the +water into the horse-shoe curve called by the fishermen Mousetrap +Cove; sitting there as still as an image of a boy in stone, at the +forbidden spot where the wooden fence proclaimed the crumbling hollow +crust to be specially dangerous--sitting and looking across the sheer +deep gulf below. + +Flinty Point on his right was sometimes in purple shadow and +sometimes shining in the sun; Needle Point on his left was sometimes +in purple shadow and sometimes shining in the sun; and beyond these +headlands spread now the wide purple, and now the wide sparkle of the +open sea. The very gulls, wheeling as close to him as they dared, +seemed to be frightened at the little boy's peril. Straight ahead he +was gazing, however--gazing so intently that his eyes must have been +seeing very much or else very little of that limitless world of light +and coloured shade. On account of certain questions connected with +race that will be raised in this narrative, I must dwell a little +while upon the child's personal appearance, and especially upon his +colour. Natural or acquired, it was one that might be almost called +unique; as much like a young Gypsy's colour as was compatible with +respectable descent, and yet not a Gypsy's colour. A deep undertone +of 'Romany brown' seemed breaking through that peculiar kind of ruddy +golden glow which no sunshine can give till it has itself been +deepened and coloured and enriched by the responsive kisses of the +sea. + +Moreover, there was a certain something in his eyes that was not +Gypsy-like--a something which is not uncommonly seen in the eyes of +boys born along that coast, whether those eyes be black or blue or +grey; a something which cannot be described, but which seems like a +reflex of the daring gaze of that great land-conquering and daring +sea. Very striking was this expression as he momentarily turned his +face landward to watch one of the gulls that had come wheeling up the +cliffs towards the flinty grey tower of the church--the old deserted +church, whose graveyard the sea had already half washed away. As his +eyes followed the bird's movements, however, this daring sea-look +seemed to be growing gradually weaker and weaker. At last it faded +away altogether, and by the time his face was turned again towards +the sea, the look I have tried to describe was supplanted by such a +gaze as that gull would give were it hiding behind a boulder with a +broken wing. A mist of cruel trouble was covering his eyes, and soon +the mist had grown into two bright glittering pearly tears, which, +globing and trembling, larger and larger, were at length big enough +to drown both eyes; big enough to drop, shining, on the grass: big +enough to blot out altogether the most brilliant picture that sea and +sky could make. For that little boy had begun to learn a lesson which +life was going to teach him fully--the lesson that shining sails in +the sunny wind, and black trailing bands of smoke passing here and +there along the horizon, and silvery gulls dipping playfully into the +green and silver waves (nay, all the beauties and all the wonders of +the world), make but a blurred picture to eyes that look through the +lens of tears. However, with a brown hand brisk and angry, he brushed +away these tears, like one who should say, 'This kind of thing will +never do.' + +Indeed, so hardy was the boy's face--tanned by the sun, hardened and +bronzed by the wind, reddened by the brine--that tears seemed +entirely out of place there. The meaning of those tears must be fully +accounted for, and if possible fully justified, for this little boy +is to be the hero of this story. In other words, he is Henry Aylwin; +that is to say, myself: and those who know me now in the full vigour +of manhood, a lusty knight of the alpenstock of some repute, will be +surprised to know what troubled me. They will be surprised to know +that owing to a fall from the cliff I was for about two years a +cripple. + +This is how it came about. Rough and yielding as were the paths, +called 'gangways,' connecting the cliffs with the endless reaches of +sand below, they were not rough enough, or yielding enough, or in any +way dangerous enough for me. + +So I used to fashion 'gangways' of my own; I used to descend the +cliff at whatsoever point it pleased me, clinging to the lumps of +sandy earth with the prehensile power of a spider-monkey. Many a +warning had I had from the good fishermen and sea-folk, that some day +I should fall from top to bottom--fall and break my neck. A laugh was +my sole answer to these warnings; for, with the possession of perfect +health, I had inherited that instinctive belief in good luck which +perfect health will often engender. + +However, my punishment came at last. The coast, which is yielding +gradually to the sea, is famous for sudden and gigantic landslips. +These landslips are sometimes followed, at the return of the tide, by +a further fall, called a 'settlement.' The word 'settlement' explains +itself, perhaps. No matter how smooth the sea, the return of the tide +seems on that coast to have a strange magnetic power upon the land, +and the debris of a landslip will sometimes, though not always, +respond to it by again falling and settling into new and permanent +shapes. + +Now, on the morning after a great landslip, when the coastguard, +returning on his beat, found a cove where, half-an-hour before, he +had left his own cabbages growing, I, in spite of all warnings, had +climbed the heap of _débris_ from the sands, and while I was +hallooing triumphantly to two companions below--the two most +impudent-looking urchins, bare-footed and unkempt, that ever a +gentleman's son forgathered with--a great mass of loose earth +settled, carrying me with it in its fall. I was taken up for dead. + +It was, however, only a matter of broken ribs and a damaged leg. And +there is no doubt that if the local surgeon had not been allowed to +have his own way, I should soon have been cured. As it was I became a +cripple. The great central fact--the very pivot upon which all the +wheels of my life have since been turning--is that for two years +during the impressionable period of childhood I walked with crutches. + +It must not be supposed that my tears--the tears which at this moment +were blotting out the light and glory of the North Sea in the +sun--came from the pain I was suffering. They came from certain +terrible news, which even my brother Frank had been careful to keep +from me, but which had fallen from the lips of my father--the news +that I was not unlikely to be a cripple for life. From that moment I +had become a changed being, solitary and sometimes morose. I would +come and sit staring at the ocean, meditating on tilings in general, +but chiefly on things connected with cripples, asking myself, as now, +whether life would be bearable on crutches. + +At my heart were misery and anger and such revolt as is, I hope, +rarely found in the heart of a child. I had sat down outside the +rails at this most dangerous point along the cliff, wondering whether +or not it would crumble beneath me. For this lameness coming to me, +who had been so active, who had been, indeed, the little athlete and +pugilist of the sands, seemed to have isolated me from my +fellow-creatures to a degree that is inconceivable to me now. A +stubborn will and masterful pride made me refuse to accept a disaster +such as many a nobler soul than mine has, I am conscious, borne with +patience. My nature became soured by asking in vain for sympathy at +home; my loneliness drove me--silent, haughty, and aggressive--to +haunt the churchyard, and sit at the edge of the cliff, gazing +wistfully at the sea and the sands which could not be reached on +crutches. Like a wounded sea-gull, I retired and took my trouble +alone. + +How could I help taking it alone when none would sympathise with me? +My brother Frank called me 'The Black Savage,' and I half began to +suspect myself of secret impulses of a savage kind. Once I heard my +mother murmur, as she stroked Frank's rosy cheeks and golden curls, +'My poor Henry is a strange, proud boy!' Then, looking from my +crutches to Frank's beautiful limbs, she said, 'How providential that +it was not the elder! Providence is kind.' She meant kind to the +House of Aylwin. I often wonder whether she guessed that I heard her. +I often wonder whether she knew how I had loved her. + +This is how matters stood with me on that summer afternoon, when I +sat on the edge of the cliff in a kind of dull, miserable dream. +Suddenly, at the moment when the huge mass of clouds had covered the +entire surface of the water between Flinty Point and Needle Point +with their rich purple shadow, it seemed to me that the waves began +to sparkle and laugh in a joyful radiance which they were making for +themselves. And at that same moment an unwonted sound struck my ear +from the churchyard behind me--a strange sound indeed in that +deserted place--that of a childish voice singing. + +Was, then, the mighty ocean writing symbols for an unhappy child to +read? My father, from whose book, _The Veiled Queen_, the extract +with which this chapter opens is taken, would, unhesitatingly, +have answered 'Yes.' + +'Destiny, no doubt, in the Greek drama concerns itself only with the +great,' says he, in that wonderful book of his. 'But who are the +great? With the unseen powers, mysterious and imperious, who govern +while they seem not to govern all that is seen, who are the great? In +a world where man's loftiest ambitions are to higher intelligences +childish dreams, where his highest knowledge is ignorance, where his +strongest strength is to heaven a derision--who are the great? Are +they not the few men and women and children on the earth who greatly +love?' + + +II + +So sweet a sound as that childish voice I had never heard before. +I held my breath and listened. + +Into my very being that child-voice passed, and it was a new music +and a new joy. I can give the reader no notion of it, because there +is not in nature anything with which I can compare it. The blackcap +has a climacteric note, just before his song collapses and dies, so +full of pathos and tenderness that often, when I had been sitting on +a gate in Wilderness Road, it had affected me more deeply than any +human words. But here was a note sweet and soft as that, and yet +charged with a richness no blackcap's song had ever borne, because no +blackcap has ever felt the joys and sorrows of a young human soul. + +The voice was singing in a language which seemed strange to me then, +but has been familiar enough since: + + Bore o'r cymwl aur, + Eryri oedd dy gaer. + Bren o wyllt a gwar, + Gwawr ysbrydau.[Footnote] + + [Footnote: Morning of the golden cloud, + Eryrl was thy castle, + King of the wild and tame, + Glory of the spirits of air!] + +[Eryri--the Place of Eagles, i.e. Snowdon.] + +Intense curiosity now made me suddenly forget my troubles. I +scrambled back through the trees not tar from that spot and looked +around. There, sitting upon a grassy grave, beneath one of the +windows of the church, was a little girl, somewhat younger than +myself apparently. With her head bent back she was gazing up at the +sky and singing, while one of her little hands was pointing to a tiny +cloud that hovered like a golden feather over her head. The sun, +which had suddenly become very bright, shining on her glossy hair +(for she was bare-headed) gave it a metallic lustre, and it was +difficult to say what was the colour, dark bronze or black. So +completely absorbed was she in watching the cloud to which her +strange song or incantation seemed addressed, that she did not +observe me when I rose and went towards her. Over her head, high up +in the blue, a lark that was soaring towards the same gauzy cloud was +singing, as if in rivalry. As I slowly approached the child, I could +see by her forehead (which in the sunshine gleamed like a globe of +pearl), and especially by her complexion, that she was uncommonly +lovely, and I was afraid lest she should look down before I got close +to her, and so see my crutches before her eyes encountered my face. +She did not, however, seem to hear me coming along the grass (so +intent was she with her singing) until I was close to her, and +throwing my shadow over her. Then she suddenly lowered her head and +looked at me in surprise. I stood transfixed at her astonishing +beauty. No other picture has ever taken such possession of me. In its +every detail it lives before me now. Her eyes (which at one moment +seemed blue grey, at another violet) were shaded by long black +lashes, curving backward in a most peculiar way, and these matched +in hue her eyebrows, and the tresses that were tossed about her +tender throat and were quivering in the sunlight. + +All this picture I did not take in at once; for at first I could see +nothing but those quivering, glittering, changeful eyes turned up +into my face. Gradually the other features (especially the sensitive +full-lipped mouth) grew upon me as I stood silently gazing. Here +seemed to me a more perfect beauty than had ever come to me in my +loveliest dreams of beauty beneath the sea. Yet it was not her beauty +perhaps, so much as the look she gave me, that fascinated me, melted +me. + +As she gazed in my face there came over hers a look of pleased +surprise, and then, as her eyes passed rapidly down my limbs and up +again, her face was not overshadowed with the look of disappointment +which I had waited for--yes, waited for, like a pinioned criminal for +the executioner's uplifted knife; but the smile of pleasure was still +playing about the little mouth, while the tender young eyes were +moistening rapidly with the dews of a kind of pity that was new to +me, a pity that did not blister the pride of the lonely wounded +sea-gull, but soothed, healed, and blessed. + +Remember that I was a younger son--that I was swarthy--that I was a +cripple--and that my mother--had Frank. It was as though my heart +must leap from my breast towards that child. Not a word had she +spoken, but she had said what the little maimed 'fighting Hal' +yearned to hear, and without _knowing_ that he yearned. + +I restrained myself, and did not yield to the feeling that impelled +me to throw my arms round her neck in an ecstasy of wonder and +delight. After a second or two she again threw back her head to gaze +at the golden cloud. + +'Look!' said she, suddenly clapping her hands, 'it's over both of us +now.' + +'What is it?' I said. + +'The Dukkeripen,' she said, 'the Golden Hand. Sinfi and Rhona both +say the Golden Hand brings luck: what _is_ luck?' + +I looked up at the little cloud which to me seemed more like a golden +feather than a golden hand. But I soon bent my eyes down again to +look at her. + +While I stood looking at her, the tall figure of a man came out of +the church. This was Tom Wynne. Besides being the organist of Raxton +'New Church,' Tom was also (for a few extra shillings a week) +custodian of the 'Old Church,' this deserted pile within whose +precincts we now were. Tom's features wore an expression of virtuous +indignation which puzzled me, and evidently frightened the little +girl. He locked the door, and walked unsteadily towards us. He seemed +surprised to see me there, and his features relaxed into a bland +civility. + +'This is (hiccup) Master Aylwin, Winifred,' he said. + +The child looked at me again with the same smile. Her alarm had fled. + +'This is my little daughter Winifred,' said Tom, with a pompous bow. + +I was astonished. I never knew that Wynne had a daughter, for +intimate as he and I had become, he had actually never mentioned his +daughter before. + +'My _only_ daughter,' Tom repeated. + +He then told me, with many hiccups, that, since her mother's death +(that is to say from her very infancy), Winifred had been brought up +by an aunt in Wales. 'Quite a lady, her aunt is,' said Tom proudly, +'and Winifred has come to spend a few weeks with her father.' + +He said this in a grandly paternal tone--a tone that seemed meant to +impress upon her how very much obliged she ought to feel to him for +consenting to be her father; and, judging from the look the child +gave him, she did feel very much obliged. + +Suddenly, however, a thought seemed to come back upon Tom, a thought +which my unexpected appearance on the scene had driven from his +drunken brain. The look of virtuous indignation returned, and staring +at the little girl through glazed eyes, he said with the tremulous +and tearful voice of a deeply injured parent, + +'Winifred, I thought I heard you singing one of them heathen Gypsy +songs that you learnt of the Gypsies in Wales.' + +'No, father,' said she, 'it was the song they sing in Shire-Carnarvon +about the golden cloud over Snowdon and the spirits of the air.' + +'Yes,' said Tom, 'but a little time ago you were singing a Gypsy +song--a downright heathen Gypsy song. I heard it about half an hour +ago when I was in the church.' + +The beautiful little head drooped in shame. + +'I'm s'prised at you, Winifred. When I come to think whose daughter +you are.--mine!--I'm s'prised at you,' continued Torn, whose virtuous +indignation waxed with every word. + +'Oh. I'm so sorry!' said the child. 'I won't do it any more.' + +This contrition of the child's only fanned the flame of Tom's +virtuous indignation. + +'Here am I,' said he, 'the most (hiccup) respectable man in two +parishes,--except Master Aylwin's father, of course,--here am I, the +organ-player for the Christianest of all the Christian churches along +the coast, and here's my daughter sings heathen songs just like a +Gypsy or a tinker. I'm s'prised at you, Winifred.' + +I had often seen Tom in a dignified state of liquor, but the pathetic +expression of injured virtue that again overspread his face so +changed it, that I had some difficulty myself in realising how +entirely the tears filling his eyes and the grief at his heart were +of alcoholic origin. And as to the little girl, she began to sob +piteously. + +'Oh dear, oh dear, what a wicked girl I am !' said she. + +This exclamation, however, aroused my ire against Tom; and as I +always looked upon him as my special paid henchman, who, in return +for such services as supplying me with tiny boxing-gloves, and +fishing-tackle, and bait, during my hale days, and tame rabbits now +that I was a cripple, mostly contrived to possess himself of my +pocket-money, I had no hesitation in exclaiming, + +'Why, Tom, you know you're drunk, you silly old fool!' + +At this Tom turned his mournful and reproachful gaze upon me, and +began to weep anew. Then he turned and addressed the sea, uplifting +his hand in oratorical fashion:-- + +'Here's a young gentleman as I've been more than a father to--yes, +more than a father to--for when did his own father ever give him a +ferret-eyed rabbit, a real ferret-eyed rabbit thoroughbred?' + +'Why, I gave you one of my five-shilling pieces for it,' said I; 'and +the rabbit was in a consumption and died in three weeks.' + +But Tom still addressed the sea. + +'When did his own father give him,' said he, 'the longest thigh-bone +that the sea ever washed out of Raxton churchyard?' + +'Why, I gave you _two_ of my five-shilling pieces for +_that_,' said I, 'and next day you went and borrowed the bone, +and sold it over again to Dr. Munro for a quart of beer.' + + +'When did his own father _give_ him a beautiful skull for a +money-box, and make an oak lid to it, and keep it for him because his +mother wouldn't have it in the house?' + +'Ah, but where's the money that was in it, Tom? Where's the money?' +said I, flourishing one of my crutches, for I was worked up to a +state of high excitement when I recalled my own wrongs and Tom's +frauds, and I forgot his relationship to the little girl. 'Where are +the bright new half-crowns that were _in_ the money-box when I +left it with you--the half-crowns that got changed into pennies, Tom? +Where are they? What's the use of having a skull for a money-box if +it's got no money in it? That's what _I_ want to know, Tom!' + +'Here's a young gentleman,' said Tom, 'as I've done all these things +for, and how does he treat me? He says, "Why, Tom, you know you're +drunk, you silly old fool."' + +At this pathetic appeal the little girl sprang up and turned towards +me with the ferocity of a young tigress. Her little hands were +tightly clenched, and her eyes seemed positively to be emitting blue +sparks. Many a bold boy had I encountered on the sands before my +accident, and many a fearless girl, but such an impetuous antagonist +as this was new. I leaned on my crutches, however, and looked at her +unblenchingly. + +'You wicked English boy, to make my father cry,' said she, as soon as +her anger allowed her to speak. 'If you were not lame I'd--I'd--I'd +hit you.' + +I did not move a muscle, but stood lost in a dream of wonder at her +amazing loveliness. The fiery flush upon her face and neck, the +bewitching childish frown of anger corrugating the brow, the dazzling +glitter of the teeth, the quiver of the full scarlet lips above and +below them, turned me dizzy with admiration. + +Her eyes met mine, and slowly the violet flames in them began to +soften. Then they died away entirely as she murmured, + +'You wicked English boy, if you hadn't--beautiful--beautiful eyes, +I'd kill you.' + +By this time, however, Tom had entirely forgotten his grievance +against me, and gazed upon Winifred in a state of drunken wonderment. + +'Winifred,' he said, in a tone of sorrowful reproach, 'how dare you +speak like that to Master Aylwin, your father's best friend, the only +friend your poor father's got in the world, the friend as I give +ferret-eyed rabbits to, and tame hares, and beautiful skulls? Beg his +pardon this instant, Winifred. Down on your knees and beg my friend's +pardon this instant, Winifred.' + +The poor little girl stood dazed, and was actually sinking down on +her knees on the grass before me. + +I cried out in acute distress, + +'No, no, no, no, Tom, pray don't let her--dear little girl! beautiful +little girl!' + +'Very well, Master Aylwin,' said Tom grandly, 'she sha'n't if you +don't like, but she _shall_ go and kiss you and make it up.' + +At this the child's face brightened, and she came and laid her little +red lips upon mine. Velvet lips, I feel them now, soft and warm--I +feel them while I write these lines. + +Tom looked on for a moment, and then left us, blundering away towards +Raxton, most likely to a beer-house. + +He told the child that she was to go home and mind the house until he +returned. He gave her the church key to take home. We two were left +alone in the churchyard, looking at each other in silence, each +waiting for the other to speak. At last she said, demurely, +'Good-bye; father says I must go home.' + +And she walked away with a business-like air towards the little white +gate of the churchyard, opening upon what was called 'The Wilderness +Road.' When she reached the gate she threw a look over her shoulder +as she passed through. It was that same look again--wistful, frank, +courageous. I immediately began to follow her, although I did not +know why. When she saw this she stopped for me. I got up to her, and +then we proceeded side by side in perfect silence along the dusty +narrow road, perfumed with the scent of wild rose and honeysuckle. +Suddenly she stopped and said, + +'I have left my hat on the tower,' and laughed merrily at her own +heedlessness. + +She ran back with an agility which I thought I had never seen +equalled. It made me sad to see her run so fast, though once how it +would have delighted me! I stood still; but when she reached the +church porch she again looked over her shoulder, and again I +followed her:--I did not in the least know why. That look I think +would have made me follow her through lire and water--it _has_ made +me follow her through fire and water. When I reached her she put the +great black key in the lock. She had some difficulty in turning the +key, but I did not presume to offer such services as mine to so +superior a little woman. After one or two fruitless efforts with both +her hands, each attempt accompanied with a little laugh and a little +merry glance in my face, she turned the key and pushed open the door. +We both passed into the ghastly old church, through the green glass +windows of which the sun was shining, and illuminating the broken +remains of the high-hacked pews on the opposite side. She ran along +towards the belfry, and I soon lost her, for she passed up the stone +steps, where I knew I could not follow her. + +In deep mortification I stood listening at the bottom of the +steps--listening to those little feet crunching up the broken +stones--listening to the rustle of her dress against the narrow stone +walls, until the sounds grew fainter and fainter, and then ceased. + +Presently I heard her voice a long way up, calling out, 'Little boy, +if you go outside you will see something.' I guessed at once that she +was going to exhibit herself on the tower, where, before my accident, +I and my brother Frank were so fond of going. I went outside the +church and stood in the graveyard, looking up at the tower. In a +minute I saw her on it. Her face was turned towards me, gilded by the +golden sunshine. I could, or thought I could, even at that distance, +see the flash of the bright eyes looking at me. Then a little hand +was put over the parapet, and I saw a dark hat swinging by its +strings, as she was waving it to me. Oh! that I could have climbed +those steps and done that! But that exploit of hers touched a strange +chord within me. Had she been a boy, I could have borne it in a +defiant way; or had she been any other girl than this, my heart would +not have sunk as it now did when I thought of the gulf between her +and me. Down I sat upon a grave, and looked at her with a feeling +quite new to me. + +This was a phase of cripplehood I had not contemplated. She soon left +the tower, and made her appearance at the church door again. After +locking it, which she did by thrusting a piece of stick through the +handle of the key, she came and stood over me. But I turned my eyes +away and gazed across the sea, and tried to deceive myself into +believing that the waves, and the gulls, and the sails dreaming on +the sky-line, and the curling clouds of smoke that came now and then +from a steamer passing Dullingham Point were interesting me deeply. +There was a remoteness about the little girl now, since I had seen +her unusual agility, and I was trying to harden my heart against her. +Loneliness I felt was best for me. She did not speak, but stood +looking at me. I turned my eyes round and saw that she was looking at +my crutches, which were lying beside me aslant the green hillock +where I sat. Her face had turned grave and pitiful. + +'Oh! I forgot,' she said. 'I wish I had not run away from you now.' + +'You may run where you like for what I care,' I said. But the words +were very shaky, and I had no sooner said them than I wished them +back. She made no reply for some time, and I sat plucking the +wild-flowers near my hands, and gazing again across the sea. At last +she said, + +'Would you like to come in our garden? It's such a nice garden.' + +I could resist her no longer. That voice would have drawn me had she +spoken in the language of the Toltecs or the lost Zamzummin. To +describe it would of course be impossible. The novelty of her accent, +the way in which she gave the 'h' in 'which,' 'what,' and 'when,' the +Welsh rhythm of her intonation, were as bewitching to me as the +_timbre_ of her voice. And let me say here, once for all, that when I +sat down to write this narrative, I determined to give the English +reader some idea of the way in which, whenever her emotions were +deeply touched, her talk would run into soft Welsh diminutives; but I +soon abandoned the attempt in despair. I found that to use colloquial +Welsh with effect in an English context is impossible without +wearying English readers and disappointing Welsh ones. + +Here, indeed, is one of the great disadvantages under which this book +will go out to the world. While a story-teller may reproduce, by +means of orthographical devices, something of the effect of Scottish +accent, Irish accent, or Manx accent, such devices are powerless to +represent Welsh accent. + +I got up in silence, and walked by her side out of the churchyard +towards her father's cottage, which was situated between the new +church and the old, and at a considerable distance from the town of +Raxton on one side, and the village of Graylingham on the other. Her +eager young limbs would every moment take her ahead of me, for she +was as vigorous as a fawn. But by the time she was half a yard in +advance, she would recollect herself and fall back; and every time +she did so that same look of tenderness would overspread her face. + +At last she said, 'What makes you stare at me so, little boy?' + +I blushed and turned my head another way, for I had been feasting my +eyes upon her complexion, and trying to satisfy myself as to what it +really was like. Indeed, I thought it quite peculiar then, when I had +seen so few lovely faces, as I always did afterwards, when I had seen +as many as most people. It was, I thought, as though underneath the +sunburn the delicate pink tint of the hedge-rose had become mingled +with the bloom of a ripening peach, and yet it was like neither peach +nor rose. But this tone, whatever it was, did not spread higher than +the eyebrows. The forehead was different. It had a singular kind of +pearly look, and her long slender throat was almost of the same tone: +no, not the same, for there was a transparency about her throat +unlike that of the forehead. This colour I was just now thinking +looked something like the inside of a certain mysterious shell upon +my father's library shelf. + +As she asked me her question she stopped, and looked straight at me, +opening her eyes wide and round upon me. This threw a look of +innocent trustfulness over her bright features which I soon learnt +was the chief characteristic of her expression and was altogether +peculiar to herself. I knew it was very rude to stare at people as I +had been staring at her, and I took her question as a rebuke, +although I still was unable to keep my eyes off her. But it was not +merely her beauty and her tenderness that had absorbed my attention. +I had been noticing how intensely she seemed to enjoy the delights of +that summer afternoon. As we passed along that road, where sea-scents +and land-scents were mingled, she would stop whenever the sunshine +fell full upon her face; her eyes would sparkle and widen with +pleasure, and a half-smile would play about her lips, as if some one +had kissed her. Every now and then she would stop to listen to the +birds, putting up her finger, and with a look of childish wisdom say, +'Do you know what that is? That's a blackbird--that's a +thrush--that's a goldfinch. Which eggs do you like best--a +goldfinch's or a bullfinch's? _I_ know which _I_ like best.' + + + +III + +While we were walking along the road a sound fell upon my ears which +in my hale days never produced any very unpleasant sensations, but +which did now. I mean the cackling of the field people of both sexes +returning from their day's work. These people knew me well, and they +liked me, and I am sure they had no idea that when they ran past me +on the road their looks and nods gave me no pleasure, but pain; and I +always tried to avoid them. As they passed us they somewhat modified +the noise they were making, but only to cackle, chatter, and bawl and +laugh at each other the louder after we were left behind. + +'Don't you wish,' said the little girl meditatively, 'that men and +women had voices more like the birds?' The idea had never occurred to +me before, but I understood in a moment what she meant, and +sympathised with her. Nature of course has been unkind to the lords +and ladies of creation in this one matter of voice. + +'Yes, I do.' I said. + +'I'm so glad you do,' said she. 'I've so often thought what a pity it +is that God did not let men and women talk and sing as the birds do. +I believe He did let 'em talk like that in the Garden of Eden, don't +you?' + +'I think it very likely,' I said. + +'Men's voices are so rough mostly and women's voices are so sharp +mostly, that it's sometimes a little hard to love 'em as you love the +birds.' + +'It is,' I said. + +'Don't you think the poor birds must sometimes feel very much +distressed at hearing the voices of men and women, especially when +they all talk together?' + +The idea seemed so original and yet so true that it made me laugh; we +both laughed. At that moment there came a still louder, noisier +clamour of voices from the villagers. + +'The rooks mayn't mind.' said the little girl, pointing upwards to +the large rookery close by. whence came a noise marvellously like +that made by the field-workers. 'But I'm afraid the blackbirds and +thrushes can't like it. I do so wonder what they say about it.' + +After we had left the rookery behind us and the noise of the +villagers had grown fainter, we stood and listened to the blackbirds +and thrushes. She looked so joyous that I could not help saying, +'Little girl, I think you're very happy, ain't you?' + +'Not quite,' she said, as though answering a question she had just +been putting to herself. 'There's not enough wind.' + +'Then do _you_ like wind?' I said in surprise and delight. + +'Oh, I love it!' she said rapturously. 'I can't be quite happy +without wind, can _you_? I like to run up the hills in the wind and +sing to it. That's when I am happiest. I couldn't live long without +the wind.' + +Now it had been a deep-rooted conviction of mine that none but the +gulls and I really and truly liked the wind. 'Fishermen are muffs,' I +used to say; 'they talk about the wind as though it were an enemy, +just because it drowns one or two of 'em now and then. Anybody can +like sunshine; muffs can like sunshine; it takes a gull or a man to +like the wind!' + +Such had been my egotism. But here was a girl who liked it! We +reached the gate of the garden in front of Tom's cottage, and then +we both stopped, looking over the neatly-kept flower-garden and the +white thatched cottage behind it, up the walls of which the +grape-vine leaves were absorbing the brilliance of the sunlight and +softening it. Wynne was a gardener as well as an organist, and had +gardens both in the front and at the back of his cottage, which was +surrounded by fruit-trees. Drunkard as he was, his two passions, +music and gardening, saved him from absolute degradation and ruin. +His garden was beautifully kept, and I have seen him deftly pruning +his vines when in such a state of drink that it was wonderful how he +managed to hold a priming-knife. Winifred opened the gate, and we +passed in. Wynne's little terrier, Snap, came barking to meet us. + +There was an air of delicious peacefulness about the garden. This +also tended to soften that hardness of temper which only cripples who +have once rejoiced in their strength can possibly know, I hope. + +'I like to see you look so,' said the little girl, as I melted +entirely under these sweet influences. 'You looked so cross before +that I was nearly afraid of you.' + +And she took hold of my hand, not hesitatingly, but frankly. The +little fingers clasped mine. I looked at them. They were much more +sun-tanned than her face. The little rosy nails were shaped like +filbert nuts. + +'Why were you not _quite_ afraid of me?' I asked. + +'Because,' said she, 'under the crossness I saw that you had great +love-eyes like Snap's all the while. _I_ saw it!' she said, and +laughed with delight at her great wisdom. Then she said with a sudden +gravity, 'You didn't mean to make my father cry, did you, little +boy?' + +'No,' I said. + +'And you love him?' said she. + +I hesitated, for I had never told a lie in my life. My business +relations with Tom had been of an entirely unsatisfactory character, +and the idea of any one's loving the beery scamp presented itself in +a ludicrous light. I got out of the difficulty by saying, + +'I mean to love Tom very much, if I can.' + +The answer did not appear to be entirely satisfactory to the little +girl, but it soon seemed to pass from her mind. + +That was the most delightful afternoon I had ever spent in my life. +We seemed to become old friends in a few minutes, and in an hour or +two she was the closest friend I had on earth. Not all the little +shoeless friends in Raxton, not all the beautiful sea-gulls I loved, +not all the sunshine and wind upon the sands, not all the wild bees +in Graylingham Wilderness, could give the companionship this child +could give. My flesh tingled with delight. (And yet all the while I +was not Hal the conqueror of ragamuffins, but Hal the cripple!) + +'Shall we go and get some strawberries?' she said, as we passed to +the back of the house. 'They are quite ripe.' + +But my countenance fell at this. I was obliged to tell her that I +could not stoop. + +'Ah! but I can, and I will pluck them and give them to you. I should +like to do it. Do let me, there's a good boy.' + +I consented, and hobbled by her side to the verge of the +strawberry-beds. But when I foolishly tried to follow her, I stuck +ignominiously, with my crutches sunk deep in the soft mould of rotten +leaves. Here was a trial for the conquering hero of the coast. I +looked into her face to see if there was not, at last, a laugh upon +it. That cruel human laugh was my only dread. To everything but +ridicule I had hardened myself; but against that I felt helpless. + +I looked into her face to see if she was laughing at my lameness. No: +her brows were merely knit with anxiety as to how she might best +relieve me. This surpassingly beautiful child, then, had evidently +accepted me--lameness and all--crutches and all--as a subject of +peculiar interest. + +How I loved her as I put my hand upon her firm little shoulders, +while I extricated first one crutch and then another, and at last got +upon the hard path again! + +When she had landed me safely, she returned to the strawberry-bed, +and began busily gathering the fruit, which she brought to me in her +sunburnt hands, stained to a bright pink by the ripe fruit. Such a +charm did she throw over me, that at last I actually consented to her +putting the fruit into my mouth. + +She then told me with much gravity that she knew how to 'cure +crutches.' There was, she said, a famous 'crutches-well' in Wales, +kept by St. Winifred (most likely an aunt of hers, being of the same +name), whose water could 'cure crutches.' When she came from Wales +again she would be sure to bring a bottle of 'crutches-water.' She +told me also much about Snowdon (near which she lived), and how, on +misty days, she used to 'make believe that she was the Lady of the +Mist, and that she was going to visit the Tywysog o'r Niwl, the +Prince of the Mist; it was _so_ nice!' + +I do not know how long we kept at this, but the organist returned and +caught her in the very act of feeding me. To be caught in this +ridiculous position, even by a drunken man, was more than I could +bear, however, and I turned and left. + +As I recall that walk home along Wilderness Road. I live it as +thoroughly as I did then. I can see the rim of the sinking sun +burning fiery red low down between the trees on the left, and then +suddenly dropping out of sight. I can see on the right the lustre of +the high-tide sea. I can hear the 'che-eu-chew, che-eu-chew.' of the +wood-pigeons in Graylingham Wood. I can smell the very scent of the +bean flowers drinking in the evening dews. I did not feel that I was +going home as the sharp gables of the Hall gleamed through the +chestnut-trees. My home for evermore was the breast of that lovely +child, between whom and myself such a strange delicious sympathy had +sprung up. I felt there was no other home for me. + +'Why, child, where _have_ you been?' said my mother, as she saw me +trying to slip to bed unobserved, in order that happiness such as +mine might not he brought into coarse contact with servants. 'Child, +where _have_ you been, and what has possessed you? Your face is +positively shining with joy, and your eyes, they alarm me, they are +so unnaturally bright. I hope you are not going to have an illness.' + +I did not tell her, but went to my room, which now was on the ground +floor, and sat watching the rooks sailing home in the sunset till the +last one had gone, and the voices of the blackbirds grew less +clamorous, and the trees began to look larger and larger in the dusk. + + + +IV + +The next day I was again at Wynne's cottage, and the next, and the +next. We two, Winifred and I, used to stroll out together through the +narrow green lanes, and over the happy fields, and about the +Wilderness and the wood, and along the cliffs, and then down the +gangway at Flinty Point (the only gangway that was firm enough to +support my crutches, Winifred aiding me with the skill of a woman and +the agility of a child), and then along the flints below Flinty +Point. She rapidly fell into my habits. She was an adept in finding +birds' nests and wild honey; and though she would not consent to my +taking the eggs, she had not the same compunction about the honey, +and she only regretted with me that we could not be exactly like St. +John, as Graylingham Wilderness yielded no locusts to eat with the +honey. Winifred, though the most healthy of children, had a passion +for the deserted church on the cliffs, and for the desolate +churchyard. + +It was one of those flint and freestone churches that are sprinkled +along the coast. Situated as it was at the back of a curve cut by the +water into the end of a peninsula running far into the sea, the tower +looked in the distance like a lighthouse. I observed after the first +day of our meeting that Winifred never would mount the tower steps +again. And I knew why. So delicate were her feelings, so acute did +her kind little heart make her, that she would not mount steps which +I could never mount. + +Not that Winifred looked upon me as her little lover. There was not +much of the sentimental in her. Once when I asked her on the sands if +I might be her lover, she took an entirely practical view of the +question, and promptly replied 'certumly,' adding, however, like the +wise little woman I always found her, that she 'wasn't _quite_ sure +she knew what a lover was, but if it was anything _very_ nice she +should certumly like _me_ to be it.' + +It was the child's originality of manner that people found so +captivating. One of her many little tricks and ways of an original +quaintness was her habit of speaking of herself in the third person, +like the merest baby. 'Winifred likes this,' 'Winifred doesn't like +that,' were phrases that had an irresistible fascination for me. + +Another fascinating characteristic of hers was connected with her +superstitions. Whenever on parting with her I exclaimed, as I often +did. 'Oh, what a lovely day we have had, Winifred!' she would look +expectantly in my eyes, murmuring, 'And--and--' This meant that I +was to say. 'And shall have many more such days,' as though there +were a prophetic power in words. + +She talked with entire seriousness of having seen in a place called +Fairy Glen in Wales the Tylwyth Teg. And when I told her of Oberon +and Titania, and _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, whose acquaintance I +had made through Lamb's _Tales from Shakespeare_, she said that one +bright moonlight night she, in the company of two of her Gypsy +playmates, Rhona Boswell and a girl called Sinfi, had visited this +same Fairy Glen, when they saw the Fairy Queen alone on a ledge of +rock, dressed in a green kirtle with a wreath of golden leaves about +her head. + +Another subject upon which I loved to hear her talk was that of the +'Knockers' of Snowdon, the guardians of undiscovered copper mines, +who sometimes by knocking on the rocks gave notice to individuals +they favoured of undiscovered copper, but these favoured ones were +mostly children who chanced to wander up Snowdon by themselves. She +had, she said, not only heard but seen these Knockers. They were +thick-set dwarfs, as broad as they were long. One Knocker, an elderly +female, had often played with her on the hills. Knockers' Llyn, +indeed, was very much on Winifred's mind. When a golden cloud, like +the one on which she was singing her song at the time I first saw +her, shone over a person's head at Knockers' Llyn, it was a sign of +good fortune. She was sure that it was so, because the Welsh people +believed it, and so did the Gypsies. + +Not a field or a hedgerow was unfamiliar to us. We were most learned +in the structure of birds' nests, in the various colours of birds' +eggs, and in insect architecture. In all the habits or the wild +animals of the meadows we were most profound little naturalists. + +Winifred could in the morning, after the dews were gone, tell by the +look of a buttercup or a daisy what kind of weather was at hand, when +the most cunning peasant was deceived by the hieroglyphics of the +sky, and the most knowing seaman could 'make nothing of the wind.' + +Her life, in fact, had been spent in the open air. + +There were people staying at the Hall, and they and Frank engrossed +all my mother's attention. At least, she did not appear to notice my +absence from home. + +My brother Frank, however, was not so unobservant (he was two years +older than myself). Early one morning, before breakfast, curiosity +led him to follow me, and he came upon us in Graylingham Wood as we +were sitting under a tree close to the cliff, eating the wild honey +we had found in the Wilderness. + +He stood there swinging a ground-ash cane, and looking at her in a +lordly, patronising way, the very personification no doubt of boyish +beauty. I became troubled to see him look so handsome. The contrast +between him and a cripple was not fair, I thought, as I observed an +expression of passing admiration on little Winifred's face. Yet I +thought there was not the pleased smile with which she had first +greeted me, and a weight of anxiety was partially removed, for it had +now become quite evident to me that I was as much in love as any +swain of eighteen--it had become quite evident that without Winifred +the poor little shattered sea-gull must perish altogether. She was +literally my world. + +Frank came and sat down with us, and made himself as agreeable as +possible. He tried to enter into our play, but we were too slow for +him; he soon became restless and impatient. 'Oh bother!' he said, and +got up and left us. + +I drew a sigh of relief when he was gone. + +'Do you like my brother, Winifred?' I said. + +'Yes.' she said. + +'Why?' + +'Because he is so pretty and so nimble. I believe he could run +up--' and then she stopped; but I knew what the complete sentence +would have been. She was going to say: 'I believe he could run up the +gangways without stopping to take breath.' + +Here was a stab; but she did not notice the effect of her unfinished +sentence. Then a question came from me involuntarily. + +'Winifred,' I said, 'do you like him as well as you like me?' + +'Oh no,' she said, in a tone of wonderment that such a question +should be asked. + +'But _I_ am not pretty and--' + +'Oh, but you _are_!' she said eagerly, interrupting me. + +'But,' I said, with a choking sensation in my voice, 'I am lame.' and +I looked at the crutches lying among the ferns beside me. + +'Ah, but I like you all the better for being lame,' she said, +nestling up to me. + +'But you like nimble boys,' I said, 'such as Frank.' + +She looked puzzled. The anomaly of liking nimble boys and crippled +boys at the same time seemed to strike her. Yet she felt it _was_ so, +though it was difficult to explain it. + +'Yes, I _do_ like nimble boys,' she said at last, plucking with her +fingers at a blade of grass she held between her teeth. 'But I think +I like lame boys better, that is if they are--if they are--_you_.' + +I gave an exclamation of delight. But she was two years younger than +I, and scarcely, I suppose, understood it. + +'He is very pretty,' she said meditatively, 'but he has not got +love-eyes like you and Snap, and I don't think I could love any +little boy so very, _very_ much now who wasn't lame.' + +She loved me in spite of my lameness; she loved me because I was +lame, so that if I had not fallen from the cliffs, if I had sustained +my glorious position among the boys of Raxton and Graylingham as +'Fighting Hal.' I might never have won little Winifred's love. Here +was a revelation of the mingled yarn of life, that I remember struck +me even at that childish age. + +I began to think I might, in spite of the undoubted crutches, resume +my old place as the luckiest boy along the sands. She loved me +because I was lame! Those who say that physical infirmity does not +feminise the character have not had my experience. No more talk for +me that morning. In such a mood as that there can be no talk. I sat +in a silent dream, save when a sweet sob of delight would come up +like a bubble from the heaving waters of my soul. I had passed into +that rare and high mood when life's afflictions are turned by love to +life's deepest, holiest joys. I had begun early to learn and know the +gamut of the affections. + +'When, you leave me here and go home to Wales you will never forget +me. Winnie?' + +'Never, never!' she said, as she helped me from the ferns which were +still as wet with dew as though it had been raining. 'I will think of +you every night before I go to sleep, and always end my prayers as I +did that first night after I saw you so lonely in the churchyard.' + +'And how is that, Winnie?' I said, as she adjusted my crutches for +me. + +'After I've said "Amen," I always say, "And, dear Lord Jesus, don't +forget to love dear Henry, who can't get up the gangways without me," +and I will say that every night as long as I live.' + +From that morning I considered her altogether mine. Her speaking of +me as the 'dear little English boy,' however, as she did, marred the +delight her words gave me. I had from the first observed that the +child's strongest passion was a patriotism of a somewhat fiery kind. +The word English in her mouth seemed some-times a word of reproach: +it was the name of the race that in the past had invaded her sacred +Snowdonia. + +I afterwards learnt that her aunt was answerable for this senseless +prejudice. + +'Winnie,' I said, 'don't you wish I was a Welsh boy?' + +'Oh yes,' she said.'Don't you?' I made no answer. + +She looked into my face and said, 'And yet I don't think I could love +a Welsh boy as I love you.' + +She then repeated to me a verse of a Welsh song, which of course I +did not understand a word of until she told me what it meant in +English. + +It was an address to Snowdon, and ran something like this-- + + Mountain-wild Snowdon for me! + Sweet silence there for the harp, + Where loiter the ewes and the lambs + In the moss and the rushes, + Where one's song goes sounding up! + And the rocks re-echo it higher and higher + In the height where the eagles live. + +In this manner about six weeks slid away, and Winnie's visit to her +father came to an end. I ask, how can people laugh at the sorrows of +childhood? The bitterness of my misery as I sat with that child on +the eve of her departure for Wales (which to me seemed at the extreme +end of the earth) was almost on a par with anything I have since +suffered, and that is indeed saying a great deal. It was in Wynne's +cottage, and I sat on the floor with her wet cheeks close to mine, +saying, 'She leaves me alone.' Tom tried to console me by telling me +that Winifred would soon come back. + +'But when?' I said. + +'Next year,' said Tom. + +He might as well have said next century, for any consolation it gave +me. The idea of a year without her was altogether beyond my grasp. It +seemed infinite. + +Week after week passed, and month after month, and little Winifred +was always in my thoughts. Wynne's cottage was a sacred spot to me, +and the organist the most interesting man in the world. I never tired +of asking him questions about her, though he, as I soon found, knew +scarcely anything concerning her and what she was doing, and cared +less; for love of drink had got thoroughly hold of him. + +Letters were scarce visitants to him, and I believe he never used to +hear from Wales at all. + + +V + +At the end of the year she came again, and I had about a year of +happiness. I was with her every day, and every day she grew more +necessary to my existence. + +It was at this time that I made the acquaintance of Winnie's friend +Rhona Boswell, a charming little Gypsy girl. Graylingham Wood and +Rington Wood, like the entire neighbourhood, were favourite haunts of +a superior kind of Gypsies called Griengroes, that is to say, +horse-dealers. Their business was to buy ponies in Wales and sell +them in the Eastern Counties and the East Midlands. Thus it was that +Winnie had known many of the East Midland Gypsies in Wales. Compared +with Rhona Boswell, who was more like a fairy than a child, Winnie +seemed quite a grave little person. Rhona's limbs were always on the +move, and the movement sprang always from her emotions. Her laugh +seemed to ring through the woods like silver bells, a sound that it +was impossible to mistake for any other. The laughter of most Gypsy +girls is full of music and of charm, and yet Rhona's laughter was a +sound by itself, and it was no doubt this which afterwards when she +grew up attracted my kinsman, Percy Aylwin, towards her. It seemed to +emanate not from her throat merely, but from her entire frame. If one +could imagine a strain of merriment and fun blending with the +ecstatic notes of a skylark soaring and singing, one might form some +idea of the laugh of Rhona Boswell. Ah, what days they were! Rhona +would come from Gypsy Dell, a romantic place in Rington Manor some +miles off, especially to show us some newly devised coronet of +flowers that she had been weaving for herself. This induced Winnie to +weave for herself a coronet of sea-weeds, and an entire morning was +passed in grave discussion as to which coronet excelled the other. + +A year had made a great difference in Winnie, a much greater +difference than it had made in me. Her aunt, who was no doubt a +well-informed woman, had been attending to her education. In a single +year she had taught her French so thoroughly that Winnie was in the +midst of Dumas' _Monte Cristo_. And apart from education in the +ordinary acceptation of the word, the expansion of her mind had been +rapid and great. + +Her English vocabulary was now far above mine, far above that of most +children of her age. This I discovered was owing to the fact that a +literary English lady of delicate health, Miss Dalrymple, whose +slender means obliged her to leave the Capel Curig Hotel, had been +staying at the cottage as a lodger. She had taken I the greatest +delight in educating Winnie. Of course Winnie lost as well as gained +by this change. She was a little Welsh rustic no longer, but a little +lady unusually well equipped, as far as education went, for taking +her place in the world. + +She understood fully now what I meant when I told her that we were +betrothed, and again showed that mingling of child-wisdom and poetry +which characterised her by suggesting that we should be married on +Snowdon, and that her wedding-dress should be the green kirtle and +wreath of the fairies, and that her bridesmaids should be her Gypsy +friends, Sinfi Lovell and Rhona Boswell. This I acceded to with +alacrity. + +It was now that I fully realised for the first time her extraordinary +gift of observation and her power of describing what she had observed +in the graphic language that can never be taught save by the teacher +Nature herself. In a dozen picturesque words she would flash upon my +very senses the scene that she was describing. So vividly did she +bring before my eyes the scenery of North Wales, that when at last I +went there it seemed quite familiar to me. And so in describing +individuals, her pictures of them were like photographs. + +Graylingham Wood was our favourite haunt. This place and the +adjoining piece of waste land, called the Wilderness, had for us all +the charms of a primeval forest. Here in the early spring we used to +come and watch the first violet uplifting its head from the dark green +leaves behind the mossy boles, and listen for the first note of the +blackcap, the nightingale's herald, and the first coo of the +wood-pigeons among the bare and newly-budding trees. And here, in the +summer, we used to come as soon as breakfast was over with as many +story-books as we could carry, and sit on the grass and revel in the +wonders of the _Arabian Nights_. the _Tales of the Genii_, and the +_Seven Champions of Christendom_, till all the leafy alleys of the +wood were glittering with armed knights and Sinbads and Aladdins. The +story of Camaralzaman and Badoura was, I think, Winnie's chief +favourite. She could repeat it almost word for word. The idea of the +two lovers being carried to each other by genii through the air and +over the mountain tops had an especial fascination for her. I was +Camaralzaman and she Badoura, and the genii would carry me to her as +she sat by Knockers' Llyn, or, as she called it, Llyn Coblynau, on +the lower slopes of Snowdon. + +But above all, there was the sea on the other side of the wood, of +the presence of which we were always conscious--the sea, of which we +could often catch glimpses between the trees, lending a sense of +freedom and wonder and romance such as no landscape can lend. Our +great difficulty of course was in connection with my lameness. Few +children would have tried to convey a pair of crutches and a lame leg +down the cliff to the long level brown sands that lay, farther than +the eye could reach, stretched beneath miles on miles of brown +crumbling cliffs, whose jagged points and indentations had the kind +of spectral look peculiar to that coast. For, alas! the holy water +Winifred brought did not 'cure the crutches.' Yet we used to master +the difficulty, always selecting the firmer gangway at Flinty Point, +and always waiting, before making the attempt, until there was no one +near to see us toiling down. Once down on the hard sands just below +the Point, we were happy, paddling and enjoying ourselves till the +sunset told us that we must begin our herculean labour of hoisting +the leg and crutches up the gangway back to the wood. I have +performed many athletic feats since my cure, but nothing comparable +to the feat of climbing with crutches up those paths of yielding +sand. Once we found on the sand a newly shot gull. She took it in her +lap and mourned over it. I guessed who was the poor bird's +murderer--her father! + +We knew Nature in all her moods. In every aspect we found the sea, +the wood, and the meadows happy and beautiful--in winter as in +summer, in storm as in sunshine. In the foggy days of November, in +the sharp winds of March, in the snows and sleet and rain of +February, we used to hear other people complain of the bad weather; +we used to hear them fret for change. But we despised them for their +ignorance where we were so learned. There was no bad weather for us. +In March, what so delicious as breasting together the brave wind, and +feeling it tingle our cheeks and beat our ears till we laughed at +each other with joy? In rain, what so delicious as to stand under a +tree or behind a hedge and listen to the drops pattering overhead +among the leaves, and see the fields steaming up to meet them? Then +again the soft falling of snow upon the lonely fields, while the very +sheep looked brown against the whiteness gathering round them. All +beautiful to us two, and beloved! + + + +VI + +'But where was this little boy's mother all this time?' you naturally +ask; 'where was his father? In a word, who was he? and what were his +surroundings?' + +I will answer these queries in as brief a fashion as possible. + +My father, Philip Aylwin, belonged to a branch of an ancient family +which had been satirically named by another branch of the same family +'The Proud Aylwins.' + +It is a singular thing that it was the proud Aylwins who had a +considerable strain of Gypsy blood in their veins. My great-grandfather +had married Fenella Stanley, the famous Gypsy beauty, about whom so +much was written in the newspapers and magazines of that period. She +had previously when a girl of sixteen married a Lovell who died and +left a child. Fenella's portrait in the character of the Sibyl of +Snowdon was painted by the great portrait painter of that time. + +This picture still hangs in the portrait gallery of Raxton Hall. + +As a child it had an immense attraction for me, and no wonder, for it +was original to actual eccentricity. It depicted a dark young woman +of dazzling beauty standing at break of day among mountain scenery, +holding a musical instrument of the guitar kind, but shaped like a +violin, upon the lower strings of which she was playing with the +thumb of the left hand. + +Through the misty air were seen all kinds of shadowy shapes, whose +eyes were fixed on the player. I used to stand and look at this +picture by the hour together, fascinated by the strange beauty of the +singer's face and the mysterious, prophetic expression in the eyes. + +And I used to try to imagine what tune it was that could call from +the mountain air the 'flower sprites' and 'sunshine elves' of morning +on the mountain. + +Fenella Stanley seems in her later life to have set up as a positive +seeress, and I infer from certain family papers and diaries in my +possession that she was the very embodiment of the wildest Romany +beliefs and superstitions. + +I first became conscious of the mysterious links which, bound me to +my Gypsy ancestress by reading one of her letters to my +great-grandfather, who had taught her to write: nothing apparently +could have taught her to spell. It was written during a short stay +she was making away from him in North Wales. It described in the +simplest (and often the most uncouth) words that Nature-ecstasy which +the Romanies seem to feel in the woodlands. It came upon me like a +revelation, for it was the first time I had ever seen embodied in +words the sensations which used to come to me in Graylingham Wood or +on the river that ran through it. After long basking among the +cowslips, or beneath the whispering branches of an elm, whose shade I +was robbing from the staring cows around, or lying on my hack in a +boat on the river, listening to the birds and the insect hum and all +the magic music of summer in the woodlands, I used all at once to +feel as though the hand of a great enchantress were being waved +before me and around me. The wheels of thought would stop; all the +senses would melt into one, and I would float on a tide of +unspeakable joy, a tide whose waves were waves neither of colour, nor +perfume, nor melody, but new waters born of the mixing of these; and +through a language deeper than words and deeper than thoughts, I +would seem carried at last close to an actual consciousness--a +consciousness which, to my childish dreams, seemed drawing me close +to the bosom of a mother whose face would brighten into that of +Feuella. + +My father lived upon moderate means in the little seaside town of +Raxton. My mother was his second wife, a distant cousin of the same +name. She was not one of the 'Proud Aylwins,' and yet she must have +had more pride in her heart than all the 'Proud Aylwins' put +together. Her feeling in relation to the strain of Gypsy blood in the +family into which she had married was that of positive terror. She +associated the word 'Gypsy' with everything that is wild, passionate, +and lawless. + +One great cause undoubtedly of her partiality for Frank and her +dislike of me was that Frank's blue-eyed Saxon face showed no sign +whatever of the Romany strain, while my swarthy face did. + +As I write this, she lives before me with more vividness than my +father, for the reason that her character during my childhood, before +I came to know my father thoroughly--before I came to know what a +marvellous man he was--seemed to be a thousand times more vivid than +his. With her bright grey eyes, her patrician features, I shall see +her while memory lasts. The only differences that ever arose between +my father and my other were connected with the fact that my father +had a former wife. Now and then (not often) my mother would lose her +stoical self-command, and there would come from her an explosion of +jealous anger, stormy and terrible. This was on occasions when she +perceived bat my father's memory retained too vividly the impression +left on it of his love for the wife who was dead--dead, but a rival +still. My father lived in mortal fear of this jealousy. Yet my mother +was a devoted and a fond wife. I remember in especial the flash that +would come from her eyes, the fiery flush that would overspread her +face, whenever she saw my father open certain antique silver casket +which he kept in his escritoire when at home, and carried about with +him when travelling. The casket (I soon learned) contained momentos +of his first wife, between whom and himself there seems to have been +a deep natural sympathy such did not exist between my mother and him. +This first wife he had lost under peculiarly painful circum-stances, +which it is necessary that I should briefly narrate. She had been +drowned before his very eyes that cove beneath the church which I +have already described. + +This semicircular indentation at the end of the peninsula or headland +on which the church stood was specially dangerous in two ways. It was +a fatal spot where sea and land were equally treacherous. On the +sands the tide, and on the cliffs the landslip, imperilled the lives +of the unwary. Half, at least, of the churchyard had been condemned +as 'dangerous,' and this very same spot was the only one on the coast +where the pedestrian along the sands ran any serious risk of being +entrapped by the tide; for the peninsula on which the church stood +jutted out for a considerable distance into the sea, and then was +scooped out in the form of a boot-jack, and so caught the full force +of the waves. One corner, as already mentioned, was called Flinty +Point, the other Needle Point, and between these two points there was +no gangway within the semicircle up the wall of cliff. Indeed, within +the cove the cliff was perpendicular, or rather overhanging, as far +as such crumbling earth would admit of its overhanging. To reach a +gangway, a person inside the cove would have to leave the cliff wall +for the open sands, and pass round either Needle Point or Flinty +Point. Hence the cove was sometimes called Mousetrap Cove, because +when the tide reached so high as to touch these two points, a person +on the sands within the cove was caught as in a mousetrap, and the +only means of extrication was by boat from the sea. It was the +irresistible action of the sea upon the peninsula (called Church +Headland) that had doomed church and churchyard to certain +destruction. + +Dangerous as was this cove, there was something peculiarly +fascinating about it. The black, smooth, undulating boulders that +dotted the sand here and there formed the most delightful seats upon +which to meditate or read. It was a favourite spot with my father's +first wife, who had been a Swiss governess. She was a great reader +and student, but it was not till after her death that my father +became one. The poor lady was fond of bringing her books to the cove, +and pursuing her studies or meditations with the sound of the sea's +chime in her ears. My father, at that time I believe a simple, happy +country squire, but showing strong signs of his Romany ancestry, had +often warned her of the risk she ran, and one day he had the agony of +seeing her from the cliff locked in the cove, and drowning before his +eyes ere a boat could be got, while he and the coastguard stood +powerless to reach her. + +The effect of this shock demented my father for a time. How it was +that he came to marry again I could never understand. During my +childhood he had, as far as I could see, no real sympathy with +anything save his own dreams. In after years I came to know the +truth. He was kind enough in disposition, but he looked upon us, his +children, as his second wife's property, his dreams as his own. Once +every year he used to go to Switzerland and stay there for several +weeks; and, as the object of these journeys was evidently to revisit +the old spots made sacred to him by reminiscences of his romantic +love for his first wife, it may he readily imagined that they were +not looked upon with any favour by my mother. She never accompanied +him on these occasions, nor would she let Frank do so--another proof +of the early partiality she showed for my brother. As I was of less +importance, my father (previous to my accident) used to take me, to +my intense delight and enjoyment; but during the period of my +lameness he went to Switzerland alone. + +It was during one of my childish visits to Switzerland that I learnt +an important fact in connection with my father and his first +wife--the fact that since her death he had become a mystic and had +joined a certain sect of mystics founded by Lavater. + +This is how I came to know it. My attention had been arrested by a +book lying on my father's writing-table--a large book called '_The +Veiled Queen_, by Philip Aylwin'--and I began to read it. The +statements therein were of an astounding kind, and the idea of a +beautiful woman behind a veil completely fascinated my childish mind. +And the book was full of the most amazing stories collected from all +kinds of outlandish sources. One story, called 'The Flying Donkey of +the Ruby Hills,' riveted my attention so much that it possessed me, +and even now I feel that I can repeat every word of it. It was a +story of a donkey-driver, who, having lost his wife Alawiyah, went +and lived alone in the ruby hills of Badakhshan, where the Angel of +Memory fashioned for him out of his own sorrow and tears an image of +his wife. This image was mistaken by a townsman named Hasan for his +own wife, and Ja'afar was summoned before the Ka'dee. Afterwards, +when _The Veiled Queen_ came into my possession, I noticed that this +story was quoted for motto on the title-page: + +'Then quoth the Ka'dee, laughing until his grinders appeared: +"Rather, by Allah, would I take all the punishment thou dreadest, +thou most false donkey-driver of the Ruby Hills, than believe this +story of thine--this mad, mad story, that she with whom thou wast +seen was not the living wife of Hasan here (as these four legal +witnesses have sworn), but thine own dead spouse, Alawiyah, +refashioned for thee by the Angel of Memory out of thine own sorrow +and unquenchable fountain of tears." + +'Quoth Ja'afar, bowing low his head: "Bold is the donkey-driver, +O Ka'dee! and bold the Ka'dee who dares say what he will believe, +what disbelieve--not knowing in any wise the mind of Allah--not +knowing in any wise his own heart and what it shall some day +suffer."' + +This story so absorbed me that when my father re-entered the house +I was perfectly unconscious of his presence. He took the book from +me, saying that it was not a book for children. It possessed my mind +for some days. What I had read in it threw light upon certain +conversations in French and German which I had heard between my +father and his Swiss friends, and the fact gradually dawned upon me +that he believed himself to be in direct communication with the +spirit of his dead wife. This so acted upon my imagination that I +began to feel that she was actually alive, though invisible. I told +Frank when I got home that we had another mother in Switzerland, and +that I our father went to Switzerland to see her. + +Having at that time a passionate love for my mother (a love none the +less passionate because somewhat coldly returned), I felt great anger +against this resuscitated rival; but Frank only laughed and called me +a stupid little fool. + +Luckily Frank forgot my story in a minute, and it never reached my +mother's ears. + +I Some years after this an odd incident occurred. The I idea of a +veiled lady had, as I say, fascinated me. One Raxton fair-day I +induced Winnie to be photographed on the sands, wearing a crown of +sea-flowers in imitation of Rhona Boswell's famous wild-flower +coronet, and a necklace of seaweed, with Frank and another boy +lifting from her head a long white veil of my mother's. My father +accidentally saw this photograph, and was so taken with it that he +adorned the title-page of the third edition of _The Veiled Queen_ +with a small woodcut of it. + +These vagaries of my father's had an influence upon my destiny of the +most tragic, yet of the most fantastic kind. + +He had the reputation, I believe, of being one of the most learned +mystics of his time. He was a fair Hebrew scholar, and also had a +knowledge of Sanscrit, Arabic, and Persian. His passion for philology +was deep-rooted. He was a no less ardent numismatist. Moreover, he +was deeply versed in amulet-lore. He wrote a treatise upon 'amulets' +and their inscriptions. All this was after the death of his first +wife. He had a large collection of amulets, Gnostic gems, and +abraxas stones. That he really believed in the virtue of amulets will +be pretty clearly seen as my narrative proceeds. Indeed, the subject +of amulets and love-tokens became a mania with him. After his death +it was said that his collection of amulets, Egyptian, Gnostic, and +other, was rarer, and his collection of St. Helena coins larger, +than any other collection in England. + +Though my mother did not know of the spiritualistic orgies in +Switzerland, she knew that my father was a spiritualist. And this +vexed her, not only because she conceived it to be visionary folly, +but because it was 'low.' She knew that it led him to join a +newly-formed band of Latter-Day mystics which had been organised at +Raxton, but luckily she did not know that through them he believed +himself to be holding communication with his first wife. The members +of this body were tradespeople of the town, and I quite think that in +my mother's eyes all tradespeople were low. + +As to her indifference towards me,--that is easily explained. I was +an incorrigible little bohemian by nature. She despaired of ever +changing me. During several years this indifference distressed me, +though it in no way diminished my affection for her. At last, +however, I got accustomed to it and accepted it as inevitable. But +the remarkable thing was that Frank's affection for his mother was of +the most languid kind. He was an open-hearted boy, and never took +advantage of my mother's favouritism. Thus I was left entirely to my +own resources. My little love-idyl with Winifred was for a long time +unknown to my mother, and no amount of ocular demonstration could +have made it known (in such a dream was he) to my father. + +On one occasion, however, my mother, having been struck by her beauty +at church, told Wynne to bring her to the house, little thinking what +she was doing. Accordingly, Winifred came one evening and charmed my +mother, charmed the entire household, by her grace of manner. My +mother, upon whom what she called 'style' made a far greater +impression than anything else, pronounced her to be a perfect little +lady, and I heard her remark that she wondered how the child of such +a scapegrace as Wynne could have been so reared. + +Unfortunately I was not old enough to disguise the transports of +delight that set my heart beating and my crippled limbs trembling as +I saw Winifred gliding like a fairy about the house and gardens, and +petted even by my proud and awful mother. My mother did not fail to +notice this, and before long she had got from Frank the history of +our little loves, and even of the 'cripple water' from St. Winifred's +Well. I partly heard what Frank was telling her, and I was the only +one to notice the expression of displeasure that overspread her +features. She did not, however, show it to the child, but she never +invited her there again, and from that evening was much more vigilant +over my movements, lest I should go to Wynne's cottage. I still, +however, continued to meet Winifred in Graylingham Wood during her +stay with her father; and at last, when she again left me, I felt +desolate indeed. + +I wrote her a letter, and took it to him to address. He was very fond +of showing his penmanship, which was remarkably good. He had indeed +been well educated, though from his beer-house associations he had +entirely caught the rustic accent. I saw him address it, and took it +myself to the post-office at Rington, where I was not so well known +as at Raxton, but I never got any reply. + +And who was Tom Wynne? Though the organist of the new church at +Raxton, and custodian of the old deserted church on the cliffs, he +was the local ne'er-do-well, drunkard, and scapegrace. He was, +however, a well-connected man, reduced to his present position by +drink. He had lived in Raxton until he returned to Wales, which was +his birthplace--having obtained there some appointment the nature of +which I never could understand. In Wales he had got married; and +there his wife had died shortly after the birth of Winnie. It was no +doubt through his intemperate habits that he lost his post in Wales. +It was then that he again came to Raxton, leaving the child with his +sister-in-law. + +Raxton stands on that part of the coast where the land-springs most +persistently disintegrate the hills and render them helpless against +the ravages of the sea. Perhaps even within the last few centuries +the spot called Mousetrap Cove, scooped out of the peninsula on which +the old church stands, was dry land. The old Raxton church at the end +of this peninsula had, not many years since, to be deserted for a new +one, lest it should some day carry its congregation with it when it +slides, as it soon will slide, into the sea. But as none had dared to +pull down the old church, a custodian had to be found who for a +pittance would take charge of it and of the important monuments it +contains. Such a custodian was found in Wynne, who lived in the +cottage already described on the Wilderness Road. Along this road +(which passed both the new church and the old) I was frequently +journeying, and Wynne's tall burly form and ruddy face were, even +before I knew Winnie, a certain comfort to me. + +He was said to be the last remnant of an old family that once owned +much land in the neighbourhood, and he was still the recipient of a +small pension. My father used to say that Wynne's family was even +exceptionally good, that it laid claim to being descended from a +still older Welsh family. But my mother scorned the idea, and always +treated the organist as belonging to the lower classes. It was Wynne +who had taught me swimming. It was really he, and not my groom, who +had taught me how to ride a horse along the low-tide sands so as not +to distress him or damage his feet. + +It was about this time that my uncle Aylwin of Alvanley, my mother's +brother, who had quarrelled with her, became reconciled to her, and +came to Raxton. He at once recommended that a friend of his, a famous +London surgeon, should he consulted about my lameness. I accordingly +went with him to London to be placed under the treatment of the +eminent man. Had this been done earlier, what a world of suffering +might have been spared me! The man of science pronounced my ailment +to be quite curable. + +He performed an operation upon the leg, and after a long and careful +course of treatment in town, advised that I should go to Margate for +a long stay, and avail myself of that change of air. I went, +accompanied by my mother and brother, and stayed there several +months. My father used to come to see us once a month or so, stay for +a week, and then go back. + +I now wrote another letter to Winifred, and after a long delay, got a +reply, but it consisted mainly of descriptions of the way in which +she paddled in the Welsh brooks and of lessons in the shawl-dance +which she was taking from Shuri Lovell, the mother of her Gypsy +friend. So vividly did she describe these lessons that her pictures +haunted me. I wrote in reply to this a letter burning with my +ever-growing love, but to this I got no reply. + +As the surgeon had prophesied, I made such advance that I was after a +while able to walk with tolerable ease without my crutches, by the +aid of a walking-stick; and as time went on, the tonic effect of +Margate air, aiding the remedies prescribed by the surgeon, worked +such a change in me that I was pronounced well, and the doctor said I +might return home. I returned to Raxton a cripple no longer. + +I returned cured. I say. But how entangled is this web of our life! +How almost impossible is it that good should come unmixed with evil, +or evil unmixed with good! At Margate, where the bracing air did +more, I doubt not, towards my restoration to health than all the +medicines,--at Margate my brother drank in his death-poison. + +During the very last days of our stay he caught scarlet fever. In a +fortnight he was dead. The shock to me was very severe. It laid my +mother prostrate for months. + +I was now by the death of Frank the representative of our branch of +the family, and a little fellow of uncomfortable importance. My uncle +Aylwin of Alvanley. being childless, was certain to leave me his +large estates, for he had dropped entirely away from the Aylwins of +Rington Manor, and also from the branch of the Aylwin family +represented by my kinsman Cyril. + + + +II + +THE MOONLIGHT CROSS OF THE GNOSTICS + + +I + +My mother had some prejudice against a public school, and I was sent +to a large and important private one at Cambridge. + +And go, with Winifred on my mind, I went one damp winter's morning to +Dullingham, our nearest railway station, on my way to Cambridge. + +As concerns my school-days, I feel that all that will interest the +reader is this: as I rode through mile upon mile of the flat, +wide-stretching country, I made to myself a vow in connection with +Winifred,--a vow that when I left school I would do a certain thing +in relation to her, though Fate itself should say, 'This thing shall +not be done.' I did not know then, as I know now, how weak is human +will enmeshed in that web of Circumstance that has been a-weaving +since the beginning of the world. + +I left school without the slightest notion as to what my future +course in life was to be. I was to take my rich uncle's property. +That was understood now. And although my mother never talked of the +matter, I could see in the pensive gaze she bent on me an +ever-present consciousness of a future for me more golden still. + +But now I formed a new intimacy, and one of a very singular kind--an +intimacy with my father, who suddenly woke up to the fact that I was +no longer a child. It occurred on my making some pertinent inquiries +about a certain Gnostic amulet representing the Gorgon's head, a +prize of which he had lately become the happy possessor. On his +telling me that the Arabic word for amulet was _hamalet_, and that +the word meant 'that which is suspended,' I said in a perfectly +thoughtless way that very likely one of the learned societies to +which he belonged might be able to trace some connection between +'hamalet' and the 'Hamlet' of Shakespeare. These idle and ignorant +words of mine fell, as I found, upon a mind ripe to receive them. He +looked straight before him at the bust of Shakespeare on the +bookshelves as he always looked when his rudderless imagination was +once well launched, and I heard him mutter, 'Hamlet--the Amleth of +Saxo-Grammaticus,--hamalet, "that which is suspended." The world, to +Hamlet's metaphysical mind, _was_ "suspended" in the wide region of +Nowhere--in an infinite ocean of Nothing. Why did I not think of this +before? Strange that this child should hit upon it.' Then looking at +me as though he had just seen me for the first time in his life, he +said. 'How old are you, child?' 'Eighteen, father, I said. 'Eighteen +_years_?' he asked. 'Yes, father,' I said with some pique. 'Did you +suppose I meant eighteen months?' 'Only eighteen years,' he muttered, +'a mere baby, in short; and yet he has hit upon what we +Shakespearians have been boggling over for many year?--the symbolical +meaning involved in Hamlet's name. Henry, I prophesy great things for +you.' + +An intimacy was cemented between us at once. One of the results of +this conversation was my father's elaborate paper, read before one of +his societies, in which he maintained that Shakespeare's _Hamlet_ was +a metaphysical poem, the great central idea of which was involved in +the name Hamlet, Amleth, or Hamalet--the idea that the universe, +suspended in the wide region of Nowhere, lies, an amulet, upon the +breast of the Great Latona,--a paper that was the basis of his +reputation in 'the higher criticism.' + +Shortly after this my father and I spent the autumn in various parts +of Switzerland. One night, when we were sitting outside the chalet in +the full light of the moon, I was the witness of a display of passion +on the part of one whom I had always considered to be a dreamy +book-worm--a passionless, eccentric mystic--that simply amazed me. A +flickering tongue from the central fires suddenly breaking up through +the soil of an English vegetable garden could hardly have been a more +unexpected phenomenon to me than what occurred on that memorable +night. + +The incident I am going to relate showed me how rash it is to suppose +that you have really fathomed the personality of any human creature. +The mementos of his first wife, which accompanied him whithersoever +he went, absorbed his attention in Switzerland, and especially in the +little place where she was born, far more than they had done at home. +He was for ever peeping furtively into his escritoire to enjoy the +sight of them, and then looking over his shoulder to see if he was +being watched by my mother, though she was far away in Raxton Hall. +On the night in question he showed me the silver casket containing +certain of these mementos--mementos which I felt to be almost too +intimate to be shown even to his son. + +'And now, Henry,' said he, 'I am going to show you something that no +one else has ever seen since she died--the most sacred possession I +have upon this earth.' He then opened his shirt and his vest, and +showed me lying upon his naked bosom a beautiful jewelled cross of a +considerable size. 'This,' said he, lifting it up, 'is an ancient +Gnostic amulet. It is called the "Moonlight Cross" of the Gnostics. I +gave it to her on the night of our betrothal. She was a Roman +Catholic. It is made of precious stones cut in facets, with rubies +and diamonds and beryls so cunningly set that, when the moonlight +falls on them, the cross flashes almost as brilliantly as when the +sunlight falls on them and is kindled into living fire. These +deep-coloured crimson rubies--almost as clear as diamonds--are not of +the ordinary kind. They are true "Oriental rubies," and the jewellers +would tell you that the mine which produced them has been lost during +several centuries. But look here when I lift it up; the most +wonderful feature of the jewel is the skill with which the diamonds +are cut. The only shapes generally known are what are called the +"brilliant" and the "rose," but here the facets are arranged in an +entirely different way, and evidently with the view of throwing light +into the very hearts of the rubies, and producing this peculiar +radiance.' + +He lifted the amulet again (which was suspended from his neck by a +beautifully worked cord made of soft brown hair) into the rays from +the moon. The light the jewel emitted was certainly of a strange and +fascinating kind. The cross had been worn with the jewelled front +upon his bosom instead of the smooth back, and the sharp facets of +the cross had lacerated the scarred flesh underneath in a most cruel +manner. He saw me shudder and understood why. + +'Oh, I like that!' he said, with an ecstatic smile. 'I like to feel +it constantly on my bosom. It cannot cut deep enough for me. This is +her hair,' he said, taking the hair-cord between his fingers and +kissing it. + +'How do you manage to exist, father,' I said, 'with that heavy +sharp-edged jewel on your breast? you who cannot bear the gout with +patience?' + +'Exist? I could not exist _without_ it. The gout is pain--this is not +pain; it is joy, bliss, heaven! When I am dead it must lie for ever +on my breast as it lies now, or I shall never rest in my grave.' He +had been talking about amulets in the most quiet and matter-of-fact +way during that morning; but the I moment he produced this cross a +strange change came over his face, something like the change that +will come over a dull wood-fire when blown by the wind into a bright +light of flame. + +'Ha!' he muttered to himself, as his eyes widened and sparkled with a +look of intense eagerness and his hand shook, sending the light of +the beautiful jewel all about the room, 'it is a sad pity he was not +her son. How I should have loved him then! I like him now very much; +but how I should have loved him then, for he is a brave boy. Oh, if I +had only been born brave like him!' Then, suddenly recollecting +himself, he closed his vest, and said: 'Don't tell your mother, Hal; +don't tell your mother that I have shown you this.' Then he took it +out again. 'She who is dead cherished it,' he continued, half to +himself--'she cherished it above all things. She died, boy, and I +couldn't help her. She used to wear the cross in the bosom of her +dress; and there she was in the cove kissing it when the tide swept +over her. I ought to have jumped down and died with her. _You_ would +have done it, Hal; your eyes say so. Oh, to be an Aylwin without the +Aylwin courage!' + +After a little time he said: 'This has lain on her bosom, Hal, her +bosom! It has been kissed by her, Hal, oh, a thousand thousand times! +It had her last kiss. When I took it from the cold body which had +been recovered, this cross seemed to be warm with her life and love.' + +And then he wept, and his tears fell thick upon his bosom and upon +the amulet. The truth was clear enough now. The appalling death of +his first wife, his love for her, and his remorse for not having +jumped down the cliff and died with her, had affected his brain. He +was a monomaniac, and all his thoughts were in some way clustered +round the dominant one. He had studied amulets because the 'Moonlight +Cross' had been cherished by her; he came to Switzerland every year +because it was associated with her; he had joined the spiritualist +body in the mad hope that perhaps there might be something in it, +perhaps there might be a power that could call her back to earth. +Even the favourite occupation of his life, visiting cathedrals and +churches and taking rubbings from monumental brasses, had begun +after her death; it had come from the fact (as I soon learned) that +she had taken interest in monumental brasses, and had begun the +collection of rubbings. + +And yet this martyr to a mighty passion bore the character of a +dreamy student; and his calm, un-furrowed face, on common occasions, +expressed nothing but a rather dull kind of content! Here was a +revelation of what, afterwards, was often revealed to me, that human +personality is the crowning wonder of this wonderful universe, and +that the forces which turn fire-mist into stars are not more +inscrutable than is human character. He lifted up his head and gazed +at me through his tears. + +'Hal,' he said, 'do you know why I have shown you this? It _must_, +MUST be buried with me at my death; and there is no one upon whose +energy, truth, courage, and strength of will I can rely as I can upon +yours. You must give me your word, Hal, that you will see it and this +casket containing her letters buried with me.' + +I hesitated to become a party to such an undertaking as this. It +savoured of superstition, I thought. Now, having at that very time +abandoned all the superstitions and all the mystical readings of the +universe which as a child I had inherited from ancestors, Romany and +English, having at that very time begun to take a delight in the +wonderful revelations of modern science, my attitude towards +superstition--towards all super-naturalism--oscillated between anger +and simple contempt. + +'But,' I said, 'you surely will not have this beautiful old cross +buried?' And as I looked at it, and the light fell upon it, there +came from it strange flashes of fire, showing with what extraordinary +skill the rubies and diamonds had been adjusted so that their facets +should catch and concentrate the rays of the moon. + +'Yes,' he said, taking the cross again in his hand and fondling it +passionately, 'it must never be possessed by any one after me.' + +'But it might be stolen, father--stolen from your coffin.' + +'That would indeed he a disaster,' he said with a shudder. Then a +look of deadly vengeance overspread his face and brought out all its +Romany characteristics as he said: 'But with it there will be buried +a curse written in Hebrew and English--a curse upon the despoiler, +which will frighten off any thief who is in his senses.' + +And he showed me a large parchment scroll, folded exactly like a +title-deed, with the following curse and two verses from the 109th +Psalm written upon it in Hebrew and English. The English version +was carefully printed by himself in large letters:-- + + + 'He who shall violate this tomb.--he who shall steal this amulet, + hallowed as a love-token between me and my dead wife,--he who shall + dare to lay a sacrilegious hand upon this cross, stands cursed by + God. cursed by love, and cursed by me. Philip Aylwin, lying here. + + "Let there be no man to pity him, nor to have compassion upon his + fatherless children.... Let his children be vagabonds, and beg + their bread; let them seek it also out of desolate places." Psalm + cix. So saith the Lord. Amen.' + + +'I have printed the English version in large letters,' he said, 'so +that any would-be despoiler must see it and read it at once by the +dimmest lantern light.' + +'But, father,' I said, 'is it possible that you, an educated man, +really believe in the efficacy of a curse?' + +'If the curse comes straight from the heart's core of a man, as this +curse comes from mine, Hal, how can it fail to operate by the mere +force of will? The curse of a man who loved as I love upon the wretch +who should violate a love-token so sacred as this--why, the +disembodied spirits of all who have loved and suffered would combine +to execute it!' + +'Spirits!' I said. 'Really, father, in times like these to talk of +spirits!' + +'Ah, Henry!' he replied, 'I was like you once. I could once be +content with Materialism--I could find it supportable once; but, +should you ever come to love as I have loved (and, for your own +happiness, child, I hope you never may), you will And that +Materialism is intolerable, is hell itself, to the heart that has +known a passion like mine. You will And that it is madness, Hal, +madness, to believe in the word "never"! you will And that you +_dare_ not leave untried any creed, howsoever wild, that offers +the heart a ray of hope. Every object she cherished has become +spiritualised, sublimated, has become alive--alive as this amulet +is alive. See, the lights are no natural lights.' And again he held +it up. + +'If on my death-bed,' he continued, 'I thought that this beloved +cross and these sacred relics would ever get into other hands--would +ever touch other flesh--than mine, I should die a maniac, Hal, and my +spirit would never be released from the chains of earth.' It was the +superstitious tone of his talk that irritated and hardened me. He saw +it, and a piteous expression overspread his features. + +'Don't desert your poor father,' he said. 'What I want is the word +of an Aylwin that those beloved relics shall be buried with me. If I +had _that_, I should be content to live, and content to die. Oh, +Hal!' + +He threw such an imploring gaze into my face as he said 'Oh, Hal!' +that, reluctant as I was to be mixed up with superstition, I promised +to execute his wishes; I promised also to keep the secret from all +the world during his life, and after his death to share it with those +two only from whom, for family reasons, it could not be kept--my +uncle Aylwin of Alvanley and my mother. He then put away the amulet, +and his face resumed the look of placid content it usually wore. He +was feeling the facets of the mysterious 'Moonlight Cross'! + +The most marvellous thing is this, however: his old relations towards +me were at once resumed. He never alluded to the subject of his first +wife again, and I soon found it difficult to believe that the +conversation just recorded ever took place at all. Evidently his +monomania only rose up to a passionate expression when fanned into +sudden flame by talking about the cross. It was as though the shock +of his first wife's death had severed his consciousness and his life +in twain. + + + +II + +Naturally this visit to Switzerland cemented our intimacy, and it +was on our return home that he suggested my accompanying him on one +of his 'rubbing expeditions.' + +'Henry,' he said, 'your mother has of late frequently discussed with +me the question of your future calling in life. She suggests a +Parliamentary career. I confess that I find questions about careers +exceedingly disturbing.' + +'There is only one profession I should like, father,' I said, 'and +that is a painter's.' In fact, the passion for painting had come on +me very strongly of late. My dreams had from the first been of +wandering with Winnie in a paradise of colour, and these dreams had +of late been more frequent: the paradise of colour had been growing +richer and rarer. + +He shook his head gravely and said, 'No, my dear; your mother would +never allow it.' + +'Why not?' I said; 'is painting low too?' + +'Cyril Aylwin is low, at least so your mother and aunt say, especially +your aunt. I have not perceived it myself, but then your mother's +perceptive faculties are extraordinary--quite extraordinary.' + +'Did the lowness come from his being a painter, father?' I asked. + +'Really, child, you are puzzling me. But I have observed you now for +some weeks, and I quite believe that you would make one of the best +rubbers who ever held a ball. I am going to Salisbury next week, and +you shall then make your _début_.' + +This was in the midst of a very severe winter we had some years ago, +when all Europe was under a coating of ice. + +'But, father,' I said, 'shan't we find it rather cold?' + +'Well,' said my father, with a bland smile, 'I will not pretend that +Salisbury Cathedral is particularly warm in this weather, but in +winter I always rub in knee-caps and mittens. I will tell Hodder to +knit you a full set at once.' + +'But, father,' I said, 'Tom Wynne tells me that rubbing is the most +painful of all occupations. He even goes so far sometimes as to say +that it was the exhaustion of rubbing for you which turned him to +drink.' + +'Nothing of the kind,' said my father. 'All that Tom needed to make +him a good rubber was enthusiasm. I am strongly of opinion that +without enthusiasm rubbing is of all occupations the most irksome, +except perhaps for the quadrumana (who seem more adapted for this +exercise), the most painful for the spine, the most cramping for the +thighs, the most numbing for the fingers. It is a profession, Henry, +demanding, above every other, enthusiasm in the operator. Now Tom's +enthusiasm for rubbing as an art was from the first exceedingly +feeble.' + +I was on the eve of revolting, but I remembered what there was +lacerating his poor breast, and consented. And when I heard hints of +our 'working the Welsh churches' my sudden enthusiasm for the +rubber's art astonished even my father. + +'My dear,' he said to my mother at dinner one day, 'what do you +think? Henry has developed quite a sudden passion for rubbing.' + +I saw an expression of perplexity and mystification overspread my +mother's sagacious face. + +'And in the spring,' continued my father, 'we are going into Wales +to rub.' + +'Into Wales, are you?' said my mother, in a tone of that soft voice +whose meaning I knew so well. + +My thoughts were continually upon Winifred, now that I was alone in +the familiar spots. I had never seen her nor heard from her since we +parted as children. She had only known me as a cripple. What would +she think of me now? Did she ever think of me? She had not answered +my childish letter, and this had caused me much sorrow and +perplexity. + +We did not go into Wales after all. But the result of this +conversation took a shape that amazed me. I was sent to stay with my +Aunt Prue in London in order that I might attend one of the Schools +of Art. Yes, my mother thought it was better for me even to run the +risk of becoming bohemianised like Cyril Aylwin, than to brood over +Winnie or the scenes that were associated with our happy childhood. + +In London I was an absolute stranger. We had no town house. On the +few occasions when the family had gone to London, it was to stay in +Belgrave Square with my Aunt Prue, who was an unmarried sister of my +mother's. + +'Since the death of the Prince Consort, to go no further back,' she +used to say, 'a dreadful change has come over the tone of society; +the love of bohemianism, the desire to take up any kind of people, if +they are amusing, and still more if they are rich, is levelling +everything. However, I'm nobody now; I say nothing.' + +What wonder that from my very childhood my aunt took a prejudice +against me, and predicted for me a career 'as deplorable as Cyril +Aylwin's,' and sympathised with my mother in her terror of the Gypsy +strain in my father's branch of the family? + +Her tastes and instincts being intensely aristocratic, she suffered a +martyrdom from her ever present consciousness of this disgrace. She +had seen very much more of what is called Society than my mother had +ever an opportunity of seeing. It was not, however, aristocracy, but +Royalty that won the true worship of her soul. + +Although she was immeasurably inferior to my mother in everything, +her influence over her was great, and it was always for ill. I +believe that even my mother's prejudice against Tom Wynne was largely +owing to my aunt, who disliked my relations towards Wynne simply +because he did not represent one of the great Wynne families. But the +remarkable thing was that, although my mother thus yielded to my +aunt's influence, she in her heart despised her sister's ignorance +and her narrowness of mind. She often took a humorous pleasure in +seeing my aunt's aristocratic proclivities baffled by some vexing +_contretemps_ or by some slight passed upon her by people of superior +rank, especially by those in the Royal circle. + +There have been so many descriptions of art schools, from the famous +'Gandish's' down to the very moment at which I write, that I do not +intend to describe mine. + +It would be very far from my taste to use a narrative like this, a +narrative made sacred by the spiritual love it records, as a means of +advertising efforts of such modest pretensions as mine when placed in +comparison with the work of the illustrious painters my friendship +with whom has been the great honour of my life. And if I allude here +to the fact of my being a painter, it is in order that I may not be +mistaken for another Aylwin. my cousin Percy, who in some unpublished +poems of his which I have seen has told how a sailor was turned into +a poet by love--love of Rhona Boswell. In the same way, these pages +are written to tell how I was made a painter by love of her whom I +first saw in Raxton churchyard, her who filled my being as Beatrice +filled the being of Dante when 'the spirit of life, which hath its +dwelling in the secretest chamber of the heart, began to tremble so +violently that the least pulses of his body shook therewith.' + + + +III + +Time went by, and I returned to Raxton. Just when I had determined +that, come what would, I would go into Wales, Wynne one day told me +that Winnie was coming to live with him at Raxton, her aunt having +lately died. 'The English lady,' said he, 'who lived with them so +long and eddicated Winifred, has gone to live at Carnarvon to get the +sea air.' + +This news was at once a joy and a perplexity. + +Wynne, though still the handsomest and finest man in Raxton, had sunk +much lower in intemperance of late. He now generally wound up a +conversation with me by a certain stereotyped allusion to the dryness +of the weather, which I perfectly understood to mean that he felt +thirsty, and that an offer of half-a-crown for beer would not be +unacceptable. He was a proud man in everything except in reference to +beer. But he seemed to think there was no degradation in asking for +money to get drunk with, though to have asked for it to buy bread +would, I suppose, have wounded his pride. I did not then see so +clearly as I now do the wrong of giving him those half-crowns. His +annuity he had long since sold. + +Spite of all his delinquencies, however, my father liked him; so did +my uncle Aylwin of Alvanley. But my mother seemed positively to hate +him. It was the knowledge of this that caused my anxiety about +Winifred's return. I felt that complications must arise. + +At this time I used to go to Dullingham every day. The clergyman +there was preparing me for college. + +On the Sunday following the day when I got such momentous news from +Wynne, I was met suddenly, as my mother and I were leaving the church +after the service, by the gaze of a pair of blue eyes that arrested +my steps as by magic, and caused the church and the churchgoers to +vanish from my sight. + +The picture of Winifred that had dwelt in my mind so long was that of +a beautiful child. The radiant vision of the girl before me came on +me by surprise and dazzled me. Tall and slim she was now, but the +complexion had not altered at all; the eyes seemed young and +childlike as ever. + +When our eyes met she blushed, then turned pale, and took hold of the +top of a seat near which she was standing. She came along the aisle +close to us, gliding and slipping through the crowd, and passed out +of the porch. My mother had seen my agitation, and had moved on in a +state of haughty indignation. I had no room, however, at that moment +for considerations of any person but one. I hurried out of the +church, and, following Winifred, grasped her gloved hand. + +'Winifred, you are come,' I said; 'I have been longing to see you.' + +She again turned pale and then blushed scarlet. Next she looked down +me as if she had expected to see something which she did not see, and +when her eyes were upraised again something in them gave me a strange +fancy that she was disappointed to miss my crutches. + +'Why didn't you write to me from Wales, Winifred? Why didn't you +answer my letter years ago?' + +She hesitated, then said, + +'My aunt wouldn't let me, sir.' + +'Wouldn't let you answer it! and why?' + +Again she hesitated-- + +'I--I don't know, sir.' + +'You _do_ know, Winifred. I see that you know, and you shall tell me. +Why didn't your aunt let you answer my letter?' + +Winifred's eyes looked into mine beseechingly. Then that light of +playful humour, which I remembered so well, shot like a sunbeam +across and through them as she replied-- + +'My aunt said we must both forget our pretty dream.' + +Almost before the words were out, however, the sunbeam fled from her +eyes and was replaced by a look of terror. I now perceived that my +mother, in passing to the carriage, had lingered on the gravel-path +close to us, and had, of course, overheard the dialogue. She passed +on with a look of hate. I thought it wise to bid Winifred good-bye +and join my mother. + +As I stepped into the carriage I turned round and saw that Winifred +was again looking wistfully at some particular part of me--looking +with exactly that simple, frank, 'objective' expression with which I +was familiar. + +'I knew it was the crutches she missed,' I said to myself as I sat +down by my mother's side; 'she'll have to love me now because I am +_not_ lame.' + +I also knew something else: I must prepare for a conflict with my +mother. My father, at this time in Switzerland, had written to say +that he had been suffering acutely from an attack of what he called +'spasms.' He had 'been much subject to them of late, but no one +considered them to be really dangerous.' + +During luncheon I felt that my mother's eyes were on me. After it was +over she went to her room to write in answer to my father's letter, +and then later on she returned to me. + +'Henry,' she said, 'my overhearing the dialogue in the churchyard +between you and Wynne's daughter was, I need not pay, quite +accidental, but it is perhaps fortunate that I did overhear it.' + +'Why fortunate, mother? You simply heard her say that her aunt in +Wales had forbidden her to answer a childish letter of mine written +years ago.' + +'In telling you which, the girl, I must say, proclaimed her aunt to +be an exceedingly sensible and well-conducted woman,' said my mother. + +'On that point, mother,' I said, 'you must allow me to hold a +different opinion. I, for my part, should have said that Winifred's +story proclaimed her aunt to be a worthy member of a flunkey society +like this of ours--a society whose structure, political and moral and +religious, is based on an adamantine rock of paltry snobbery.' + +It was impossible to restrain my indignation. + +'I am aware, Henry,' replied my mother calmly, 'that it is one of the +fashions of the hour for young men of family to adopt the language of +Radical newspapers. In a country like this the affectation does no +great harm, I grant, and my only serious objection to it is that it +implies in young men of one's own class a lack of originality which +is a little humiliating. I am aware that your cousin, Percy Aylwin, +of Rington Manor, used to talk in the same strain as this, and ended +by joining the Gypsies. But I came to warn you, Henry, I came to urge +you not to injure this poor girl's reputation by such scenes as that +I witnessed this morning.' + +I remained silent. The method of my mother's attack had taken me by +surprise. Her sagacity was so much greater than mine, her power of +fence was so much greater, her stroke was so much deadlier, that in +all our encounters I had been conquered. + +'It is for the girl's own sake that I speak to you,' continued my +mother. 'She was deeply embarrassed at your method of address, and +well she might be, seeing that it will be, for a long time to come, +the subject of discussion in all the beer-houses which her father +frequents.' + +'You speak as though she were answerable for her father's faults,' I +said, with heat. + +'No,' said my mother; 'but _your_ father is the owner of Raxton Hall, +which to her and her class is a kind of Palace of the Cæsars. You +belong to a family famous all along the coast; you are well known to +be the probable heir of one of the largest landowners in England; you +may be something more important still; while she, poor girl, what is +she that you should rush up to her before all the churchgoers of the +parish and address her as Winifred? The daughter of a penniless, +drunken reprobate. Every attention you pay her is but a slur upon her +good name.' + +'There is not a lady in the county worthy to unlace her shoes,' I +cried, unguardedly. Then I could have bitten off my tongue for saying +so. + +'That may be,' said my mother, with the quiet irony peculiar to her; +'but so monstrous are the customs of England, Henry, so barbaric is +this society you despise, that she, whose shoes no lady in the county +is worthy to unlace, is in an anomalous position. Should she once +again be seen talking familiarly with you, her character will have +fled, and fled for ever. It is for you to choose whether you are set +upon ruining her reputation.' + +I felt that what she said was true. I felt also that Winifred herself +had recognised the net of conventions that kept us apart in spite of +that close and tender intimacy which had been the one great fact of +our lives. In a certain sense I was far more of a child of Nature +than Winifred herself, inasmuch as, owing to my remarkable childish +experience of isolation, I had imbibed a scepticism about the +sanctity of conventions such as is foreign to the nature of woman, be +she ever so unsophisticated, as Winifred's shyness towards me had +testified. + +As a child I had been neglected for the firstborn, I had enjoyed +through this neglect an absolute freedom with regard to associating +with fisher-boys and all the shoeless, hatless 'sea-pups' of the +sands, and now, when the time had come to civilise me, my mother had +found that it was too late. I was bohemian to the core. My childish +intercourse with Winifred had been one of absolute equality, and I +could not now divest myself of this relation. These were my thoughts +as I listened to my mother's words. + +My great fear now, however, was lest I should say something to +compromise myself, and so make matter worse. Before another word upon +the subject should pass between my mother and me I must see +Winifred--and then I had something to say to her which no power on +earth should prevent me from saying. So I merely told my mother that +there was much truth in what she had said, and proceeded to ask +particulars about my father's recent illness. After giving me these +particulars she left the room, perplexed, I thought, as to what had +been the result of her mission. + + +IV + +I remained alone for some time. Then I told the servants that I was +going to walk along the cliffs to Dullingham Church, where there was +an evening service, and left the house. I hastened towards the +cliffs, and descended to the sands, in the hope that Winifred might +be roaming about there, but I walked all the way to Dullingham +without getting a glimpse of her. The church service did not interest +me that evening. I heard nothing and saw nothing. When the service +was over I returned along the sands, sauntering and lingering in the +hope that, late as it was now growing, the balmy evening might have +enticed her out. + +The evening grew to night, and still I lingered. The moon was nearly +at the full, and exceedingly bright. The tide was down. The scene was +magical; I could not leave it. I said to myself, 'I will go and stand +on the very spot where Winifred stood when she lisped "certumly" to +the proposal of her little lover.' + +It was not, after all, till this evening that I really knew how +entirely she was a portion of my life. + +I went and stood by the black boulder where I had received the little +child's prompt reply. There was not a grain left, I knew, of that +same sand which had been hallowed by the little feet of Winifred, but +it served my mood just as well as though every grain had felt the +beloved pressure. For that the very sands had loved the child, I half +believed. + +I said to myself, as I sat down upon the boulder, 'At this very +moment she is here, she is in Raxton. In a certain little cottage +there is a certain little room.' And then I longed to leave the +sands, to go and stand in front of Wynne's cottage and dream there. +But that would be too foolish. 'I must get home,' I thought. 'The +night will pass somehow, and in the morning I shall, as sure as fate, +see her flitting about the sands she loves, and then what I have +sworn to say to her I will say, and what I have sworn to do I will +do, come what will.' + +Then came the puzzling question, how was I to greet her when we met? +Was I to run up and kiss her, and hear her say, 'Oh, I'm so pleased!' +as she would sometimes say when I kissed her of yore? No: her +deportment in the morning forbade _that_. Or was I to raise my hat +and walk up to her saying, 'How do you do, Miss Wynne? I'm glad to +see you back, Miss Wynne,' for she was now neither child nor young +woman, she was a 'girl.' Perhaps I had better rush up to her in a +bluff, hearty way, and say: 'How do you do, Miss Winifred? Delighted +to see you back to Raxton.' Finally, I decided that circumstance must +guide me entirely, and I sat upon the boulder meditating. + +After a while I saw, or thought I saw, in the far distance, close to +the waves, a moving figure among the patches of rocks and stones +(some black and some white) that break the continuity of the sand on +that shore at low water. + +When the figure got nearer I perceived it to be a woman, a girl, who, +every now and then, was stooping as if to pick up something from the +pools of water left by the ebbing tide imprisoned amid the encircling +rocks. At first I watched the figure, wondering in a lazy and dreamy +way what girl could be out there so late. + +But all at once I began to catch my breath and gasp The sea-smells +had become laden with a kind of paradisal perfume, ineffably sweet, +but difficult to breathe all of a sudden. My heart too--what was +amiss with that? And why did the muscles of my body seem to melt like +wax?' The lonely wanderer by the sea could be none other than +Winifred. + +'It is she!' I said. 'There is no beach-woman or shore-prowling girl +who, without raising an arm to balance her body, without a totter or +a slip, could step in that way upon stones some of which are as +slippery as ice with gelatinous weed and slime, while others are as +sharp as razors. To walk like that the eye must be my darling's, that +is to say, an eye as sure as a bird's the ball of the foot must be +the ball of a certain little foot I have often had in my hand wet +with sea-water and gritty with sand. For such work a mountaineer or a +cragsman, or Winifred, is needed.' Then I recalled her love of marine +creatures, her delight in seaweed, of which she would weave the most +astonishing chaplets and necklaces coloured like the rainbow. +'seawood boas' and seaweed turbans, calling herself the princess of +the sea (as indeed she was), and calling me her prince. 'Yes,' said +I, 'it is certainly she'; and when at last I espied a little dog by +her side, Tom Wynne's little dog Snap (a descendant of the original +Snap of our never-to-be-forgotten seaside adventures)--when I espied +all these things I said, 'Then the hour is come.' + +By this time my heart had settled down to a calmer throb, the +paradisal scent had become more supportable, and I grew master of +myself again. I was going towards her, when I stayed my steps, for +she was already making her way, entirely unconscious of my presence, +towards the boulder where I sat. + +'I know what I will do.' I said; 'I will fling myself flat on the +sands behind the boulder and watch her. I will observe her without +being myself observed.' + +I was in the mood when one tries sportfully to deceive one's self as +to the depth and intensity of the emotion within. Perhaps I would and +perhaps I would not speak to her at all that night; but if I did +speak, I would say and do what (on that day when I set out for +school) I had sworn to say and do. + +So there I lay hidden by the boulder and watched her. She made the +circuit of each pool that lay across her path towards the +cliffs,--made it apparently for the childish enjoyment of balancing +herself on the stones and snapping her fingers at the dog, who looked +on with philosophic indifference at such a frivolous waste of force. +Yes, though a tall girl of seventeen, she was the same incomparable +child who had coloured my life and stirred the entire air of my +imagination with the breezes of a new heaven. The voice of the +tumbling sea in the distance, the caresses of the tender breeze, the +wistful gaze of the great moon overhead, were companionship enough +for her--for her whose loveliness would have enchanted a world. She +had no idea that there was at this moment stepping round those black +stones the loveliest woman then upon the earth. If she had had that +idea she would still have been the star of all womanhood, but she +would not have been Winifred. A charm superior to all other women's +charm she still would have had; but she would not have been Winifred. + +When she left the rocks and came upon the clear sand, she stopped +and looked at her sweet shadow in the moonlight. Then, with the +self-pleasing playfulness of a kitten, she stood and put herself +into all kinds of postures to see what varying silhouettes they would +make on the hard and polished sand (that shone with a soft lustre +like satin); now throwing up one arm, now another, and at last making +a pirouette, twirling her shawl round, trying to keep it in a +horizontal position by the rapidity of her movements. + +The interest of the philosophic Snap was aroused at last. He began +wheeling and barking round her, tearing up the sand as he went like a +little whirlwind. This induced Winifred to redouble her gymnastic +exertions. She twirled round with the velocity of an engine wheel. At +last, finding the enjoyment it gave to Snap, she changed the +performance by taking off her hat, flinging it high in the air, +catching it, flinging it up again and again, while the moving shadow +it made was hunted along the sand by Snap with a volley of deafening +barks. By this time she had got close to me, but she was too busy to +see me. Then she began to dance--the very same dance with which she +used to entertain me in those happy days. I advanced from my stone, +dodging and slipping behind her, unobserved even by Snap, so intent +were these two friends upon this entertainment, got up, one would +think, for whatsoever sylphs or gnomes or water sprites might be +looking on. + +How could I address in the language of passion which alone would have +expressed my true feelings, a dancing fairy such as this? + +'Bravo!' I said, as she stopped, panting and breathless. 'Why, +Winifred, you dance better than ever!' + +She leaped away in alarm and confusion; while Snap, on the contrary, +welcomed me with much joy. + +'Oh, I beg your pardon, sir,' she said, not looking at me with the +blunt frankness of childhood, as the little woman of the old days +used to do, but drooping her eyes. 'I didn't see you.' + +'But _I_ saw _you_, Winifred; I have been watching you for the last +quarter of an hour.' + +'Oh, you never have!' said she, in distress; 'what could you have +thought? I was only trying to cheer up poor Snap, who is out of +sorts. What a mad romp you must have thought me, sir!' + +'Why, what's the matter with Snap?' + +'I don't know. Poor Snap' (stooping down to fondle him, and at the +same time to hide her face from me, for she was talking against time +to conceal her great confusion and agitation at seeing me. _That_ was +perceptible enough.) + +Then she remembered she was hatless. + +'Oh dear, where's my hat?' said she, looking round. I had picked up +the hat before accosting her, and it was now dangling behind me. I, +too, began talking against time, for the beating of my heart began +again at the thought of what I was going to say and do. 'Hat!' I +said; 'do _you_ wear hats, Winifred? I should as soon have thought of +hearing the Queen of the Tylwyth Teg ask for her hat as you, after +such goings-on as those I have just been witnessing. You see I have +not forgotten the Welsh you taught me.' + +'Oh, but my hat--where is it?' cried she, vexed and sorely ashamed. +So different from the unblenching child who loved to stand hatless +and feel the rain-drops on her bare head! + +'Well, Winifred, I've found a hat on the sand,' I said; 'here it is.' + +'Thank you, sir,' said she, and stretched out her hand for it. + +'No,' said I, 'I don't for one moment believe in its belonging to +you, any more than it belongs to the Queen of the "Fair People." But +if you'll let me put it on your head I'll give you the hat I've +found,' and with a rapid movement I advanced and put it on her head. +I had meant to seize that moment for saying what I had to say, but +was obliged to wait. + +An expression of such genuine distress overspread her face, that I +regretted having taken the liberty with her. Her bearing altogether +was puzzling me. She seemed instinctively to feel as I felt, that +raillery was the only possible attitude to take up in a situation so +extremely romantic--a meeting on the sands at night between me and +her who was neither child nor woman--and yet she seemed distressed at +the raillery. + +Embarrassment was rapidly coming between us. + +There was a brief silence, during which Winifred seemed trying to +move away from me. + +'Did you--did you see me from the cliffs, sir, am; come down?' said +Winifred. + +'Winifred,' said I, 'the polite thing to say would be "Yes"; but you +know "Fighting Hal" never was remarkable for politeness, so I will +say frankly that did not come down from the cliff's on seeing you. +But when I did see you, I wasn't very likely to return without +speaking to you.' + +'I am locked out,' said Winifred, in explanation of her moonlight +ramble. 'My father went off to Dullingham with the key in his pocket +while I and Snap were in the garden, so we have to wait till his +return. Good-night, sir,' and she gave me her hand. I seemed to feel +the fingers around my heart, and knew that I was turning very pale. +'The same little sunburnt fingers.' I said, as I retained them in +mine 'just the same, Winifred! But it's not "good-night" yet. No, no, +it's not good-night yet; and, Winifred if you dare to call me "sir" +again, I declare I'll kiss you where you stand. I will, Winifred. +I'll put my arms right round that slender waist and kiss you under +that moon, as sure as you stand on these sands.' + +'Then I will not call you "sir."' said Winifred laughingly. +'Certainly I will not call you "sir," if that is to be the penalty.' + +'Winifred,' said I, 'the last time that I remember to have heard you +say "certainly" was on this very spot. You then pronounced it +"certumly," and that was when I asked you if I might be your lover. +You said "certumly" on that occasion without the least hesitation.' + +Winifred, as I could see, even by the moonlight, was blushing. 'Ah, +those childish days!' she said. 'How delightful they were, sir!' + +'"Sir" again!' said I. 'Now, Winifred, I am going to execute my +threat--I am indeed.' + +She put up her hands before her face and said, + +'Oh, don't! please don't.' + +The action no doubt might seem coquettish, but the tone of her voice +was so genuine, so serious--so agitated even--that I paused:--I +paused in bewilderment and perplexity concerning us both. I observed +that her fingers shook as she held them before her face. That she +should be agitated at seeing me after so long a separation did not +surprise me, I being deeply agitated myself. It was the _nature_ of +her emotion that puzzled me, until suddenly I remembered my mother's +words. + +I perceived then that, child of Nature as she still was, some one had +given her a careful training which had transfigured my little Welsh +rustic into a lady. She had not failed to apprehend the anomaly of +her present position--on the moonlit sands with me. Though could not +break free from the old equal relations between us. Winifred had been +able to do so. + +'To her,' I thought with shame, 'my offering to kiss her at such a +place and time must have seemed an insult. The very fact of my +attempting to do so must have seemed to indicate an offensive +consciousness of the difference of our social positions. It must +have, seemed to show that I recognised a distinction between the +drunken organist's daughter and a lady.' + +I saw now, indeed, that she felt this keenly; and I knew that it was +nothing but the sweetness of her nature, coupled with the fond +recollection of the old happy days, that restrained that high spirit +of hers, and prevented her from giving expression to her indignation +and disgust. + +All this was shown by the appealing look on her sweet, fond face, and +I was touched to the heart. + +'Winifred--Miss Wynne,' I said, 'I beg your pardon most sincerely. +The shadow-dance has been mainly answerable for my folly. You did +look so exactly the little Winifred, my heart's sister, that I felt +it impossible to treat you otherwise than as that dear child-friend +of years ago.' + +A look of delight broke over her face. + +'I felt sure it was so,' she said. 'But it is a relief that you have +said it.' And the tears came to her eyes. + +'Thank you, Winifred, for having pardoned me. I feel that you would +have forgiven no one else as you have forgiven me. I feel that you +would not have forgiven any one else than your old child-companion, +whom on a memorable occasion you threatened to hit, and then had not +the heart to do so.' + +'I don't think I _could_ hit _you_,' said she, in a meditative tone +of perfect unconsciousness as to the bewitching import of her speech. + +'Don't you think you could?' I said, drawing nearer, but governing my +passion. + +'No,' said she, looking now for the first time with those wide-open +confiding eyes which, as a child, were the chief characteristic of +her face. 'I don't think I could hit you, whatever you did.' + +'Couldn't you, Winifred?' I said, coming still nearer, in order to +drink to the full the wonder of her beauty, the thrill at my heart +bringing, as I felt, a pallor to my cheek. 'Don't you think you could +hit your old playfellow, Winifred?' + +'No,' she said, still gazing in the same dreamy, reminiscent way +straight into my eyes as of yore. 'As a child you were so delightful. +And then you were so kind to me!' + +At that word 'kind' from _her_ to _me_ I could restrain myself no +longer; I shouted with a wild laughter of uncontrollable passion as I +gazed at her through tears of love and admiration and deep +gratitude--gazed till I was blind. My throat throbbed till it ached: +I Could get out no more words; I could only gaze. At my shout +Winifred stood bewildered and confused. She did not understand a mood +like that. Having got myself under control, I said, + +'Winifred, it is not my doing; it is Fate's doing that we meet here +on this night, and that I am driven to say here what I had as a +schoolboy sworn should be said whenever we should meet again.' + +'I think,' said Winifred, pulling herself up with the dignity of a +queen, 'that if you have anything important to say to me it had +better be at a more seasonable time than at this hour of night, and +at a more seasonable place than on these sands.' + +'No, Winifred,' said I, 'the time is _now_, and the place is +here--here on this very spot where, once on a time, you said +"certumly" when a little lover asked your hand. It is now and here, +Winifred, that I will say what I have to say.' + +'And what is that, sir?' said Winifred, much perplexed and disturbed. + +'I have to say, Winifred, that the man does not live and never _has_ +lived,' said I, with suppressed vehemence, who loved a woman as I +love you.' + +Oh, sir! oh, Henry!' returned Winifred, trembling, then standing +still and whiter than the moon. 'And the reason why no man has ever +loved a woman as I love you, Winifred, is because your match, or +anything like your match, has never trod the earth before.' + +'Oh, Henry, my dear Henry! you _must_ not say such things to me, your +poor Winifred.' + +'But that isn't all that I swore I'd say to you, Winifred.' + +'Don't say any more--not to-night, not to-night.' + +'What I swore I would ask you, Winifred, is this: Will you be Henry's +wife?' + +She gave one hysterical sob, and swayed till she nearly fell on the +sand, and said, while her face shone like a pearl, + +'Henry's wife!' + +She recovered herself and stood and looked at me; her lips moved, but +I waited in vain--waited in a fever of expectation--for her answer. +None came. I gazed into her eyes, but they now seemed rilled with +visions--visions of the great race to which she belonged--visions in +which her English lover had no place. Suddenly, and for the first +time, I felt that she who had inspired within me this all-conquering +passion, though the penniless child of a drunken organist, was a +daughter of Snowdon--a representative of the Cymric race that was +once so mighty, and is still more romantic in its associations than +all others. Already in the little talk I had had with her I began to +guess what I realised before the evening was over, that owing to the +influence of the English lady, Miss Dalrymple, who had lodged at the +cottage with her, she was more than my own equal in culture, and +could have held her own with almost any girl of her own age in +England. It was only in her subjection to Cymric superstitions that +she was benighted. + +'Winnie,' I murmured, 'what have you to say?' + +After a while her eyes seemed to clear of the visions, and she said, + +'What changes have come upon us both, Henry. since that childish +betrothal on the sands!' + +'Happy changes for one of the child-lovers,' I said--'happy changes +for the one who was then a lonely cripple shut out from all sympathy +save that which the other child-lover could give.' + +'And yet you then seemed happy, Henry--happy with Winnie to help you +up the gangways. And how happy Winnie was! But now the child-lover is +a cripple no longer: he is very, very strong--he is so strong that he +could carry Winnie up the gangways in his arms, I think.' + +The thrill of natural pride which such recognition of my physical +powers would otherwise have given me was quelled by a something in +the tone in which she spoke. + +'And he is powerful in every way,' she went on, as if talking to +herself. 'He is a great rich Englishman to whom (as auntie was never +tired of saying) that childish betrothal must needs seem a dream--a +quaint and pretty dream.' + +'And so your aunt said that, Winnie. How far from the truth she was +you see to-night.' + +'Yes, she thought you would forget all about me; and yet she could +not have felt quite confident about it, for she made me promise that +if you should not forget me--if you should ever ask me what you have +just asked--she made me promise--' + +'What, Winnie? what? She did not make promise that you would refuse +me?' + +'That is what she asked me to promise.' + +'But you did not.' + +'I did not.' + +'No, no! you did not, Winnie. My darling refused to make any such +cruel, monstrous promise as that.' + +'But I promised her that I would in such an event wait a year--at +least a year--before betrothing myself to you.' + +'Shame! shame! What made her do this cruel thing? A year! wait for a +year!' + +'She brought forward many reasons, Henry, but upon two of them she +was constantly dwelling.' + +'And what were these?' + +'Well, the news of the death of your brother Frank of course reached +us in Shire-Carnarvon, and how well I remember hearing my aunt say, +"Henry Aylwin will be one of the wealthiest landowners in England." +And I remember how my heart sank at her words, for I was always +thinking of the dear little lame boy with the language of suffering +in his eyes and the deep music of sorrow in his voice.' + +'Your heart sank, Winnie, and why?' + +'I felt as if a breath of icy air had blown between us, dividing us +for ever. And then my aunt began to talk about you and your future.' + +After some trouble I persuaded Winnie to tell me what was the homily +that this aunt of hers preached _à propos_ of Frank's death. And as +she talked I could not help observing what, as a child, I had only +observed in a dim, semi-conscious way--a strange kind of double +personality in Winnie. At one moment she seemed to me nothing but the +dancing fairy of the sands, objective and unconscious as a young +animal playing to itself, at another she seemed the mouthpiece of the +narrow world-wisdom of this Welsh aunt. No sooner had she spoken of +herself as a friendless, homeless girl, than her brow began to shine +with the pride of the Cymry. + +'My aunt,' said she, 'used to tell me that until disaster came upon +my uncle, and they were reduced to living upon a very narrow income, +he and she never really knew what love was--they never really knew +how rich their hearts were in the capacity of loving.' + +'Ah, I thought so,' I said bitterly. 'I thought the text was, + + Love in a hut, with water and a crust.' + +'No,' said Winifred firmly, 'that was not the text. She believed that +the wolf must not be very close to the door behind which love is +nestling.' + +'Then what did she believe? In the name of common-sense, Winnie, what +did she believe?' + +'She believed,' said Winnie, her cheek flushing and her eyes +brightening as she went on, 'that of all the schemes devised by man's +evil genius to spoil his nature, to make him self-indulgent, and +luxurious, and tyrannical, and incapable of understanding what the +word "love" means, the scheme of showering great wealth upon him is +the most perfect.' + +'Ah, yes, yes; the old nonsense. Easier for a camel to pass through +the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of love. +And in what way did she enlarge upon this most charitable theme?' + +'She told me dreadful things about the demoralising power of riches +in our time.' + +'Dreadful things! What were they, Winnie?' + +'She told me how insatiable is the greed for pleasure at this time. +She told me that the passion of vanity--"the greatest of all the +human passions," as she used to say--has taken the form of +money-worship in our time, sapping all the noblest instincts of men +and women, and in rich people poisoning even parental affection, +making the mother thirst for the pleasures which in old days she +would only have tried to win for her child. She told me +stories--dreadful stories--about children with expectations of great +wealth who watched the poor grey hairs of those who gave them birth, +and counted the years and months and days that kept them from the +gold which modern society finds to be more precious than honour, +family, heroism, genius, and all that was held precious in less +materialised times. She told me a thousand other things of this kind, +and when I grew older she put into my hand what has been written on +the subject.' + +'Good God! Has the narrow-minded tomfoolery got a literature?' + +Winnie went on with her eloquent account of her aunt's doctrines, and +to my surprise I found that there actually _was_ a literature of the +subject. + +Winnie's bright eyes had actually pored over old and long Chartist +tracts translated into Welsh, and books on the Christian Socialism of +Charles Kingsley, and pamphlets on more' recent kinds of Socialism. + +As she went on I could not help murmuring now and then, 'What +surroundings for my Winnie!' + +'And the result of all this was, Winnie, that your aunt asked you to +promise not to marry a man demoralised by privileges and made +contemptible by wealth.' + +'That is what she wanted me to promise; but as I have said, I did +not. But I did promise to wait for a year and see what effect wealth +would have upon you.' + +'Did your aunt not tell you also that the man who marries you can +never be unmanned by wealth, because he will know that everything he +can give is as dross when set against Winnie's love and Winnie's +beauty: Did she not also tell you that?' + +'Love and beauty!' said Winnie. 'Even if a woman's beauty did not +depend for its existence upon the eyes that look upon it, I should +want to give more to my hero than love and beauty. I should want to +give him help in the battle of life, Henry. I should want to buckle +on his armour, and sharpen the point of his lance, and whet the edge +of his sword; a rich man's armour is bank-notes, and Winnie knows +nothing of such paper. His spear, I am told, is a bullion bar, and +Winnie's fingers scarcely know the touch of gold.' + +'Then you agree, Winnie, with these strange views of your aunt?' + +'I do partly agree with them now. Ever since I saw you to-day in the +churchyard I have partly agreed with them.' + +'And why?' + +'Because already prosperity or bodily vigour or something has changed +your eyes and changed the tone of your voice.' + +'You mean that my eyes are no longer so full of trouble; and as to my +voice--how should my voice not change, seeing that it was the voice +of a child when you last listened to it?' + +'It is impossible for me even now, after I have thought about it so +much, to put into words that expression in your eyes which won me as +a child. All I knew at the time was that it fascinated me. And as I +now recall it, all I know is that your gaze then seemed full of +something which I can give a name to now, though I did not understand +it then--the pathos and tenderness and yearning, which come, as I +have been told, from suffering, and that your voice seemed to have +the same message. That expression and that tone are gone--they will, +of course, never return to you now. Your life is, and will be, too +prosperous for that. But still I hope and believe that in a year's +time prosperity will not have worked in you any of the mischief that +my aunt feared. For you have a noble nature, Henry, and to spoil you +will not be easy. You will never be the dear little Henry I loved, +but you will still be nobler and greater than other men, I think.' + +'Do you really mean that my lameness was a positive attraction to +you? Do you really mean that the very change in me which I thought +would strengthen the bond between us--my restoration to +health--weakens it? That is impossible, Winnie.' + +She remained silent for a time, as though lost in thought, and then +said, 'I do not believe that any woman can understand the movements +of her own heart where love is concerned. My aunt used to say I was a +strange girl, and I am afraid I am strange and perverse. She used to +say that in my affections I was like no other creature in the world.' + +'How should Winifred be like any other creature in the world?' I +said. 'She would not be Winifred if she were. But what did your aunt +mean?' + +'When I was quite a little child she noticed that I was neglecting a +favourite mavis which I used to delight to listen to as he warbled +from his wicker cage. She watched me, and found that my attention was +all given to a wounded bird that I had picked up on the Capel Curig +road. "Winnie," she said, "nothing can ever win your love until it +has first won your pity. A bird with a broken wing would be always +more to you than a sound one!"' + +'Your aunt was right,' I said, 'as no one should know better than I. +For was it not the new kind of pity shining in those eyes of yours +that revealed to me a new heaven in my loneliness? And when my +brother Frank on that day in the wood stood over us in all the pride +of his boyish strength, do I not remember the words you spoke?' + +'What were they? I have quite forgotten them.' + +'You said, "I don't think I could love any one very much who was not +lame."' + + + +V + +I wonder what words could render that love-dream on the dear silvered +sands, with the moon overhead, the dark shadowy cliffs and the old +church on one side, and the North Sea murmuring a love-chime on the +other! + +Suffice it to record that Winifred, with a throb in her throat (a +throb that prevented her from pronouncing her n's with the clarity +that some might have desired), said 'certumly' again to Henry's +suit,--'Certumly, if in a year's time you seek me out in the +mountains, and your eyes and voice show that prosperity has not +spoiled you, but that you are indeed my Henry.' And this being +settled in strict accordance with her aunt's injunctions, she never +tried to disguise how happy she was, but told Henry again and again +in answer to his importunate questions--told him with her frank +courage how she had loved him from the first in the old churchyard as +a child--loved him for what she called his love-eyes; told him--ah! +what did she not tell him? I must not go on. These things should not +be written about at all but for the demands of my story. + +And how soon she forgot that the betrothal was all on one side! I +could write out every word of that talk. I remember every accent of +her voice, every variation of light that came and went in her eyes, +every ripple of love-laughter, every movement of her body, lissome as +a greyhound's, graceful as a bird's. For fully an hour it lasted. And +remember, reader, that it was on the silvered sands, every inch of +which was associated with some reminiscence of childhood; it was +beneath a moon smiling as fondly and brightly as she ever smiled on +the domes of Venice or between the trees of Fiesole; it was by the +margin of waves whose murmurs were soft and perfumed as Winifred's +own breathing's when she slept; and remember that the girl was +Winifred herself, and that the boy--the happy boy--had Winifred's +love. Ah! but that last element of that hour's bliss is just what +the reader cannot realise, because he can only know Winifred through +these poor words. That is the distressing side of a task like mine. +The beloved woman here called Winifred (no phantom of an idle +imagination, but more real to me and dear to me than this soul and +body I call my own)--this Winifred can only live for you, reader, +through my feeble, faltering words; and yet I ask you to listen to +the story of such a love as mine. + +'Winnie,' I said, 'you have often as a child sung songs of Snowdon to +me and told me of others you used to sing. I should love to hear one +of these now, with the chime of the North Sea for an accompaniment +instead of the instrument you tell me your Gypsy friend used to play. +Before we go up the gangway, do sing me a verse of one of those +songs.' + +After some little persuasion she yielded and sang in a soft undertone +the following verse:-- + + 'I met in a glade a lone little maid, + At the foot of y Wyddfa the white; + Oh, lissom her feet as the mountain hind, + And darker her hair than the night; + Her cheek was like the mountain rose, + But fairer far to see, + As driving along her sheep with a song, + Down from the hills came she.' + +[Welsh translation] + + 'Mi gwrddais gynt a morwynig, + Wrth odreu y Wyddfa wen, + Un ysgafn ei throed fel yr ewig + A gwallt fel y nos ar ei phen; + Ei grudd oedd fel y rhosyn, + Un hardd a gwen ei gwawr; + Yn canu cân, a'i defaid mân, + O'r Wyddfa'n d'od i lawr.' + +'What a beautiful world it is!' said she, in a half-whisper, as we +were about to part at the cottage door, for I had refused to leave +her on the sands or even at the garden-gate. 'I should like to live +for ever,' she whispered; 'shouldn't you, Henry?' + +'Well, that all depends upon the person I lived with. For instance, I +shouldn't care to live for ever with Widow Shales, the pale-faced +tailoress, nor yet with her humpbacked son, whose hump was such a +constant source of wistful wonder and solicitude to you as a child.' + +She gave a merry little laugh of reminiscence. Then she said, 'But you +could live with _me_ for ever, couldn't you, Henry?' plucking a leaf +from the grape-vine on the wall and putting it between her teeth. + +'For ever and ever, Winifred.' + +'It fills me with wonder,' said she, after a while, 'the thought of +being Henry's wife. It is so delightful and yet so fearful.' + +By this I knew she had not forgotten that look of hate on my mother's +face. + +She put her hand on the latch and found that the door was now +unlocked. + +'But where is the fearful part of it, Winifred?' I said. 'I am not a +cannibal.' + +'You ought to marry a great English lady, dear, and I'm only a poor +girl; you seem to forget all about that, you silly fond boy. You +forget I'm only a poor girl--just Winifred,' she continued. + +'Just Winifred,' I said, taking her hand and preventing her from +lifting the latch. + +'I've lived,' said she, 'in a little cottage like this with my aunt +and Miss Dalrymple and done everything.' + +'Everything's a big word, Winifred. What may everything include in +your case?' + +'Include!' said Winifred; 'oh, everything, housekeeping and--' + +'Housekeeping!' said I. 'Racing the winds with Rhona Boswell and +other Gypsy children up and down Snowdon--that's been _your_ +housekeeping.' + +'Cooking,' said Winifred, maintaining her point. + +'Oh, what a fib, Winifred! These sunburnt fingers may have picked +wild fruits, but they never made a pie in their lives.' + +'Never made a pie! I make beautiful pies and things; and when we're +married I'll make your pies--may I, instead of a conceited man-cook?' + +'No, Winifred. Never make a pie or do a bit of cooking in _my_ house, +I charge you.' + +'Oh, why not?' said Winifred, a shade of disappointment overspreading +her face. 'I suppose it's unladylike to cook.' + +'Because,' said I,'once let me taste something made by these tanned +fingers, and how could I ever afterwards eat anything made by a +man-cook, conceited or modest? I should say to that poor cook, "Where +is the Winifred flavour, cook? I don't taste those tanned fingers +here." And then, suppose you were to die first, Winifred, why I +should have to starve, just for want of a little Winifred flavour in +the pie-crust. Now I don't want to starve, and you sha'n't cook.' + +'Oh, Hal, you dear, dear fellow!' shrieked Winifred, in an ecstasy of +delight at this nonsense. Then her deep love overpowered her quite, +and she said, her eyes suffused with tears, 'Henry, you can't think +how I love you. I'm sure I couldn't live even in heaven without you.' + +Then came the shadow of a lich-owl, as it whisked past us towards the +apple-trees. + +'Why, you'd be obliged to live without me, Winifred, if I were still +at Raxton.' + +'No,' said she, 'I'm quite sure I couldn't. I should have to come in +the winds and play round you on the sands. I should have to peep over +the clouds and watch you. I should have to follow you about wherever +you went. I should have to beset you till you said, "Bother Winnie! I +wish she'd keep in heaven."' + +I saw, however, that the owl's shadow had disturbed her, and I lifted +the latch of the cottage door for her. We were met by a noise so loud +that it might have come from a trombone. + +'Why, what on earth is that?' I said. I could see the look of shame +break over Winifred's features as she said, 'Father.' Yes, it was the +snoring of Wynne in a drunken sleep: it filled the entire cottage. + +The poor girl seemed to feel that that brutal noise had, somehow, +coarsened _her_, and she actually half shrank from me as I gave her +a kiss and left her. + +Wondering how I should at such an hour get into the house without +disturbing my mother and the servants, I passed along that same road +where, as a crippled child, I had hobbled on that, bright afternoon +when love was first revealed to me. Ah, what a different love was +this which was firing my blood, and making dizzy my brain! That +child-love had softened my heart in its deep distress, and widened +my soul. This new and mighty passion in whose grasp I was, this +irresistible power that had seized and possessed my entire being, +wrought my soul in quite a different sort, concentrating and +narrowing my horizon till the human life outside the circle of our +love seemed far, far away, as though I were gazing through the wrong +end of a telescope. I had learned that he who truly loves is indeed +born again, becomes a new and a different man. Was it only a few +short hours ago, I asked myself, that I was listening to my mother's +attack upon Winifred? Was it this very evening that I was sitting in +Dullingham Church? + +How far away in the past seemed those events! And as to my mother's +anger against Winifred, that anger and cruel scorn of class which had +concerned me so much, how insignificant now seemed this and every +other obstacle in love's path! I looked up at the moonlit sky; I +leaned upon a gate and looked across the silent fields where Winifred +and I used to gather violets in spring, hedge-roses in summer, +mushrooms in autumn, and I said, '_I_ will marry her; she shall be +mine; she _shall_ be mine, though all the powers on earth, all the +powers in the universe, should say nay.' + +As I spoke I saw that lights were flashing to and fro in the windows +of the Hall. 'My poor father is dead,' I said. I turned and ran up +the road. 'Oh, that I could have seen him once again!' At the hall +door I was met by a servant, and learnt that, while I had been +love-making on the sands, a message had come from the Continent with +news of my father's death. + + + +VI + +There was no meeting Winifred on the next night. + +It was decided that my uncle's private secretary should go to +Switzerland to bring the body to England. I (remembering my promise +about the mementos) insisted on accompanying him. We started on the +morrow, preceded by a message to my father's Swiss friends ordering +an embalmment. Before starting I tried to see Winifred; but she had +gone to Dullingham. + +On our arrival at the little Swiss town, we found that the embalmment +had been begun. The body was still in the hands of a famous +embalmer--an Italian Jew settled at Geneva, the only successful rival +there of Professor Laskowski. He was celebrated for having revived +the old Hebraic method of embalmment in spices, and improving it by +the aid of the modern discoveries in antiseptics of Laskowski, Signer +Franchina of Naples, and Dr. Dupré of Paris. This physician told me +that by his process the body would, without the peculiarly-sealed +coffin used by the Swiss embalmers, last 'firm and white as Carrara +marble for a thousand years.' + +The people at the chalet had naturally been much astonished to find +upon my father's breast a jewelled cross lying. As soon as I entered +the house they handed it to me. + +For some reason or another this amulet and the curse had haunted my +imagination as much as if I believed in amulets and curses, though my +reason told me that everything of the kind was sheer nonsense. I +could not sleep for thinking about it, and in the night I rose from +my bed, and, opening the window, held up the cross in the moonlight. +The facets caught the silvery rays and focussed them. The amulet +seemed to shudder with some prophecy of woe. It was now that, for the +first time, I began to feel the signs of that great struggle between +reason and the inherited instinct of superstition which afterwards +played so important a part in my life. I then took up the parchment +scroll, and opened it and re-read the curse. The great letters in +which the English version was printed seemed to me larger by the +light of the moon than they had seemed by daylight. + +We had to wait for some time in Switzerland. In a locked drawer I +found the casket and a copy of _The Veiled Queen_. I read much in the +book. Every word I found there was in flat contradiction to my own +mode of thought. + +Did the shock of this dreadful catastrophe drive Winifred from my +mind? No, nothing could have done that. My soul seemed, as I have +said, to be new-born, and all emotions, passions, and sentiments that +were not connected with her seemed to be shadowy and distant, like +ante-natal dreams. It would be hypocrisy not to confess this frankly, +regardless of the impression against me it may make on the reader's +mind. Yet I had a real affection for my father. In spite of his +extraordinary obliviousness of my very existence till the last year +of his life, I was strongly attached to him, and his death made me +see nothing but his virtues; yet my soul was so filled with my +passion for Winifred as to have but little room for sorrow. As to my +mother, her attachment to my father knew no bounds, and her grief at +her bereavement knew none. + +A day or two before the funeral my uncle Aylwin of Alvanley arrived, +and his presence was a great comfort to her. Owing to my father's +position in the county a great deal of funereal state was considered +necessary, and there was much hurry and bustle. + +My uncle having known Wynne when quite a young man, before +intemperance had degraded him, took an interest in him still. He had +called at the cottage as he passed along Wilderness Road towards +Raxton, and the result of this was that the organist came to speak to +him at our house upon some matter in connection with the funeral +service. My mother was greatly vexed at this. Her conduct on the +occasion alarmed me. Ever since Frank's death had made it evident not +only that I should succeed to all the property of my uncle Aylwin of +Alvanley, but that I might even succeed to something greater, to the +earldom which was the glory and pride of the Aylwins, my mother had +kept a jealous and watchful eye upon me, being, as I afterwards +learned, not unmindful of the early child-loves of Winifred and +myself; and the advent to Raxton of Winifred, as a beautiful tall +girl, had aroused her fears as well as her wrath. + +The day of the funeral came, and the question of the casket and the +amulet was on my mind. The important thing, of course, was that the +matter should be kept absolutely secret. The valuables must be placed +in secrecy with the embalmed corpse at the last moment, before the +screwing down of the coffin, when servants and undertakers were out +of sight and hearing. + +My mother knew what had been my father's instructions to me, and was +desirous that they should be fulfilled, though she scorned the +superstition. She and I placed the casket and the scroll hearing the +written curse upon it beneath my father's head, and hung the chain of +the amulet around his neck, so that the cross lay with the jewels +uppermost upon his breast. Then the undertakers were called in to +screw down the coffin in my presence. My mother afterwards called me +to her room, and told me that she was much troubled about the cross. +The amulet being of great value, my uncle Aylwin of Alvanley had +tried to dissuade her from carrying into execution what he called +'the absurd whim of a mystic'; but my mother urged my promise, and +there had been warm words between them, as my mother told me--adding, +however, 'and the worst of it is, that scamp Wynne, whom your uncle +introduced into this house without my knowledge or sanction, was +passing the door while your uncle was talking, and if he did not hear +every word about the jewelled cross, drink must have stupefied him +indeed. _He_ is my only fear in connection with the jewels.' Her +dislike of Wynne had made her forget for the moment the effect her +words must have upon me. + +'Mother,' I said, 'your persistent prejudice and injustice towards +this man astonish me. Wynne, though poor and degraded now, is a +gentleman born, and is no more likely to violate a tomb than the best +Aylwin that ever lived.' + +I will not dwell upon the scene at the funeral. I saw my father's +coffin placed in the crypt that spread beneath the deserted church. +It was by the earnest wish of my father that he was buried in a +church already deserted because the grip of the resistless sea was +upon it. At this very time a very large slice of the cliff behind the +church was pronounced dangerous, and I perceived that new rails were +lying on the grass ready to be fixed up, further inland than ever. + + + +VII + +My mother retired to her room immediately on our return to the house. +My uncle stayed till just before dinner, and then left. I seemed to +be alone in a deserted house, so still were the servants, so quiet +seemed everything. But now what was this sense of undefined dread +that came upon me and would not let me rest? Why did I move from room +to room? and what was goading me? Something was stirring like a blind +creature across my brain, and it was too hideous to confront. Why +_should_ I confront it? Why scare one's soul and lacerate one's heart +at every dark fear that peeps through the door of imagination, when +experience teaches us that out of every hundred such dark fears +ninety-nine are sure to turn out mere magic-lantern bogies? + +The evening wore on, and yet I _would_ not face this phantom fear, +though it refused to quit me. + +The servants went to bed quite early that night, and when the butler +came to ask me if I should 'want anything more,' I said 'only a +candle,' and went up to my bedroom. + +'I will turn into bed,' I said, 'and sleep over it. The idea is a +figment of an over-wrought brain. Destiny would never play any man a +trick like that which I have dared to dream of. Among human +calamities it would be at once the most shocking and the most +whimsical--this imaginary woe that scares me. Destiny is merciless, +but who ever heard of Destiny playing mere cruel practical jokes upon +man? Up to now the Fates have never set up as humorists. Now, for a +man to love, to dote upon, a girl whose father is the violator of his +own father's tomb--a wretch who has called down upon himself the most +terrible curse of a dead man that has ever been uttered--_that_ would +be a fate too fantastically cruel to be permitted by Heaven--by any +governing power whose sanctions were not those of a whimsical +cruelty.' + +Yet those words of my mother's about Wynne, and her suspicions of +him, were flitting about the air of the room like fiery-eyed bats. + +The air of the room--ah! it was stifling me. I opened the window and +leant out. But that made matters a thousand times worse, for the moon +was now at the very full, and staring across--staring at +what?--staring across the sea at the tall tower of the old church on +the cliff, where perhaps the sin--the 'unpardonable sin,' according +to Cymric ideas--of sacrilege--sacrilege committed by _her_ father +upon the grave of mine--might at this moment be going on. The body of +the church was hidden from me by the intervening trees, and nothing +but the tall tower shone in the silver light. So intently did the +moon stare at it, that it seemed to me that the inside of the church, +with its silent aisles, arches, and tombs, was reflected on her disc. +The moon oppressed me, and when I turned my eyes away I seemed to see +hanging in the air the silent aisles of a church, through whose +windows the moonlight was pouring, flooding them with a radiance more +ghastly than darkness, concentrating all its light on the chancel, +beneath which I knew that my father was lying in the dark crypt with +a cross on his breast. I turned for relief to look in the room, and +there, in the darkness made by the shadow of the bed, I seemed to +read, written in pale, trembling flame, the words: + + 'LET THERE BE NO MAN TO PITY HIM, NOR TO HAVE COMPASSION UPON HIS + FATHERLESS CHILDREN....LET HIS CHILDREN BE VAGABONDS, AND BEG THEIR + BREAD: LET THEM SEEK IT ALSO OUT OF DESOLATE PLACES.' + + +I returned to the window for relief from the bedroom. + +'Now, let me calmly consider the case in all its bearings, I said to +myself, drawing a chair to the window and sitting down with my elbows +resting on the sill. 'Suppose Wynne really did overhear the +altercation between my mother and my uncle, which seems scarcely +probable, has drink really so demoralised him, so brutalised him, +that for drink he would commit the crime of sacrilege? There are no +signs of his having sunk so low as that. But suppose the crime were +committed, what then? Do I really believe that the curse of my father +and of the Psalmist would fall upon Winifred's pure and innocent +head? Certainly not. I do not believe in the effect of curses at all. +I do not belief in any supernatural interference with the natural +laws of the universe.' + +Ah! but this thought about the futility of the curse, about the folly +of my father's superstitions, brought me no comfort. I knew that, +brave as Winifred was as a child, she was, when confronting the +material world, very superstitious. I remembered that as a child, +whenever I said, 'What a happy day it has been!' she would not rest +until she had made me add, 'and shall have many more,' because of her +feeling of the prophetic power of words. I knew that the +superstitions of the Welsh hills awed her. I knew that it had been +her lot to imbibe, not only Celtic, but Romany superstitions. I knew +that the tribe of Gypsies with whom she had been thrown into contact, +the Lovells and the Boswells, though superior to the rest, of the +Romany race, are the most superstitious of all, and that Winifred had +become an object of strong affection to the most superstitious even +among that tribe, one Sinfi Lovell. I knew from something that had +once fallen from her as a child on the sands, when prattling about +Sinfi Lovell and Rhona Boswell, that especially powerful with her was +the idea (both Romany and Celtic) about the effect of a dead man's +curse. I knew that this idea had a dreadful fascination for her--the +fascination of repulsion. I knew also that reason may strive with +superstition as with the other instincts, but it will strive in vain. +I knew that it would have been worse than idle for me to say to +Winifred, 'There is no curse in the matter. The dreaming mystic who +begot and forgot me, what curse could he call down on a soul like my +Winifred's?' Her reason might partly accept my arguments; but +straightway they would be spurned by her instincts and her +traditional habits of thought. The terrible voice of the Psalmist +would hush every other sound. Her sweet soul would pine under the +blazing fire of a curse, real or imaginary; her life would be +henceforth but a bitter penance. Like the girl in Coleridge's poem of +'The Three Graves,' her very flesh would waste before the fires of +her imagination. 'No,' said I, 'such a calamity as this which I dread +Heaven would not permit. So cruel a joke as this Hell itself would +not have the heart to play.' + +My meditations were interrupted by a sound, and then by a sensation +such as I cannot describe. Whence came that shriek? It was like a +coming from a distance--loud _there_, faint _here_, and yet it seemed +to come from _me_! It was as though I were witnessing some dreadful +sight unutterable and intolerable. And then it seemed the voice of +Winifred, and then it seemed her father's voice, and finally it +seemed the voice of my own father struggling in his tomb. My horror +stopped the pulses of my heart for a moment, and then it passed. + +'It comes from the church or from behind the church,' I said, as the +shriek was followed by an angry murmur as of muffled thunder. All had +occurred within the space of half a second. I quickly but cautiously +opened my bedroom door, extinguishing my light before doing so, and +began to creep downstairs, fearing to wake my mother. My shoes +creaked, so I took them off and carried them. Crossing the hall, I +softly drew the bolts of the front door; then I passed into the +moonlight. The gravel of the carriage-drive cut through my stockings, +and a pebble bruised one of my heels so that I nearly fell. When I +got safely under the shadow of the large cedar of Lebanon in the +middle of the lawn, I stopped and looked up at my mother's window to +see if she were a watcher. The blinds were down, there was no +movement, no noise. Evidently she was asleep. I put on my shoes and +hurried across the lawn towards the high road. I walked at a sharp +pace towards the old church. The bark of a distant dog or the baa of +a waking sheep was the only sound. When I reached the churchyard, I +peered in dread over the lich-gate before I opened it. Neither Wynne +nor any living creature was to be seen in the churchyard. + +The soothing smell of the sea came from the cliffs, making me wonder +at my fears. On the loneliest coast, in the dunnest night, a sense of +companionship comes with the smell of seaweed. At my feet spread the +great churchyard, with its hundreds of little green hillocks and +white gravestones, sprinkled here and there with square, box-like +tombs. All quietly asleep in the moonlight! Here and there an aged +headstone seemed to nod to its neighbour, as though muttering in its +dreams. The old church, bathed in the radiance, seemed larger than it +had ever done in daylight, and incomparably more grand and lonely. + +On the left were the tall poplar trees, rustling and whispering among +themselves. Still, there might be at the back of the church mischief +working. I walked round thither. The ghostly shadows on the long +grass might have been shadows thrown by the ruins of Tadmor, so +quietly did they lie and dream. A weight was uplifted from my soul. +A balm of sweet peace fell upon my heart. The noises I had heard had +been imaginary, conjured up by love and fear; or they might have been +an echo of distant thunder. The windows of the church no doubt looked +ghastly, as I peered in to see whether Wynne's lantern was moving +about. But all was still. I lingered in the churchyard close by the +spot where I had first seen the child Winifred and heard the Welsh +song. + +I went to look at the sea from the cliff. Here, however, there was +something sensational at last. The spot where years ago I had sat +when Winifred's song had struck upon my ear and awoke me to a new +life--_was gone_! 'This then was the noise I heard,' I said; 'the +rumbling was the falling of the earth; the shriek was the tearing +down of trees.' + +Another slice, a slice weighing thousands of tons, had slipped since +the afternoon from the churchyard on to the sands below. 'Perhaps the +tread of the townspeople who came to witness the funeral may have +given the last shake to the soil,' I said. + +I stood and looked over the newly-made gap at the great hungry water. +Considering the little wind, the swell on the North Sea was +tremendous. Far away there had been a storm somewhere. The moon was +laying a band of living light across the vast bosom of the sea, like +a girdle. Only a month had elapsed since that never-to-be-forgotten +moonlight walk with Winifred. But what a world of emotion since then! + + + +VIII + +I walked along the cliff to the gangway behind Flinty Point, and +descended in order to see what havoc the landslip had made with the +graves. + +I looked across the same moonlit sands where I had seen Winifred so +short a time before, when I had a father. To my delight and surprise, +there she was again. There was Winifred, walking thoughtfully towards +Church Cove with Snap by her side, who seemed equally thoughtful and +sedate. The relief of finding that my fears about her father were +groundless added to my joy at seeing her. With my own dead father +lying within a few roods of me, I ran towards her in a state of high +exhilaration, forgetting everything but her. With sympathetic looks +for my bereavement she met me, and we walked hand-in-hand in silence. + +After a little while she said: 'My father told me he was very busy +to-night, and wished me to come on the sands for a walk, but I little +hoped to meet you; I am very pleased we have met, for to-morrow I am +going to London.' + +'To London?' I said, in dismay at the thought of losing her so soon. +'Why are you going to London. Winnie?' + +'Oh,' said she, with the same innocent look of business-like +importance which, at our first meeting as children, had so impressed +me when she pulled out the key to open the church door, 'I'm going on +business.' + +'On business! And how long do you stay?' + +'I don't stay at all; I'm coming back immediately.' + +'Come,' I exclaimed, 'there's a little comfort in that, at least. +Snap and I can wait for one day.' + +'Good-night,' said Winifred. + +'Have you not seen the great landslip at the churchyard?' I asked, +taking her hand and pointing to the new promontory which the _débris_ +of the fall had made. + +'Another landslip?' said she. 'Poor dear old churchyard, it will soon +all be gone! Snap and I must have been far away when that fell. But I +remember saying to him, 'Hark at the thunder. Snap!' and then I heard +a sound like a shriek that appalled me. It recalled a sound I once +heard in Shire-Carnarvon.' + +'What was it, Winnie?' + +'You've heard me when I was a little girl talk of my Gypsy sister +Sinfi?' + +'Often,' I said. + +'She loves me more than anybody else in the whole world,' said +Winifred simply. 'She says she would lay down her life for me, and I +really believe she would. Well, there is not far from where I used to +live a famous cascade called the Swallow Falls, where the water drops +down a chasm of great depth. If you listen to the noise of the +cataract, you may hear mingled with it a peculiar kind of wail as +from a man in great agony. It is said to be the wail of a Sir John +Wynn, of Gwydir, whose spirit is under a curse, and is imprisoned at +the bottom of the falls on account of his cruelty and misdeeds on +earth. On those rare nights when the full moon shines down the +chasm, the wail becomes an agonised shriek. Once on a bright +moonlight night Sinfi and I went to see these falls. The moonlight on +the cascade had exactly the same supernatural appearance that it has +now falling upon these billows. Sinfi sings some of our Welsh songs, +and accompanies herself on a peculiar obsolete Welsh instrument +called a crwth, which she always carries with her. While we were +listening to the cataract and what she called the Wynn wail, she +began to sing the wild old air. Then at once the wail sprang into a +loud shriek; Sinfi said the shriek of a cursed spirit; and the +shriek was exactly like the sound I heard from the cliffs a little +while ago.' + +'I heard the same noise, Winnie. It was simply the rending and +cracking of the poor churchyard trees as they fell.' + +She turned back with me to the water-mark to see the waves come +tumbling in beneath the moon. We sauntered along the sea-margin +again, heedless of the passage of time. + +And again (as on that betrothal night) Winifred prattled on, +while I listened to the prattle, craftily throwing in a word or two, +now and then, to direct the course of the sweet music into such +channels as best pleased my lordly whim,--when suddenly, against my +will and reason, there came into my mind that idea of the sea's +prophecy which was so familiar to my childhood, but which my studies +had now made me despise. + +The sea then threw up to Winifred's feet a piece of seaweed. It was a +long band of common weed, that would in the sunlight have shone a +bright red. And at that very moment--right across the sparkling bar +the moon had laid over the sea--there passed, without any cloud to +cast it, a shadow. And my father's description of his love-tragedy +haunted me, I knew not why. And right across my life, dividing it in +twain like a burn-scar, came and lay for ever that strip of red +seaweed. Why did my father's description of his own love-tragedy +haunt me? + +Before recalling the words that had fallen from my father in +Switzerland, I was a boy: in a few minutes afterwards, I was a man +with an awful knowledge of Destiny in my eyes--a man struggling with +calamity, and fainting in the grip of dread. My manhood, I say, dates +from the throwing up of that strip of seaweed. Winifred picked up the +weed and made a necklace of it, in the old childish way, knowing how +much it would please me. + +'Isn't it a lovely colour?' she said, as it glistened in the +moonlight. 'Isn't it just as beautiful and just as precious as if it +were really made of the jewels it seems to rival?' + +'It is as red as the reddest ruby,' I replied, putting out my hand +and grasping the slippery substance. + +'Would you believe,' said Winnie, 'that I never saw a ruby in my +life? And now I particularly want to know all about rubies.' + +'Why do you want particularly to know?' + +'Because,' said Winifred, 'my father, when he wished me to come out +for a walk, had been talking a great deal about rubies.' + +'Your father had been talking about rubies, Winifred--how very odd!' + +'Yes,' said Winifred, 'and he talked about diamonds too.' + +'THE CURSE!' I murmured, and clasped her to my breast. 'Kiss me, +Winifred!' + +There had come a bite of sudden fire at my heart, and I shuddered +with a dreadful knowledge, like the captain of an unarmed ship, who, +while the unconscious landsmen on board are gaily scrutinising a sail +that like a speck has appeared on the horizon, shudders with the +knowledge of what the speck is, and hears in imagination the yells, +and sees the knives, of the Lascar pirates just starting in pursuit. +As I took in the import of those innocent words, falling from +Winifred's bright lips, falling as unconsciously as water-drops over +a coral reef in tropical seas alive with the eyes of a thousand +sharks, my skin seemed to roughen with dread, and my hair began to +stir. + +At first she resisted my movement, but looking in my eyes and seeing +that something had deeply disturbed me, she let me kiss her. 'What +did you say, Henry?' + +'That I love you so, Winnie, and cannot let you go just yet.' + +'What a dear fellow it is!' she said; 'and all this ado about a poor +girl with scarcely shoes to her feet.' Then, after an instant's +pause, she said: 'But I thought you said something very different. I +thought you said something about a curse, and _that_ scared me.' + +'Scared Winifred!' I said. 'Fancy anything scaring Winnie, who +threatens to hit people when they offend her.' + +'Ah! but I am scared,' said she, 'at things from the other world, and +especially at a curse.' + +'Why, what do you know about curses, Winifred?' + +'Oh, a good deal. I have never forgotten that shriek of a cursed +spirit which I heard at the Swallow Falls. And only a short time ago +Sinfi Lovell nearly frightened me to death by a story of a whole +Gypsy tribe having withered, one after the other--grandfathers, +fathers, and children--through a dead man's curse. But what is the +matter with you, Henry? You surely have turned very pale!' + +'Well, Winnie,' said I, 'I _am_ a little, just a little faint. After +the funeral I could take no dinner. But it will he over in a minute. +Let us go back a few yards and sit down upon the dry sand, and have +a little more chat.' + +We went and sat down, and my heart slowly resumed its function. + +'Let me see, Winnie, what were we talking about? About rubies and +diamonds, I think, were we not? You said that when your father bade +you come out for a walk to-night, he had just been talking about +rubies and diamonds. What was he saying about them, Winnie? But come +and lay your head here while you tell me; lay it on my breast, +Winnie, as you used to do in Graylingham Wood, and on these same +sands.' + +Evidently the earnestness of my manner and the suppressed passion in +my voice drove out of her mind all her wise saws about the perils of +wealth and all her wise determinations about the postponed betrothal, +for she came and sat by my side and laid her head upon my breast. + +'Yes. like _that_,' I said; 'and now tell me what your father was +saying about precious stones; for I, too, take an interest in jewels, +and have a great knowledge of them.' + +'My father,' said Winifred, 'is going to have some diamonds and +rubies given to him to-night by a friend of his, a sailor, who has +come from India, and I am to go to London to-morrow to sell some of +them; for you know, dear, we are very poor. That is why I am +determined to go back to Shire-Carnarvon and see if I can get a +situation as governess. Miss Dalrymple's recommendation will be of +great aid. Poverty afflicts father more than it afflicts most people, +and the rubies and diamonds and things will be of no use to us, you +know.' + +I could make her no answer. + +'It seems a very strange kind of present from my father's friend,' +she continued, meditatively; 'but it is a very kind one for all that. +But, Henry, you surely are still very unwell; your heart is thumping +underneath my ear like a fire-engine.' + +'They are all love-thumps for Winifred,' I said, with pretended +jocosity; 'they are all love-thumps for my Winnie.' + +'But of course,' said she, 'this is quite a secret about the precious +stones. My father enjoined me to tell no one, because the temptation +to people is so great, and the cottage might be robbed, or I might be +waylaid going to London. But of course I may tell you; he never +thought of _you_.' + +'No, Winnie, he never thought of me. You are very fond of him; very +fond of your father, are you not?' + +'Oh yes,' said she, 'I love him more than all the world--next to +you.' + +'Then he is kind to you, Winnie?' 'Ye--yes, as kind as he can +be--considering--' + +'Considering what, Winnie?' + +'Considering that he's often--unwell, you know.' + +'Winnie.' I said, as I gazed in the innocent eyes, 'whom are you +considered to be the most like, your father or your mother?' + +'I never knew my mother, but I am said to be partly like her. Why do +you ask?' + +'Only an idle question. You love me, Winnie?' + +'What a question!' + +'And you will do what I ask you to do, if I ask you very earnestly, +Winnie?' + +'Certumly,' said Winifred, giving, with a forced laugh, the lisp with +which that word had been given on a now famous occasion. + +'Well, Winifred, I told you that I feel an interest in precious +stones, and have some knowledge of them. There are certain stones to +which I have the greatest antipathy: diamonds and rubies are the +chief of these. + +Now I want you to promise that diamonds and rubies and beryls shall +never touch these fingers, these dear fingers, Winnie, which are +mine, you know; they are mine now,' and I drew the smooth nails +slowly along my lips. 'You are mine now, every bit.' + +'Every bit,' said Winifred, but she looked perplexed. + +She saw, however, by my face that, for some reason or other, I was +deeply in earnest. She gave the promise. And I knew at least that +those fingers would not be polluted, come what would. As to her going +to London with the spoil, I knew how to prevent that. + +But what course of action was I now to take? At this very moment +perhaps Winifred's father was violating my father's tomb, unless +indeed the crime might even yet he prevented. There was one hope, +however. The drunken scoundrel whose daughter was my world I knew to +be a procrastinator in everything. His crime might, even yet, be only +a crime in intent; and, if so, I could prevent it easily enough. My +first business was to hurry to the church, and, if not yet too late, +keep guard over the tomb. But to achieve this I must get quit of +Winifred without a moment's delay. Now Winifred's most direct path to +the cottage was the path I myself must take to the church, the +gangway behind Flinty Point. Yet _she_ must not pass the church with +me, lest an encounter with her father should take place. There was +thus but one course open. I must induce her to take the gangway +behind the other point of the cove; and how was this to be compassed? +That was what I was racking my brain about. + +'Winifred,' I said at last, as we sat and looked at the sea, 'I begin +to fear we must be moving.' + +She started up, vexed that the hint to move had come from me. + +'The fact is,' I said, 'I particularly want to go into the old +church.' + +'Into the old church to-night?' said Winifred, with a look of +astonishment and alarm that I could not understand. + +'Yes; something was left undone there this afternoon at the funeral, +and I must go at once. But why do you look so alarmed?' + +'Oh, don't go into the old church to-night,' said Winifred. + +I stood and looked at her, puzzled and strangely disturbed. + +'Henry,' said she, 'I know you will think me very foolish, but I have +not yet got over the fright that shriek gave me, the shriek we both +heard the moment before the landslip. That shriek was not a noise +made by the rending of trees, Henry. No, no; we both know better than +that, Henry.' + +I gave a start; for, try as I would, I had not really succeeded in +persuading myself that what I had heard was anything but a human +voice in terror or in pain. + +'What do you think the noise was, then?' said I. + +'I don't know; but I know what I felt as it came shuddering along the +sand, and then went wailing over the sea.' + +'What did you feel, Winnie?' + +'My heart stood still, for it seemed to me to be the call from the +grave.' + +'The call from the grave! and pray what is that? I feel how sadly my +education has been neglected.' + +'Don't scoff, Henry. It is said that when the fate of an old family +is at stake, there will sometimes come to him who represents it a +call from the grave, and when I saw Snap standing stock still, his +hair bristling with terror, I knew that it was no earthly shriek. I +felt sure it was a call from the grave, and I knelt on the sands and +prayed. Henry, Henry, don't go in the church to-night.' + +That Winifred's words affected me profoundly I need not say. The +shriek, whatever it was, had been responded to by her soul and by +mine in the same mysterious way. But the important thing to do was to +prevent her from imagining that her superstitious terrors had +affected me. + +'Really, Winnie,' I said, 'this double-voiced shriek of yours, which +is at once the shriek of the Welshman at the bottom of the swollen +falls and the Celtic call from the grave, is the most dramatic shriek +I ever heard of. It would make its fortune on the stage. But with all +its power of being the shriek of two different people at once, it +must not prevent my going into the church to do my duty; so we had +better part here at this very spot. You go up the cliffs by Needle +Point, and _I_ will take Flinty Point gangway.' + +'But why not ascend the cliffs together?' said Winifred. + +'Why, the prying coastguard might be passing, and might wonder to +see us in the churchyard on the night of my father's funeral (he +might take us for two ghosts in love, you know). However, we need not +part just yet. We can walk on a little farther into the cove before +our paths diverge.' + +Winifred made no demur, though she looked puzzled, as we were then +much nearer to the gangway I had selected for myself than to the +gangway I had allotted to her. + + +IX + +Winifred and I were in the little horseshoe curve called 'Church +Cove,' but also called sometimes 'Mousetrap Cove,' because, as I have +already mentioned, a person imprisoned in it by the tide could only +escape by means of a boat from the sea. + +Needle Point was at one extremity of the cove and Flinty Point at the +other. In front of us, therefore, at the very centre of the cliff +that surrounded the cove, was the old church, which I was to reach as +soon as possible. To reach a gangway up the cliff it was necessary to +pass quite out of the cove, round either Flinty Point or Needle +Point; for the cliff _within_ the cove was perpendicular, and in some +parts actually overhanging. + +When we reached the softer sands near the back of the cove, where the +walking was difficult, I bade Winifred good-night, and she turned +somewhat demurely to the left on her way to Needle Point, between +which and the spot where we now parted she would have to pass below +the church on the cliff, and close by the great masses of debris from +the new landslip that had fallen from the churchyard. This landslip +(which had taken place since she had left home for her moonlight +walk) had changed the shape of the cove into a figure something like +the Greek epsilon. + +I walked rapidly towards Flinty Point, which I should have to double +before I could reach the gangway I was to take. So feverishly +possessed had I become by the desire to prevent the sacrilege, if +possible, that I had walked some distance away from Winifred before I +observed how high the returning tide had risen in the cove. + +When I now looked at Flinty Point, round which I was to turn, I saw +that it was already in deep water, and that I could not reach the +gangway outside the cove. It was necessary, therefore, to turn back +and ascend by the gangway Winifred was making for, behind Needle +Point, which did not project so far into the sea. So I turned back. +As I did so, I perceived that she had reached the projecting mass of +debris in the middle of the semicircle below the churchyard, and was +looking at it. Then I saw her stoop, pick up what seemed a paper +parcel, open it, and hold it near her face to trace out the letters +by the moonlight. Then I saw her give a start as she read it. I +walked towards her, and soon reached the landslip. Evidently what she +read agitated her much. She seemed to read it and re-read it. When +she saw me she put it behind her back, trying to conceal it from me. + +'What have you picked up, Winifred?' I said, in much alarm; for my +heart told me that it was in some way connected with her father and +the shriek. + +'Oh, Henry!' said she, 'I was in hopes you had not seen it. I am so +grieved for you. This parchment contains a curse written in large +letters. Some sacrilegious wretch has broken into the church and +stolen a cross placed in your father's tomb.' + +God!--It was the very same parchment scroll from my father's tomb on +which was written the curse! I was struck dumb with astonishment and +dismay. The whole terrible truth of the situation broke in upon me at +one flash. The mysterious shriek was explained now. Wynne had +evidently broken open the tomb as soon as his daughter was out of the +way. He had then, in order to reach the cottage without running the +risk of being seen by a chance passenger on the Wilderness Road, +blundered about the edge of the cliff at the very moment when it was +giving way, and had fallen with it. It was his yell of despair amid +the noise of the landslip that Winifred and I had both heard. My sole +thought was for Winifred. She had read the curse; but where was the +dead body of her father that would proclaim upon whose head the curse +had fallen? I stared around me in dismay. She saw how deeply I was +disturbed, but little dreamed the true cause. + +'Oh, Henry,' said she, 'to think that you should have such a grief as +this; your dear father's tomb violated!' and she sat down and sobbed. +'But there is a God in heaven,' she added, rising with great +solemnity. 'Whoever has committed this dreadful crime against God and +man will rue the day he was born:--the curse of a dead man who has +been really wronged no penance or prayer can cure,--so my aunt in +Wales used to say, and so Sinfi says;--it clings to the wrongdoer and +to his children. That cry I heard was the voice of vengeance, and it +came from your father's tomb.' + +'It is a most infamous robbery,' I said; 'but as to the curse, that +is of course as powerless to work mischief as the breath of a baby.' +And again I anxiously looked around to see where was the dead body of +Wynne, which I knew must be close by. + +'Oh, Henry!' said she, 'listen to these words, these awful words of +your dead father, and the words of the Bible too.' + +And she held up to her eyes, as though fascinated by it, the +parchment scroll, and read aloud in a voice so awe-struck that it did +not seem to be her voice at all: + + '_He who shall violate this tomb,--he who shall steal this amulet, + hallowed as a love-token between me and my dead wife,--he who shall + dare to lay a sacrilegious hand upon this cross, stands cursed by + God, cursed by love, and cursed by me, Philip Aylwin, lying here. + "Let there be no man to pity him, nor to have compassion upon his + fatherless children....Let his children be vagabonds, and beg their + bread: let them seek it also out of desolate places."--Psalm cix. + So saith the Lord_. Amen.' + +'I am in the toils,' I murmured, with grinding teeth. + +'What a frightful curse!' she said, shuddering. 'It terrifies me to +think of it. How hard it seems,' she continued, 'that the children +should be cursed for the father's crimes.' + +'But, Winifred, they are NOT so cursed,' I cried. 'It is all a +hideous superstition: one of Man's idiotic lies!' + +'Henry,' said she, shocked at my irreverence, 'it _is_ so; the Bible +says it, and all life shows it. Ah! I wonder what wretch committed +the sacrilege, and why he had no pity on his poor innocent children!' + +While she was talking, I stooped and picked up the casket from which +the letters had been forced by the fall. She had not seen it. I put +it in my pocket. + +'Henry, I am so grieved for you,' said Winifred again, and she came +and wound her fingers in mine. + +Grieved for _me_! But where was her father's dead body? That was the +thought that appalled me. Should we come upon it in the _débris_? +What was to be done? Owing to the tide, there was no turning back now +to Flinty Point. The projecting debris must be passed. There was no +dallying for a moment. If we lingered we should be caught by the tide +in Mousetrap Cove, and then nothing could save us. Suppose in passing +the _débris_ we should come upon her father's corpse. The idea was +insupportable. 'Thank God, however, I murmured, 'she will not even +_then_ know the very worst; she will see the corpse of her father who +has fallen with the cliff, but she need not and will not associate +him with the sacrilege and the curse.' + +As I picked up the letters that had been scattered from the casket, +she said, + +'I cannot get that dreadful curse out of my head; to think that the +children of the despoiler should be cursed by God, and cursed by your +father, and yet they are as innocent as I am.' + +'Best to forget it,' said I, standing still, for I dared not move +towards the _débris_. + +'We must get on, Henry,' said she, 'for look, the tide is unusually +high to-night. You have turned back, I see, because Flinty Point is +already deep in the water.' + +'Yes,' I said, 'I must turn Needle Point with you. But as to the +sacrilege, let us dismiss it from our minds; what cannot be helped +had better be forgotten.' + +I then cautiously turned the corner of the _débris_, leading her +after me in such a way that my body acted as a screen. Then my eyes +encountered a spectacle whose horror chilled my blood, and haunts me +to this day in my dreams. About twelve feet above the general level +of the sand, buried to the breast behind a mass of green sward fallen +from the graveyard, stood the dead body of Wynne, amid a confused +heap of earth, gravestones, trees, shrubs, bones, and shattered +coffins. Bolt upright it stood, staring with horribly distorted +features, as in terror, the crown of the head smashed by a fallen +gravestone. Upon his breast glittered the rubies and diamonds and +beryls of the cross, sparkling in the light of the moon, and seeming +to be endowed with conscious life. It was evident that he had, while +groping his way out of the crypt, slung the cross around his neck, in +order to free his hands. I shudder as I recall the spectacle. The +sight would have struck Winifred dead, or sent her raving mad, on the +spot; but she had not turned the corner, and I had just time to wheel +sharply round, and thrust my body between her and the spectacle. The +dog saw it, and, foaming with terror, pointed at it. + +'I beg your pardon, Winifred,' I said, falling upon her and pushing +her back. + +Then I stood paralysed as the full sinister meaning of the situation +broke in upon my mind. Had the _débris_ fallen in any other way I +might have saved Winifred from seeing the most cruel feature of the +hideous spectacle, the cross, the evidence of her father's sacrilege. +I might, perhaps, on some pretence, have left her on this side the +_débris_, and turning the corner, have mounted the heap and removed +the cross gleaming in hideous mockery on the dead man's breast, and +giving back the moonbeams in a cross of angry fire. One glance, +however, had shown me that before this could be done, there was a +wall of slippery sward to climb, for the largest portion of the +churchyard soil had broken off in one lump. In falling, it had turned +but _half_ over, and then had slid down sideways, presenting to the +climber a facet or sward nearly perpendicular and a dozen feet high. +Wedged in between the jaggy top of this block and the wall of the +cliff was the corpse, showing that Wynne had been standing by the +fissure of the cliff at the moment when it widened into a landslip. + +Nor was that all; between that part of the _débris_ where the corpse +was perched and the sand below was one of those long pools of +sea-water edged by shingles, which are common features of that coast. +It seemed that Destiny or Circumstance, more pitiless than Fate and +Hell, determined on our ruin, had forgotten nothing. + +The contour of the cove; the way in which the debris had been thrown +across the path we now must follow in order to reach the only place +of egress; the way in which the hideous spectacle of Wynne and the +proof of his guilt had been placed, so that to pass it without seeing +it the passenger must go blindfold; the brilliance of the moon, +intensified by being reflected from the sea; the fulness of the high +tide, and the swell--all was complete! As I stood there with clenched +teeth, like a rat in a trap, a wind seemed to come blowing through my +soul, freezing and burning. I cursed Superstition that was slaying us +both. And I should have cursed Heaven but for the touch of Winnie's +clasping fingers, silky and soft as when I first felt them as a child +in the churchyard. + +'What has happened?' asked she, looking into my face. + +'Only a slip of my foot,' I said, recovering my presence of mind. + +'But why do you turn back?' + +'I cannot bring myself to part from you under this delicious moon, +Winnie, if you will stay a few minutes longer. Let us go and sit on +that very boulder where little Hal proposed to you.' + +'But you want to go into the church,' said Winifred, as we moved back +towards the boulder. + +'No, I will leave that till the morning. I would leave _anything_ +till the morning, to have a few minutes longer with you on the sands. +Try to imagine that we are children again, and that I am not the +despised rich man but little Hal the cripple.' + +Winifred's eyes, which had begun to look very troubled, sparkled with +delight. + +'But,' said she with a sigh, as we sat down on the boulder, 'I'm +afraid we sha'n't be able to stay long. See how the tide is rising, +and the sea is wild. The tides just now, father says, come right up +to the cliff in the cove, and once locked in between Flinty Point and +Needle Point there is no escape.' + +'Yes, darling,' I muttered to myself, drawing her to me and burying +my face in her bosom, 'there is one escape, only one.' + +For death seemed to me the only escape from a tragedy far, far worse +than death. + +If she made me any answer I heard it not; for, as I sat there with +closed eyes, schemes of escape fluttered before me and were dismissed +at the rate of a thousand a second. A fiery photograph of the cove +was burning within my brain, my mind was absorbed in examining every +cranny and every protuberance in the semicircular wall of the cliff +there depicted; over and over again I was examining that +brain-picture, though I knew every inch of it, and knew there was not +in the cliff-wall foothold for a squirrel. + + +X + +The moon mocked me, and seemed to say: + +'The blasting spectacle shining there on the other side of that heap +of earth must be passed, or Needle Point can never be reached; and +unless it is reached instantly you and she can never leave the cove.' + +'Then we will never leave it,' I whispered to myself, jumping up. + +As I did so I found for the first time that her forehead had been +resting against my head; for the furious rate at which the wheels of +thought were moving left no vital current for the sense of touch, and +my flesh was numbed. + +'Something has happened,' she said. 'And why did you keep whispering +"yes, yes"? Whom were you whispering to?' + +The truth was that, in that dreadful trance, my conscience had been +saying to me, 'Have you a right to exercise your power over this girl +by leading her like a lamb to death?' and my love had replied, 'Yes, +ten thousand times yes.' + +'Winifred,' I said, 'I would die for you.' + +'Yes, Henry,' said she, 'I know it; but what have we to do with death +now?' + +'To save you from harm this flesh of mine would rejoice at +crucifixion; to save you from death this soul and body of mine would +rejoice to endure a thousand years of hell-fire.' + +She turned pale, amazed at the delirium into which I had passed. + +'To save you from harm, dear, I would,' said I, with a quiet +fierceness that scared her, 'immolate the whole human race--mothers, +and fathers, and children; I would make a hecatomb of them all to +save this body of yours, this sweet body, alive.' + +But I could not proceed. What I had meant to say was this,-- + +'And yet, Winnie, I have brought you here to this boulder to die!' + +But I could not say it--my tongue rebelled and would not say it. + +Winifred was so full of health and enjoyment of life that, courageous +as she was. I felt that the prospect of certain and imminent death +must appal her; and to see the look of terror break over her face +confronting death was what I could not bear. And yet the thing must +be said. But at this very moment, when my perplexity seemed direst, a +blessed thought came to me--a subterfuge holier than truth. I knew +the Cymric superstition about 'the call from the grave,' for had not +she herself just told me of it? + +'I will turn Superstition, accursed Superstition itself, to account,' +I muttered. 'I will pretend that I am enmeshed in a web of Fate, and +doomed to die here myself. Then, if I know my Winifred, she will, of +her own free mind, die with me.' + +'Winnie,' I said, 'I have to tell you something that I know must +distress you sorely on my account--something that must wring your +heart, dear, and yet it must be told.' + +She turned her head sharply round with a look of alarm that almost +silenced me, so pathetic was it. On that courageous face I had not +seen alarm before, and this was alarm for evil coming to me. It shook +my heart--it shook my heart so that I could not speak. + +'I felt,' said she, 'that something awful had happened. And it +affects yourself, Henry?' + +'It affects myself.' + +'And very deeply?' + +'Very deeply, Winnie.' + +Then, pulling from my pocket the silver casket and the parchment +scroll, I said, 'It has relation to these.' + +'_That_ I felt,' said she; 'how could it be otherwise? Oh, the +miscreant! I curse him; I curse him!' + +'Winifred,' I said, 'between me and this casket, and the cross +mentioned in this scroll, there is a mysterious link. The cross is an +amulet, an heirloom of dreadful potency for good and ill. It has been +disturbed; it has been stolen from my father's grave, and there is +but one way of setting right that disturbance. To avert unspeakable +calamity from falling upon two entire families (the family of Aylwin +and that of her to whom this amulet was given) a sacrifice is +demanded.' + +'Henry, you terrify me to death. What is the sacrifice? Oh God! Oh +God!' + +'My father's son must die, Winnie.' + +She turned ashen pale, but struggling to be playful, she said, 'I +fear that the family of Aylwin and the family of somebody else must +even take the calamity and bear it; for I don't mean my Henry to die, +let me assure both families of _that_.' + +'Ah! but, Winnie, I am under a solemn oath and pledge to bear this +penalty; and we part to-night, That shriek which so appalled you--' + +'Well, well, the shriek?' said she, in a frenzy of impatience. + +I made no answer, but she answered herself. + +'That shriek was a call to you,' she cried, and then burst into a +passion of tears. 'It _cannot_ be,' she said. 'It cannot and shall +not be; God is too good to suffer it,' Then she fixed her eyes upon +me, and sobbed: 'Ah, it is _true_! I feel it is all true! Yes, they +are calling you, and that is why my soul answered the call. Ah, when +I saw you just now lift your head from my breast with a face grey and +wizened as an old man's--when I saw you look at me, I knew that +something dreadful had happened. Oh, I knew, I knew! but I thought it +had happened to _me_. The love and pity in your eyes when you opened +them upon me made me think it was my trouble, and not yours, that +disturbed you. And now I know it is yours, and you are going to die! +They are calling you. Yes, you are going to let the tide drown you! +Oh, my love my love!' and her grief was so acute that I knew not at +first whether in this I had done well after all. + +'Winifred,' I said, 'you must bear this. I have always been ready to +take death when it should come. I have at least had one blessed time +with Winifred on the sands--Winifred the beloved and beautiful +girl--one night, as the crown to the happy days that have been mine +with Winifred the beloved and beautiful child. And that night, as we +were walking by the sea, it seemed to me that such happiness as was +ours can come but once--that never again could there be a night equal +to that.' + +Smiles broke through her tears as she listened to me. I had struck +the right chord. + +'And _I_ thought so too,' she said. 'It was indeed a night of bliss. +Indeed, indeed God has been good to us, Henry,' and she fell into my +arms again. + +'And now, Winnie,' I said, 'we must kiss and part--part for ever.' + +Yes, I had struck the right chord. As she lay in my arms I felt her +soft bosom moving with a little hysterical laugh of derision when I +said we must part. And then she rose and sat beside me upon the +boulder, looking calm and fearless at the tide as it got nearer and +nearer to Needle Point. + +'Yes, dear,' I said, looking in the same direction, 'you must be +going; see how the waves are surrounding the Point. You must run, +Winnie--you must run, and leave me.' + +'Yes,' said she, still gazing across to the Point, 'as you say, I +must run, but not yet, dear; plenty of time yet,' and she smiled to +herself as she used to do in the old days, when as a child she had +made up her mind to do something. + +Then without another word she took her shawl from her shoulders, and +pulled it out to see its length. And soon I felt her fingers stealing +my penknife from my waistcoat-pocket, and saw her deftly cut up the +shawl, strip after strip, and weave it and knot it into a rope, and +tie the rope around her waist, and then she stooped to tie it around +me. + +It was when I felt her warm breath about my neck as she stooped over +me to tie that rope, that love was really revealed to me; it was +then, and not till then, that all my previous love for Winifred +seemed as the flicker of a rushlight to Sálamán's cloak of fire; and +a feeling of bliss unutterable came upon me, and the night air seemed +full of music, and the sky above seemed opening, as she whispered, +'Henry, Henry, Henry, in a few minutes you will be mine.' But the +very confidence with which she spoke these simple words startled me +as from a dream. 'Suppose,' I thought, 'suppose my last drop of bliss +with Winnie were being tasted now!' In a moment I felt like a coward. +But then there came a loud crash and a thunder from behind the +landslip. + +'The settlement!' I cried. 'The coming in of the tide has made the +landslip settle!' + +When I sat with closed eyes examining my fiery photograph, I had +calculated the 'settlement' at the return of the tide as being among +the chances of escape. But feeling myself to be engaged in a duel +with Circumstance (more cruel than the fiends), I believed that the +settlement would come too late for us, or even if it did not come too +late, it might not hide away the spectacle. The settlement had come; +what had it done for us? This I must know at once. + +'Untie the rope,' I said; 'quick, untie the rope, there is a +settlement of the landslip.' + +'But what has the settlement to do with us?' said Winnie. + +'It _has_ to do with us, dear; untie the rope. It has much to do with +us, Winnie,' I said; for now the determination to save her life came +on me stronger than ever. + +When the rope was untied, I said, 'Wait till I call,' and I ran round +the corner of the _débris_. The great upright wall of earth and +sward, from which had stared the body of Wynne, had fallen, hiding +him and his crime together! + +To return round the corner of the landslip and call Winifred was the +work of an instant, and, quick as she was in answering my call, by +the time she had reached me I had thrown off my coat and boots. + +'Now for a run and a tussle with the waves, Winnie,' I said. + +'Then we are not going to die?' + +'We are going to live. Run; in six more returns of a wave like that +there will he four feet of water at the Point.' + +'Come along, Snap,' said Winifred, and she flew along the sands +without another word. + +Ah, she could run!--faster than I could, with my bruised heel! She +was there first. + +'Leap in, Winnie,' I cried, 'and struggle towards the Point; it will +save time. I shall he with you in a second.' + +Winifred plunged into the tide (Snap following with a bark), and +fought her way so bravely that my fear now was lest she should be out +of her depth before I could reach her, and then, clad as she was, she +would certainly drown. But never tor a moment did her good sense +leave her. When she was nearly waist-high she stopped and turned +round, gazing at me as I tore through the shallow water--gazing with +a wistful, curious look that her face would have worn had we been +playing. + +To get round the Point and pull Winifred round was no slight task, +for the water was nearly up to my breast, and a woman's clothing +seems designed for drowning her. Any other woman than Winifred +_would_ have been drowned, and would have drowned me with her. But in +straits of this kind the only safety lies in courage. + +'What a night's adventures!' said Winifred, after we had turned the +Point, and were walking through the shallow water towards the +gangway. + +We hurried towards the cottage as fast as our wet clothes would +permit. On reaching it we found the door unlocked, and entered. + +'Father has again gone to bed,' said Winifred, 'and left no candle +burning for me.' + +And without seeing her face, I knew by the tremor of the hand I +clasped that she was listening with shame for the drunken snore that +she would never hear again. + +I lighted a match, which with a candle I found on a chair. + +'Your father is no doubt sound asleep,' I said; 'you will scarcely +awake him to-night?' + +'Oh dear, no,' said Winifred. 'Good-night. You look quite ill. Ever +since you lifted up your head from my breast, when you were thinking +so hard, you have looked quite ill.' + +Suddenly I remembered that I must be up and on the sands betimes in +the morning, to see whether the tide had washed away the fallen earth +so as to expose Wynne's body. To prevent Winifred from seeing the +stolen cross was now the one important thing in the world. + +I bade her good-night and walked towards home. + + +XI + +She was right: those few minutes of concentrated agony had in truth +made me ill. My wet clothes clinging round my body began to chill me +now, and as I crept into the house and upstairs to my room, my teeth +were chattering like castanets. + +As I threw off my wet clothes and turned into bed, I was partially +forewarned by the throbbing at my temples, the rolling fire at the +back of my eyeballs, the thirst in my parched throat, that some kind +of illness, some kind of fever, was upon me. And no wonder, after +such a night! + +In that awful trance, when I had sat with my face buried on +Winifred's breast, not only had the physiognomy of the cove, but +every circumstance of our lives together, been photographed in my +brain in one picture of fire. When, after the concentrated agony of +those first moments of tension, I looked up into Winifred's face, as +though awakening from a dream, my flesh had 'appeared,' she told me, +'grey and wizened, like the flesh of an old man.' The mental and +physical effects of this were now gathering around me and upon me. + +From a painful slumber I awoke in about an hour with red-heat at my +brain and with a sickening dread at my heart. 'It is fever,' thought +I; 'I am going to be ill; and what is there to do in the morning at +the ebb of the tide before Winifred can go upon the sands? I ought +not to have come home at all,' I said. 'Suppose illness were to +seize me and prevent my getting there?' The dreadful thought alone +paralysed me quite. Under it I lay as under a nightmare. I scarcely +dared try to get out of bed, lest I should find my fears +well-grounded. At last, cautiously and timorously, I put one leg out +of bed and then the other, till at length I felt the little ridges of +the carpet; but my knees gave way, my head swam, my stomach heaved +with a deadly nausea, and I fell like a log on the floor. + +As I lay there I knew that I was indeed in the grasp of fever. I +nearly went crazed from terror at the thought that in a few minutes I +should perhaps lapse into unconsciousness and be unable to +rise--unable to reach the sands in the morning and seek for Wynne's +body--unable even to send some one there as a substitute to perform +that task. But then whom was I to send? whom could I entrust with +such a commission? I was under a pledge to my dead father never to +divulge the secret of the amulet save to my mother and uncle. And +besides, if I would effectually save Winifred from the harm I +dreaded, the hideous sacrilege committed by her father must be kept a +secret from servants and townspeople. Whom then could I send on this +errand? At the present moment, there were but four people in the +world who knew that the cross and casket had been placed in the +coffin--my mother, my uncle, myself, and now, alas! Winifred. My +mother was the one person who could do what I wanted done. Her +sagacity I knew; her courage I knew. But how could I--how dare I, +broach such a matter to her? I felt it would be sheer madness to do +so, and yet, in my dire strait, in my terror at the illness I was +fighting with, I did it, as I am going to tell. + +By this time the noise of my fall had brought up the servants. They +lifted me into bed and proposed fetching our medical man. But I +forbade them to do so, and said, 'I want to speak to my mother.' + +'She is herself unwell, sir,' said the man to whom I spoke. + +'I know,' I replied. 'Call her maid and tell her that my business +with my mother is very important, or I would not have dreamed of +disturbing her; but see her I must.' + +The man looked dubious, but observing my wet clothes on a chair he +seemed to think that something had happened, and went to do my +bidding. + +In a very short time my mother entered the room. I felt that my +moments of consciousness were brief, and began my story as soon as we +were alone. I told her how the sudden dread that Wynne would steal +the amulet had come upon me; I told her how I had run down to the +churchyard and discovered the landslip; I told her how, on seeing the +landslip, I had descended the gangway and found the body of Wynne, +the amulet, the casket, and the written curse. But I did not tell her +that I had met Winifred on the sands. Excited as I was, I had the +presence of mind not to tell her that. + +As I proceeded with my narrative, with my mother sitting by my +bedside, a look of horror, then a look of loathing, then a look of +scorn, swept over her face. I knew that the horror was of the +sacrilege. I knew that the loathing and the haughty scorn expressed +her feeling towards the despoiler--the father of her whose cause I +might have to plead; and I began to wish from the bottom of my heart +that I had not taken her into my confidence. When I got to the +finding of Tom's body, and the look of terror stamped upon his face, +a new expression broke over hers--an expression of triumphant hate +that was fearful. + +'Thank God at least for that!' she said. Then she murmured, 'But that +does not atone.' + +Ah! how I regretted now that I had consulted her on a subject where +her proud imperious nature must be so deeply disturbed. But it was +too late to retreat. + +'Henry,' she said, 'this is a shocking story you tell me. After +losing my husband this is the worst that could have happened to +me--the violation of his sacred tomb. Had I only hearkened to my own +misgiving about the miscreant! Yet I wonder you did not wait till the +morning before telling me.' + +'Wait till the morning?' I said, forgetting that she did not know +what was at my heart. + +'Doubtless the matter is important, Henry,' said she. 'Still, the +mischief is done, the hideous crime has been committed, and the news +of it could have waited till morning.' + +'But, mother, unless my father's words are idle breath, it is +important, most important, that the amulet should again be buried +with him. I meant to go to the sands in the morning and wait for the +ebbing tide--I meant to take the cross from the breast of the dead +man, and to replace it in my father's coffin. That, mother, was what +I meant to do. But I am too ill to move; I feel that in an hour or +so, or in a few minutes, I shall be delirious. And then, mother! Oh, +_then_!--'My mother looked astonished at my vehemence upon the +subject. + +'Henry,' she said, 'I had no idea that you felt such an interest in +the matter; I have certainly misjudged your character entirely. And +now, what do you want me to do?' + +'Nobody,' I said, 'must know of the cross but ourselves. I want you, +mother, to do what I cannot do: I want you to go on the sands and +wait for the turn of the tide; I want you to take the cross from +Wynne's breast, if the body should be exposed, and secure it in +secret till it can be replaced in the coffin.' + +'_I_ do this, Henry?' said my mother, with a look of bewilderment at +my earnestness. 'Yet there is reason in what you say, and grievous as +the task would be for me, I must consider it.' + +'But will you engage to do it, mother?' + +'Really, Henry, you forget yourself,--you forget your mother too. For +me to go down to the sands and watch the ebbing of the tide, and then +defile myself by touching the body of this wretch, is a task I +naturally shrink from. Still if, on thinking it over, I find it my +duty to do it, it will not be needful for me to enter into a compact +with my son that my duty to my dead husband shall be performed. +Good-night. I quite think you will be better in the morning. I see no +signs myself of the fever you seem to dread, and, alas! I am not, as +you know, ignorant of the way in which a fever begins.' + +She was going out of the room when I exclaimed, in sheer desperation, +'Mother, I have something else to say to you. You remember the little +girl, the little blue-eyed girl, Wynne's daughter, who came here +once, and you were so kind to her, so gracious and so kind'; and I +seized her hand and covered it with kisses, for I was beside myself +with alarm lest my one hope should go.' + +The sudden little laugh of bitter scorn that came from my mother's +lips, the sudden spasm that shook her frame, the sudden shadow as of +night that swept across her features, should at once have hushed my +confession. But I went on: my tongue would not stop now: I felt that +my eloquence, the eloquence of Winifred's danger, must conquer, must +soften even the hard pride of her race. + +'And she has never forgotten your graciousness to her, mother.' + +'Well?' said my mother, in a tone whose velvet softness withered me. + +'Well, mother, she is in all things the very opposite of her father. +This very night she told me'--and I was actually on the verge of +repeating poor Winifred's prattle about her resembling her mother, +and not her father (for already my brain had succumbed to the force +of the oncoming fever, and the catastrophe I was dreading made of me +a frank and confiding child). + +'Well?' said my mother, in a voice softer and more velvety still. +'What did she tell you?' + +That tone ought to have convinced me of the folly, the worse than +folly, of saying another word to her. + +'But I can conquer her,' I thought; 'I can conquer her yet. When she +comes to know all the piteousness of Winifred's case, she _must_ +yield.' + +'Yes, mother,' I cried, 'she is in all things the very opposite of +Tom. She has such a horror of sacrilege; she has such a dread of a +crime and a curse like this; she has such a superstitious belief in +the power of a dead man's curse to cling to the delinquent's +offspring, that, if she knew of what her father had done, she would +go mad--raving mad, mother--she would indeed!' And I fell hack on the +pillow exhausted. + +'Well, Henry, and is this what you summoned me from my bed to tell +me--that Wynne's daughter will most likely object to share the +consequences of her father's crime? A very natural objection, and I +am really sorry for her; but further than that I have certainly no +affair with her.' + +'But, mother, the body of her father lies beneath the _débris_ on the +shore; the ebbing tide may leave it exposed, and the poor girl, +missing her father in the morning, will seek him perhaps on the shore +and find him--find him with the proof of his crime on his breast, and +know that she inherits the curse--my father's curse! Oh, think of +_that_, mother--think of it. And you only can prevent it.' + +For a few moments there was intense silence in the room. I saw that +my mother was reflecting. At last she said: + +'You say that Wynne's daughter told you something to-night. Where did +you see her?' + +'On the sands.' + +'At what hour?' + +'At--at--at--about eleven, or twelve, or one o'clock.' + +I felt that I was getting into a net, but was too ill to know what I +was doing. My mother paused for awhile; I waited as the prisoner +tried for his life waits when the jury have retired to consult. I +clutched the bedclothes to stay the trembling of my limbs. On a chair +by my bedside was my watch, which had been stopped by the sea-water. +I saw her take it up mechanically, look at it, and lay it down again. +In the agony of my suspense I yet observed her smallest movement. + +'And in what capacity am I to undertake this expedition?' said she at +length, in the same quiet tone, that soul-quelling tone she always +adopted when her passion was at white-heat. 'Is it in the capacity of +your father's wife executing his wishes about the amulet? Or is it as +the friend, protectress, and guardian of Miss Wynne?' + +She sat down again by my bedside, and communed with +herself--sometimes fixing an abstracted gaze upon me, sometimes +looking across me at the very spot where in the shadow beside my bed +I bad seemed to see the words of the Psalmist's curse written in +letters of fire. At last she said quietly, 'Henry, I will undertake +this commission of yours.' + +'Dear mother!' I exclaimed in my delight. 'I will undertake it,' +pursued my mother in the same quiet tone, 'on one condition.' + +'Any condition in the world, mother. There is nothing I will not do, +nothing I will not sacrifice or suffer, if you will only aid me in +saving this poor girl. Name your condition, mother; you can name +nothing I will not comply with.' + +'I am not so sure of that, Henry. Let me be quite frank with you. I +do not wish to entrap you into making an engagement you cannot keep. +You have corroborated to-night what I half suspected when I saw you +talking to the girl in the churchyard; there is a very vigorous +flirtation going on between you and this wretched man's daughter.' + +'Flirtation? 'I said, and the incongruity of the word as applied to +such a passion as mine did not vex or wound me; it made me smile. + +'Well, for her sake, I hope it is nothing more,' said my mother. 'In +view of the impassable gulf between her and you, I do for her sake +sincerely hope that it is nothing more than a flirtation.' + +'Pardon me, mother,' I said, 'it was the word "flirtation" that made +me smile.' + +'We will not haggle about words, Henry; give it what name may please +you, it is all the same to me. But flirtations of this kind will +sometimes grow serious, as the case of Percy Aylwin and the Gypsy +girl shows. Now, Henry, I do not accuse you of entertaining the mad +idea of really marrying this girl, though such things, as you know, +have been in our family. But you are my only son, and I do love you, +Henry, whatever may be your opinion on that point; and, because I +love you, I would rather, far rather, be a lonely, childless woman in +the world, I would far rather see you dead on this floor, than see +you marry Winifred Wynne.' + +'Ah! mother, the cruelty of this family pride has always been the +curse of the Aylwins.' + +'It seems cruel to you now, because you are a boy, a generous boy. +You think it the romantic, poetic thing to elevate a low girl to your +own station--perhaps even to show your superiority to conventions by +marrying the daughter of the miscreant who has desecrated your own +father's tomb. But, Henry, I know the race to which you and I belong. +In five years' time--in three years, or perhaps in two--you will +thank me for this; you will say: "My mother's love was not cruel, but +wise."' + +'Oh, mother!' I said, '_any_ condition but that.' + +'I see that you know what my condition is before I utter it. If you +will give me your word--and the word of an Aylwin is an oath--if you +will give me your word that you will never marry Winifred Wynne, I +will do as you desire. I will myself go upon the sands in the +morning, and if the body has been exposed by the tide I will secure +the evidence of her father's guilt, in order to save the girl from +the suffering which the knowledge of that guilt would cause her, as +you suppose.' + +'As I suppose!' + +'Again I say, Henry, we will not quarrel about words.' + +I turned sick with despair. + +'And on no other terms, mother?' + +'On no other terms,' said she. + +'Oh, mercy, mother! mercy! you know not what you do. I could not live +without her; I should die without her.' + +'Better die then!' exclaimed my mother, with an expression of +ineffable scorn, and losing for the first time her self-possession; +'better die than marry like that.' + +'She is my very life now, mother.' + +'Have I not said you had better die then? On no other terms will I go +on those sands. But I tell you frankly what I think about this +matter. I think that you absurdly exaggerate the effect the knowledge +of her father's crime will have upon the girl.' + +'No, no; I do not. Mercy, dear mother, mercy! I am your only child.' + +'That is the very reason why you, who may some day be the heir of one +of the first houses in England, must never marry Winifred Wynne.' + +'But I don't want to be heir of the Aylwins; I don't want my uncle's +property,' I retorted. 'Nor do I want the other bauble prizes of the +Aylwins.' + +'Providence has taken Frank, and says you must stand where you +stand,' replied my mother solemnly. 'You may even some day, should +Cyril be childless, succeed to the earldom, and then what an alliance +would this be!' + +'Earldom! I'd not have it. I'd trample on the coronet. Gingerbread! +I'd trample it in the mud, if it were to sever me from Winifred.' + +'You must succeed to it should Cyril Aylwin, who seems disinclined to +marry, die childless,' said my mother quietly; 'and by that time you +may perhaps have reached man's estate.' + +'Pity, mother, pity!' I cried in despair, as I looked at the strong +woman who bore me. + +'Pity upon whom? Have pity upon me, and upon the family you now +represent. As to all the fearful effects that the knowledge of this +sacrilege will have upon the girl, _that_ is a subject upon which you +must allow me to have my own opinion. God tempers the wind to the +shorn lamb, and provides thick skins for the _canaille_. What will +concern her chiefly, perhaps entirely, will be the loss of her +father, and she will soon know of that, whether she finds the body on +the sands or not. This kind of person is not nearly so sensitive as +my romantic Henry supposes. However, my condition will not be +departed from. If you consent to give up this girl I will go on the +sands; I will defile my fingers; I will secure the stolen amulet at +the ebb of the tide, should the corpse become exposed. If you will +_not_ consent to give her up, there is an end of the matter, and +words are being wasted between us.' + +'Give up Winifred, mother? That is not possible.' + +'Then there is no more to be said. We will not waste our time in +discussing impossibilities. And I am really so depressed and unwell +that I must return to my room. I hope to hear you are better in the +morning, and I think you will be. The excitement of this night and +your anxiety about the girl have unstrung your nerves, and you have +lost that courage and endurance which are yours by birthright.' + +And she left the room. + +But she had no sooner gone than there came before my eyes the +insupportable picture of a slim figure walking along the sands +stooping to look at some object among the _débris_, standing aghast +at the sight of her dead father with the evidence of his hideous +crime on his own breast; there came the sound of a cry to 'Henry' for +help! I beat my head against the bedstead till I was nearly stunned. +I yelled and bellowed like a maniac: 'Mother, come back!' + +When she returned to my bedside my eyes were glaring so that my +mother stood appalled, and (as she afterwards owned to me) was nearly +yielding her point. + +'Mother,' I said,'I consent to your condition: I will give her +up--but oh, save her! Let there be no dallying, let there be no risk, +mother. Let nothing prevent your going upon the sands in the +morning--early, quite early--and every morning at the ebbing of the +tide.' + +'I will keep my word,' she said. + +'You will use the fullest and best means to save her?' + +'I will keep my word,' she said, and left the room. + +'I have saved her!' I cried over and over again, as I sank back on my +pillow. Then the delirium of fever came upon me, and I lay tossing as +upon a sea of fire. + + +XII + +Weak in body and in mind as an infant, I woke again to consciousness. +Through the open window the sunlight, with that tender golden-yellow +tone which comes with morning in England, was pouring between the +curtains, and illuminating the white counterpane. Then a soft breeze +came and slightly moved the curtains, and sent the light and shadows +about the bed and the opposite wall--a breeze laden with the scent I +always associated with Wynne's cottage, the scent of geraniums. I +raised myself on my elbows, and gazed over the geraniums on the +window-sill at the blue sky, which was as free of clouds as though it +were an Italian one, save that a little feathery cloud of a palish +gold was slowly moving towards the west. + +'It is shaped like a hand,' I said dreamily, and then came the +picture of Winifred in the churchyard singing, and pointing to just +such a golden cloud, and then came the picture of Tom Wynne reeling +towards us from the church porch, and then came everything in +connection with him and with her; everything down to the very +last words which I had spoken about her to my mother before +unconsciousness had come upon me. But what I did _not_ know--what I +was now burning to know without delay--was what time had passed since +then. + +I called out 'Mother!' A nurse, who was sitting in the room, but +hidden from me by a large carved and corniced oak wardrobe, sprang up +and told me that she would go and fetch my mother. + +'Mother,' I said, when she entered the room, 'you've been?' + +'Yes,' said she, taking a seat by my bedside, and motioning the nurse +to leave us. + +'And you were in time, mother!' + +'More than in time,' said she. 'There was nothing to do. I have +realised, however, that your extraordinary and horrible story was +true. It was not a fever-dream. The tomb has been desecrated.' + +'But, mother, you went as you promised to the sands in Church Cove, +and you waited for the ebb of the tide?' + +'I did.' + +'And you found--' + +'Nothing; no corpse exposed.' + +'And you went again the next day?' + +'I did.' + +'And you found--' + +'Nothing.' + +'But how many days have passed, mother? How many days have I been +lying here?' + +'Seven.' + +'And no sign of--of the body was to be seen?' + +'None. The wretch must have been buried for ever beneath the great +mass of the fallen cliff. I went no more.' + +'Oh, mother, you should have gone every day. Think of the frightful +risk, mother. On the very day after you ceased your visits the body +might have been turned up by the tide, and she might have gone and +seen it.' + +The picture was too terrible. I fell back exhausted. I revived, +however, in a somewhat calmer mood. When my mother came into the room +again, I returned at once to the subject. I reproached her bitterly +for not having gone every day. She listened to my reproaches in +entire calmness. + +'It was idle to keep repeating these visits every day,' said she, +'and I consider that I have fully performed my part of the compact. I +expect you to fulfil yours.' + +I remained silent, preparing for a deadly struggle with the only +being on earth I had ever really feared. + +'I have fully kept my word, Henry,' said she, 'and have done for you +more than my duty to your father's memory warranted me in doing.' + +'But, mother, you did not do all that you promised to do; you did not +prevent all risk of Winifred's finding it. She may find it even yet.' + +'That is not likely now. I have performed my part of the compact, and +I expect you to perform yours.' + +'You did not use all means to save my Winifred from worse than +death--from madness; you did not use all means to save me from dying +of self-murder or of a broken heart; and the compact is broken. +Whether or not I could have kept my faith with you by breaking troth +with her, it is you who have set me free. Mother,' I said, fiercely, +'in such a compact it must be the letter of the bond.' + +'Mean subterfuge, unworthy of your descent,' said my mother quietly, +but with one of those looks of hers that used to frighten me once. + +'No, no, mother; you have not kept the letter of the bond, and I am +free. You did _not_ take the fullest and best means to save Winifred. +Your compact was to save her from the risk I told you of. And, +mother, mother, listen to me!' I cried, in a state of crazy +excitement now: 'in the darkest moment of my life, when I was +prostrate and helpless, you were pitiless as Pride. Listen, mother: +Winifred Wynne shall be mine. Not all the Aylwins that have ever +eaten of wheat and fattened the worms shall prevent that. She shall +be mine. I say, she shall be mine!' + +'The daughter of the man who desecrated my husband's tomb!' + +'And my father's! That man's daughter shall be my wife,' I said, +sitting up in bed and looking into those eyes, bright and proud, +which had been wont to make all other eyes blink and quail. + +'Cursed by your father, and cursed by God--' + +'That curse--for what it may be worth--I take upon my own head; the +curse shall be mine. Even if I believed the threat about the +"desolate places," I would be there; if bare-footed she had to beg +from door to door, rest assured, mother, that an Aylwin would hold +the wallet--would leave the whole Aylwin brood, their rank, their +money, and their stupid, vulgar British pride, to walk beside the +beggar.' + +The look on my mother's face would have terrified most people. It +would have terrified me once, but in the frenzy into which I had then +passed, nothing would have made me quail. + +'Your services, mother, are no longer needed,' I said. 'Wynne's +corpse might have been washed up by the tide, and your compact was to +be there to see; but now, most likely, it is hidden, not under the +loose fragments as I had feared, but under the great mass of +earth,--hidden for ever.' + +'But you forget,' said my mother, 'that the amulet has to be +recovered.' + +'Mother,' I said, in the state of wild suspiciousness concerning her +and her motives into which I had now passed, 'I know what your words +imply,--that Winifred is not yet out of danger; the evidence of the +curse and the crime can be dug up.' + +'I have no wish to harm the girl, Henry. You mistake me.' + +'Then, mother, we must _not_ mistake each other in this matter,' I +said. 'You have alluded to the word of an Aylwin. With me, as with +the best of us, the word of an Aylwin is an oath. Wynne's corpse is +now hidden; the cross is now hidden; I give you the word of an Aylwin +that the man who digs up that corpse I will kill. I will not consider +that he is an irresponsible agent of yours; I will kill him, and his +blood shall be upon the head of her who sends him, knowing, to his +death.' + +'And be hanged,' said my mother. + +'Perhaps. But after her father's crime has been exposed, the first +thing for me is--to kill!' + +'Why, boy, there's murder in your eyes!' said my mother, taken off +her guard. + +'Oh, mother, mother, can you not see that no wolf with a stolen lamb +in its mouth was ever more pitilessly shot down by the owner of that +lamb than any hireling wolf of yours would be shot down by me?' + +'Boy, are you quite demented?' + +'Listen, mother. To prevent Winifred from knowing that her father had +stolen that amulet, and so brought down upon her the curse, I would +have drowned her with myself in the tide. We sat waiting for the tide +to drown us, when the settlement came at the last moment and buried +it away from her. Is it likely that I should hesitate to kill a +clodhopper, or a score, if only to take my vengeance on you and Fate? +The homicide now will be yours.' + +She left, giving me a glance of defiance; but before our eyes ended +that conflict, I saw which of us had conquered. + +'Hate is strong,' I murmured, as I sank down on my pillow, 'and +destiny is strong; but oh, Winnie, Winnie--stronger than hate, and +stronger than destiny and death, is love. She knows, Winnie, that the +life of the man who should dig up that corpse would not be worth an +hour's purchase; she knows, Winnie, that in the court of conscience +she alone is answerable now for what may befall; and you are safe! +But poor mother! My poor dear mother, whom once I loved so dearly, +was it indeed you I struggled with just now? Mother, mother, was it +you?' + +This interview retarded my recovery, and I had a serious relapse. + +The fever was a severe one. The symptoms were aggravated by these +most painful and trying interviews with my mother, and by my +increasing anxiety about the fate of Winifred. Yet my vigorous +constitution began to show signs of conquering. Of Winifred I could +learn nothing, save what could be gleaned from the servants in +attendance, who seemed merely to have heard that Tom Wynne was +missing, that he had probably fallen drunk over the cliff and been +washed out to sea, and that his daughter was seeking him everywhere. +As the days passed by, however, and no hint reached me that the +corpse had been found on the sands, I concluded that, when the larger +mass finally settled on the night of the landslip, the corpse had +fallen immediately beneath it, and was buried under the main mass. +Yet, from what I had seen of the corpse's position, in the rapid view +I had of it, perched on the upright mass of sward, I did not +understand how this could be. + +And so anxiety after anxiety delayed my progress. Still, on the +whole, I felt that the body would not now be dislodged by the tides, +and that Winifred would at least be spared a misery compared with +which even her uncertainty about her father's fate would be bearable. +But how I longed to be up and with her! + +Dr. Mivart, who attended me, a young medical man of much ability who +had finished his medical education in Paris, and had lately settled +at Raxton, came every day with great punctuality. + +One day, however, he arrived three hours behind his usual time, and +seemed to think that some explanation was necessary. + +'I must apologise,' said he, 'for my unpunctuality to-day, but the +fact is that, at the very moment of starting, I was delayed by one of +the most interesting--one of the most extraordinary cases that ever +came within my experience, even at the Salpêtrière Hospital, where we +were familiar with the most marvellous cases of hysteria--a seizure +brought on by terror in which the subject's countenance mimics the +appearance of the terrible object that has caused it. A truly +wonderful case! I have just written to Marini about it.' + +He seemed so much interested in his case, that he aroused a certain +interest in me, though at that time the word 'hysteria' conveyed an +impression to me of a very uncertain and misty kind. + +'Where did it occur?' I asked. + +'Here, in your own town,' said Mivart. 'A most extraordinary case. My +report will delight Marini, our great authority, as you no doubt are +aware, on catalepsy and cataleptic ecstasy.' + +'Strange that I have heard nothing of it!' I said. + +'Oh!' replied Mivart, 'it occurred only this morning. Some fishermen +passing below the old church were attracted, first by a shriek of a +peculiarly frightful and unearthly kind, and then by some unusual +appearance on the sands, at the spot where the last landslip took +place.' + +My pulses stopped in a moment, and I clung to the back of my chair. + +'What--did--the fishermen see?' I gasped. + +'The men landed,' continued Mivart,--too much interested in the case +to observe my emotion,--'and there they found a dead body--the body +of the missing organist here, who had apparently fallen with the +landslip. The face was horribly distorted by terror, the skull +shattered, and around the neck was slung a valuable cross made of +precious stones. But the most interesting feature of the case is +this, that in front of the body, in a fit of a remarkable kind, +squatted his daughter--you may have seen her, an exceedingly pretty +girl lately come from Wales or somewhere--and on her face was +reflected and mimicked, in the most astonishing way, the horrible +expression on the face of the corpse, while the fingers of her right +hand were so closely locked around the cross--' + +I felt that from my mouth there issued a voice not mine--a long +smothered shriek like that which had seemed to issue from my mouth on +that awful night when, looking out of the window, I had heard the +noise of the landslip. Then I felt myself whispering 'The Curse!' +Then I knew no more. + + +XIII + +I had another dangerous relapse, and was delirious for two days, I +think. When I came to myself, the first words I uttered to Mivart, +whom I found with me, were inquiries about Winifred. He was loth at +first to revive the subject, though he supposed that the effect of +his narrative upon me had arisen partly from my weakness and partly +from what he called his 'sensational way' of telling the story. (My +mother had been very careful to drop no hint of the true state of the +case.) At last, however, Mivart told me all he knew about Winifred, +while I hid my face in my pillow and listened. + +'In the seizures (which are recurrent) the girl,' he said, 'mimics +the expression of terror on her father's face. Between the paroxysms +she lapses into a strange kind of dementia. It is as though her own +mind had fled and the body had been entered by the soul of a child. +She will then sing snatches of songs, sometimes in Welsh and +sometimes in English, but with the strange, weird intonation of a +person in a dream. I have known something like this to take place +before, but it has been in seizures of an epileptic kind, very unlike +this case in their general characteristics. The mental processes seem +to have been completely arrested by the shock, as the wheels of a +watch or a musical box are stopped if it falls.' + +He could tell me nothing about her, he said, nor what had become of +her since she had left his hands. + +'The parish officer is taking his holiday,' he added. 'I mean to +inquire about her. I wish I could take her to Paris to the +Salpêtrière, where Marini is treating such cases by transmitting +through magnetism the patient's seizure to a healthy subject.' + +'Will she recover?' + +'Without the Salpêtrière treatment?' + +'Will she recover?' I asked, maddened beyond endurance by all this +cold-blooded professional enthusiasm about a case which was simply a +case of life and death to Winnie and me. + +'She may, unless the seizures become too frequent for the strength of +the constitution. In that event, of course, she would succumb. She is +entirely harmless, let me tell you.' + +He told me that she was at the cottage, where some good soul was +seeing after her. + +'I'll get up,' I said, trying to rise. + +'Get up!' said the doctor, astonished; 'why do you want to get up? +You are not strong enough to sit in a chair yet.' + +This was, alas! but too true, and my great object now was to conceal +my weakness; for I determined to get out as soon as my legs could +carry me, though I should drop down dead on the road. + +I gathered from the doctor and the servants that the sacrilege had +now become publicly known, and had caused much excitement. Wynne had +evidently been slightly intoxicated when he committed it, and had +taken no care to conceal the proofs that the grave had been tampered +with. At the inquest the amulet had been identified and claimed by my +mother. + +It was some days before I got out, and then I went at once to the +cottage. It was a lovely evening as I walked down Wilderness Road. It +was not till I reached the little garden-gate that I began fully to +feel how weak my illness had left me. The gate was half open, and I +looked over into the garden, which was already forlorn and deserted. +Some instinct told me she was not there. The little flower-beds +looked shaggy, grass-grown, and uncared for. In the centre, among the +geraniums, phlox-beds, and French marigolds, sat a dirty-white hen, +clucking and calling a brood of dirty-white chickens. The +box-bordered gravelled paths, which Wynne, in spite of his +drunkenness, used to keep always so neat, were covered with leaves, +shaken by the wind from the trees surrounding the garden. One of the +dark green shutters was unfastened, and stood out at right-angles +from the wall--a token of desertion. On the diamond panes of the +upper windows, round which the long tendrils of grape-vines were +drooping, the gorgeous sunset was reflected, making the glass gleam +as though a hundred little fires were playing behind it. When I +reached the door, the paint of which seemed far more cracked with the +sun than it had looked a few weeks before, I found on knocking that +the cottage was empty. I did not linger, but went at once into the +town to inquire about her. + +In place of giving me the information I was panting for, the whole +town came cackling round me with comments on the organist and the +sacrilege. I turned into the 'Fishing Smack' inn, a likely place to +get what news was to be had, and found the asthmatical old landlord +haranguing some fishermen who were drinking their ale on a settle. + +'It's my b'lief,' said the old man, 'that Tom was arter somethink +else besides that air jewelled cross. I'm eighty-five year old come +next Dullingham fair, and I regleck as well as if it wur yisterdy +when resur-rectionin' o' carpuses wur carried on in the old +churchyard jes' like one o'clock, and the carpuses sent up to Lunnon +reg'lar, and it's my 'pinion as that wur part o' Tom's game, dang +'im; and if I'd a 'ad _my_ way arter the crouner's quest, he'd never +a' bin buried in the very churchyard as he went and blast-phemed.' + +'Where would you 'a buried 'im, then, Muster Lantoff?' asked a +fisher-boy in a blue worsted jerkin. + +'Buried 'im? why, at the cross-ruds, with a hedge-stake through his +guts, to be sure. If there's a penny agin' 'im on that air slate' +(pointing to a slate hung up on the door) 'there must be ten +shillins, dang 'im.' + +'You blear-eyed, ignorant old donkey,' I cried, coming suddenly +upon him, 'what do you suppose he could have done with a dead body in +these days? Here's your wretched ten shillings,--for which you'd sell +all the corpses in Raxton churchyard.' + +And I gave him half-a-sovereign, feeling, somehow, that I was doing +honour to Winifred. + +'Thankee for the money, Mister Hal, anyhow,' said the old creature. +'You was allus a liberal 'un, you was. But as to what Tom could 'a +dun with the carpus, I'm allus heer'd that you may dew anythink +_with_ any-think, if you on'y send it carriage-paid to Lunnon,' + +I left the house in anger and disgust. No tidings could I get of +Winifred in Raxton or Graylingham. + +By this time I was thoroughly worn out, and obliged to go home. My +anxiety had become nearly insupportable. All night I walked up and +down my bedroom, like a caged animal, cursing Superstition, cursing +Convention, and all the other follies that had combined to destroy +her. It was not till the next day that the true state of the case was +made known to me in the following manner: At the end of the town +lived the widow of Shales, the tailor. Winifred and I had often, in +our childish days, stood and watched old Shales, sitting cross-legged +on a board in the window, at his work, when Winifred would whisper to +me, 'How nice it must be to be a tailor!' + +As I passed this shop I now saw that on the same board was sitting a +person in whom Winifred had taken still stronger interest. This was a +diminutive imitation of the deceased, in the person of his +hump-backed son, a little man of about twenty-four, who might, as far +as appearance went, have been any age from twenty to eighty, with a +pale anxious face like his mother's. He was stitching at a coat with, +apparently, the same pair of scissors by his side that used to +delight us two children. Standing by the side of the board, and +looking on with a skilled intelligence shining from her pale eyes, +was Mrs. Shales, with an infant in her arms--a wasted little +grandchild wrapt in a plaid shawl, apparently smoking a chibouque, +but in reality sucking vigorously at the mouthpiece of a baby's +bottle, which it was clasping deftly with its pink little fingers. + +Mrs. Shales beckoned me mysteriously into her shop, and then into the +little parlour behind it, where she used to sit and watch the +customers through the green muslin blind of the glass door, like a +spider in its web. Young Shales, who left his board, followed us, and +they then gave me some news that at once decided my course of action. +They told me that one morning, after her frightful shock, Winifred +had encountered Shales, who was taking, a holiday, and employing it +in catching young crabs among the stones. Winifred, who had a great +liking for the hump-backed tailor, had come up to him and talked in a +dazed way. Shales, pitying her condition, had induced her to go home +with him; and then it had occurred to him to go and inquire at the +Hall what suggestion could be made concerning her at a house where +her father had been so well known. He could not see me; I was ill in +bed. He saw my mother, who at once suggested that Winifred should be +taken to Wales, to an aunt with whom, according to Wynne, she had +been living. (No one but myself knew anything of Wynne's affairs, and +my mother, though she had heard of the aunt, had not, as I then +believed, heard of her death.) She proposed that Shales himself +should contrive to take Winifred to Wales. 'She had reasons,' she +said, 'for wishing that Winifred should not be handed over to the +local parish officer.' She offered to pay Shales liberally for going. +_I_, however, was to know nothing of this. Her object, of course, +was to get Winifred out of my way. The aunt's address was furnished +by a Mr. Lacon of Dullingham, an old friend of Wynne's, who also, it +seems, was ignorant of the aunt's death. This aunt, a sister of +Winifred's mother, named Davies, the widow of a sea captain who had +once known better days, resided in an old cottage between Bettws y +Coed and Capel Curig. Shales had found no difficulty in persuading +Winifred to go with him, for she had now sunk into a condition of +dazed stupor, and was very docile. + +They started on their long journey across England by rail, and +everything went well till they got into Wales, when Winifred's stupor +seemed to be broken into by the familiar scenery; her wits became +alive again. Then an idea seemed to seize her that she was pursued by +me, as the messenger bearing my dead father's curse. The appearance +of any young man bearing the remotest resemblance to me frightened +her. At last, before they reached Bettws y Coed, she had escaped, and +was lost among the woods. Shales had made every effort to find her, +but without avail, and was compelled at last, by the demands of his +business, to give up the quest. He had returned on the previous +evening, and my mother had enjoined him not to tell me what had been +done, though she seemed much distressed at hearing that Winnie was +lost, and was about to send others into Wales in order to find her, +if possible. Shales, however, had determined to tell me, as the +matter, he said, lay upon his conscience. + +On getting this news I went straight home, ordered a portmanteau to +be packed, and placed in it all my ready cash. Before starting I sat +down to write a letter to my uncle. On hearing of my movements, my +mother came to me in great agitation. In her eyes there was that +haggard expression which I thought I understood. Already she had +begun to feel that she and she alone was responsible for whatsoever +calamities might fall upon the helpless deserted girl she had sent +away. Already she had begun to feel the pangs of that remorse which +afterwards stung her so cruelly that not all Winnie's woes, nor all +mine, were so dire as hers. There are some natures that feel +themselves responsible for all the unforeseen, as well as for all the +foreseen, consequences of their acts. My mother was one of these. I +rose as she entered, offered her a seat, and then sat down again. + +She inquired whither I was going. + +'To North Wales,' I said. + +She stood aghast. But she now understood that grief had made me a +man. + +'You are going,' said she, 'after the daughter of the scoundrel who +desecrated your father's tomb?' + +'I am going after the young lady whom I intend to marry.' + +'Wynne's daughter marry my only son! Never!' + +I proceeded with my letter. + +'I will write to your uncle Aylwin at once. I will tell him you are +going to marry that miscreant's daughter, and he will disinherit +you.' + +'In that case, mother,' I said, rising from the table, 'I need not +trouble myself to finish my letter; for I was writing to him, telling +him the same thing. Still, perhaps I had better send mine too,' I +continued. 'I should like at least to remain on friendly terms with +him, he is so good to me'; and I resumed my seat at the +writing-table. + +'Henry,' said my mother, after a second or two, 'I think you had +better _not_ write to your uncle; it might only make matters worse. +You had better leave it to me.' + +'Thank you, mother, the letter is finished,' I replied as I sealed it +up, 'and will be sent. Good-bye, dear,' I said, taking her hand and +kissing it. 'You knew not what you did, and I know you did it for the +best.' + +'When do you return, Henry?' asked she, in a conquered and sad tone, +that caused me many a pang to remember afterwards. + +'That is altogether uncertain,' I answered. 'I go to follow Winifred. +If I find her alive I shall marry her, if she will marry me, unless +permanent insanity prove a barrier. If she is dead'--(I restrained +myself from saying aloud what I said to myself)--'I shall still +follow her.' + +'The daughter of the scoundrel!' she murmured, her lips grey with +suppressed passion. + +'Mother,' I said, 'let us not part in anger. The sword of Fate is +between us. When I was at school I made a certain vow. The vow was +that I would woo and win but one woman upon earth--the daughter of +the man who has since violated my father's tomb. I have lately made a +second vow, that, until she is found, I shall devote my life to the +quest of Winifred Wynne. If you think that I am likely to be deterred +by fears of being disinherited by your family, open and read my +letter to my uncle. I have there told him whom I intend to marry.' + +'Mad, mad boy!' said my mother. 'Society will--' + +'You have once or twice before mentioned society, mother. If I find +Winifred Wynne, I shall assuredly marry her, unless prevented by the +one obstacle I have mentioned. If I marry her I shall, if it so +please me and her, take her into society.' + +'Into society!' she replied, with ineffable scorn. + +'And I shall say to society, "Here is my wife.'" + +'And when society asks, "Who _is_ your wife?'" + +'I shall reply, "She is the daughter of the drunken organist who +desecrated my father's tomb, though that concerns you not:--her own +speciality, as you see, is that she is the flower of all girlhood."' + +'And when society rejects this earthly paragon?' + +'Then I shall reject society.' + +'Reject society, boy!' said my mother. 'Why, Cyril Aylwin himself, +the bohemian painter who has done his best to cheapen and vulgarise +our name, is not a more reckless, lawless leveller than you. And, +good heavens! to him, and perhaps afterwards to you, will come--the +coronet.' + +And she left the room. + + + +III + +WINIFRED'S DUKKERIPEN + + +I + +I need not describe my journey to North Wales. On reaching Bettws y +Coed I turned into the hotel there--'The Royal Oak'--famished; for, +as fast as trains could carry me, I had travelled right across +England, leaving rest and meals to chance. I found the hotel full of +English painters, whom the fine summer had attracted thither as +usual. The landlord got me a bed in the village. A six-o'clock _table +d'hôte_ was going on when I arrived, and I joined it. Save myself, +the guests were, I think, landscape painters to a man. They had been +sketching in the neighbourhood. I thought I had never met so genial +and good-natured a set of men, and I have since often wondered what +they thought of me, who met such courteous and friendly advances as +they made towards me in a temper that must have seemed to them morose +or churlish and stupid. Before the dinner was over another tourist +entered--a fresh-complexioned young Englishman in spectacles, who, +sitting next to me, did at length, by force of sheer good-humour, +contrive to get into a desultory kind of conversation with me, and, +as far as I remember, he talked well. He was not an artist, I found, +but an amateur geologist and antiquary. His hobby was not like that +fatal antiquarianism of my father's, which had worked so much +mischief, but the harmless quest of flint implements. His talk about +his collection of flints, however, sent my mind off to Flinty Point +and the never-to-be-forgotten flint-built walls of Raxton church. +After dinner, coffee, liquors, and tobacco being introduced into the +dining-room, I got up, intending to roam about outside the hotel till +bedtime; but the rain, I found, was falling in torrents. I was +compelled to return to my friend of the 'flints.' At that moment one +of the artists plunged into a comic song, and by the ecstatic look of +the company I knew that a purgatorial time was before me. I resigned +myself to my fate. Song followed song, until at last even my friend +of the flints struck up the ballad of _Little Billee_, whose +lugubrious refrain seemed to 'set the table in a roar'; but to me it +will always be associated with sickening heartache. + +As soon as the rain ceased I left the hotel and went to the room in +the little town the landlord had engaged for me. There, with the roar +in my ears of the mountain streams (swollen by the rains), I went to +bed and, strange to say, slept. + +Next morning I rose early, breakfasted at 'The Royal Oak' as soon as +I could get attended to, and proceeded in the direction in which, +according to what I had gathered from various sources, Mrs. Davies +had lived. This led me through a valley and by the side of a stream, +whose cascades I succeeded, after many efforts, in crossing. After a +while, however, I found that I had taken a wrong track, and was soon +walking in the contrary direction. I will not describe that long +dreary walk in a drenching rain, with nothing but the base of the +mountain visible, all else being lost in clouds and mist. + +After blundering through marshy and boggy hillocks for miles, I found +myself at last in the locality indicated to me. Arriving at a +roadside public-house, I entered it, and on inquiry was vexed to find +that I had again been misdirected. I slept there, and in the morning +started again on my quest. I was now a long way off my destination, +but had at least the satisfaction of knowing that I was on the right +road at last. In the afternoon I reached another wayside inn, very +similar to that in which I had slept. I walked up at once to the +landlord (a fat little Englishman who looked like a Welshman, with +black eyes and a head of hair like a black door-mat), and asked him +if he had known Mrs. Davies. He said he had, but seemed anxious to +assure me that he was a Chester man and 'not a Taffy.' She had died, +he told me, not long since. But he had known more of her niece, +Winifred Wynne (or, as most people called her, Winifred Davies); for, +said he, 'she was a queer kind of outdoor creature that everybody +knew.--as fond of the rain and mist as sensible folk are fond of +sunshine.' + +'Where did she live?' I inquired. + +'You must have passed the very door,' said the man. And then he +indicated a pretty little cottage by the roadside which I had passed, +not far from the lake. Mrs. Davies (he told me) had lived there with +her niece till the aunt died. + +'Then you knew Winifred Wynne?' I said. There was to me a romantic +kind of interest about a man who had seen Winifred in Wales. + +'Knew her well,' said he. 'She was a Carnarvon gal--tremenjus fond o' +the sea--and a rare pretty gal she was.' + +'Pretty gal she _is_, you might ha' said, Mr. Blyth,' a woman's voice +exclaimed from the settle beneath the window. 'She's about in these +parts at this very moment, though Jim Burton there says it's her +ghose. But do ghoses eat and drink? that's what _I_ want to know. +Besides, if anybody's like to know the difference between Winnie +Wynne and Winnie Wynne's ghose, I should say it's most likely me.' + +I turned round. A Gypsy girl, dressed in fine Gypsy costume, very +dark but very handsome, was sitting on a settle drinking from a pot +of ale, and nursing an instrument of the violin kind, which she was +fondling as though it were a baby. She was quite young, not above +eighteen years of age, slender, graceful--remarkably so, even for a +Gypsy girl. Her hair, which was not so much coal-black as blue-black, +was plaited in the old-fashioned Gypsy way, in little plaits that +looked almost as close as plaited straw, and as it was of an +unusually soft and fine texture for a Gypsy, the plaits gave it a +lustre quite unlike that which unguents can give. As she sat there, +one leg thrown over the over, displaying a foot which, even in the +heavy nailed boots, would have put to shame the finest foot of the +finest English lady I have ever seen, I could discern that she was +powerful and tall; her bosom, gently rising and falling beneath the +layers of scarlet and yellow and blue handkerchiefs, which filled up +the space the loose-fitting gown of bright merino left open, was of a +breadth fully worthy of her height. A silk handkerchief of deep +blood-red colour was bound round her head, not in the modern Gypsy +fashion, but more like an Oriental turban. From each ear was +suspended a massive ring of red gold. Round her beautiful, towering, +tanned neck was a thrice-twisted necklace of half-sovereigns and +amber and red coral. She looked me full in the face. Then came a +something in the girl's eyes the like of which I had seen in no +other Gypsy's eyes, though I had known well the Gypsies who used +to camp near Rington Manor, not far from Raxton, for my kinsman +Percy Aylwin, the poet, had lately fallen in love with Winnie's early +friend, Rhona Boswell. It was not exactly an 'uncanny' expression, +yet it suggested a world quite other than this. It was an expression +such as one might expect to see in a 'budding spae-wife,' or in a +Roman Sibyl. And whose expression was it that it now reminded me of? +But the remarkable thing was that this expression was intermittent; +it came and went like the shadows the fleeting clouds cast along the +sunlit grass. Then it was followed by a look of steady self-reliance +and daring. This last variation of expression was what now suddenly +came into her eyes as she said, scrutinising me from head to foot: + +'Reia, you make a good git-up for a Romany-chal. Can you rokkra +Romanes? No, I see you can't. I should ha' took you for the right +sort. I should ha' begun the Romany rokkerpen with you, only you +ain't got the Romany glime in your eyes. It's a pity he ain't got the +Romany glime, ain't it, Jim?' + +She turned to a young Gypsy fellow who was sitting at the other end +of the settle, drinking also from a pot of ale, and smoking a cutty +pipe. + +'Don't ax me about no mumply Gorgio's eyes,' muttered the man, +striking the leather legging of his right leg with a silver-headed +whip he carried. 'You're allus a-takin' intrust in the Gorgios, and +yet you're allus a-makin' believe as you hate 'em.' + +'You say Winifred Wynne is back again?' I cried in an eager voice. + +'That's jist what I _did_ say, and I ain't deaf, my rei. How she +managed to get back here puzzles me, poor thing, for she's jist for +all the world like Rhona's daddy's daddy, Opi Bozzell, what buried +his wits in his dead wife's coffin. She's even skeared at _me_.' + +'Why, you don't mean to say Winnie's back!' cried the landlord. 'To +think that I shouldn't have heard about Winnie Wynne bein' back. When +did you see her, Sinfi?' + +'I see her fust ever so many nights ago. I was comin' down this road, +when what do I see but a gal a-kicking at the door of Mrs. Davies's +emp'y house, and a-sobbin' she was jist fit to break her heart, and I +sez to myself, as I looked at her--"Now, if it was possible for that +'ere gal to be Winifred Wynne, she'd be Winifred Wynne, but as it +ain't possible for her to be Winifred Wynne, it _ain't_ Winifred +Wynne, and any mumply Gorgie [Footnote] as _ain't_ Winifred Wynne may +kick and sob for a blue moon for all me."' + +[Footnote: Gorgio, a man who is not a Gypsy. Gorgie, a woman who is +not a Gypsy.] + +'But it was Winnie Wynne, I s'pose?' said the landlord, in a state +now of great curiosity. + +'It was Winnie Wynne,' replied the Gypsy, handing her companion her +empty beer-pot, and pointing to the landlord as a sign that the man +was to pass it on to him to be refilled. 'Up I goes to her, and I +says, "Why, sister, who's bin a-meddlin' with you? I'll tear the +windpipe out o' anybody wot's been a-meddlin' with you."' + +When the girl used the word 'sister' a light broke in upon me. + +'Are you Sinfi Lovell?' I cried. + +'That jist my name, my rei; but as I said afore, I ain't deaf. Jist +let Jim pass my beer across and don't interrup' me, please.' + +'Don't rile her, sir,' whispered the landlord to me; 'she's got the +real witch's eye, and can do you a mischief in a twink, if she likes. +She's a good sort, though, for all that.' + +'What are you two a-whisperin' about me?' said the girl in a menacing +tone that seemed to alarm the landlord. + +'I was only tellin' the gentleman not to rile you, because you was a +fightin' woman,' said the man. + +The Gypsy looked appeased and even gratified at the landlord's +explanation. + +'But what did Winnie Wynne do then, Sinfi?' asked the landlord. + +'She turns round sharp,' said the Gypsy; 'she looks at me as skeared +as the eyes of a hotchiwitchi [Footnote] as knows he's a-bein' +uncurled for the knife. "_Father!_" she cries, and away she bolts +like a greyhound; and I know'd at oust as she wur under a cuss. Now, +you see, Mr. Blyth, that upset me, _that_ did, for Winnie Wynne was +the only one on 'em, Gorgio or Gorgie, ever I liked. No offence, Mr. +Blyth, it isn't your fault you was born one; but,' continued the +girl, holding up the foaming tankard and admiring the froth as it +dropped from the rim upon her slender brown hand on its way to the +floor, 'Winnie Wynne was the only one on 'em, Gorgio or Gorgie, ever +I liked, and that upset me, _that_ did, to see that 'ere beautiful +cretur a-grinnin' and jabberin' under a cuss. The Romanies is gittin' +too fond by half o' the Gorgios, and will soon be jist like mumply +Gorgios themselves, speckable and silly; but Gorgio or Gorgie, she +was the only one on 'em ever I liked, was Winnie Wynne; and when she +turned round on me like _that_, with them kind eyes o' hern (such +kind eyes _I_ never seed afore) lookin' like _that_ at me (and I +know'd she was under a cuss)--I tell you,' she said, still addressing +the beer, 'that it's made me fret ever since--that's what it's done!' + +[Footnote: Hedgehog.] + +About the truth of this last statement there could be no doubt, for +her face was twitching violently in her efforts to keep down her +emotion. + +'And did you follow her?' said the landlord. + +'Not I; what was the good?' + +'But what did you do, Sinfi?' + +'What did I do? Well, don't you mind me comin' here one night and +buyin' a couple of blankets off you, and some bread and meat and +things?' + +'In course I do, Sinfi, and you said you wanted them for the vans.' + +The Gypsy smiled and said, 'I knowed she was bound to come back, so +I pulls up the window and in I gets, and then opens the door and off +I comes to you, as bein' the nearest neighbour, for the blankets and +things, and I puts 'em in the house, and I leaves the door uncatched, +and I hides myself behind the house, and, sure enough, back she +comes, poor thing! I hears her kick, kick, kickin' at the door, and +then I hears her go in when she finds it give way. So I waits a good +while, till I thinks she's eat some o' the vittles and gone to sleep +maybe, and then round the house I creeps, and in the door I peeps, +and soon I hears her breathin' soft, and then I shuts the door and +goes away to the place.' [Footnote] + +[Footnote: Camping-place.] + +'But why didn't you tell _us_ all this, Sinfi?' asked the landlord. +'My wife would ha' went and seen arter her, and we wouldn't ha' +touched a farthin' for they blankets and things, not we, Sinfi, not +we.' + +'Ah, you _would_, though,' said the girl, ''cause I'd ha' _made_ you +take it. Winnie Wynne was the only one on 'em, Gorgio or Gorgie, ever +I liked, and nobody's got no right to see arter her only me, and +that's why I'm about here _now_, if you _must_ know; but nobody's +got no right to see arter her only me, and nobody sha'n't nuther. +They might go and skear her to run up the hills, and she might dash +herself all to flactions in no time.' + +'Don't take on so, Sinfi,' said the landlord. 'When they are in that +way they allus turns agin them as they was fond on.' + +'Then you noticed as she was fond o' me, Mr. Blyth,' said the girl +with great earnestness. + +'Of course she was fond on you, Sinfi; everybody knows that.' + +'Yes,' said the girl, now much affected, '_every_ body knowed it, +_every_ body knowed as she was fond o' me. And to see her look at me +like _that_--it was a cruel sight, Mr. Blyth, I can tell you. Such a +look you never see'd in all your life, Mr. Blyth.' + +'Then I take it she's in the house now?' said the landlord. + +'She goes prowlin' about all day among the hills, as if she was +a-lookin' for somebody; and she talks to somebody as she calls the +Tywysog o'r Niwl, an' I know that's Welsh for the "Prince o' the +Mist"; but back she comes at night. She talks to herself a good deal; +and she sings to herself the Welsh gillies what Mrs. Davies larnt her +in a v'ice as seems as if she wur a-singin' in her sleep, but it's +very sweet to hear it. Yesterday I crep' near her when she was +a-sittin' down lookin' at herself in that 'ere llyn where the water's +so clear, "Knockers' Llyn," as they calls it, where her and me and +Rhona Boswell used to go. And I heard her say she was "cussed by +Henry's feyther." And then I heard her talk to somebody agin, as she +called the Prince of the Mist; but it's herself as she's a-talkin' +to all the while.' + +'Cursed by Henry's father! What curse could any superstitious mystic +call down upon the head of Winifred? The heaven that would answer a +call of that kind would be a heaven for zanies and tomfools!' I +shouted, in a paroxysm of rage against the entire besotted human +race. '_That_ for the curse!' I cried, snapping my fingers. '_I_ am +Henry, and I am come to share the curse, if there is one.' + +'Young man,' interposed the landlord, 'such blas-pheémous langige as +that must not be spoke here; I ain't a-goin' to have _my_ good beer +turned to vinegar by blasphemin' them as owns the thunder, I can tell +you.' + +But the effect of my words upon the Gypsy was that of a spark in a +powder-mine. + +'Henry?' she said, 'Henry? are _you_ the fine rei as she used to talk +about? Are you the fine cripple as she was so fond on? Yes, Beng te +tassa mandi if you ain't Henry his very self.' + +'Don't,' remonstrated the landlord, 'don't meddle with the gentleman, +Sinfi. He ain't a cripple, as you can see.' + +'Well, cripple or no cripple, he's _Henry_. I half thought it as soon +as he began askin' about her. Now, my fine Gorgio, what do you and +your fine feyther mean by cussin' Winnie Wynne? You've jist about +broke her heart among ye. If you want to cuss you'd better cuss me;' +and she sprang up in an attitude that showed me at once that she was +a skilled boxer. + +The male Gypsy rose and buttoned his coat over his waistcoat. I +thought he was going to attack me. Instead of this, he said to the +landlord: + +'_She's_ in for a set-to agin. She's sure to quarrel with me if I +interferes, so I'll just go on to the place and not spile sport. +Don't let her kill the chap, though, Mr. Blyth, if you can anyways +help it. Anyhows, _I_ ain't a-goin' to be called in for witness.' + +With that he left the house. + +The Gypsy girl looked at me from head to foot, and exclaimed, + +'Lucky for you, my fine fellow, that I'm a duke's chavi, an' mustn't +fight, else I'd pretty soon ask you outside and settle this off in no +time. But you'd better keep clear of Mrs. Davies's cottage, I can +tell you. Every stick in that house is mine.' + +And, forgetting in her rage to pay her score, she picked up her +strange-looking musical instrument, put it into a bag, and stalked +out. + +'She's got a queer temper of her own,' said the landlord; 'but she +ain't a bad sort for all that. She's clever, too: she's the only +woman in Wales, they say, as can play on the crwth now since Mrs. +Davies is dead, what larnt her to do it.' + +'The crwth?' + +'The old ancient Welsh fiddle what can draw the Sperrits o' Snowdon +when it's played by a vargin. I dessay you've often heard the sayin' +"The sperrits follow the crwth." She makes a sight o' money by +playin' on that fiddle in the houses o' the gentlefolk, and she's as +proud as the very deuce. Ain't a bad sort, though, for all that.' + + +II + +That I determined to cultivate the acquaintance of Sinfi Lovell I +need scarcely say. But my first purpose was to see the cottage. The +landlord showed me the way to it. He warned me that a storm was +coming on, but I did not let that stay me. Masses of dark clouds were +gathering, and there was every sign of a heavy rainstorm as I went +out along the road in the direction indicated. + +There was a damp boisterous wind, that seemed blowing from all points +of the compass at once, and in a minute I was caught in a swirl of +blinding rain. I took no heed of it, however, but hurried along the +lonely road till I reached the cottage, which I knew at once was the +one I sought. It was picturesque, but had a deserted look. + +It was not till I stood in front or the door that I began to consider +what I really intended to do in case I found her there. A heedless, +impetuous desire to see her--to get possession of her--had brought me +to Wales. But what was to be my course of action if I found her I had +never given myself time to think. + +If I could only clasp her in my arms and tell her I was Henry, I felt +that she must, even in madness, know me and cling to me. I could not +realise that any insanity could estrange her from me if I could only +get near her. + +I put my thumb upon the old-fashioned latch, and found that the door +was not locked. It yielded to my touch, and with a throbbing of every +pulse, I pushed it open and looked in. + +In front of me rose a staircase, steep and narrow. There was +sufficient evening light to enable me to see up the staircase, and to +distinguish two black bedroom doors, now closed, on the landing. I +stood on the wet threshold till my nerves grew calmer. On my right +and on my left the doors of the two rooms on the ground floor were +open. I could see that the one on my left was stripped of furniture. + +I entered the room on my right--a low room of some considerable +length, with heavy beams across the ceiling, which in that light +seemed black. Two or three chairs and a table were in it. There was a +brisk fire, and over it a tea-kettle of the kind much favoured by +Gypsies, as I afterwards learnt. There was no grate, but an open +hearth, exactly like the one in Wynne's cottage, where Winifred and I +used to stand in summer evenings to see the sky, and the stars +twinkling above the great sooty throat of the open chimney. I now +perceived the crwth and bow upon the table. Sinfi Lovell had +evidently been here since we parted. On the walls hung a few of those +highly coloured prints of Scriptural subjects which, at one time, +used to be seen in English farm-houses, and are still the only works +of art with the Welsh peasants and a few well-to-do Welsh Gypsies who +would emulate Gorgio tastes. + +On the left-hand side of the room was an arched recess, in which, no +doubt, had stood at one time a sideboard, or some such piece of +furniture. There was no occupant of the room, however, and I grew +calmer as I stood before the fire, which drew from my wet clothes a +cloud of steam. The ruddy fingers of the fire-gleam playing upon the +walls made the colours of the pictures seem bright as the tints of +stained glass. The pathetic message of those flickering rays flowed +into my soul. The red mantle of the Prodigal Son, in which he was +feeding the swine, shone as though it had been soaked in sorrow and +blood-red sin. The house was apparently empty; the tension of my +passion became for the first time relaxed, and I passed into a +strange mood of pathos, dreamy, but yet acute, in which Winifred's +fate, and my mother's harshness, and my father's scarred breast, +seemed all a mingled mystery of reminiscent pain. + +I had not stood more than a minute, however, when I was startled into +a very different mood. I thought I heard a sobbing noise, which +seemed to me to come from some one overhead, some one lying upon the +boards of the room above me. I was rooted to the spot where I stood, +for the sob seemed scarcely human, and yet it seemed to be hers. A +new feeling about Winifred's madness came upon me. I recalled +Mivart's horrible description of the mimicry. My God! what was I +about to see? I dared not turn and go upstairs: the fire and the +singing tea-kettle were, at least, companions. But something impelled +me to take the bow and draw it across the crwth-strings. Presently I +thought I heard a door overhead softly open, and this was followed by +the almost inaudible creak of a light footstep descending the stairs. +With paralysed pulses I kept my eyes fixed on the half-open door, in +the certainty of seeing her pass along the little passage leading +from the staircase to the front door. But as I heard the dear +footsteps descend stair after stair my horror left me, and I nearly +began to sob myself. My thoughts now were all for her safety. I +slipped into the recess, fearing to take her by surprise. + +Soon the slim girlish figure passed into the room. And as I saw her +glide along I was stunned, as though I had not expected to see her, +as though I had not known the footstep coming down the stairs. + +With her eyes fixed on the fireplace, she brushed past me without +perceiving me, took a chair, and sat down in front of the fire, her +elbows resting on her knees, and her face meditatively sunk between +her hands. Her sobbing bad ceased, and unless my ears deceived me, +had given place to an occasional soft happy gurgle of childish +laughter. + +I stepped out from the shelter of my archway into the middle of the +room, dubious as to what course to pursue. I thought that, on the +whole, the movement that would startle her least would be to slip +quietly out of the room and out of the house while she was in the +reverie, then knock at the door. She would arouse herself then, +expecting to see some one, and would not be so entirely taken by +surprise at the sight of my face as she would have been at finding +me, without the slightest warning, standing behind her in the room. +I did this: I slipped out at the door and knocked, gently at first, +but got no answer; then a little louder--no answer; then louder and +louder, till at last I thundered at the door in a state of growing +alarm; still no answer. + +'She is stone deaf,' I thought; and now I remembered having noticed, +as she brushed past me, a far-off gaze in her eyes, such as some +stone-deaf people show. + +I re-entered the house. There she was, sitting immovably before the +fire, in the same reverie. I coughed and hemmed, softly at first, +then more loudly, finally with such vigour that I ran the risk of +damaging my throat, and still there was no movement of that head bent +over the fire and resting in the palms of the hands. At last I made a +step forward, then another, finally finding myself on the knitted +cloth hearthrug beside her. I now had the full view of her profile. +That she should be still unconscious of my presence was +unaccountable, for I stood at the end of the rug gazing at her. Again +I coughed and hemmed, but without producing the smallest effect. Then +I determined to address her; but I thought it would be safer to do so +as a stranger than to announce myself at once as Henry. + +'I beg pardon,' I said, 'but is there any one at home?' + +No answer. + +'Is this the way to Capel Curig? + +No answer. + +'Will you give me shelter?' I said; and finally I gave a desperate +'halloo.' + +My efforts had not produced the slightest effect. I was now in a +state of great agitation. That she was stone deaf seemed evident. But +was she not in some kind of fit, though without the contortions of +face Mivart had described to me--contortions which haunted me as much +as though I had seen them? I stooped down and gazed into her face. +There was now no terror there, nor even sorrow. I could see in her +eyes sparks of pleasure, as in the eyes of an infant when it seems to +see in the air pictures or colours to which our eyes are blind. Round +about her cheek and mouth a little dimple was playing, exactly like +the dimple that plays around the mouth of a pleased child. This +marvellous expression on her face recalled to me what Mivart had said +as to the form her dementia assumed between one paroxysm and another. + +'Thank God,' thought I, 'she's not in a fit: she's only deaf.' + +Driven to desperation, however, I seized her shoulder and shook it. +This aroused her. She started up with violence, at the same time +overturning the chair upon which she had been sitting. She stared at +me wildly. The danger of what I had done struck me now. A fortunate +inspiration caused me to say, 'Tywysog o'r Niwl.' Then there broke +over her face a sweet smile of childish pleasure. She made a graceful +curtsey, and said, 'You've come at last; I was thinking about you all +the while.' + +Shall I ever forget her expression? Her eyes were alive with light +and pleasure. It was as though Winifred's soul had fled or the soul +of her childhood had re-entered and taken possession of her body. But +the witchery of her expression no words can describe. Never had I +seen her so lovely as now. Often when a child I had seen the boatmen +on the sands look at us as we passed--seen them stay in the midst of +their toil, their dull faces brightening with admiration, as though a +bar of unexpected sunlight had fallen across them. In the fields I +had seen labourers, sitting at their simple dinner under the hedges, +stay their meal to look after the child--so winning, dazzling, and +strange was her beauty. And when I had first met her again, a child +no longer, in the churchyard, my memory had accepted her at once as +fulfilling, and more than fulfilling, all her childhood's promise. +But never had she looked so bewitching as now--a poor mad girl who +had lost her wits from terror. + +For some time I could only keep murmuring: 'More lovely mad than +sane!' + +'As if I didn't _know_ the Prince!' said she. 'You who, in fine +weather or cloudy, wet or dry, are there on the hills to meet me! As +if I don't know the Prince of the Mist when I see him! But how kind +of you to come down here and see poor Winnie, poor lonely Winnie, at +home!' + +She fetched a chair, placed it in front of the fire, pointed to it +with the same ravishingly childlike smile, indicating that it was for +me, and then, when she saw me mechanically sit down, picked up her +chair and came and sat close beside me. + +In a second she was lost in a reverie as profound as that from which +I had aroused her; and the only sound I heard was the rain on the +window and the fitful gusts of wind playing around the cottage. + +The wind having blown open the door, I got up to shut it. Winifred +rose too, and again taking hold of my hand, she looked up into my +face with a smile, and said, 'Don't go; I'm so lonely--poor Winnie's +so lonely.' + +As I held her hand in mine, and closed my other hand over it, I +murmured to myself, 'If God will only give her to me like this--mad +like this--I will be content.' + +'Dearest,' I said, longing to put my arm round her waist--to kiss her +own passionless lips--but I dared not, lest I might frighten her +away, 'I will not leave you. I will never leave you. You shall never +be lonely any more.' + +I closed the door, and we resumed our seats. + +Can I put into words what passed within my soul as we two sat by the +fire, she holding my hand in her own--holding it as innocently as a +child holds the hand of its mother? Can I put into words my mingled +feelings of love and pity and wild grief, as I sat looking at her and +murmuring, 'Yes; if God will only give her to me like _this_, I will +be content'? + +'Prince,' said she, 'your eyes look very kind!--Sweet, sweet eyes,' +she continued, looking at me. 'The Prince of the Mist has love-eyes,' +she repeated, as she placed the seats before the fire again. + +Then I heard her murmur, 'Love-eyes! love-eyes! Henry's love-eyes!' +Then a terrible change came over her. She sprang up and came and +peered in my face. An indescribable expression of terror overspread +her features, her nostrils expanded, her lips were drawn tightly over +her teeth, her eyes seemed starting from their sockets; her throat +suddenly became fluted like the throat of an aged woman, then veined +with knotted, cruel cords. Then she stood as transfixed, and her face +was mimicking that appalling look on her father's face which I had +seen in the moonlight. With a yell of 'Father!' she leapt from me. +Then she rushed from the house, and I could hear her run by the +window, crying, 'Cursed, cursed, cursed by Henry's father!' + +For an instant the movement took away my breath; but I soon recovered +and sprang after her to the door. + +There, in the distance, I saw her in the rain, running along the +road. My first impulse was to follow her and run her down. But +luckily I considered the effect this might have in increasing her +terror, and stopped. She was soon out of sight. I wandered about the +road calling her name, and calling on Heaven to have a little pity--a +little mercy. + + +III + +I decided to return to the house, but found that I had lost my way in +the obscurity and pelting rain. For hours I wandered about, without +the slightest clue as to where I was. I was literally soaked to the +skin. Several times I fell into holes in a morass, and was up to my +hips in moss and mud and water. Then I began to call out for +assistance till I was hoarse. I might as well have called out on an +uninhabited island. + +The night wore on, and the darkness grew so intense that I could +scarcely see my hand when I held it up. Every star in the heavens was +hid away as by a thick-pall. The darkness was positively benumbing to +the faculties, and added, if possible, to the misery I was in on +account of Winifred. Suddenly my progress was arrested. I had fallen +violently against something. A human body, a woman! I thrust out my +hand and seized a woman's damp arm. + +'Winifred,' I cried, 'it's Henry.' + +'I thought as much.' said the voice of the Gypsy girl I had met at +the wayside inn, and she seized me by the throat with a fearful grip. +'You've been to the cottage and skeared her away, and now she's seed +you there she'll never come back; she'll wander about the hills till +she drops down dead, or falls over the brinks.' + +'O God!' I cried, as I struggled away from her. 'Winifred! Winifred! + +There was silence between us then. + +'You seem mighty fond on her, young man,' said the Gypsy at length, +in a softened voice, 'and you don't strike out at me for grabbin' +your throat.' + +'Winifred! Winifred!' I said, as I thought of her on the hills on a +night like this. + +'You seem mighty fond on her, young man,' repeated the girl's voice +in the darkness. + +But I could afford no words for her, so cruelly was misery lacerating +me. + +'Reia,' said the Gypsy, 'did I hurt your throat just now? I hope I +didn't; but you see she was the only one of 'em ever I liked, Gorgio +or Gorgie, 'cept Mrs. Davies, lad or wench. I know'd her as a child, +and arterwards, when a fine English lady, as poor as a church-mouse, +tried to spile her, a-makin' _her_ a fine lady too, I thought she'd +forget all about me. But not she. I never once called at Mrs. +Davies's house with my crwth, as she taught me to play on, but out +Winnie would come with her bright eyes an' say, "Oh, I'm so glad!" +She meant she was glad to see me, bless the kind heart on her. An' +when I used to see her on the hills, she'd come runnin' up to me, and +she'd put her little hand in mine, she would, an' chatter away, she +would, as we went up an' up. An' one day, when she heard me callin' +one o' the Romany chies sister, she says, "Is that your sister?" an' +when I says, "No; but the Romany chies call each other sister," then +says she, pretending not to know all about our Romany ways, "Sinfi, +I'm very fond on you, may _I_ call you sister?" An' she had sich +ways; an' she's the only Gorgio or Gorgie, 'cept Mrs. Davies, as I +ever liked, lad or wench.' + +The Gypsy's simple words came like a new message of comfort and hope, +but I could not speak. + +'Young man,' she continued, 'are you there?' and she put out her hand +to feel for me. + +I took hold of the hand. No words passed; none were needed. Never had +I known friendship before. After a short time I said, + +'What shall we do, Sinfi?' + +'I shall wait a bit, till the stars are out,' said she. 'I know +they're a-comin' out by the feel o' the wind. Then I shall walk up a +path as Winnie knows. The sun'll be up ready for me by the time I get +to the part I wants to go to. You know, young man, I _must_ find her. +She'll never come back to the cottage no more, now she's been skeared +away from it.' + +'But I must accompany you,' I said. + +'No, no, you mustn't do that,' said the Gypsy; 'she might take fright +and fall and be killed. Besides,' said she, 'Winifred Wynne's under +a cuss; it's bad luck to follow up anybody under a cuss.' + +'But you are following her,' I said. + +'Ah, but that's different. "Gorgio cuss never touched Romany," as my +mammy, as had the seein' eye, used to say.' + +'But,' I exclaimed vehemently, 'I _want_ to be cursed with her. I +have followed her to be cursed with her. I mean to go with you.' + +'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. + +'Well,' said she, when I had stopped to look round, 'it's my belief +as the cuss is a-workin' now, and'll have to spend itself. If it +could ha' spent itself on the feyther as did the mischief, why all +well an' good, but, you see, he's gone, an' left it to spend itself +on his chavi; jist the way with 'em Gorgio feythers an' Romany +daddies. It'll have to spend itself, though, that cuss will, I'm +afeard.' + +'But,' I said, 'you don't mean that you think for her father's crime +she'll have to beg her bread in desolate places.' + +'I do though, wusser luck,' said the Gypsy solemnly, stopping +suddenly, and standing still as a statue. + +'And this,' I ejaculated, 'is the hideous belief of all races in all +times! Monstrous if a lie--more monstrous if true! Anyhow I'll find +her. I'll traverse the earth till I find her. I'll share her lot with +her, whatever it may be, and wherever it may be in the world. If +she's a beggar, I'll beg by her side.' + +'Right you are, brother,' said the Gypsy, breaking in +enthusiastically. 'I likes to hear a man say that. You're liker a +Romany chi nor a Romany chal, the more I see of you. What I says to +our people is:--"If the Romany chals would only stick by the Romany +chies as the Romany chies sticks by the Romany chals, where 'ud the +Gorgios be then? Why, the Romanies would be the strongest people on +the arth." But you see, reia, about this cuss--a cuss has to work +itself out, jist for all the world like the bite of a sap.' +[Footnote] + +[Footnote: _Sap_, a snake.] + +Then she continued, with great earnestness, looking across the +kindling expanse of hill and valley before us: 'You know, the very +dead things round us,--these here peaks, an' rocks, an' lakes, an' +mountains--ay, an' the woods an' the sun an' the sky above our +heads,--cusses us when we do anythink wrong. You may see it by the +way they looks at you. Of course I mean when you do anythink wrong +accordin' to us Romanies. I don't mean wrong accordin' to the +Gorgios: they're two very different kinds o' wrongs.' + +'I don't see the difference,' said I; 'but tell me more about +Winifred.' + +'You don't see the difference?' said Sinfi. 'Well then, I do. It's +wrong to tell a lie to a Romany, ain't it? But is it wrong to tell a +lie to a Gorgio? Not a bit of it. And why? 'Cause most Gorgios is +fools and wants lies, an' that gives the poor Romanies a chance. But +this here cuss is a very bad kind 'o cuss. It's a dead man's cuss, +and what's wuss, him as is cussed is dead and out of the way, and so +it has to be worked out in the blood of his child. But when she's +done that, when she's worked it out of her blood, things'll come +right agin if the cross is put back agin on your father's buzzum.' + +'When she has done what?' I said. + +'Begged her bread in desolate places,' said the Gypsy girl solemnly. +'Then if the cross is put back agin on your feyther's buzzum, I +believe things'll all come right. It's bad the cusser was your +feyther though.' + +'But why?' I asked. + +'There's nobody can't hurt you and them you're fond on as your own +breed can. As my poor mammy used to say, "For good or for ill you +must dig deep to bury your daddy." But you know, brother, the wust o' +this job is that it's a trúshul as has been stole.' + +'A trúshul?' + +'What you call a cross. There's nothin' in the world so strong for +cussin' and blessin' as a trúshul, unless the stars shinin' in the +river or the hand in the clouds is as strong. Why, I tell you there's +nothin' a trúshul can't do, whether it's curin' a man as is bit by a +sap, or wipin' the very rainbow out o' the sky by jist layin' two +sticks crossways, or even curin' the cramp in your legs by jist +settin' your shoes crossways; there's nothin' for good or bad a +trúshul _can't_ do if it likes. Hav'n't you never heer'd o' the +dukkeripen o' the trúshul shinin' in the sunset sky when the light +o' the sinkin' sun shoots up behind a bar o' clouds an' makes a kind +o fiery cross? But to go and steal a trushul out of a dead man's +tomb--why, it's no wonder as the Wynnes is cussed, feyther and +child.' + +I could not have tolerated this prattle about Gypsy superstitions had +I not observed that through it all the Gypsy was on the _qui vive_, +looking for the traces of her path that Winifred had unconsciously +left behind her. Had the Gypsy been following the trail with the +silence of an American Indian, she could not have worked more +carefully than she was now working while her tongue went rattling on. +I afterwards found this to be a characteristic of her race, as I +afterwards found that what is called the long sight of the Gypsies +(as displayed in the following of the _patrin_ [Footnote: Trail]) is +not long sight at all, but is the result of a peculiar faculty the +Gypsies have of observing more closely than Gorgios do everything +that meets their eyes in the woods and on the hills and along the +roads. When we reached the spot indicated by the Gypsy as being +Winifred's haunt, the ledge where she was in the habit of coming for +her imaginary interviews with the 'Prince of the Mist,' we did not +stay there, but for a time still followed the path, which from this +point became rougher and rougher, alongside deep precipices and +chasms. Every now and then she would stop on a ledge of rock, and, +without staying her prattle for a moment, stoop down and examine the +earth with eyes that would not have missed the footprint of a rat. +When I saw her pause, as she sometimes would in the midst of her +scrutiny, to gaze inquiringly down some gulf, which then seemed awful +to my inexperienced eyes, but which later on in the day, when I came +to see the tremendous chasms of that side of Snowdon, seemed +insignificant enough, the circulation of my blood would seem to stop, +and then rush again through my body more violently than before. And +while the 'patrin-chase' went on, and the morning grew brighter and +brighter, the Gypsy's lithe, catlike tread never faltered. The rise +and fall of her bosom were as regular and as calm as in the +public-house. Such agility and such staying power in a woman +astonished me. Finding no trace of Winnie, we returned to the little +plateau by Knockers' Llyn. + +'This is the place,' said the Gypsy; 'it used to be called in old +times the haunted llyn, because when you sings the Welsh dukkerin +gillie here or plays it on a crwth, the Knockers answers it. I dare +say you've heard o' what the Gorgios call the triple echo o' Llyn +Ddu'r Arddu. Well, it's somethin' like that, only bein' done by the +knocking sperrits, it's grander and don't come 'cept when they hears +the Welsh dukkerin gillie. Now, you must hide yourself somewheres +while I go and touch the crwth in her favourite place. I think she'll +come to that. I wish though I hadn't brought ye,' she continued, +looking at me meditatively; 'you're a little winded a-ready, and we +ain't begun the rough climbing at all. Up to this 'ere pool Winnie +and me and Rhona Boswell used to climb when we was children; it +needed longer legs nor ourn to get farther up, and you're winded +a-ready. If she should come on you suddent, she's liker than not to +run for a mile or more up that path where we've just been and then to +jump down one of them chasms you've just seed. But if she does pop +on ye, don't you try to grab her, whatever you do; leave me alone for +that. You ain't got strength enough to grab a hare; you ought to be +in bed. Besides, she won't be skeared at me. But,' she continued, +turning round to look at the vast circuit of peaks stretching away as +far as the eye could reach, 'we shall have to ketch her to-day +somehow. She'll never go back to the cottage where you went and +skeared her; and if she don't have a fall, she'll run about these +here hills till she drops. We shall have to ketch her to-day somehow. +I'm in hopes she'll come to the sound of my crwth, she's so uncommon +fond on it; and if she don't come in the flesh, p'rhaps her livin' +mullo will come, and that'll show she's alive.' + +She placed me in a crevice overlooking the small lake, or pool, which +on the opposite side was enclosed in a gorge, opening only by a cleft +to the east. Then she unburdened herself of a wallet containing the +breakfast, saying, 'When I come back we'll fall to and breakfiss.' +She then, as though she were following the trail, made a circuit of +the pool and disappeared through the gorge. All round the pool there +was a narrow ragged ledge leading to this eastern opening. I stood +concealed in my crevice and looked at the peaks, or rather at the +vast masses of billowy vapours enveloping them, as they sometimes +boiled and sometimes blazed, shaking--when the sun struck one and +then another--from brilliant amethyst to vermilion, shot occasionally +with purple, or gold, or blue. + +A radiance now came pouring through the eastern opening down the +gorge or cwm itself, and soon the light vapours floating about the +pool were turned to sailing gauzes, all quivering with different +dyes, as though a rainbow had become torn from the sky and woven into +gossamer hangings and set adrift. + +Fatigue was beginning to numb my senses and to conquer my brain. The +acuteness of my mental anguish had consumed itself in its own intense +fires. The idea of Winifred's danger became more remote. The +mist-pageants of the morning seemed somehow to emanate from Winnie. + +'No one is worthy to haunt such a scene as this,' I murmured, sinking +against the rock, 'but Winifred--so beautiful of body and pure of +soul. Would that I were indeed her "Prince of the Mist," and that we +could die here together with Sinfi's strains in our ears.' + +Then I felt coming over me strange influences which afterwards became +familiar to me--influences which I can only call the spells of +Snowdon. They were far more intense than those strange, sweet, wild, +mesmeric throbs which I used to feel in Graylingham Wood, and which +my ancestress, Fenella Stanley, seems also to have known, but they +were akin to them. Then came the sound of Sinfi's crwth and song, and +in the distance repetitions of it, as though the spirits of Snowdon +were, in very truth, joining in a chorus. + +At once a marvellous change came over me. I seemed to be listening to +my ancestress, Fenella Stanley, and not to Sinfi Lovell. I was +hearing that strain which in my childhood I had so often tried to +imagine, and it was conjuring up the morning sylphs of the mountain +air and all the 'flower-sprites' and 'sunshine elves' of Snowdon. + + +V + +I shook off the spell when the music ceased; then I began to wonder +why the Gypsy did not return. I was now faint and almost famished for +want of food. I opened the Gypsy's wallet. There was the substantial +and tempting breakfast she had brought from the cottage +cupboard--cold beef and bread, and ale. I spread the breakfast on the +ground. + +Scarcely had I done so when a figure appeared at the opening of the +gorge and caught the ruddy flood of light. It was Winifred, +bare-headed. I knew it was she, and I waited in breathless suspense, +crouching close up into the crevice, dreading lest she should see me +and be frightened away. She stood in the eastern cleft of the gorge +against the sun for fully half a minute, looking around as a stag +might look that was trying to give the hunters the slip. + +'She has seen the Gypsy,' I thought, 'and been scared by her.' Then +she came down and glided along the side of the pool. At first she did +not see me, though she stood opposite and stopped, while the +opalescent vapours from the pool steamed around her, and she shone as +through a glittering veil, her eyes flashing like sapphires. The +palpitation of my heart choked me; I dared not stir, I dared not +speak; the slightest movement or the slightest sound might cause her +to start away. There was she whom I had travelled and toiled to +find--there was she, so close to me, and yet must I let her pass and +perhaps lose her after all--for ever? + +Where was the Gypsy girl? I was in an agony of desire to see her or +hear her crwth, and yet her approach might frighten Winifred to her +destruction. + +But Winifred, who had now seen me, did not bound away with that +heart-quelling yell of hers which I had dreaded. No, I perceived to +my astonishment that the flash of the eyes was not of alarm, but of +greeting to me--pleasure at seeing me! She came close to the water, +and then I saw a smile on her face through the misty film--a flash of +shining teeth. + +'May I come?' she said. + +'Yes, Winifred,' I gasped, scarcely knowing what I said in my +surprise and joy. + +She came slipping round the pool, and in a few seconds was by my +side. Her clothes were saturated with last night's rain, but though +she looked very cold, she did not shiver, a proof that she had not +lain down on the hills, but had walked about during the whole night. +There was no wildness of the maniac--there was no idiotic stare. But +oh the witchery of the gaze! + +If one could imagine the look on the face of a wanderer from the +cloud-palaces of the sylphs, or the gaze in the eyes of a statue +newly animated by the passion of the sculptor who had fashioned it, +or the smile on the face of a wondering Eve just created upon the +earth--any one of these expressions would, perhaps, give the idea +of that on Winifred's face as she stood there. + +'May I sit down, Prince?' said she. + +'Yes, Winnie,' I replied; 'I've been waiting for you.' + +'Been waiting for poor Winnie?' she said, her eyes sparkling anew +with pleasure; and she sat down close by my side, gazing hungrily at +the food--her hands resting on her lap. + +I laid my hand upon one of hers; it was so damp and cold that it made +me shudder. + +'Why, Winifred,' I said, 'how cold you are!' 'The hills are _so_ +cold!' said she, '_so_ cold when the stars go out, and the red +streaks begin to come.' + +'May I warm your hands in mine, Winnie?' I said, longing to clasp the +dear fingers, but trembling lest anything I might say or do should +bring about a repetition of last night's catastrophe. + +'_Will_ you, Prince?' said she. 'How very, very kind!' and in a +moment the hand was between mine. + +Remembering that it was through looking into my eyes that she +recognised me in the cottage, I now avoided looking straight into +hers. All this time she kept gazing wistfully at the food spread out +on the ground. + +'Are you hungry, Winifred?' I said. + +'Oh yes; _so_ hungry!' said she, shaking her head in a sad meditative +way. 'Poor Winifred is so hungry and cold and lonely!' + +'Will you breakfast with the Prince of the Mist, Winifred?' + +'Oh, may I, Prince?' she asked, her face beaming with delight. + +'To be sure you may, Winnie. You may always breakfast with the Prince +of the Mist if you like.' + +'Always? Always?' she repeated. + +'Yes, Winnie,' I said, as I handed her some bread and meat, which she +devoured ravenously. + +'Yes, dear Winnie,' I continued, handing her a foaming horn of +Sinfi's ale, to which she did as full justice as she was doing to the +bread and meat. 'Yes, I want you to breakfast with me and dine with +me always.' + +'Do you mean _live_ with you, Prince?' she asked, looking me dreamily +in the face--'live with you behind the white mist? Is this our +wedding breakfast, Prince?' + +'Yes, Winnie.' + +Then her eyes wandered down over her dress, and she said, 'Ah! how +strange I did not notice my green fairy kirtle before. And I declare +I never felt till this moment the wreath of gold leaves round my +forehead. Do they shine much in the sun?' + +'They quite dazzle me, Winnie,' I said, arching my hand above my +eyes, as if to protect them from the glare. + +'Do you have a nice fire there when it's very cold?' she said. + +'Yes, Winifred,' I said. + +She then sank into silence, while I kept plying her with food. + +After she had appeased her hunger she sat looking into the pool, +quite unconscious, apparently, of my presence by her side, and lost +in a reverie similar to that which I had seen at the cottage. + +The form her dementia had taken was unlike anything that I had ever +conceived. Madness seemed too coarse a word to denote so wonderful +and fascinating a mental derangement. Mivart's comparison to a +musical-box recurred to me, and seemed most apt. She was in a waking +dream. The peril lay in breaking through that dream and bringing her +real life before her. There was a certain cogency of dreamland in all +she said and did. And I found that she sank into silent reverie +simply because she waited, like a person in sleep, for the current of +her thoughts to be directed and dictated by external phenomena. As +she sat there gazing in the pool, her hand gradually warming between +my two hands, I felt that never when sane, never in her most +bewitching moments, had she been so lovable as she was now. This new +kind of spell she exercised over me it would be impossible to +describe. But it sprang from the expression on her face of that +absolute freedom from all self-consciousness which is the great charm +in children, combined with the grace and beauty of her own matchless +girlhood. A desire to embrace her, to crush her to my breast, seized +me like a frenzy. + +'Winifred,' I said, 'you are very cold.' + +But she was now insensible to sound. I knew from experience now that +I must shake her to bring her back to consciousness, for evidently, +in her fits of reverie, the sounds falling upon her ear were not +conveyed to the brain at all. + +I shook her gently, and said, 'The Prince of the Mist.' + +She started back to life. My idea had been a happy one. My words had +at once sent her thoughts into the right direction for me. + +'Pardon me, Prince,' said she, smiling; 'I had forgotten that you +were here.' + +'Winifred, I've warmed this hand, now give me the other.' + +She stretched her other hand across her breast and gave it to me. +This brought her entire body close to me, and I said, 'Winnie, you +are cold all over. Won't you let the Prince of the Mist put his arms +round you and warm you?' + +'Oh, I should like it so much,' she said. 'But are you warm, Prince? +are you really warm?--your mist is mostly very cold.' + +'Quite warm, Winifred,' I said, as with my heart swelling in my +breast, and with eyelids closing over my eyes from very joy, I drew +her softly upon my breast once more. + +'Yes--yes,' I murmured, as the tears gushed from my eyes and dropped +upon the soft hair that I was kissing. 'If God will but let me have +her _thus_! I ask for nothing better than to possess a maniac.' + +As we sat locked in each other's arms the head of Sinfi appeared +round the eastern cliff of the gorge where I had first seen Winifred. +The Gypsy had evidently been watching us from there. I perceived +that she was signalling to me that I was not to grasp Winifred. Then +I saw Sinfi suddenly and excitedly point to the sky over the rock +beneath which we sat. I looked up. The upper sky above us was now +clear of morning mist, and right over our heads, Winifred's and mine, +there hung a little morning cloud like a feather of flickering rosy +gold. I looked again towards the corner of jutting rock, but Sinfi's +head had disappeared. + +'Dear Prince,' said Winifred, 'how delightfully warm you are! How +kind of you! But are not your arms a little too tight, dear Prince? +Poor Winnie cannot breathe. And this thump, thump, thump, like +a--like a--fire-engine--_ah_!' + +Too late I knew what my folly had done. The turbulent action of my +heart had had a sympathetic effect upon hers. It seemed as if her +senses, if not her mind, had remembered another occasion, when, as +she was lying in my arms, the beating of my heart had disturbed her. +In one lightning-flash her real life and all its tragedy broke +mercilessly in upon her. The idea of the 'Prince of the Mist' fled. +She started up and away from me. The awful mimicry of her father's +expression spread over her face. With a yell of 'Fy Nhad,' and then a +yell of 'Father!' she darted round the pool, and then, bounding up +the rugged path like a chamois, disappeared behind a corner of +jutting rock. + +At the same moment the head of the Gypsy girl reappeared round the +eastern cleft of the gorge. Sinfi came quickly up to me and +whispered, 'Don't follow.' + +'I will,' I said. + +'No, you won't,' said she, seizing my wrist with a grip of iron. 'If +you do she's done for. Do you know where she is running to? A couple +of furlongs up that path there's another that branches off on the +right; it ain't more nor a futt-an'-a-half wide along a precipuss +more nor a hundred futt deep. She knows it well. She'll make for +that. The cuss is on her wuss nor ever, judgin' from the gurn and the +flash of her teeth.' + +I waited for two or three seconds in the wildest impatience. + +'Let's follow her now,' I said. + +'No, no,' she whispered, 'not yet, 'less you want to see her tumble +down the cliff.' After a few minutes Sinfi and I went up the main +pathway. Winnie seemed to have slackened her pace when she was out of +sight, for we saw her just turning away on the right at the point +indicated by Sinfi. 'Give her time to get along that path,' said she, +'and then she'll be all right.' + +In a state of agonised suspense I stood there waiting. At last I +said: + +'I must go after her. We shall lose her--I know we shall lose her.' + +Sinfi demurred a moment, then acceded to my wish, and we went up the +main pathway and peered round the corner of the jutting rock where +Winifred had last been visible. There, along a ragged shelf +bordering a yawning chasm--a shelf that seemed to me scarce wide +enough for a human foot--Winifred was running and balancing herself +as surely as a bird over the abyss. + +'Mind she doesn't turn round sharp and see you,' said the Gypsy. 'If +she does she'll lose her head and over she'll fall!' + +I crouched and gazed at Winifred as she glided along towards a vast +mountain of vapour that was rolling over the chasm close to her. She +stood and looked into the floating mass for a moment, and then passed +into it and was lost from view. + + +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.] + + +VII + +After losing Sinfi I hired some men to assist 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 shaggy 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 Principality. 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! superstition 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 association 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.' + +Holywell grew to have a fascination for me, and in the following +spring I left the fishing-inn beneath Snowdon, and took rooms in this +interesting old town. + + +VIII + +One day, near the rivulet that runs from St. Winifred's Well, I +suddenly encountered Sinfi Lovell. + +'Sinfi,' I said, 'she's dead, she's surely dead.' + +'I tell ye, brother, she ain't got to die!' said Sinfi, as she came +and stood beside me. 'Winnie Wynne's on'y got to beg her bread. She's +alive.' + +'Where is she?' I cried. 'Oh, Sinfi, I shall go mad!' + +'There you're too fast for me, brother,' said she, 'when you ask me +_where_ she is; but she's alive, and I ain't come quite emp'y-handed +of news about her, brother.' + +'Oh, tell me!' said I. + +'Well,' said Sinfi, 'I've just met one of our people, Euri Lovell, as +says that, the very mornin' after we seed her on the hills, he met +her close to Carnarvon at break of day.' + +'Then she _did_ go to Carnarvon,' I said. 'What a distance for those +dear feet!' + +'Euri knowed her by sight,' said Sinfi, 'but didn't know about her +bein' under the cuss, so he jist let her pass, sayin' to hisself, +"She looks jist like a crazy wench this mornin', does Winnie Wynne." +Euri was a-goin' through Carnarvon to Bangor, on to Conway and +Chester, and never heerd a word about her bein' lost till he got +back, six weeks ago.' + +'I must go to Carnarvon at once,' said I. + +'No use, brother,' said Sinfi. 'If _I_ han't pretty well worked +Carnarvon, it's a pity. I've bin there the last three weeks on the +patrin-chase, and not a patrin could I find. It's my belief as she +never went into Carnarvon town at all, but turned off and went into +Llanbeblig churchyard.' + +'Why do you think so, Sinfi?' + +''Cause her aunt, bein' a Carnarvon woman, was buried among her own +kin in Llanbeblig churchyard. + +Leastwise, you won't find a ghose of a trace on her at Carnarvon, and +it'll be a long kind of a wild-goose chase from here; but if you +will go, go you must.' + +She could not dissuade me from starting for Carnarvon at once; and, +as I would go, she seemed to take it as a matter of course that she +must accompany me. Our journey was partly by coach and partly afoot. + +My first impulse on nearing Carnarvon was to go--I could not have +said why--to Llanbeblig churchyard. + +Among a group of graves of the Davieses we easily found that of +Winifred's aunt, beneath a newly-planted arbutus tree. After looking +at the modest mound for some time, and wondering where Winifred had +stood when the coffin was lowered--as I had wondered where she had +stood at St. Winifred's Well--I roamed about the churchyard with +Sinfi in silence for a time. + +At last she said, 'I mind comin' here wonst with Winnie, and I mind +her sayin': "There's no place I should so much like to be buried in +as Llanbeblig churchyard. The graves of them as die unmarried do look +so beautiful."' + +'How did she know the graves of those who die unmarried?' + +Sinfi looked over the churchyard and waved her hand. + +'Wherever you see them beautiful primroses, and them shinin' +snowdrops, and them sweet-smellin' vi'lets, that's allus the grave of +a child or else of a young Gorgie as died a maid; and wherever you +see them laurel trees, and box trees, and 'butus trees, that's the +grave of a pusson as ain't nuther child nor maid, an' the Welsh folk +think nobody else on'y child'n an' maids ain't quite good enough to +be turned into the blessed flowers o' spring.' + +'Next to the sea,' I said, 'she loved the flowers of spring.' + +'And _I_ should like to be buried here too, brother,' said Sinfi, as +we left the churchyard. + +'But a fine strong girl like you, Sinfi, is not very likely to die +unmarried while there are Romany bachelors about.' + +'There ain't a-many Romany chals,' she said, 'as du'st marry Sinfi +Lovell, even supposing as Sinfi Lovell 'ud marry _them_, an' a Gorgio +she'll never marry--an' never can marry. And to lay here aneath the +flowers o 'spring, wi' the Welsh sun a-shinin' on 'em as it's +a-shinin' now, that must be a sweet kind of bed, brother, and for +anythink as I knows on, a Romany chi 'ud make as sweet a bed o' +vi'lets as the beautifullest Gorgie-wench as wur ever bred in +Carnarvon, an' as shinin' a bunch o' snowdrops as ever the Welsh +spring knows how to grow.' + +At any other time this extraordinary girl's talk would have +interested me greatly; now, nothing had any interest for me that did +not bear directly upon the fate of Winifred. + +Little dreaming how this quiet churchyard had lately been one of the +battle-grounds of that all-conquering power (Destiny, or +Circumstance?) which had governed Winnie's life and mine, I went with +Sinfi into Carnarvon, and made inquiry everywhere, but without the +slightest result. This occupied several days, during which time Sinfi +stayed with some acquaintances encamped near Carnarvon, while I +lodged at a little hotel. + +'You don't ask me how you happened to meet me at Holywell, brother,' +said she to me, as we stood looking across the water at Carnarvon +Castle, over whose mighty battlements the moon was fighting with an +army of black, angry clouds, which a wild wind was leading furiously +against her--'you don't ask me how you happened to meet me at +Holywell, nor how long I've been back agin in dear old Wales, nor +what I've been a-doin' on since we parted; but that's nuther here nor +there. I'll tell you what I think about Winnie an' the chances o' +findin' her, brother, and that'll intrust you more.' + +'What is it, Sinfi?' I cried, waking up from the reminiscences, +bitter and sweet, the bright moon had conjured up in my mind. + +'Well, brother, Winnie, you see, was very fond o' me.' + +'She was, and good reason for being fond of you she had.' + +'Well, brother, bein' very fond o' me, _that_ made her very fond o' +_all_ Romanies; and though she took agin me at fust, arter the cuss, +as she took agin you because we was her closest friends (that's what +Mr. Blyth said, you know, they allus do), she wouldn't take agin +Romanies in general. No, she'd take to Romanies in general, and she'd +go hangin' about the different camps, and she'd soon be snapped up, +being so comely, and they'd make a lot o' money out on her jist +havin' her with 'em for the "dukkerin'."' + +'I don't understand you,' I said. + +'Well, you know,' said Sinfi, 'anybody as is under the cuss is half +with the sperrits and half with us, and so can tell the _real_ +"dukkerin'." Only it's bad for a Romany to have another Romany in the +"place" as is under the cuss; but it don't matter a bit about having +a Gorgio among your breed as is under a cuss; for Gorgio cuss can't +never touch Romany.' + +'Then you feel quite sure she's not dead, Sinfi?' + +'She's jist as live as you an' me somewheres, brother. There's two +things as keeps _her_ alive: there's the cuss, as says she's got to +beg her bread, and there's the dukkeripen o' the Golden Hand on +Snowdon, as says she's got to marry you.' + +'But, Sinfi, I mean that, apart from all this superstition of yours, +you have reason to think she's alive? and you think she's with the +Romanies?' + +'I know she's alive, and I think she's with the Romanies. She _must_ +be, brother, with the Shaws, or the Lees, or the Stanleys, or the +Boswells, or some on 'em.' + +'Then,' said I, 'I'll turn Gypsy; I'll be the second Aylwin to own +allegiance to the blood of Fenella Stanley. I'll scour Great Britain +till I find her.' + +'You can jine _us_ if you like, brother. We're goin' all through the +West of England with the gries. You're fond o' fishin' an' shootin', +brother, an' though you're a Gorgio, you can't help bein' a Gorgio, +and you ain't a mumply 'un, as I've said to Jim Burton many's the +time; and if you can't give the left-hand body-blow like me, there +ain't a-many Gorgios nor yit a-many Romanies as knows better nor you +what their fistes wur made for, an' altogether, brother, Beng te +tassa mandi if I shouldn't be right-on proud to see ye jine our +breed. There's a coachmaker down in Chester, and he's got for sale +the beautifullest livin'-waggin in all England. It's shiny +orange-yellow with red window-blinds, an' if there's a colour in any +rainbow as _can't_ be seed in the panels o' the front door, it's a +kind o' rainbow I ain't never seed nowheres. He made it for Jericho +Bozzell, the rich Griengro as so often stays at Raxton and at Gypsy +Dell; but Rhona Bozzell hates a waggin and allus will sleep in a +tent. They do say as the Prince o' Wales wants to buy that +livin'-waggin, only he can't spare the balansers just now--his family +bein' so big an' times bein' so bad. How much money ha' you got? Can +you stan' a hundud an' fifty gold balansers for the waggin besides +the fixins? + +'Shift,' I said. 'I'm prepared to spend more than that in seeking +Winnie.' + +'Dordi, brother, you must be as rich as my dad, an' lie's the richest +Griengro arter Jericho Bozzell. You an' me'll jist go down to +Chester,' she continued, her eyes sparkling with delight at the +prospect of bargaining for the waggon, 'an' we'll fix up sich a +livin'-waggin as no Romany rei never had afore.' + +'Agreed!' I said, wringing her hand. + +'An' now you an' me's right pals,' said Sinfi. + +We went to Chester, and I became owner of the famous 'livin'-waggin' +coveted (according to Sinfi) by the great personage whom, on account +of his name, she always spoke of as a rich, powerful, but mysterious +and invisible Welshman. One of the monthly cheese-fairs was going on +in the Linen Hall. Among the rows of Welsh carts standing in front of +the 'Old Yacht Inn,' Sinfi introduced me to a 'Griengro' (one of the +Gypsy Locks of Gloucestershire), of whom I bought a bay mare of +extraordinary strength and endurance. + + +IX + +It was, then, to find Winifred that I joined the Gypsies. And yet I +will not deny that affinity with the kinsfolk of my ancestress +Fenella Stanley must have had something to do with this passage in my +eccentric life. That strain of Romany blood which, according to my +mother's theory, had much to do with drawing Percy Aylwin and Rhona +Boswell together, was alive and potent in my own veins. + +But I must pause here to say a few words about Sinfi Lovell. Some of +my readers must have already recognised her as a famous character in +bohemian circles. Sinfi's father was a 'Griengro,' that is to say, a +horse-dealer. She was, indeed, none other than that 'Fiddling Sinfi' +who became famous in many parts of England and Wales as a violinist, +and also as the only performer on the old Welsh stringed instrument +called the 'crwth,' or cruth. Most Gypsies are musical, but Sinfi was +a genuine musical genius. Having become, through the good-nature of +Winifred's aunt Mrs. Davies, the possessor of a crwth, and having +been taught by her the unique capabilities of that rarely seen +instrument, she soon learnt the art of fascinating her Welsh patrons +by the strange, wild strains she could draw from it. This obsolete +six-stringed instrument (with two of the strings reaching beyond the +key-board, used as drones and struck by the thumb, the bow only being +used on the other four, and a bridge placed, not at right angles to +the sides of the instrument, but in an oblique direction), though in +some important respects inferior to the violin, is in other respects +superior to it. Heard among the peaks of Snowdon, as I heard them +during our search for Winifred, the notes of the crwth have a +wonderful wildness and pathos. It is supposed to have the power of +drawing the spirits when a maiden sings to its accompaniment a +mysterious old Cymric song or incantation. + +Among her own people it was as a seeress, as an adept in the real +dukkering--the dukkering for the Romanies, as distinguished from the +false dukkering, the dukkering for the Gorgios--that Sinfi's fame was +great. She had travelled over nearly all England--wherever, in short, +there were horse-fairs--and was familiar with London, where in the +studios of artists she was in request as a face model of +extraordinary value. Nor were these all the characteristics that +distinguished her from the common herd of Romany chies: she was one +of the few Gypsies of either sex who could speak with equal fluency +both the English and Welsh Romanes, and she was in the habit +sometimes of mixing the two dialects in a most singular way. Though +she had lived much in Wales, and had a passionate love of Snowdon, +she belonged to a famous branch of the Lovells whose haunt had for +ages been in Wales and also the East Midlands, and she had caught +entirely the accent of that district. + +Among artists in London, as I afterwards learnt, she often went by +the playful name of 'Lady Sinfi Lovell,' for the following reason: + +She was extremely proud, and believed the 'Kaulo Camloes' to +represent the aristocracy not only of the Gypsies, but of the world. +Moreover, she had of late been brought into close contact with a +certain travelling band of Hungarian Gypsy-musicians, who visited +England some time ago. Intercourse with these had fostered her pride +in a curious manner. The musicians are the most intelligent and most +widely-travelled not only of the Hungarian Gypsies, but of all the +Romany race. They are darker than the sátoros czijányok, or tented +Gypsies. The Lovells being the darkest of all the Gypsies of Great +Britain (and the most handsome, hence called Kaulo Camloes), it was +easy to make out an affinity closer than common between the Lovells +and the Hungarian musicians. Sinfi heard much talk among the +Hungarians of the splendours of the early leaders of the continental +Romanies. She was told of Romany kings, dukes, and counts. She +accepted, with that entire faith which characterised her, the stories +of the exploits of Duke Michael, Duke Andreas, Duke Panuel, and the +rest. It only needed a hint from one of her continental friends, that +her father, Panuel Lovell, was probably a descendant of Duke Panuel, +for Sinfi to consider him a Duke. From that moment she felt as +strongly as any Gorgie ever felt the fine sentiment expressed in the +phrase, _noblesse oblige_; and to hear her say, 'I'm a duke's chavi +[daughter], and mustn't do so and so,' was a delightful and +refreshing experience to me. Poor Panuel groaned under these honours, +for Sinfi insisted now on his dressing in a brown velveteen coat, +scarlet waistcoat with gold coins for buttons, and the high-crowned, +ribbon-bedizened hat which prosperous Gypsies once used to wear. She +seemed to consider that her sister Videy (whose tastes were low for a +Welsh Gypsy) did not belong to the high aristocracy, though born of +the same father and mother. Moreover, 'dook' in Romanes means spirit, +ghost, and very likely Sinfi found some power of association in this +fact; for Videy was a born sceptic. + +One of the special charms of Gypsy life is that a man fully admitted +into the Romany brotherhood can be on terms of close intimacy with a +Gypsy girl without awaking the smallest suspicion of love-making or +flirtation; at least it was so in my time. + +Under my father's will, a considerable legacy had come to me, and, +after going to London to receive this, I made the circuit of the West +of England with Sinfi's people. No sign whatever of Winifred did I +find in any of the camps. I was for returning to Wales, where my +thoughts always were; but I could not expect Sinfi to leave her +family, so I started thither alone, leaving my waggon in their +charge. Before I reached Wales, however, I met in the eastern part of +Cheshire, not far from Moreton Hall, some English Lees, with whom I +got into talk about the Hungarian musicians, who were here then on +another flying visit to England. Something that dropped from one of +the Lees as to the traditions and superstitions of the Hungarian +Gypsies with regard to people suffering from dementia set me +thinking; and at last I came to the conclusion that if I really +believed Winifred to have taken shelter among the Romanies, it would +be absurd not to follow up a band like these Hungarians. Accordingly +I changed my course, and followed them up. On coming upon them in a +famous English camping-place I found the Lovells and the Boswells. +Rhona, dressed in gorgeous attire, evidently purchased at some +second-hand shop, was rehearsing the shawl-dance for a great occasion +at a neighbouring fair. But no Winifred. + +My health was now much impaired by sleeplessness (the inevitable +result of my anxiety), and by a narcotic, which from the commencement +of my troubles I had been in the habit of taking in ever-increasing +doses--a terrible narcotic, one of whose multitudinous effects is +that of sending all the patient's thoughts circling around one +central idea like planets round the sun. Painful and agonising as had +been my suspense,--my oscillation between hope and dread,--during my +wanderings with the Lovells, these wanderings had not been without +their moments of comfort, for all of which I had been indebted to +Sinfi. She would sit with me in an English lane, under a hedge or +tree, on a balmy summer evening, or among the primroses, wild +hyacinths, buttercups and daisies of the sweet meadows, chattering +her reminiscences of Winifred. She would mostly end by saying: +'Winnie was very fond on ye, brother, and we shall find her yit. The +Golden Hand on Snowdon wasn't there for nothink. The dukkeripen says +you'll marry her yit; a love like yourn can follow the tryenest +patrin as ever wur laid.' Then she would play on her crwth and say, +'Ah, brother, I shall be able to make this crwth bring ye a sight o' +Winnie's livin' mullo if she's alive, and there ain't a sperrit of +the hills as wouldn't answer to it.' + +Of Gorgios generally, however, Sinfi had at heart a feeling somewhat +akin to dread. I could not understand it. + +'Why do you dislike the Gorgios, Sinfi?' I said to her one day on +Lake Ogwen, after the return of the Lovells to Wales. We were +trout-fishing from a boat anchored to a heavy block of granite which +she had fastened to a rope and heaved overboard with a strength that +would have surpassed that of most Englishwomen. + +'That's nuther here nor there, brother,' she replied mysteriously. So +months and months dragged by, and brought no trace of Winifred. + + + +IV + +THE LEADER OF THE AYLWINIANS + + +I + +One day as Sinfi and I were strolling through the lovely glades +between Capel Curig and Bettws y Coed, on our way to a fishing-place, +we sat down by a stream to eat some bread and cheese we had brought +with us. + +The sunlight, as it broke here and there between the thick foliage, +was playing upon the little cascades in such magical fashion--turning +the water into a torrent that seemed as though molten rubies and +sapphires and opals were ablaze in one dancing faery stream,--that +even the dark tragedy of human life seemed enveloped for a moment in +an atmosphere of poetry and beauty. Sinfi gazed at it silently, then +she said: + +'This is the very place where Winnie wonst tried to save a hernshaw +as wur wounded. She wur tryin' to ketch hold on it, as the water wur +carryin' it along, and he pretty nigh beat her to death wi' his wings +for her pains. It wur then as she come an' stayed along o' us for a +bit, an' she got to be as fond o' my crwth as you be's, an' she used +to say that if there wur any music as 'ud draw her sperrit hack to +the airth arter she wur dead it 'ud be the sound o' my crwth; but +there she wur wrong as wrong could be: Romany music couldn't never +touch Gorgio sperrit; 'tain't a bit likely. But it can draw her +livin' mullo [wraith].' And as she spoke she began to play her crwth +_pizzicato_ and to sing the opening bars of the old Welsh incantation +which I had heard on Snowdon on that never-to-be-forgotten morning. + +This, as usual, sent my mind at once back to the picture of Fenella +Stanley calling round her by the aid of her music the spirits of +Snowdon. And then a strange hallucination came upon me, that made me +clutch at Sinfi's arm. Close by her, reflected in a little glassy +pool divided off from the current by a ring of stones, two blue eyes +seemed gazing. Then the face and the entire figure of Winifred +appeared, but Winifred dressed as a beggar girl in rags, Winifred +standing at a street corner holding out matches for sale. + +'Winifred!' I exclaimed; and then the hallucination passed, and +Sinfi's features were reflected in the water. My exclamation had the +strangest effect upon Sinfi. Her lips, which usually wore a +peculiarly proud and fearless curve, quivered, and were losing the +brilliant rosebud redness which mostly characterised them. The little +blue tattoo rosettes at the corners of her mouth seemed to be growing +more distinct as she gazed in the water through eyes dark and +mysterious as Night's, but, like Night's own eyes, ready, I thought, +to call up the throbbing fires of a million stars. + +'What made you cry out "Winifred"?' she said, as the music ceased. + +'What you told me about the spirits following the crwth was causing +the strangest dream,' I answered. 'I thought I saw Winnie's face +reflected in the water, and I thought she was in awful distress. And +all the time it was your face.' + +'That wur her livin' mullo,' said Sinfi solemnly. + +Convinced though I was that the hallucination was the natural result +of Sinfi's harping upon the literal fulfilment of the curse, it +depressed me greatly. + +Close to this beautiful spot we came suddenly upon two tourists +sketching. And now occurred one of those surprises of which I have +found that real life is far more full than any fiction dares to be. +As we passed the artists, I heard one call out to the other, with a +'burr' which I will not attempt to render, having never lived in the +'Black Country': + +'You have a true eye for composition; what do you think of this +tree?' + +The speaker's remarkable appearance attracted my attention. + +'Well,' said I to Sinfi, 'that's the first time I ever saw a painter +shaven and dressed in a coat like a Quaker's.' + +Sinfi looked across at the speaker through the curling smoke from my +pipe, gave a start of surprise, and then said: 'So you've never seed +_him_? That's because you're a country Johnny, brother, and don't +know nothink about Londra life. That's a friend o' mine from Londra +as has painted me many's the time.' + +'Painted you?' I said; 'the man in black, with the goggle eyes, +squatting there under the white umbrella? What's his name?' + +'That's the cel'erated Mr. Wilderspin, an' he's painted me many's the +time, an' a rare rum 'un he is too. Dordi! it makes me laugh to think +on him. Most Gorgios is mad, more or less, but he's the maddest 'un I +ever know'd.' + +We had by this time got close to the painter's companion, who, +sitting upright on his camp-stool, was busy with his brush. Without +shifting his head to look at us, or removing his eyes from his work, +he said, in a voice of striking power and volume: 'Nothing but an +imperfect experience of life, Lady Sinfi, could have made you +pronounce our friend there to be the maddest Gorgio living.' + +'Dordi!' exclaimed Sinfi, turning sharply round in great +astonishment. 'Fancy seein' both on 'em here!' + +'Mad our friend is, no doubt, Lady Sinfi,' said the painter, without +looking round, 'but not so mad as certain illustrious Gorgios I could +name, some of them born legislators and some of them (apparently) +born. R.A.'s.' + +'Who should ha' thought of seein' 'em both here?' said Sinfi again. + +'That,' said the painter, without even yet turning to look at us or +staying the movement of his brush, 'is a remark I never make in a +little dot of a world like this, Lady Sinfi, where I expect to see +everybody everywhere. But, my dear Romany chi,' he continued, now +turning slowly round, 'in passing your strictures upon the Gorgio +world, you should remember that you belong to a very limited +aristocracy, and that your remarks may probably fall upon ears of an +entirely inferior and Gorgio convolution.' + +'No offence, I hope.' said Sinfi. + +'Offence in calling the Gorgios mad? Not the smallest, save that you +have distinctly plagiarised from me in your classification of the +Gorgio race.' + +His companion called out again. 'Just one moment! Do come and look at +the position of this tree.' + +'In a second, Wilderspin, in a second,' said the other. 'An old +friend and myself are in the midst of a discussion.' + +'A discussion!' said the person addressed as Wilderspin. 'And with +whom, pray?' + +'With Lady Sinfi Lovell,--a discussion as to the exact value of your +own special kind of madness in relation to the tomfooleries of the +Gorgio mind in general.' + +'Kekka! kekka!' said Sinfi, 'you shouldn't have said that.' + +'And I was on the point of proving to her ladyship that in these +days, when Art has become genteel, and even New Grub Street +"decorates" her walls--when success means not so much painting fine +pictures as building fine houses to paint in--the greatest compliment +you can pay to a man of genius is surely to call him either a beggar +or a madman.' + +The peculiarity of this 'chaff' was that it was uttered in a simple +and serious tone, in which not the faintest tinge of ironical intent +was apparent. The other artist looked across and said: 'Dear me! +Sinfi Lovell! I am pleased to see you, Sinfi. I will ask you for a +sitting to-morrow. A study of your head would be very suggestive +among the Welsh hills.' + +The man who had been 'chaffing' Sinfi then rose and walked towards +his Quaker-like companion, and I had an opportunity of observing him +fully. I saw that he was a spare man, wearing a brown velvet coat and +a dark felt hat. The collar of the coat seemed to have been made +carefully larger than usual, in order to increase the apparent width +of his chest. His hair was brown and curly, but close cut. His +features were regular, perhaps handsome. His complexion was +bright,--fair almost,--rosy in hue, and his eyes were brown. + +He shook hands with Sinfi as he passed us, and gave me a glance of +that rapid and all-comprehending kind which seems to take in, at +once, a picture in its every detail. + +'What do you think of him?' said Sinfi to me, as he passed on and we +two sat down on the grass by the side of the stream. + +'I am puzzled,' I replied, 'to know whether he is a young man who +looks like a middle-aged one, or a middle-aged man who looks like a +young one. How's his hair under the hat?' + +'Thinnish atop,' said Sinfi laconically. 'And I'm puzzled,' I added, +still looking at him as he walked over the grass, 'as to whether he's +a little man who looks middle-sized, or a middle-sized man who looks +little.' + +'He's a little big 'un,' said Sinfi; 'about the height o' Rhona +Bozzell's Tarno Rye.' + +'Altogether he puzzles me, Sinfi!' + +'He puzzled me same way at fust.' + +What was it that made me take an interest so strange, strong, and +sudden in this man? Without a hint of hair upon his face, while +juvenile curls clustered thick and short beneath his wide-awake, he +had at first struck me as being not much more than a lad, till, as he +gave me that rapid, searching glance in passing, I perceived the +little crow's-feet round his eyes, and he then struck me immediately +as being probably on the verge of thirty-five. His figure was slim +and thin, his waist almost girlish in its fall. I should have +considered him small had not the unusually deep, loud, manly, and +sonorous voice with which he had accosted Sinfi conveyed an +impression of size and weight such as even big men do not often +produce. This deep voice, coupled with that gaunt kind of cheek which +we associate with the most demure people, produced an effect of +sedateness such as I should have expected to find (and did not find) +in the other man--the man of the shaven cheek and Quaker costume; +but, in the one glance I had got from those watchful, sagacious, +twinkling eyes, there was an expression quite peculiar to them, +quite inscrutable, quite indescribable. + + +II + +'Can you reckon him up, brother?' said Sinfi, taking my meerschaum +from my lips to refill it for me, as she was fond of doing. + +'No.' + +'Nor I nuther,' said Sinfi. 'Nor I can't pen his dukkerin' nuther, +though often's the time I've tried it.' + +During this time the two friends seemed to have finished their +colloquy upon 'composition'; for they both came up to us. Sinfi rose; +I sat still on the grass, smoking my pipe, listening to the chatter +of the water as it rushed over the rocks. By this time my curiosity +in the younger man had died away. My mind was occupied with the +dream-picture of a little blue-eyed girl struggling with a wounded +heron. I had noticed, however, that he of the piercing eyes did not +look at me again, having entirely exhausted at a glance such interest +as I had momentarily afforded him; while his companion seemed quite +unconscious of my presence as he stood there, his large, full, deep, +brown eyes gazing apparently at something over my head, a long way +off. Also I had noticed that 'Visionary' was stamped upon this man's +every feature--that he seemed an inspired baby of forty, talking +there to his companion and to Sinfi, the sun falling upon his long, +brown, curly hair, mixed with grey, which fell from beneath his hat, +and floated around his collar like a mane. + +When my reverie had passed, I found the artists trying to arrange +with Sinfi to give an open-air sitting to one of them, the man +addressed as Wilderspin. Sinfi seemed willing enough to come to +terms; but I saw her look round at me as if saying to herself, 'What +am I to do with you?' + +'I should like for my brother to sit too,' I heard her say. + +'Surely!' said Wilderspin. 'Your brother would be a great gain to my +picture.' + +Sinfi then came to me, and said that the painter wanted me to sit to +him. + +'But,' said I in an undertone, 'the Gorgios will certainly find out +that I am no Romany.' + +'Not they,' said Sinfi, 'the Gorgios is sich fools. Why, bless you, a +Gorgio ain't got eves and ears like a Romany. You don't suppose as a +Gorgio can hear or see or smell like a Romany can?' + +'But you forget, Sinfi, that I am a Gorgio, and there are not many +Romanies can boast of better senses than your brother Hal.' + +'Dordi!' said Sinfi, 'that's jist like your mock-modesty. Your +great-grandmother wur a Romany, and it's my belief that if you only +went back fur enough, you'd find you had jist as good Romany blood in +your veins as I have, and my daddy is a duke, you know, a real, +reg'lar, out-an'-out Romany duke.' + +'I'm afraid you flatter me, sister,' I replied. 'However, let's try +the Gorgios;' and I got up and walked with her close to the two +sketchers. + +Wilderspin was on the point of engaging me, when the other man, +without troubling to look at me again, said: + +'He's no more a Romany than I am.' + +'Ain't a Romany?' said Sinfi. 'Who says my brother ain't a Romany? +Where did you ever see a Gorgio with a skin like that?' she said, +triumphantly pulling up my sleeve and exposing one of my wrists. +'That ain't sunburn, that's the real Romany brown, an' we's twinses, +only I'm the biggest, an' we's the child'n of a duke, a real, +reg'lar, out-an'-out Romany duke.' + +He gave a glance at the exposed wrist. + +'As to the Romany brown,' said he, 'a little soap would often make a +change in the best Romany brown--ducal or other.' + +'Why, look at his neck,' said Sinfi, turning down my neckerchief; 'is +that sunburn, or is it Romany brown, I should like to know?' + +'I assure you,' said the speaker, still addressing her in the same +grave, measured voice, 'that the Romanies have no idea what a little +soap can do with the Romany brown.' + +'Do you mean to say,' cried Sinfi, now entirely losing her temper +(for on the subject of Romany cleanliness she, the most cleanly of +women, was keenly sensitive)--'do you mean to say as the Romany dials +an' the Romany dries don't wash theirselves? I know what you fine +Gorgios _do_ say,--you're allus a-tellin' lies about us Romanies. +Brother,' she cried, turning now to me in a great fury, 'I'm a duke's +chavi, an' mustn't fight no mumply Gorgios; why don't _you_ take an' +make his bed for him?' + +And certainly the man's supercilious impertinence was beginning to +irritate me. + +'I should advise you to withdraw that about the soap,' I said +quietly, looking at him. + +'Oh! and if I don't?' + +'Why, then I suppose I must do as my sister bids,' said I. 'I must +make your bed,' pointing to the grass beneath his feet. 'But I think +it only fair to tell you that I am somewhat of a fighting man, which +you probably are not.' + +'You mean...?' said he (turning round menacingly, but with no more +notion of how to use his fists than a lobster). + +'I mean that we should not be fighting on equal terms,' I said. + +'In other words,' said he, 'you mean...?' and he came nearer. + +'In other words, I mean that, judging from the way in which you are +advancing towards me now, the result of such an encounter might not +tend to the honour and glory of the British artist in Wales.' + +'But,' said he, 'you are no Gypsy. Who are you?' + +'My name is Henry Aylwin,' said I; 'and I must ask you to withdraw +your words about the virtues of soap, as my sister objects to them.' + +'What?' cried he, losing for the first time his matchless +_sang-froid_. 'Henry Aylwin?' Then he looked at me in silent +amazement, while an expression of the deepest humorous enjoyment +overspread his features, making them positively shine as though +oiled. Finally, he burst into a loud laugh, that was all the more +irritating from the manifest effort he made to restrain it. + +'Did I hear His Majesty of Gypsydom aright?' he said, as soon as his +hilarity allowed him to speak. 'Is the humble bed of a mere painter +to be made for him by the representative of the proud Aylwins, the +genteel Aylwins, the heir-presumptive Aylwins--the most respectable +branch of a most respectable family, which, alas! has its ungenteel, +its bohemian, its vulgar offshoots? Did I hear His Majesty of +Gypsydom aright?' + +He leant against a tree, and gave utterance to peal after peal of +laughter. + +I advanced with rapidly rising anger, but his hilarity had so +overmastered him that he did not heed it. + +'Wilderspin,' cried he, 'come here! Pray come here. Have I not often +told you the reason why I threw up my engagement with my theatrical +manager, and missed my high vocation in ungenteel comedy? Have I not +often told you that it sprang from no disrespect to my friends, the +comic actors, but from the feeling that no comedian can hope to be +comic enough to compete with the real thing--the true harlequinade of +everyday life, roaring and screaming around me wherever I go?' + +Then, without waiting for his companion's reply, he turned to me, and +giving an added volume to his sonorous voice, said: + +'And you, Sir King, do you know whose bed Your Majesty was going to +make at the bidding of--well, of a duke's chavi?' + +I advanced with still growing anger. 'Stay, King Bamfylde, stay,' +said he; 'shall the beds of the mere ungenteel Aylwins, "the outside +Aylwins," be made by the high Gypsy-gentility of Raxton?' + +A light began to break in upon me. 'Surely,' I said, 'surely you are +not Cyril Aylwin, the------?' + +'Pray finish your sentence, sir, and say the low bohemian painter, +the representative of the great ungenteel--the successor to the +Aylwin peerage.' + +The other painter, looking in blank amazement at my newly-found +kinsman's extraordinary merriment, exclaimed, 'Bless me! Then you +really can laugh aloud, Mr. Cyril. What has happened? What can have +happened to make my dear friend laugh aloud?' + +'Well he may ask,' said Cyril, turning to me. 'He knows that ever +since I was a boy in jackets I have despised the man who, in a world +where all is so comic, could select any particular point of the farce +for his empty guffaw. But I am conquered at last. Let me introduce +you, Wilderspin, to my kinsman, Henry Aylwin of Raxton Hall, alias +Lord Henry Lovell of Little Egypt--one of Duke Panuel's interesting +twinses.' + +But Wilderspin's astonishment, apparently, was not at the +_rencontre_: it was at the spectacle of his companion's hilarity. +'Wonderful!' he murmured, with his eyes still fastened upon Cyril. +'My dear friend can laugh aloud. Most wonderful! What can have +happened?' + +This is what had happened. By one of those strange coincidences which +make the drama of real life far more wonderful than the drama of any +stage, I, in my character of wandering Gypsy, had been thrown across +the path of the _bête noire_ of my mother and aunt, Cyril Aylwin, a +painter of bohemian proclivities, who (under the name of 'Cyril') had +obtained some considerable reputation. This kinsman of mine had been +held up to me as a warning from my very childhood, though wherein lay +his delinquencies I never did clearly understand, save that he had +once been an actor--before acting had become genteel. Often as I had +heard of this eccentric painter as the representative of the branch +of the family which preceded mine in the succession to the coveted +earldom, I had never seen him before. + +He stood and looked at me in a state of intense amusement, but did +not speak. + +'So you are Cyril Aylwin?' I said. 'Still you must withdraw what you +said to my sister about the soap.' + +'Delicious!' said he, grasping my hand. 'I had no idea that high +gentility numbered chivalry among its virtues. Lady Sinfi,' he +continued, turning to her, 'they say this brother of yours is a +character, and, by Jove! he is. And as to you, dear lady, I am proud +of the family connection. The man who has two Romany Rye kinsmen may +be excused for showing a little pride. I withdraw every word about +the virtues of soap, and am convinced that it can do nothing with the +true Romany-Aylwin brown.' + +On that we shook hands all round. 'But, Sinfi,' said I, 'why did you +not tell me that this was my kinsman?' + +''Cause I didn't know,' said she. 'I han't never seed him since I've +know'd you. I always heerd his friends call him Cyril, and so I used +to call him Mr. Cyril.' + +'But, Lady Sinfi, my Helen of Little Egypt,' said Cyril, 'suppose +that in my encounter with my patrician cousin--an encounter which +would have been entirely got up in honour of you--suppose it had +happened that I had made your brother's bed for him?' + +'You make _his_ bed!' exclaimed Sinfi, laughing. + +'Dordi! how you would ha' went down afore the Swimmin' Rei!' +[Footnote] + +[Footnote: By the Welsh Gypsies, but few of whom can swim, I was +called 'the Swimmin' Rei,' a name which would have been far more +appropriately given to Percy Aylwin (Rhona Boswell's lover), one of +the strongest swimmers in England; but he was simply called the +Tarno Rye (the young gentleman).] + +'But suppose that, on the contrary, he had gone down before me,' said +Cyril; 'suppose I had been the death of your Swimming Rei, I should +have been tried for the wilful murder of a prince of Little Egypt, +the son of a Romany duke. Why, Helen of Troy was not half so +mischievous a beauty as you.' + +'You was safe enough, no fear,' said Sinfi. 'It 'ud take six o' you +to settle the Swimmin' Rei.' + +I found that Cyril and his strange companion were staying at 'The +Royal Oak,' at Bettws y Coed. They asked me to join them, but when I +told them I 'could not leave my people, who were encamped about two +miles off,' Cyril again looked at me with an expression of deepest +enjoyment, and exclaimed 'delightful creature.' + +Turning to Sinfi, he said: 'Then we'll go with you and call upon the +noble father of the twins, my old friend King Panuel.' + +'He ain't a king,' said Sinfi modestly; 'he's only a duke.' + +'You'll give us some tea, Lady Sinfi?' said Cyril. + +'No tea equal to Gypsy tea.' + +'Romany tea, Mr. Cyril,' replied Sinfi, with perfect dignity and +grace. 'My daddy, the duke, will be pleased to welcome you.' + +We all strolled towards the tents. I offered to carry an umbrella and +a camp-stool. Cyril walked briskly away with Sinfi, leaving me to get +on with Wilderspin as best I could. Before the other two were out of +earshot, however, I heard Cyril say, + +'You shouldn't have taken so seriously my chaff about the soap, +Sinfi. You ought to know me better by this time than to think that I +would really insult you.' + +'How you would ha' went down afore the Swimmin' Rei!' replied Sinfi +regretfully. + + +III + +Between my new companion, Wilderspin, and myself there was an awkward +silence for some time. He was evidently in a brown study. I had ample +opportunity for examining his face. Deeply impressed upon his forehead +there was, as I now perceived, an ancient scar of a peculiar shape. At +last, a lovely bit of scenery broke the spell, and conversation began +to flow freely. + +We had nearly got within sight of the encampment when he said, + +'I am in some perplexity, sir, about the various branches of your +family. Aylwin, I need not tell you, was the name of the greatest man +of this age, and I am anxious to know what is exactly your connection +with him.' + +'You surprise me,' I said. 'Out of our own family, in its various +branches, there is, I have been told, no very large number of +Aylwins, and I had no idea that one of them had become famous.' + +'I did not say famous, sir, but great; two very different words. Yet, +in a certain deep sense, it may be said of Philip Aylwin's name that +since his lamented death it has even become famous. The Aylwinians +(of which body I am, as you are no doubt aware, founder and +president) are, I may say, becoming--' + +'Philip Aylwin!' I said. 'Why, that was my father. He famous!' + +The recollection of the essay upon 'Hamalet and Hamlet,' the thought +of the brass-rubbings, the kneecaps and mittens, came before me in an +irresistibly humorous light, and I could not repress a smile. Then +arose upon me the remembrance of the misery that had fallen upon +Winnie and myself from his monomania and what seemed to me his +superstitious folly, and I could not withhold an angry scowl. Then +came the picture of the poor scarred breast, the love-token, and the +martyrdom that came to him who had too deeply loved, and smile and +frown both passed from my face as I murmured,--'Poor father! he +famous! + +'Philip Aylwin's son!' said Wilderspin, staring at me. Then, raising +his hat as reverentially to me as if I had been the son of +Shakespeare himself, he said, 'Mr. Aylwin, since Mary Wilderspin went +home to heaven, the one great event of my life has been the reading +of _The Veiled Queen_, your father's book of inspired wisdom upon the +modern Renascence of Wonder in the mind of Man. To apply his +principles to Art, sir--to give artistic rendering to the profound +idea hinted at in the marvellous vignette on the title-page of his +third edition--has been, for some time past, the proud task of my +life. And you are the great man's son! Astonishing! Although his +great learning overwhelms my mind and appals my soul (whom, indeed, +should it not overwhelm and appal?) there is not a pamphlet of his +that I do not know intimately, almost by heart.' + +'Including the paper on "Hamlet and Hamalet, and the wide region of +Nowhere"?' + +'Including that and everything.' + +'Did you know him, Mr. Wilderspin?' + +'Not in the flesh; in the spirit, who knows him so well? Your mother +I have had the pleasure of meeting at the house of Lord Sleaford, and +indeed I have had the distinguished honour of painting her portrait; +but the great author of _The Veiled Queen_--the inspired designer of +the vignette symbolical of the Renascence of Wonder in Art--I never +had the rapture of seeing. This very day, the anniversary of his +birth,' he continued, 'is a great day in the Aylwinian calendar.' + +'My father's birthday? Why, so it is!' + +'Mr. Aylwin, is it possible that the anniversary of a day so +momentous for the world is forgotten--forgotten by the very issue of +the great man's loins?' + +'The fact is,' said I, in some confusion, 'I have been living with +the Gypsies, and, you see, Mr. Wilderspin, the passage of time--' + +'The son of Philip Aylwin a Gypsy!' murmured Wilderspin meditatively, +and unconscious evidently that he was speaking aloud--'a Gypsy! Still +it would surely be a mistake to suppose,' he continued, perfectly +oblivious now of my presence, 'that the vagaries of his son can +really bring shame upon the head of the father.' + +'But, by God!' I cried, 'it is no mistake that the vagaries of the +father can bring shame and sorrow and misery upon the child. I could +name a couple of fathers--sleeping very close to each other +now--whose vagaries--' + +My sudden anger was carrying me away; but I stopped, recollecting +myself. + +'Doubtless,' said Wilderspin, 'there are fathers and fathers. The son +of Philip Aylwin has assuredly a right to be critical in regard to +all other fathers than his own.' + +I looked in his face; the expression of solemn earnestness was quite +unmistakable. + +'It is not you,' I said, 'it is Heaven, or else it is the blind +jester Circumstance, that is playing this joke upon me!' + +'To your honoured father,' he continued, taking not the slightest +notice of my interjection, 'I owe everything. From his grave he +supports my soul; from his grave he gives me ideas; from his grave +he makes my fame. How should I fail to honour his son, even though +he--' + +Of course he was going to add--'even though he be a vagabond +associating with vagabonds,'--but he left the sentence unfinished. + +'I confess, Mr. Wilderspin,' said I, 'that you speak in such enigmas +that it would be folly for me to attempt to answer you.' + +'I wish,' said Wilderspin, 'that all enigmas were as soluble as this. +Let me ask you a question, sir. When you stood before my picture, +"Faith and Love," in Bond Street, did you not perceive that both it +and the predella were inspired entirely by your father's great work, +_The Veiled Queen_, or rather that they are mere pictorial +renderings and illustrations of that grand effort of man's soul in +its loftiest development?' + +I had never heard of the picture in question. As for the book, my +father, perceiving my great dislike of mysticism, had always shrunk +from showing me any effusion of his that was not of a simply +antiquarian kind. In Switzerland, however, after his death, while +waiting for the embalmer to finish his work, I had become, during a +few days' reading, acquainted with _The Veiled Queen_. It was a new +edition containing an 'added chapter,' full of subtle spiritualistic +symbols. Amid what had seemed to me mere mystical jargon about the +veil of Isis being uplifted, not by Man's reason, not by such +researches as those of Darwin, Huxley, Spencer, and the continental +evolutionists, but by Faith and Love, I had come across passages of +burning eloquence. + +'I am sorry to say,' I replied, 'that my Gypsy wanderings are again +answerable for my shortcomings. I have not yet seen your picture. +When I do see it I--' + +'Not seen "Faith and Love" and the equally wonderful predella at the +foot of it!' he exclaimed incredulously. 'Ah, but you have been +living among the Gypsies. It is the greatest picture of the modern +world; for, Mr. Aylwin, it renders in Art the inevitable attitude of +its own time and country towards the unseen world, and renders it as +completely as did the masterpiece of Polygnotus in the Lesche of the +'Not in the flesh; in the spirit, who knows him so well? Your mother +I have had the pleasure of meeting at the house of Lord Sleaford, and +indeed I have had the distinguished honour of painting her portrait; +but the great author of _The Veiled Queen_--the inspired designer of +the vignette symbolical of the Renascence of Wonder in Art--I never +had the rapture of seeing. This very day, the anniversary of his +birth,' he continued, 'is a great day in the Aylwinian calendar.' + +'My father's birthday? Why, so it is!' + +'Mr. Aylwin, is it possible that the anniversary of a day so +momentous for the world is forgotten--forgotten by the very issue of +the great man's loins?' + +'The fact is,' said I, in some confusion, 'I have been living with +the Gypsies, and, you see, Mr. Wilderspin, the passage of time--' + +'The son of Philip Aylwin a Gypsy!' murmured Wilderspin meditatively, +and unconscious evidently that he was speaking aloud--'a Gypsy! Still +it would surely be a mistake to suppose,' he continued, perfectly +oblivious now of my presence, 'that the vagaries of his son can +really bring shame upon the head of the father.' + +'But, by God!' I cried, 'it is no mistake that the vagaries of the +father can bring shame and sorrow and misery upon the child. I could +name a couple of fathers--sleeping very close to each other +now--whose vagaries--' + +My sudden anger was carrying me away; but I stopped, recollecting +myself. + +'Doubtless,' said Wilderspin, 'there are fathers and fathers. The son +of Philip Aylwin has assuredly a right to be critical in regard to +all other fathers than his own.' + +I looked in his face; the expression of solemn earnestness was quite +unmistakable. + +'It is not you,' I said, 'it is Heaven, or else it is the blind +jester Circumstance, that is playing this joke upon me!' + +'To your honoured father,' he continued, taking not the slightest +notice of my interjection, 'I owe everything. From his grave he +supports my soul; from his grave he gives me ideas; from his grave +he makes my fame. How should I fail to honour his son, even though +he--' + +Of course he was going to add--'even though he be a vagabond +associating with vagabonds,'--but he left the sentence unfinished. + +'I confess, Mr. Wilderspin,' said I, 'that you speak in such enigmas +that it would be folly for me to attempt to answer you.' + +'I wish,' said Wilderspin, 'that all enigmas were as soluble as this. +Let me ask you a question, sir. When you stood before my picture, +"Faith and Love," in Bond Street, did you not perceive that both it +and the predella were inspired entirely by your father's great work, +_The Veiled Queen_, or rather that they are mere pictorial +renderings and illustrations of that grand effort of man's soul in +its loftiest development?' + +I had never heard of the picture in question. As for the book, my +father, perceiving my great dislike of mysticism, had always shrunk +from showing me any effusion of his that was not of a simply +antiquarian kind. In Switzerland, however, after his death, while +waiting for the embalmer to finish his work, I had become, during a +few days' reading, acquainted with _The Veiled Queen_. It was a new +edition containing an 'added chapter,' full of subtle spiritualistic +symbols. Amid what had seemed to me mere mystical jargon about the +veil of Isis being uplifted, not by Man's reason, not by such +researches as those of Darwin, Huxley, Spencer, and the continental +evolutionists, but by Faith and Love, I had come across passages of +burning eloquence. + +'I am sorry to say,' I replied, 'that my Gypsy wanderings are again +answerable for my shortcomings. I have not yet seen your picture. +When I do see it I--' + +'Not seen "Faith and Love" and the equally wonderful predella at the +foot of it!' he exclaimed incredulously. 'Ah, but you have been +living among the Gypsies. It is the greatest picture of the modern +world; for, Mr. Aylwin, it renders in Art the inevitable attitude of +its own time and country towards the unseen world, and renders it as +completely as did the masterpiece of Polygnotus in the Lesche of the +Cnidians at Delphi--as completely as did the wonderful frescoes of +Andrea Orcagna on the walls of the Campo Santo at Pisa.' + +'And you attribute your success to the inspiration you derived from +my father's hook?' + +'To that and to the spirit of Mary Wilderspin in heaven.' + +'Then you are a Spiritualist?' + +'I am an Aylwinian, the opposite (need I say?) of a Darwinian.' + +'Of the school of Blake, perhaps?' I asked. + +'Of the school of Blake? No. He was on the right road; but he was a +writer of verses! Art is a jealous mistress, Mr. Aylwin: the painter +who rhymes is lost. Even the master himself is so much the weaker by +every verse he has written. I never could make a rhyme in my life, +and have faithfully shunned printer's ink, the black blight of the +painter. I am my own school; the school of the spirit world.' + +'I am very curious,' I said, 'to know in what way my father and the +spirits can have inspired a great painter. Of the vignette I may +claim to know something. Of the spirits as artists I have of course +no knowledge, but as regards my father, he, I am certain, could +hardly have told a Raphael from a chromolithograph copy. He was, in +spite of that same vignette, most ignorant of art. Raxton Hall +possesses nothing but family portraits.' + + +IV + +By this time we had reached the encampment, which was close by a +waterfall among ferns and wild-flowers. Little Jerry Lovell, a child +of about four years of age, came running to meet me with a dead +water-wagtail in his hand which he had knocked down. + +'Me kill de Romany Chiriklo,' said he, and then proceeded to tell me +very gravely that, having killed the 'Gypsy magpie,' he was bound to +have a great lady for his sweetheart. + +'Jerry,' said I bitterly, 'you begin with love and superstition +early; you are an incipient "Aylwinian": take care.' + +When I explained to Wilderspin that this was one of the Romany +beliefs, he said that he did not at present see the connection +between a dead water-wagtail and a live lady, but that such a +connection might doubtless exist. Panuel Lovell now came forward to +greet and welcome Wilderspin. Sinfi and Cyril had evidently walked at +a brisk rate, for already tea was spread out on a cloth. The fire was +blazing beneath a kettle slung from the 'kettle-prop.' The party were +waiting for us. Sinfi, however, never idle, was filling up the time +by giving lessons in riding to Euri and Sylvester Lovell, two dusky +urchins in their early teens, while her favourite bantam-cock +Pharaoh, standing on a donkey's back, his wattles gleaming like coral +in the sun, was crowing lustily. Cyril, who lay stretched among the +ferns, his chin resting in his hands and a cigarette in his mouth, +was looking on with the deepest interest. As I passed behind him to +introduce Wilderspin to Videy Lovell (who was making tea), I heard +Cyril say, 'Lady Sinfi, you must and shall teach me how to make an +adversary's bed--the only really essential part of a liberal +education.' + +'Brother,' said Sinfi, turning to me, 'your thoughts are a-flyin' off +agin; keep your spirits up afore all these.' + +The leafy dingle was recalling Graylingham Wilderness and 'Fairy +Dell,' where little Winifred used to play Titania to my childish +Oberon, and dance the Gypsy 'shawl-dance' Sinfi's mother had taught +her! + +So much was I occupied with these reminiscences that I had not +observed that during our absence our camp had been honoured by +visitors. These were Jericho Boswell, christened, I believe, Jasper, +his daughter Rhona, and James Herne, called on account of his +accomplishments as a penman the Scollard. Although Jasper Boswell and +Panuel Lovell were rival Griengroes, there was no jealousy between +them--indeed, they were excellent friends. + +There were many points of similarity between their characters. Each +had risen from comparative poverty to what might be called wealth, +and risen in the same way, that is to say, by straightforward dealing +with the Gorgios, although as regarded Jericho, Rhona was generally +credited with having acted as a great auxiliary in amassing his +wealth. All over the country the farmers and horse-dealers knew that +neither Jasper nor Panuel ever bishoped a gry, or indulged in any +other horse-dealing tricks. Their very simplicity of character had +done what all the crafty tricks of certain compeers of theirs had +failed to do. They were also very much alike in their good-natured +and humorous, way of taking all the ups and downs of life. + +A very different kind of Romany was the Scollard--so different, +indeed, that it was hard to think that he was of the same race: +Romany guile incarnate was the Scollard. He suggested even in his +personal appearance the typical Gypsy of the novel and the stage, +rather than the true Gypsy as he lives and moves. The Scollard was +well known to be half-crazed with a passion for Rhona Boswell, who +was _the fiancée_ of that cousin of mine, Percy Aylwin, before +mentioned. Percy was considered to be a hopelessly erratic character. +Much against the wish of his parents, he had been brought up as a +sailor; but on seeing Rhona Boswell he promptly fell in love with +her, and quitted the sea in order to be near her. And no man who ever +heard Rhona's laugh professed to wonder at Percy's infatuation. As a +Griengro her father, Jericho Boswell, who had no son, was said to +have owed his prosperity to Rhona's instinctive knowledge of +horseflesh. + +While our guests, Romany and Gorgio, were doing justice to the trout, +Welsh brown bread and butter and jam which Videy had spread before +them, Sinfi went to the back of the camp to look at the ponies, and I +got into conversation with Rhona Boswell, whom I remembered so well +as a child. At first she was shy and embarrassed, doubtful, as I +perceived, whether or not she ought to talk about Winnie. She waited +to see whether I introduced the subject, and finding that I did not, +she began to talk about Sinfi and plied me with questions as to what +we two had been doing and where we had been during our wanderings +through Wales. + +When tea was over and Cyril was in lively talk with Sinfi, Wilderspin +grew restless, and I perceived that he wanted to resume his +conversation with me about his picture. I said to him: 'This idea o +f my father's which has inspired you, and resulted in such great +work, what is its nature?' + +'I am a painter, Mr. Aylwin, and nothing more,' he replied. 'I could +only express Philip Aylwin's ideas by describing my picture and the +predella beneath it. Will you permit me to do so?' + +'May I ask you,' I said, 'as a favour to do so?' + +Immediately his face became very bright, and into his eyes returned +the far-off look already described. + +'I will first take the predella, which represents Isis behind the +Veil,' said he. 'Imagine yourself thousands of years away from this +time. Imagine yourself thousands of miles away, among real +Egyptians.' + +'Real 'Gyptians!' cried Sinfi. 'Who says the Romanies ain't real +'Gyptians? Anybody as says my daddy ain't a real 'Gyptian duke'll ha' +to set to with Sinfi Lovell.' + +'Nonsense,' said Cyril, smiling, and playing idly with a coral amulet +dangling from Sinfi's neck; 'he's talking about the ancient +Egyptians: Egyptian mummies, you silly Lady Sinfi. You're not a +mummy, are you?' + +'Well, no, I ain't a mummy as fur as I knows on,' said Sinfi, only +half-appeased; 'but my daddy's a 'Gyptian duke for all that,--ain't +you, dad?' + +'So it seems, Sin,' said Panuel, 'but I ommust begin to wish I +worn't; it makes you feel so blazin' shy bein' a duke all of a +suddent.' + +'Dabla!' said the guest Jericho Boswell. 'What, Pan, has she made a +dook on ye?' + +The Scollard began to grin. + +'Pull that ugly mug o' yourn straight, Jim Herne,' said Sinfi, 'else +I'll come and pull it straight for you.' + +Wilderspin took no notice of the interruption, but addressed me as +though no one else were within earshot. + +'Imagine yourself standing in an Egyptian city, where innumerable +lamps of every hue are shining. It is one of the great lamp-fêtes of +Sais, which all Egypt has come to see. There, in honour of the feast, +sits a tall woman, covered by a veil. But the painting is so +wonderful, Mr. Aylwin, that, though you see a woman's face expressed +behind the veil--though you see the warm flesh-tints and the light of +the eyes through the aerial film--you cannot judge of the character +of the face--you cannot see whether it is that of woman in her noblest, +or woman in her basest, type. The eyes sparkle, but you cannot say +whether they sparkle with malignity or benevolence--whether they are +fired with what Philip Aylwin calls "the love-light of the seventh +heaven," or are threatening with "the hungry flames of the seventh +hell"! There she sits in front of a portico, while, asleep, with +folded wings, is crouched on one side of her the figure of Love, with +rosy feathers, and on the other the figure of Faith, with plumage +of a deep azure. Over her head, on the portico, are written the +words:--"I am all that hath been, is, and shall be, and no mortal +hath uncovered my veil." The tinted lights falling on the group are +shed, you see, from the rainbow-coloured lamps of Sais, which are +countless. But in spite of all these lamps, Mr. Aylwin, no mortal can +see the face behind that veil. And why? Those who alone could uplift +it, the figures with folded wings--Faith and Love--are fast asleep at +the great Queen's feet. When Faith and Love are sleeping there, what +are the many-coloured lamps of science?--of what use are they to the +famished soul of man?' + +'A striking idea!' I exclaimed. + +'Your father's,' replied Wilderspin, in a tone of such reverence that +one might have imagined my father's spectre stood before him. 'It +symbolises that base Darwinian cosmogony which Carlyle spits at, and +the great and good John Ruskin scorns. But this design is only the +predella beneath the picture "Faith and Love." Now look at the +picture itself, Mr. Aylwin,' he continued, as though it were upon an +easel before me. 'You are at Sais no longer: you are now, as the +architecture around you shows, in a Greek city by the sea. In the +light of innumerable lamps, torches, and wax tapers, a procession is +moving through the streets. You see Isis, as Pelagia, advancing +between two ranks, one of joyous maidens in snow-white garments, +adorned with wreaths, and scattering from their bosoms all kinds of +dewy flowers; the other of youths, playing upon pipes and flutes, +mixed with men with shaven shining crowns, playing upon sistra of +brass, silver, and gold. Isis wears a Dorian tunic, fastened on her +breast by a tasselled knot,--an azure-coloured tunic bordered with +silver stars,--and an upper garment of the colour of the moon at +moonrise. Her head is crowned with a chaplet of sea-flowers, and +round her throat is a necklace of seaweeds, wet still with sea-water, +and shimmering with all the shifting hues of the sea. On either side +of her stand the awakened angels, uplifting from her face a veil +whose folds flow soft as water over her shoulders and over the wings +of Faith and Love. A symbol of the true cosmogony which Philip Aylwin +gave to the world!' + +'Why, that's esackly like the wreath o' seaweeds as poor Winnie Wynne +used to make,' said Rhona Boswell. + +'The photograph of Raxton Fair!' I cried. 'Frank and Winnie, and +little Bob Milford, and the seaweeds!' The terrible past came upon my +soul like an avalanche, and I leapt up and walked frantically towards +my own waggon. The picture, which was nothing but an idealisation of +the vignette upon the title-page of my father's book--the vignette +taken from the photograph of Winnie, my brother Frank, and one of my +fisher-boy playmates--brought back upon me--all! + +Sinfi came to me. + +'What is it, brother?' said she. + +'Sinfi,' I cried, 'what was that saying of your mother's about +fathers and children?' + +'My poor mammy's daddy, when she wur a little chavi, beat her so +cruel that she was a ailin' woman all her life, and she used to say, +"For good or for ill, you must dig deep to bury your daddy."' + +I went back and resumed my seat by Wilderspin's side, while Sinfi +returned to Cyril. + +Wilderspin evidently thought that I had been overcome by the +marvellous power of his description, and went on as though there had +been no interruption. + +'Isis,' said he,' stands before you; Isis, not matronly and stern as +the mother of Horus, nor as the Isis of the licentious orgies; but +(as Philip Aylwin says) "Isis, the maiden, gazing around her, with +pure but mystic eyes."' + +'And you got from my father's book,--_The Veiled Queen_, all this'--I +was going to add--'jumble of classic story and mediæval +mysticism,'--but I stopped short in time. + +'All this and more--a thousand times more than could be rendered by +the art of any painter. For the age that Carlyle spits at and the +great and good John Ruskin scorns is gross, Mr. Aylwin; the age is +grovelling and gross. No wonder, then, that Art in our time has +nothing but technical excellence; that it despises conscience, +despises aspiration, despises soul, despises even ideas--that it is +worthless, all worthless.' + +'Except as practised in a certain temple of art in a certain part of +London that shall be nameless, whence Calliope, Euterpe, and all the +rhythmic sisters are banished,' interposed Cyril. + +'But how did you attain to this superlative excellence, Mr. +Wilderspin?' I asked. + +'That would indeed be a long story to tell,' said he. 'Yet Philip +Aylwin's son has a right to know all that I can tell. My dear friend +here knows that, though famous now, I climbed the ladder of Art from +the bottom rung; nay, before I could even reach the bottom rung, what +a toilsome journey was mine to get within sight of the ladder at all! +The future biographer of the painter of "Faith and Love" will have to +record that he was born in a hovel; that he was nursed in a smithy; +that his cradle was a piece of board suspended from the smithy +ceiling by a chain, which his mother--his widowed mother--kept +swinging by an occasional touch in the intervals of her labours at +the forge.' + +I did not even smile at this speech, so entirely was the effect of +its egotism killed by the wonderful way of pronouncing the word +'mother.' + +'You have heard,' he continued in a voice whose intense earnestness +had an irresistible fascination for the ear, like that of a Hindoo +charmer--'you have heard of the mother-bird who feeds her young from +the blood of her own breast; that bird but feebly typifies her whom +God, in His abundant love of me, gave me for a mother. There were ten +of us--ten little children. My mother was a female blacksmith of Old +Hill, who for four shillings and sixpence a week worked sixteen hours +a day for the fogger, hammering hot iron into nails. The scar upon my +forehead--look! it is shaped like the red-hot nail that one day leapt +upon me from her anvil, as I lay asleep in my swing above her head. I +would not lose it for all the diadems of all the monarchs of this +world. She was much too poor to educate us. When the wolf is at the +door, Mr. Aylwin, and the very flesh and blood of the babes in danger +of perishing, what mother can find time to think of education, to +think even of the salvation of the soul,--to think of anything but +food--food? Have you ever wanted food, Mr. Aylwin?' he suddenly said, +in a voice so magnetic from its very earnestness that I seemed for +the moment to feel the faintness of hunger. + +'No, no,' I said, a tide of grief rushing upon me; 'but there is one +who perhaps--there is one I love more dearly than your mother loved +her babes--' + +Sinfi rose, and came and placed her hand upon my shoulder and +whispered, + +'She ain't a-starvin', brother; she never starved on the hills. She's +only jest a-beggin' her bread for a little while, that's all.' + +And then, after laying her hand upon my forehead, soft and soothing, +she returned to Cyril's side. + +'No one who has never wanted food knows what life is,' said +Wilderspin, taking but little heed of even so violent an interruption +as this.'No one has been entirely educated, Mr. Aylwin--no one knows +the real primal meaning of that pathetic word Man--no one knows the +true meaning of Man's position here among the other living creatures +of this world, if he has never wanted food. Hunger gives a new seeing +to the eyes.' + +'That's as true as the blessed stars,' muttered old Mrs. Boswell, +Rhona's beloved granny, who was squatting on a rug next to her son +Jericho, with a pipe in her mouth, weaving fancy baskets, and +listening intently. 'The very airth under your feet seems to be +a-sinkin' away, and the sweet sunshine itself seems as if it all +belonged to the Gorgios, when you're a-follerin' the patrin with the +emp'y belly.' + +'I thank God,' continued Wilderspin, 'that I once wanted food.' + +'More nor I do,' muttered old Mrs. Boswell, as she went on weaving; +'no mammy as ever felt a little chavo [Footnote 1] a-suckin' at her +burk [Footnote 2] never thanked God for wantin' food: it dries the +milk, or else it sp'iles it.' + +[Footnote 1: Child.] + +[Footnote 2: Bosom.] + + +'In no way,' said Wilderspin, 'has the spirit-world neglected the +education of the apostle of spiritual beauty. I became a "blower" in +the smithy. As a child, from early sunrise till nearly midnight, I +blew the bellows for eighteen pence a week. But long before I could +read or write my mother knew that I was set apart for great things. +She knew, from the profiles I used to trace with the point of a nail +on the smithy walls, that, unless the heavy world pressed too heavily +upon me, I should become a great painter. Except anxiety about my +mother and my little brothers and sisters, I, for my part, had no +thought besides this of being some day a painter. Except love for her +and for them, I had no other passion. By assiduous attendance at +night-schools I learnt to read and write. This enabled me to take a +better berth in Black Waggon Street, where I earned enough to take +lessons in drawing from the reduced widow of a once prosperous +fogger. But ah! so eager was I to learn, that I did not notice how my +mother was fading, wasting, dying slowly. It was not till too late +that I learnt the appalling truth, that while the babes had been +nourished, the mother had starved--starved! On a few ounces of bread +a day no woman can work the Oliver and prod the fire. Her last +whispers to me were, "I shall see you, dear, a great painter yet; +Jesus will let me look down and watch my boy." Ah, Sinfi Lovell! that +makes you weep. It is long, long since I ceased to weep at that. +"Whatsoever is not of faith is sin."' + +Rhona Boswell, down whose face also the tears were streaming, nodded +in a patronising way to Wilderspin, and said, 'Reia, my mammy lives +in the clouds, and I'll tell her to show you the Golden Hand, I +will.' + +'From the moment when I left my mother in the grave,' said +Wilderspin, 'I had but one hope, that she who was watching my +endeavours might not watch in vain. Art became now my religion: +success in it my soul's goal. I went to London; I soon began to +develop a great power of design, in illustrating penny periodicals. +For years I worked at this, improving in execution with every design, +but still unable to find an opening for a better class of work. What +I yearned for was the opportunity to exercise the gift of colour. +That I did possess this in a rare degree I knew. At last I got a +commission. Oh! the joy of painting that first picture! My progress +was now rapid. But I had few purchasers till Providence sent me a +good man and great gentleman, my dear friend--' + +'This is a long-winded speech of yours, _mon cher_,' yawned Cyril. +'Lady Sinfi is going to strike up with the Welsh riddle unless you +get along faster.' + +'Don't stop him,' I heard Sinfi mutter, as she shook Cyril angrily; +'he's mighty fond o' that mother o' his'n, an', if he's ever sich a +horn nataral, I likes him.' + +'I never exhibited in the Academy,' continued Wilderspin, without +heeding the interruption, 'I never tried to exhibit; but, thanks to +the dear friend I have mentioned, I got to know the Master himself. +People came to my poor studio, and my pictures were bought from my +easel as fast as I could paint them. I could please my buyers, I +could please my dear friend, I could please the Master himself; I +could please every person in the world but one--myself. For years I +had been struggling with what cripples so many artists--with +ignorance--ignorance, Mr. Aylwin, of the million points of detail +which must be understood and mastered before ever the sweetness, the +apparent lawlessness and abandonment of Nature can be expressed by +Art. But it was now, when I had conquered these,--it was now that I +was dissatisfied, and no man living was so miserable as I. I dare say +you are an artist yourself, Mr. Aylwin, and will understand me when I +say that artists--figure-painters, I mean,--are divided into two +classes--those whose natural impulse is to paint men, and those who +are sent into the world expressly to paint women. My mother's death +taught me that my mission was to paint women, women whom I--being the +son of Mary Wilderspin--love and understand better than other men, +because my soul (once folded in her womb) is purer than other men's +souls.' + +'Is not modesty a Gorgio virtue, Lady Sinfi?' murmured Cyril. + +'Nothin' like a painter for thinkin' strong beer of hisself,' she +replied; 'but I likes him--oh, I likes him.' + +'No man whose soul is stained by fleshly desire shall render in art +all that there is in a truly beautiful woman's face,' said +Wilderspin. 'I worked hard at imaginative painting; I worked for +years and years, Mr. Aylwin, but with scant success. It shames me to +say that I was at last discouraged. Hut, after a time, I began to +feel that the spirit-world was giving me a strength of vision second +only to the Master's own, and a cunning of hand greater than any +vouchsafed to man since the death of Raphael. This was once +stigmatised as egotism; but "Faith and Love," and the predella "Isis +behind the Veil," have told another story. I did not despair, I say; +for I knew the cause of my failure. Two sources of inspiration were +wanting to me--that of a superlative subject and that of a +superlative model. For the first I am indebted to Philip Aylwin; for +the second I am indebted to--' + +'A greater still, Miss Gudgeon, of Primrose Court,' interjected +Cyril. + +'For the second I'm indebted to my mother. And yet something else was +wanting,' continued Wilderspin, 'to enable me for many months to +concentrate my life upon one work--the self-sacrificing generosity of +such a friend as I think no man ever had before. + +'Wilderspin,' said Cyril, rising, 'the Duke of Little Egypt sleeps, +as you see. His Grace of the Pyramids snores, as you hear. The +autobiography of a man of genius is interesting; but I fear that +yours will have to be continued in our next.' + +'But Mr. Aylwin wants to hear--' + +'He and our other idyllic friends are early to bed and early to rise; +they have, in the morning, trout to catch for breakfast, and we have +a good way to walk to-night.' + +'That's just like my friend,' said Wilderspin. 'That's my friend all +over.' + +With this they left us, and we betook ourselves to our usual evening +occupations. + +Next morning the two painters called upon us. Wilderspin sketched +alone, while Sinfi, Rhona, Cyril, and I went trout-fishing in one of +the numerous brooks. + +'What do you think of my friend by this time?' said Cyril to me. + +'He is my fifth mystic,' I replied; 'I wonder what the sixth will be +like. Is he really as great a painter as he takes himself to he, or +does his art begin and end with flowery words?' + +'I believe,' said Cyril, pointing across to where Wilderspin sat at +work, 'that the strange creature under that white umbrella is the +greatest artistic genius now living. The death of his mother by +starvation has turned his head, poor fellow, but turned it to good +purpose: "Faith and Love" is the greatest modern picture in Europe. +To be sure, he has the advantage of painting from the finest model +ever seen, the lovely, if rather stupid, Miss Gudgeon, of Primrose +Court, whom he monopolises.' + +Cyril had already, during the morning, told me that my mother, who +was much out of health, was now staying in London, where he had for +the first time in his life met her at Lord Sleaford's house. +Notwithstanding their differences of opinion, my mother and he +seemed to have formed a mutual liking. He also told me that my uncle +Cecil Aylwin of Alvanley (who in this narrative must not, of course, +be confounded with another important relative, Henry Aylwin, Earl of +Aylwin) having just died and left me the bulk of his property, I had +been in much request. I consequently determined to start for London +on the following day, leaving my waggon in charge of Sinfi, who was +to sit to Wilderspin in the open air. + +During this conversation Sinfi was absorbed in her fishing, and +wandered away up the brook, and I could see that Cyril's eyes were +following her with great admiration. + +Turning to me and looking at me, he said, 'Lucky dog!' and then, +looking again across at Sinfi, he said, 'The finest girl in England.' + + + +V + +HAROUN-AL-RASCHID THE PAINTER + + +I + +On reaching London and finding that it was necessary I should remain +there for some little time, I wrote to Cyril to say so, sending some +messages to Sinfi and her father about my own living-waggon. + +My mother was now staying at my aunt's house, whither I went to call +upon her shortly after my arrival in town. + +Our meeting was a constrained and painful one. It was my mother's +cruelty to Winifred that had, in my view, completely ruined two +lives. I did not know then what an awful struggle was going on in her +own breast between her pride and her remorse for having driven Winnie +away, to be lost in Wales. Afterwards her sad case taught me that +among all the agents of soul-torture that have ever stung mankind to +madness the scorpion Remorse is by far the most appalling. But other +events had to take place before she reached the state when the +scorpion stings to death all other passions, even Pride and even +Vanity, and reigns in the bosom supreme. We could hardly meet without +softening towards each other. She was most anxious to know what had +occurred to me since I left Raxton to search for Winnie. I gave her +the entire story from my first seeing Winnie in the cottage, to my +_rencontre_ with her at Knockers' Llyn. At this time she had +accidentally been brought into contact with Miss Dalrymple, who had +lately received a legacy and was now in better circumstances. Miss +Dalrymple had spoken in high terms of Winnie's intelligence and +culture, little thinking how she was making my mother feel more +acutely than ever her own wrongdoing. Knowing that I was very fond of +music, my mother persuaded me to take her on several occasions to the +opera and the theatre. She with more difficulty persuaded me to +consult a medical man upon the subject of my insomnia; and at last I +agreed, though very reluctantly, to consult Dr. Mivart, late of +Raxton, who was now living in London. Mivart attributed my ailment +(as I, of course, knew he would) to hypochondria, and I saw that he +was fully aware of the cause. I therefore opened my mind to him upon +the subject. I told him everything in connection with Winifred in +Wales. + +He pondered the subject carefully and then said: + +'What you need is to escape from these terrible oscillations between +hope and despair. Therefore I think it best to tell you frankly that +Miss Wynne is certainly dead. Even suppose that she did not fall down +a precipice in Wales, she is, I repeat, certainly dead. So severe a +form of hysteria as hers must have worn her out by this time. It is +difficult for me to think that any nervous system could withstand a +strain so severe and so prolonged.' + +I felt the terrible truth of his words, but I made no answer. + +'But let this be your consolation,' said he. 'Her death is a blessing +to herself, and the knowledge that she is dead will be a blessing to +you.' + +'A blessing to me?' I said. + +'I mean that it will save you from the mischief of these alternations +between hope and despair. You will remember that it was I who saw her +in her first seizure and told you of it. Such a seizure having lasted +so long, nothing could have given her relief but death or magnetic +transmission of the seizure. It is a grievous case, but what concerns +me now is the condition into which you yourself have passed. Nothing +but a successful effort on your part to relieve your mind from the +dominant idea that has disturbed it can save you from--from--' + +'From what?' + +'That drug of yours is the most dangerous narcotic of all. Increase +your doses by a few more grains and you will lose all command over +your nervous system--all presence of mind. Give it up, give it up and +enter Parliament.' + +I left Mivart in anger, and took a stroll through the streets, trying +to amuse myself by looking at the shop windows and recalling the few +salient incidents that were connected with my brief experiences as an +art student. + +Hours passed in this way, until one by one the shops were closed and +only the theatres, public bars, and supper-rooms seemed to be open. + +I turned into a restaurant in the Haymarket, for I had taken no +dinner. I went upstairs into a supper-room, and after I had finished +my meal, taking a seat near the window, I gazed abstractedly over +the bustling, flashing streets, which to me seemed far more lonely, +far more remote, than the most secluded paths of Snowdon. In a +trouble such as mine it is not Man but Nature that can give +companionship. + +I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I did not observe whether +I was or was not now alone in the room, till the name of Wilderspin +fell on my ear and recalled me to myself. I started and looked round. +At a table near me sat two men whom I had not noticed before. The +face of the man who sat on the opposite side of the table confronted +me. + +If I had one tithe of that objective power and that instinct for +description which used to amaze me in Winifred as a child, I could +give here a picture of a face which the reader could never forget. + +If it was not beautiful in detail it was illuminated by an expression +that gave a unity of beauty to the whole. And what was the +expression? I can only describe it by saying that it was the +expression of genius; and it had that imperious magnetism which I had +never before seen in any face save that of Sinfi Lovell. But striking +as was the face of this man, I soon found that his voice was more +striking still. In whatever assembly that voice was heard, its +indescribable resonance would have marked it off from all other +voices, and have made the ear of the listener eager to catch the +sound. This voice, however, was not the one that had uttered the name +of Wilderspin. It was from his companion, who sat opposite to him, +with his great broad back, covered with a smart velvet coat, towards +me, that the talk was now coming. This man was smoking cigarettes in +that kind of furious sucking way which is characteristic of great +smokers. Much smoking, however, had not dried up his skin to the +consistence of blotting paper and to the colour of tobacco ash as it +does in some cases, but tobacco juice, which seemed to ooze from his +face like perspiration, or rather like oil, had made his complexion +of a yellow green colour, something like a vegetable marrow. Although +his face was as hairless as a woman's, there was not a feature in it +that was not masculine. Although his cheek-bones were high and his +jaw was of the mould which we so often associate with the +prizefighter, he looked as if he might somehow be a gentleman. And +when I got for a moment a full view of his face as he turned round, I +thought it showed power and intelligence, although his forehead +receded a good deal, a recession which was owing mainly to the bone +above the eyes. Power and intelligence too were seen in every glance +of his dark bright eyes. In a few minutes Wilderspin's name was again +uttered by this man, and I found he was telling anecdotes of the +eccentric painter--telling them with great gusto and humour, in a +loud voice, quite careless of being overheard by me. Then followed +other anecdotes of other people--artists for the most part--in which +the names of Millais, Ruskin, Watts, Leighton, and others came up in +quick succession. + +That he was a professional anecdote-monger of extraordinary +brilliancy, a _raconteur_ of the very first order, was evident +enough. I found also that as a story-teller he was reckless and +without conscience. He was, I thought, inventing anecdotes to amuse +his companion, whose manifest enjoyment of them rather weakened the +impression that his own personality had been making upon me. + +After a while the name of Cyril Aylwin came up, and I soon found the +man telling a story of Cyril and a recent escapade of his which I +knew must be false. He then went rattling on about other people, +mentioning names which, as I soon gathered, were those of female +models known in the art world. The anecdotes he told of these were +mostly to their disadvantage. I was about to move to another table, +in order to get out of earshot of this gossip, when the name 'Lady +Sinfi' fell upon my ears. + +And then I heard the other man--the man of the musical voice--talk +about Lady Sinfi with the greatest admiration and regard. He wound up +by saying, 'By the bye, where is she now? I should like to use her in +painting my new picture.' + +'She's in Wales; so Kiomi told me.' + +'Ah yes! I remember she has an extraordinary passion for Snowdon.' + +'Her passion is now for something else, though.' + +'What's that?' + +'A man.' + +'I never saw a girl so indifferent to men as Lady Sinfi.' + +'She is living at this moment as the mistress of a cousin of Cyril +Aylwin.' + +My blood boiled with rage. I lost all control of myself. I longed to +feel his face against my knuckles. + +'That's not true,' I said in a rather loud voice. + +He started up, and turned round, saying in a hectoring voice, 'What +was that you said to me? Will you repeat your words?' + +'To repeat one's words,' I said quietly, 'shows a limited +vocabulary, so I will put it thus,--what you said just now about +Sinfi Lovell being the mistress of Cyril Aylwin's cousin is a lie.' + +'You dare to give me the lie, sir? And what the devil do you mean by +listening to our conversation?' + +The threatening look that he managed to put into his face was so +entirely histrionic that it made me laugh outright. This seemed to +damp his courage more than if I had sprung up and shown fight. The +man had a somewhat formidable appearance, however, as regards build, +which showed that he possessed more than average strength. It was the +manifest genuineness of my laugh that gave him pause. And when I sat +with my elbows on the table and my face between my palms, taking +stock of him quietly, he looked extremely puzzled. The man of the +musical voice sat and looked at me as though under a spell. + +'I am a young man from the country,' I said to him. 'To what theatre +is your histrionic friend attached? I should like to see him in a +better farce than this.' + +'Do you hear that, De Castro?' said the other. 'What is your +theatre?' + +'If he is really excited,' I said, 'tell him that people at a public +supper-room should speak in a moderate tone or their conversation is +likely to be overheard.' + +'Do you hear this young man from the country, De Castro?' said he. +'You seem to be the Oraculum of the hay-fields, sir,' he continued, +turning to me with a delightfully humorous expression on his face. +'Have you any other Delphic utterance?' + +'Only this,' I said, 'that people who do not like being given the lie +should tell the truth.' + +'May I be permitted to guess your Christian name, sir? Is it Martin, +perchance?' + +'Yes,' I replied, 'and my surname is Tupper.' He then got up and laid +his hand on the _raconteur's_ shoulder, and said, 'Don't be a fool, +De Castro. When a man looks at another as the author of the +_Proverbial Philosophy_ is looking at you, he knows that he can use +his fists as well as his pen.' + +'He gave me the lie. Didn't you hear?' + +'I did, and I thought the gift as entirely gratuitous, _mon cher_, +as giving a scuttleful of coals to Newcastle.' + +The anecdote-monger stood silent, quelled by this man's voice. + +Then turning to me, the man of the musical voice said, 'I suppose you +know something about my friend Lady Sinfi?' + +'I do,' I said, 'and I am Cyril Aylwin's kinsman, whom you call his +cousin, so perhaps, as every word your friend has said about Sinfi +Lovell and me is false, you will allow me to call him a liar.' + +A look of the greatest glee at the discomfiture of his companion +overspread his face. + +'Certainly,' he said with a loud laugh. 'You may call him that, you +may even qualify the noun you have used with an adjective if the +author of the _Proverbial Philosophy_ can think of one that is +properly descriptive and yet not too unparliamentary. So you are +Cyril Aylwin's kinsman. I have heard him,' he said, with a smile that +he tried in vain to suppress, 'I have heard Cyril expatiate on the +various branches of the Aylwin family.' + +'I belong to the proud Aylwins,' I said. + +The twinkle in his eye made me adore him as he said--'The proud +Aylwins. A man who, in a world like this, is proud and knows it, and +is proud of confessing his pride, always interests me, but I will not +ask you what makes the proud Aylwins proud, sir.' + +'I will tell you what makes me proud,' I said: 'my great-grandmother +was a full-blooded Gypsy, and I am proud of the descent.' + +He came forward and held out his hand and said, 'It is long since I +met a man who interested me'--he gave a sigh--'very long; and I hope +that you and I may become friends.' + +I grasped his hand and shook it warmly. + +The anecdote-monger began talking at once about Sinfi, Wilderspin, +and Cyril Aylwin, speaking of them in the most genial and +affectionate terms. In a few minutes, without withdrawing a word he +had said about either of them, he had entirely changed the spirit of +every word. At first I tried to resist his sophistry, but it was not +to be resisted. I ended by apologising to him for my stupidity in +misunderstanding him. + +'My dear fellow,' said he, 'not a word, not a word. I admired the way +in which you stood up for absent friends. Didn't you, D'Arcy?' + +At this the other broke out into another mellow laugh. 'I did. How's +your kinsman, and how's Wilderspin?' he said, turning to me. 'Did you +leave them well?' + +We soon began, all three of us, to talk freely together. Of course I +was filled with curiosity about my new friends, especially about the +liar. His extraordinary command of facial expression, coupled with +the fact that he wore no hair on his face, made me at first think he +was a great actor; but being at that time comparatively ignorant of +the stage, I did not attempt to guess what actor it was. After a +while his prodigious acuteness struck me more than even his +histrionic powers, and I began to ask myself what Old Bailey +barrister it was. + +Turning at last to the one called D'Arcy, I said. 'You are an artist; +you are a painter?' + +'I have been trying for many years to paint,' he said. + +'And you?' I said, turning to his companion. + +'He is an artist too,' D'Arcy said, 'but his line is not painting--he +is an artist in words.' + +'A poet?' I said in amazement. + +'A romancer, the greatest one of his time unless it be old Dumas.' + +'A novelist?' + +'Yes, but he does not write his novels, he speaks them.' + +De Castro, evidently with a desire to turn the conversation from +himself and his profession, said, pointing to D'Arcy, 'You see before +you the famous painter Haroun-al-Raschid, who has never been known to +perambulate the streets of London except by night, and in me you see +his faithful vizier.' + +It soon became evident that D'Arcy, for some reason or other, had +thoroughly taken to me--more thoroughly, I thought, than De Castro +seemed to like, for whenever D'Arcy seemed to be on the verge of +asking me to call at his studio, De Castro would suddenly lead the +conversation off into another channel by means of some amusing +anecdote. However, the painter was not to be defeated in his +intention; indeed I noticed during the conversation that although +D'Arcy yielded to the sophistries of his companion, he did so +wilfully. While he forced his mind, as it were, to accept these +sophistries there seemed to be all the while in his consciousness a +perception that sophistries they were. He ended by giving me his +address and inviting me to call upon him. + +'I am only making a brief stay in London,' he said; 'I am working +hard at a picture in the country, but business just now calls me to +London for a short time.' + +With this we parted at the door of the restaurant. + + +II + +It was through the merest accident that I saw these two men again. + +One evening I had been dining with my mother and aunt. I think I may +say that I had now become entirely reconciled to my mother. I used to +call upon her often, and at every call I could not but observe how +dire was the struggle going on within her breast between pride and +remorse. She felt, and rightly felt, that the loss of Winifred among +the Welsh hills had been due to her harshness in sending the stricken +girl away from Raxton, to say nothing of her breaking her word with +me after having promised to take my place and watch for the exposure +of the cross by the wash of the tides until the danger was certainly +past. + +But against my aunt I cherished a stronger resentment every day. She +it was, with her inferior intellect and insect soul, who had in my +childhood prejudiced my mother against me and in favour of Frank, +because I showed signs of my descent from Fenella Stanley while Frank +did not. She it was who first planted in my mother's mind the seeds +of prejudice against Winnie as being the daughter of Tom Wynne. + +The influence of such a paltry nature upon a woman of my mother's +strength and endowments had always astonished as much as it had +irritated me. + +I had not learnt then what I fully learnt afterwards, that in this +life it is mostly the dull and stupid people who dominate the clever +ones--that it is, in short, the fools who govern the world. + +I should, of course, never have gone to Belgrave Square at all had it +not been to see my mother. Such a commonplace slave of convention was +my aunt, that, on the evening I am now mentioning, she had scarcely +spoken to me during dinner, because, having been detained at the +solicitor's, I had found it quite impossible to go to my hotel to +dress for her ridiculous seven o'clock dinner. + +When I found that my mother had actually taken this inferior woman +into her confidence in regard to my affairs and told her all about +Winnie and the cross, my dislike of her became intensified, and on +this evening my mother very much vexed me in the drawing-room by +taking the cross from a cabinet and saying to me, + +'What is now to be done with this? All along the coast there are such +notions about its value that to replace it in the tomb would be +simple madness.' I made no reply. 'Indeed,' she continued, looking at +the amulet as she might have looked at a cobra uprearing its head to +spring at her, 'it must really be priceless. And to think that all +this was to be buried in the coffin of--! It is your charge, +however, and not mine.' + +'Yes, mother,' I said, 'it is my charge;' and taking up the cross I +wrapped it in my handkerchief. + +'Take the amulet and guard it well,' she said, as I placed it +carefully in the breast pocket of my coat. + +'And remember,' said my aunt, breaking into the conversation, 'that +the true curses of the Aylwins are and always have been superstition +and love-madness.' + +'I should have added a third curse,--pride, aunt,' I could not help +replying. + +'Henry,' said she, pursing her thin lips, 'you have the obstinacy and +the courage of your race, that is to say, you have the obstinacy and +the courage of ten ordinary men, and yet a man you are not--a man you +will never be, if strength of character, and self-mastery and power +to withstand the inevitable trials of life, go to the making of a +man.' + +'Pardon me, aunt; but such trials as mine are beyond your +comprehension.' + +'Are they, boy?' said she. 'This fancy of yours for an insignificant +girl--this boyish infatuation which with any other young man of your +rank would have long ago exhausted itself and been forgotten--is a +passion that absorbs your life. And I tremble for you: I tremble for +the house you represent.' + +But I saw by the expression on my mother's face that my aunt had now +gone too far. 'Prue,' she said, 'your tremblings concerning my son +and my family are, I assure you, gratuitous. Such trembling as the +case demands you had better leave to me. My heart tells me I have +been very wrong to that poor child, and I would give much to know +that she was found and that she was well.' + +I set out to walk to my hotel, wondering how I was to while away the +long night until sleep should come to relieve me. Suddenly I +remembered D'Arcy, and my promise to call upon him. I changed my +course, and hailing a hansom drove to the address he had given me. + +When I reached the door I found, upon looking at my watch, that it +was late--so late that I was dubious whether I should ring the bell. +I remembered, however, that he told me how very late his hours were, +and I rang. + +On sending in my card I was shown at once into the studio, and after +threading my way between some pieces of massive furniture and +pictures upon easels, I found D'Arcy lolling lazily upon a huge sofa. +Seeing that he was not alone, I was about to withdraw, for I was in +no mood to meet strangers. However, he sprang up and introduced me to +his guest, whom he called Symonds, an elegant-looking man in a +peculiar kind of evening dress, who, as I afterwards learned, was one +of Mr. D'Arcy's chief buyers. This gentleman bowed stiffly to me. + +He did not stay long; indeed, it was evident that the appearance of a +stranger somewhat disconcerted him. + +After he was gone D'Arcy said, 'A good fellow! One of my most +important buyers. I should like you to know him, for you and I are +going to be friends. I hope.' + +He seems very fond of pictures,' I said. A man of great taste, with a +real love of art and music.' + +In a little while after this gentleman's departure in came De Castro, +who had driven up in a hansom. I certainly saw a flash of anger in +his eyes as he recognised me, but it vanished like lightning, and his +manner became cordiality itself. Late as it was (it was nearly +twelve), he pulled out his cigarette case, and evidently intended to +begin the evening. As soon as he was told that Mr. Symonds had been, +he began to talk about him in a disparaging manner. Evidently his +metier was, as I had surmised, that of a professional talker. Talk +was his stock-in-trade. + +The night wore on, and De Castro in the intervals of his talk kept +pulling out his watch. It was evident that he wanted to be going, but +was reluctant to leave me there. For my part, I frequently rose to +go, but on getting a sign from D'Arcy that he wished me to stay I sat +down again. At last D'Arcy said, + +'You had better go now, De Castro, you have kept that hansom outside +for more than an hour and a half; and besides, if you stay till +daylight our friend here will stay longer, for I want to talk with +him alone.' + +De Castro got up with a laugh that seemed genuine enough, and left +us. + +D'Arcy, who was still on the sofa, then lapsed into a silence that +became after a while rather awkward. He lay there, gazing +abstractedly at the fireplace. + +'Some of my friends call me, as you heard De Castro say the other +night, Haroun-al-Raschid, and I suppose I am like him in some things. +I am a bad sleeper, and to be amused by De Castro when I can't sleep +is the chief of blessings. De Castro, however, is not so bad as he +seems. A man may be a scandal-monger without being really malignant. +I have known him go out of his way to do a struggling man a service.' + +'You are a bad sleeper?' I said, in a tone that proclaimed at once +that I was a bad sleeper also. + +'Yes,' said he, 'and so are you, as I noticed the other night. I can +always tell. There is something in the eyes when a man is a bad +sleeper that proclaims it to me.' + +Then springing up from the divan and laying his hand upon my +shoulder, he said, 'And you have a great trouble at the heart. You +have had some great loss the effect of which is sapping the very +fountains of your life. We should be friends. We must be friends. I +asked you to call upon me because we must be friends.' + +His voice was so tender that I was almost unmanned. + +I will not dwell upon this part of my narrative; I will only say that +I told him something of my story, and he told me his. + +I told him that a terrible trouble had unhinged the mind of a young +lady whom I deeply loved, and that she had been lost on the Welsh +hills. I felt that it was only right that I should know more of him +before giving him the more intimate details connected with Winnie, +myself, and the secrets of my family. He listened to every word with +the deepest attention and sympathy. After a while he said, + +'You must not go to your hotel to-night. A friend of mine who +occupies two rooms is not sleeping here to-night, and I particularly +wish for you to take his bed, so that I can see you in the morning. +We shall not breakfast together. My breakfast is a peculiarly +irregular meal. But when you wake ring your bedroom bell and order +your own breakfast; afterwards we shall meet in the studio.' + +I did not in the least object to this arrangement, for I found his +society a great relief. + + +Next morning, after I had finished my solitary breakfast, I asked the +servant if Mr. D'Arcy had yet risen. On being told that he had not, I +went downstairs into the studio where I had spent the previous +evening. After examining the pictures on the walls and the easels, I +walked to the window and looked out at the garden. It was large, and +so neglected and untrimmed as to be a veritable wilderness. While I +was marvelling why it should have been left in this state, I saw the +eyes of some animal staring at me from the distance, and was soon +astonished to see that they belonged to a little Indian bull. My +curiosity induced me to go into the garden and look at the creature. +He seemed rather threatening at first, but after a while allowed me +to go up to him and stroke him. Then I left the Indian bull and +explored this extraordinary domain. It was full of unkempt trees, +including two fine mulberries, and surrounded by a very high wall. +Soon I came across an object which, at first, seemed a little mass of +black and white oats moving along, but I presently discovered it to +be a hedgehog. It was so tame that it did not curl up as I approached +it, but allowed me, though with some show of nervousness, to stroke +its pretty little black snout. As I walked about the garden, I found +it was populated with several kinds of animals such as are never seen +except in menageries or in the Zoological Gardens. Wombats, +kangaroos, and the like, formed a kind of happy family. + +My love of animals led me to linger in the garden. When I returned to +the house I found D'Arcy in the green dining-room, where we talked, +and he read aloud some verses to me. We then went to the studio. He +said, + +'No doubt you are surprised at my menagerie. Every man has one side +of his character where the child remains. I have a love of animals +which, I suppose, I may call a passion. The kind of amusement they +can afford me is like none other. It is the self-consciousness of men +and women that makes them, in a general way, intensely unamusing. I +turn from them to the unconscious brutes, and often get a world of +enjoyment. To watch a kitten or a puppy play, or the funny antics of +a parrot or a cockatoo, or the wise movements of a wombat, will keep +me for hours from being bored.' + +'And children,' I said--'do you like children?' + +'Yes, so long as they remain like the young animals--until they +become self-conscious, I mean, and that is very soon. Then their +charm goes. Has it ever occurred to you how fascinating a beautiful +young girl would be if she were as unconscious as a young animal? +What makes you sigh?' + +My thoughts had flown to Winifred breakfasting with her 'Prince of +the Mist' on Snowdon. And I said to myself, 'How he would have been +fascinated by a sight like that!' + +My experience of men at that time was so slight that the opinion I +then formed of D'Arcy as a talker was not of much account. But since +then I have seen very much of men, and I find that I was right in the +view I then took of his conversational powers. When his spirits were +at their highest he was without an equal as a wit, without an equal +as a humourist. He had more than even Cyril Aylwin's quickness of +repartee, and it was of an incomparably rarer quality. To define it +would be, of course, impossible, but I might perhaps call it poetic +fancy suddenly stimulated at moments by animal spirits into rapid +movements--so rapid, indeed, that what in slower movement would be +merely fancy, in him became wit. Beneath the coruscations of this wit +a rare and deep intellect was always perceptible. + +His humour was also so fanciful that it seemed poetry at play, but +here was the remarkable thing: although he was not unconscious of his +other gifts, he did not seem to be in the least aware that he was a +humourist of the first order; every _jeu d'esprit_ seemed to leap +from him involuntarily, like the spray from a fountain. A dull man +like myself must not attempt to reproduce these qualities here. + +While he was talking he kept on painting, and I said to him, 'I can't +understand how you can keep up a conversation while you are at work.' + +I took care not to tell him that I was an amateur painter. + +'It is only when the work that I am on is in some degree mechanical +that I can talk while at work. These flowers, which were brought to +me this morning for my use in painting this picture, will very soon +wither, and I can put them into the picture without being disturbed +by talk; but if I were at work upon this face, if I were putting +dramatic expression into these eyes, I should have to be silent.' + +He then went on talking upon art and poetry, letting fall at every +moment gems of criticism that would have made the fortune of a critic. + +After a while, however, he threw down the brush and said, + +'Sometimes I can paint with another man in the studio; sometimes I +can't.' + +I rose to go. + +'No, no,' he said; 'I don't want you to go, yet I don't like keeping +you in this musty studio on such a morning. Suppose we take a stroll +together.' + +'But you never walk out in the daytime.' + +'Not often; indeed, I may say never, unless it is to go to the Zoo, +or to Jamrach's, which I do about once in three months.' + +'Jamrach's!' I said. 'Why, he's the importer of animals, isn't he? Of +all places in London that is the one I should most like to see.' He +then took me into a long panelled room with bay windows looking over +the Thames, furnished with remarkable Chinese chairs and tables. And +then we left the house. + +In Maud Street a hansom passed us; D'Arcy hailed it. + +'We will take this to the Bank,' said he, 'and then walk through the +East End to Jamrach's. Jump in.' + +As we drove off, the sun was shining brilliantly, and London seemed +very animated--seemed to be enjoying itself. Until we reached the +Bank our drive was through all the most cheerful-looking and +prosperous streets of London. It acted like a tonic on me, and for +the first time since my trouble I felt really exhilarated. As to +D'Arcy, after we had left behind us what he called the 'stucco world' +of the West End, his spirits seemed to rise every minute, and by the +time we reached the Strand he was as boisterous as a boy on a +holiday. + +On reaching the Bank we dismissed the hansom and proceeded to walk to +Ratcliffe Highway. Before reaching it I was appalled at the +forbidding aspect of the neighbourhood. It was not merely that the +unsavoury character of the streets offended and disgusted me, but the +locality wore a sinister aspect which acted upon my imagination in +the strangest, wildest way. Why was it that this aspect fairly cowed +me, scared me? I felt that I was not frightened on my own account, +and yet when I asked myself why I was frightened I could not find a +rational answer. + +As I saw the sailors come noisily from their boarding-houses; as I +saw the loafers standing at the street corners, smoking their dirty +pipes and gazing at us; as I saw the tawdry girls, bare-headed or in +flaunting hats covered with garish flowers, my thoughts, for no +conceivable reason, ran upon Winnie more persistently than they had +run upon her since I had abandoned all hope of seeing her in Wales. + +The thought came to me that, grievous as was her fate and mine, the +tragedy of our lives might have been still worse. + +'Suppose,' I said, 'that instead of being lost in the Welsh hills she +had been lost here!' I shuddered at the thought. + +Again that picture in the Welsh pool came to me, the picture of +Winnie standing at a street corner, offering matches for sale. D'Arcy +then got talking about Sinfi Lovell and her strange superiority in +every respect to the few Gypsy women he had seen. + +'She has,' said he, 'mesmeric power; it is only semiconscious, but it +is mesmeric. She exercises it partly through her gaze and partly +through her voice.' + +He was still talking about Sinfi when a river-boy, who was whistling +with extraordinary brilliancy and gusto, met and passed us. Not a +word more of D'Arcy's talk did I hear, for the boy was whistling the +very air to which Winnie used to sing the Snowdon song + + I met in a glade a lone little maid + At the foot of y Wyddfa the white. + +I ran after the boy and asked him what tune he was whistling. + +'What tune?' he said, 'blowed if I know.' + +'Where did you hear it?' I asked. + +'Well, there used to be a gal, a kind of a beggar gal, as lived not +far from 'ere for a little while, but she's gone away now, and she +used to sing that tune. I allas remember tunes, but I never could +make out anything of the words.' + +D'Arcy laughed at my eccentricity in running after the boy to learn +where he had got a tune. But I did not tell him why. + +After we had passed some way down Ratcliffe Highway, D'Arcy said, +'Here we are then,' and pointed to a shop, or rather two shops, on +the opposite side of the street. One window was filled with caged +birds; the other with specimens of beautiful Oriental pottery and +grotesque curiosities in the shape of Chinese and Japanese statues +and carvings. + +My brain still rang with the air I had heard the river-boy whistling, +but I felt that I must talk about something. + +'It is here that you buy your wonderful curiosities and porcelain!' I +said. + +'Partly; but there is not a curiosity shop in London that I have not +ransacked in my time.' + +The shop we now entered reminded me of that Raxton Fair which was so +much associated with Winnie. Its chief attraction was the advent of +Wombwell's menagerie. From the first moment that the couriers of that +august establishment came to paste their enormous placards on the +walls, down to the sad morning when the caravans left the +market-place, Winnie and I and Rhona Boswell had talked 'Wombwell.' +It was not merely that the large pictures of the wild animals in +action, the more than brassy sound of the cracked brass band, +delighted our eyes and ears. Our olfactories also were charmed. The +mousy scent of the animals mixed with the scent of sawdust, which to +adults was so objectionable, was characterised by us as delicious. +All these Wombwell delights came back to me as we entered Jamrach's, +and for a time the picture of Winifred prevented my seeing the famous +shop. When this passed I saw that the walls of the large room were +covered from top to bottom with cages, some of them full of wonderful +or beautiful birds, and others full of evil-faced, screeching +monkeys. + +While D'Arcy was amusing himself with a blue-faced rib-nosed baboon, +I asked Mr. Jamrach, an extremely intelligent man, about the singing +girl and the Welsh air. But he could tell me nothing, and evidently +thought I had been hoaxed. + +In a small case by itself was a beautiful jewelled cross, which +attracted D'Arcy's attention very much. + +'This is not much in your line,' he said to Jamrach.'This is +European.' + +'It came to me from Morocco,' said Jamrach, 'and it was no doubt +taken by a Morocco pirate from some Venetian captive.' + +'It is a diamond and ruby cross,' said D'Arcy, 'but mixed with the +rubies there are beryls. I am at this moment describing a beryl in +some verses. The setting of the stones is surely quite peculiar.' + +'Yes,' said Jamrach. 'It is the curiosity of the setting more than +the value of the gems which caused it to be sent to me. I have +offered it to the London jewellers, but they will only give me the +market-price of the stones and the gold.' + +While he was talking I pulled out of my breast pocket the cross, +which had remained there since I received it from my mother the +evening before. + +'They are very much alike,' said Jamrach; 'but the setting of these +stones is more extraordinary than in mine. And of course they are +more than fifty times as valuable.' + +D'Arcy turned round to see what we were talking about, when he saw +the cross in my hand, and an expression of something like awe came +over his face. + +'The Moonlight Cross of the Gnostics!' he exclaimed. 'You carry this +about in your breast pocket? Put it away, put it away! The thing +seems to be alive.' + +In a second, however, and before I could answer him, the expression +passed from his face, and he took the cross from my hands and +examined it. + +'This is the most beautiful piece of jewel work I ever saw in my +life. I have heard of such things. The Gnostic art of arranging +jewels so that they will catch the moon-rays and answer them as +though the light were that of the sun, is quite lost.' + +We then went and examined Jamrach's menagerie. I found that one +source of the interest D'Arcy took in animals was that he was a +believer in Baptista Porta's whimsical theory that every human +creature resembles one of the lower animals, and he found a perennial +amusement in seeing in the faces of animals caricatures of his +friends. + +With a fund of humour that was exhaustless, he went from cage to +cage, giving to each animal the name of some member of the Royal +Academy, or of one of his own intimate friends. + +On leaving Jamrach's he said to me, 'Suppose we make a day of it and +go to the Zoo?' + +I agreed, and we took a hansom as soon as we could get one and drove +across London towards Regent's Park. + +Here the pleasure that he took in watching the movements of the +animals was so great that it seemed impossible but that he was +visiting the Zoo for the first time. I remembered, however, that he +had told me in the morning how frequently he went to these gardens. + +But his interest in the animals was unlike my own, and I should +suppose unlike the interest of any other man. He had no knowledge +whatever of zoology, and appeared to wish for none. His pleasure +consisted in watching the curious expressions and movements of the +animals and in dramatising them. + +On leaving the Zoo, I said, 'The cross you were just now looking at +is as remarkable for its history as for its beauty. It was stolen +from the tomb of a near relative of mine. I was under a solemn +promise to the person upon whose breast it lay to see that it should +never be disturbed. But, now that it has been disturbed, to replace +it in the tomb would, I fear, be to insure another sacrilege. I +wonder what you would do in such a case?' + +He looked at me and said, 'As it is evident that we are going to be +intimate friends, I may as well confess to you at once that I am a +mystic.' + +'When did you become so?' + +'When? Ask any man who has passionately loved a woman and lost her; +ask him at what moment mysticism was forced upon him--at what moment +he felt that he must either accept a spiritualistic theory of the +universe or go mad; ask him this, and he will tell you that it was at +that moment when he first looked upon her as she lay dead, with +Corruption's foul fingers waiting to soil and stain. What are you +going to do with the cross?' + +'Lock it up as safely as I can,' I said; 'what else is there to do +with it?' + +He looked into my face and said, 'You are a rationalist.' + +'I am.' + +'You do not believe in a supernatural world?' + +'My disbelief of it,' I said, 'is something more than an exercise of +the reason. It is a passion, an angry passion. But what should you do +with the cross if you were in my place?' + +'Put it back in the tomb.' + +I had great difficulty in suppressing my ridicule, but I merely said, +'That would be, as I have told you, to insure its being stolen +again.' + +'There is the promise to the dead man or woman on whose breast it +lay.' + +'This I intend to keep in the spirit like a reasonable man--not in +the letter like--' + +'Promises to the dead must be kept to the letter, or no peace can +come to the bereaved heart. You are talking to a man who _knows_!' + +'I will commit no such outrage upon reason as to place a priceless +jewel in a place where I know it will be stolen.' + +'You _will_ replace the cross in that tomb.' + +As he spoke he shook my hands warmly, and said, '_Au revoir_. +Remember, I shall always be delighted to see you.' + +It was not till I saw him disappear amongst the crowd that I could +give way to the laughter which I had so much difficulty in +suppressing. What a relief it was to be able to do this! + + + +VI + +THE SONG OF Y WYDDFA + + +I + +After this I had one or two interviews with our solicitor in +Lincoln's Inn Fields, upon important family matters connected with my +late uncle's property. + +I had been one night to the theatre with my mother and my aunt. The +house had been unusually crowded. When the performance was over, we +found that the streets were deluged with rain. Our carriage had been +called some time before it drew up, and we were standing under the +portico amid a crowd of impatient ladies when a sound fell or seemed +to fall on my ears which stopped for the moment the very movements of +life. Amid the rattle of wheels and horses' feet and cries of +messengers about carriages and cabs, I seemed to distinguish a female +voice singing: + + 'I met in a glade a lone little maid. + At the foot of y Wyddfa the white; + Oh, lissom her feet as the mountain hind, + And darker her hair than the night!' + +It was the voice of Winifred singing as in a dream. + +I heard my aunt say, + +'Do look at that poor girl singing and holding out her little +baskets! She must be crazed to be offering baskets for sale in this +rain and at this time of night.' + +I turned my eyes in the direction in which my aunt was looking, but +the crowd before me prevented my seeing the singer. + +'She is gone, vanished,' said my aunt sharply, for my eagerness to +see made me rude. + +'What was she like?' I asked. + +'She was a young slender girl, holding out a bunch of small fancy +baskets of woven colours, through which the rain was dripping. She +was dressed in rags, and through the rags shone, here and there, +patches of her shoulders; and she wore a dingy red handkerchief round +her head. She stood in the wet and mud, beneath the lamp, quite +unconscious apparently of the bustle and confusion around her.' + +Almost at the same moment our carriage drew up. I lingered on the +step as long as possible. My mother made a sign of impatience at the +delay, and I got into the carriage. Spite of the rain, I put down the +window and leaned out. I forgot the presence of my mother and aunt. I +forgot everything. The carriage moved on. + +'Winifred!' I gasped, as the certainty that the voice was hers came +upon me. + +And the dingy London night became illuminated with scrolls of fire, +whose blinding, blasting scripture seared my eyes till I was fain to +close them: 'Let his children be vagabonds, and beg their bread: let +them seek it also out of desolate places.' + +So rapidly had the carriage rolled through the rain, and so entirely +had my long pain robbed me of all presence of mind, that, by the time +I had recovered from the paralysing shock, we had reached Piccadilly +Circus. I pulled the check-string. + +'Why, Henry!' said my mother, who had raised the window, 'what are +you doing? And what has made you turn so pale?' + +My aunt sat in indignant silence. 'Ten thousand pardons,' I said, as +I stepped out of the carriage, and shook hands with them. 'A sudden +recollection--important papers unsecured at my hotel--business in--in +Lincoln's Inn Fields. I will call on you in the morning.' + +And I reeled down the pavement towards the Haymarket. When I was some +little distance from the carriage, I took to my heels and hurried as +fast as possible towards the theatre, utterly regardless of the +people. I reached the spot breathless. I stood for a moment staring +wildly to right and left of me. Not a trace of her was to be seen. I +heard a thin voice from my lips, that did not seem my own, ask a +policeman, who was now patrolling the neighbourhood, if he had seen a +basket-girl singing. + +'No,' said the man, 'but I fancy you mean the Essex Street Beauty, +don't you? I haven't seen her for a long while now, but her dodge +used to be to come here on rainy nights, and stand bare-headed and +sing and sell just when the theatres was a-bustin'. She gets a good +lot, I fancy, by that dodge.' + +'The Essex Street Beauty?' + +'Oh, I thought you know'd p'raps. She's a strornary pretty +beggar-wench, with blue eyes and black hair, as used to stand at the +corner of Essex Street, Strand, and the money as that gal got +a-holdin' out her matches and a-sayin' texes out of the Bible must +ha' been strornary. So the Essex Street Beauty's bin about here agin +on the rainy-night dodge, 'es she? Well, it must have been the fust +time for many a long day, for I've never seen her now for a long +time. She couldn't ha' stood about here for many minutes; if she had +I must ha' seen her.' + +I staggered away from him, and passed and repassed the spot many +times. Then I extended my beat about the neighbouring streets, +loitering at every corner where a basket-girl or a flower-girl might +be likely to stand. But no trace of her was to be seen. Meantime the +rain had ceased. + +All the frightful stories that I had heard or read of the kidnapping +of girls came pouring into my mind, till my blood boiled and my knees +trembled. Imagination was stinging me to life's very core. Every few +minutes I would pass the theatre, and look towards the portico. + +The night wore on, and I was unconscious how the time passed. It was +not till daybreak that I returned to my hotel, pale, weary, bent. + +I threw myself upon my bed: it scorched me. + +I could not think. At present I could only see--see what? At one +moment a squalid attic, the starlight shining through patched +window-panes upon a lonely mattress, on which a starving girl was +lying; at another moment a cellar damp and dark, in one corner of +which a youthful figure was crouching; and then (most intolerable of +all!) a flaring gin-palace, where, among a noisy crowd, a face was +looking wistfully on, while coarse and vulgar men were clustering +with cruel, wolfish eyes around a beggar-girl. This I saw and +more--a thousand things more. + +It was insupportable. I rose and again paced the street. + + +When I called upon my mother she asked me anxious questions as to +what had ailed me the previous night. Seeing, however, that I +avoided replying to them, she left me after a while in peace. + +'Fancy,' said my aunt, who was writing a letter at a little desk +between two windows,--'fancy an Aylwin pulling the check-string, and +then, with ladies in the carriage and the rain pouring--' + +During that day how many times I passed in front of the theatre I +cannot say; but at last I thought the very men in the shops must be +observing me. Again, though I half poisoned myself with my drug, I +passed a sleepless night. The next night was passed in almost the +same manner as the previous one. + + +II + +From this time I felt working within me a great change. A horrible +new thought got entire possession of me. Wherever I went I could +think of nothing but--the curse. I scorned the monstrous idea of a +curse, and yet I was always thinking about it. I was always seeking +Winifred--always speculating on her possible fate. I saw no one in +society. + +My time was now largely occupied with wandering about the streets of +London. I began by exploring the vicinity of the theatre, and day +after day used to thread the alleys and courts in that neighbourhood. +Then I took the eastern direction, and soon became familiar with the +most squalid haunts. + +My method was to wander from street to street, looking at every +poorly-dressed girl I met. Often I was greeted with an impudent +laugh, that brought back the sickening mental pictures I have +mentioned; and often I was greeted with an angry toss of the head and +such an exclamation as, 'What d'ye take me for, staring like that?' + +These peregrinations I used to carry far into the night, and thus, as +I perceived, got the character at my hotel of a wild young man. The +family solicitor wrote to me again and again for appointments which I +could not give him. + +It had often occurred to me that in a case of this kind the police +ought to be of some assistance. One day I called at Scotland Yard, +saw an official, and asked his aid. He listened to my story +attentively, then said: 'Do you come from the missing party's +friends, sir?' + +'I am her friend,' I answered--'her only friend.' + +'I mean, of course, do you represent her father or mother, or any +near relative?' + +'She is an orphan; she has no relatives,' I said. + +He looked at me steadily and said: 'I am sorry, sir, that neither I +nor a magistrate could do anything to aid you.' + +'You can do nothing to aid me?' I asked angrily. + +'I can do nothing to aid you, sir, in identifying a young woman you +once heard sing in the streets of London, with a lady you saw once on +the top of Snowdon.' + +As I was leaving the office, he said: 'One moment, sir. I don't see +how I can take up this case for you, but I may make a suggestion. I +have an idea that you would do well to pursue inquiries among the +Gypsies.' + +'Gypsies!' I said with great heat, as I left the office. 'If you knew +how I had already "pursued inquiries" among the Gypsies, you would +understand how barren is your suggestion.' + +Weeks passed in this way. My aunt's ill-health became rather serious: +my mother too was still very unwell. I afterwards learnt that her +illness was really the result of the dire conflict in her breast +between the old passion of pride and the new invader remorse. There +were, no doubt, many discussions between them concerning me. I could +see plainly enough they both thought my mind was becoming unhinged. + +One night, as I lay thinking over the insoluble mystery of Winifred's +disappearance, I was struck by a sudden thought that caused me to +leap from my bed. What could have led the official in Scotland Yard +to connect Winifred with Gypsies? I had simply told him of her +disappearance on Snowdon, and her reappearance afterwards near the +theatre. Not one word had I said to him about her early relations +with Gypsies. I was impatient for the daylight, in order that I might +go to Scotland Yard again. When I did so and saw the official, I +asked him without preamble what had caused him to connect the missing +girl I was seeking with the Gypsies. + +'The little fancy baskets she was selling,' said he. 'They are often +made by Gypsies.' + +'Of course they are,' I said, hurrying away. 'Why did I not think of +this?' + +In fact I had, during our wanderings over England and Wales, often +seen Sinfi's sister Videy and Rhona Boswell weaving such baskets. +Winifred, after all, might be among the Gypsies, and the crafty Videy +Lovell might have some mysterious connection with her; for she +detested me as much as she loved the gold 'balansers' she could +wheedle out of me. Moreover, there were in England the Hungarian +Gypsies, with their notions about demented girls, and the Lovells, +owing to Sinfi's musical proclivities, were just now much connected +with a Hungarian troupe. + + + +VII + +SINFI'S DUKKERIPEN + + +I + +The Gypsies I had never seen since leaving them in Wales, and I knew +that by this time they were either making their circuit of the +English fairs or located in a certain romantic spot called Gypsy +Dell, near Rington Manor, the property of my kinsman Percy Aylwin, +whither they often went after the earlier fairs were over. + +The next evening I went to the Great Eastern Railway station, and +taking the train to Rington I walked to Gypsy Dell, where I found the +Lovells and Boswells. + +Familiar as I was with, the better class of Welsh Gypsies, the camp +here was the best display of Romany well-being I had ever seen. It +would, indeed, have surprised those who associate all Gypsy life with +the squalor which in England, and especially near London, marks the +life of the mongrel wanderers who are so often called Gypsies. In a +lovely dingle, skirted by a winding, willow-bordered river, and +dotted here and there with clumps of hawthorn, were ranged the +'living-waggons' of those trading Romanies who had accompanied the +'Griengroes' to the East Anglian and Midland fairs. + +Alongside the waggons was a single large brown tent that for +luxuriousness might have been the envy of all Gypsydom. On the +hawthorn bushes and the grass was spread, instead of the poor rags +that one often sees around a so-called Gypsy encampment, snowy +linen, newly washed. The ponies and horses were scattered about the +Dell feeding. + +I soon distinguished Sinfi's commanding figure near that gorgeous +living-waggon of 'orange-yellow colour with red window-blinds' in +which she had persuaded me to invest my money at Chester. On the +foot-board sat two urchins of the Lovell family, 'making believe' to +drive imaginary horses, and yelling with all their might to Rhona +Boswell, whose laugh, musical as ever, showed that she enjoyed the +game as much as the children did. Sinfi was standing on a patch of +that peculiar kind of black ash which burnt grass makes, busy with a +fire, over which a tea-kettle was hanging from the usual iron +kettle-prop. Among the ashes left by a previous fire her bantam-cock +Pharaoh was busy pecking, scratching, and calling up imaginary hens +to feast upon his imaginary 'finds.' I entered the Dell, and before +Sinfi saw me I was close to her. + +She was muttering to the refractory fire as though it were a live +thing, and asking it why it refused to burn beneath the kettle. A +startled look, partly of pleasure and partly of something like alarm, +came over her face as she perceived me. I drew her aside and told her +all that had happened in regard to Winifred's appearance as a beggar +in London. A strange expression that was new to me overspread her +features, and I thought I heard her whisper to herself, 'I will, I +will.' + +'I knowed the cuss 'ud ha' to ha' its way in the blood, like the bite +of a sap' [snake], she murmured to herself. 'And yit the dukkeripen +on Snowdon said, clear and plain enough, as they'd surely marry at +last. What's become o' the stolen trúshul, brother--the cross?' she +inquired aloud. 'That trúshul will ha' to be given to the dead man +agin, an' it'll ha' to be given back by his chavo [child] as swore to +keep watch over it. But what's it all to me?' she said in a tone of +suppressed anger that startled me. 'I ain't a Gorgie,' + +'But, Sinfi, the cross cannot be buried again. The reason I have not +replaced it in the tomb,--the reason I never will replace it +there,--is that the people along the coast know now of the existence +of the jewel, and know also of my father's wishes. If it was unsafe +in the tomb when only Winnie's father knew of it, it would be a +thousandfold more unsafe now.' + +'P'raps that's all the better for her an' you: the new thief takes +the cuss.' + +'This is all folly,' I replied, with the anger of one struggling +against an unwelcome half-belief that refuses to be dismissed. 'It is +all moonshine-madness. I'll never do it,--not at least while I retain +my reason. It was no doubt partly for safety as well as for the other +reason that my father wished the cross to be placed in the tomb. It +will be far safer now in a cabinet than anywhere else.' + +'Reia,' said Sinfi, 'you told me wonst as your great-grandmother +was a Romany named Fenella Stanley. I have axed the Scollard +about her, and what do you think he says? He says that she wur my +great-grandmother too, for she married a Lovell as died.' + +'Good heavens, Sinfi! Well, I'm proud of my kinswoman.' + +'And he says that Fenella Stanley know'd more about the true +dukkerin, the dukkerin of the Romanies, than anybody as were ever +heerd on.' + +'She seems to have been pretty superstitious,' I said, 'by all +accounts. But what has that to do with the cross?' + +'You'll put it in the tomb again.' + +'Never!' + +'Fenella Stanley will see arter that.' + +'Fenella Stanley! Why, she's dead and dust.' + +'That's what I mean; that's why she can make you do it, and will.' + +'Well, well! I did not come to talk about the cross; I want to have +a quiet word with you about another matter.' + +She sprang away as if in terror or else in anger. Then recovering +herself she took the kettle from the prop. I followed her to the +tent, which, save that it was made of brown blanket, looked more like +a tent on a lawn than a Gypsy-tent. All its comfort seemed, however, +to give no great delight to Videy, the cashier and female +financier-general of the Lovell family, who, in a state of absorbed +untidiness, sitting at the end of the tent upon a palliasse covered +with a counterpane of quilted cloth of every hue, was evidently +occupied in calculating her father's profits and losses at the recent +horse-fair. The moment Videy saw us she hurriedly threw the coin into +the silver tea-pot by her side, and put it beneath the counterpane, +with that instinctive and unnecessary secrecy which characterised +her, and made her such an amazing contrast both to her sister Sinfi +and to Rhona Boswell. + +After Panuel had received me in his usual friendly manner, we all sat +down, partly inside the tent and partly outside, around the white +table-cloth that had been spread upon the grass. The Scollard took no +note of me; he had no eyes for any one but Rhona Boswell. + +When tea was over Sinfi left the camp, and strode across the Dell +towards the river. I followed her. + + +II + +It was not till we reached a turn in the river that is more secluded +than any other--a spot called 'Gypsy Ring,' a lovely little spot +within the hollow of birch trees and gorse--that she spoke a few +words to me, in a constrained tone. Then I said, as we sat down upon +a green hillock within the Ring: 'Sinfi, the baskets my aunt saw in +Winnie's hand when she was standing in the rain were of the very kind +that Videy makes.' + +'Oh, _that's_ what you wanted to say!' said she; 'you think Videy +knows something about Winnie. But that's all a fancy o' yourn, and +it's of no use looking for Winnie any more among the Romanies. Even +supposin' you did hear the Welsh gillie--and I think it was all a +fancy--you can't make nothin' out o' them baskets as your aunt seed. +Us Romanies don't make one in a hundud of the fancy baskets as is +sold for Gypsy baskets in the streets, and besides, the hawkers and +costers what buys 'em of us sells 'em agin to other hawkers and +costers, and there ain't no tracin' on 'em.' + +I argued the point with her. At last I felt convinced that I was +again on the wrong track. By this time the sun had set, and the stars +were out. I had noticed that during our talk Sinfi's attention would +sometimes seem to be distracted from the matter in hand, and I had +observed her give a little start now and then, as though listening to +something in the distance. + +'What are you listening to?' I inquired at last. 'Reia,' said Sinfi, +'I've been a-listenin' to a v'ice as nobody can't hear on'y me, an' +I've bin a-seein' a face peepin' atween the leaves o' the trees as +nobody can't see on'y me; my mammy's been to me. I thought she would +come here. They say my mammy's mammy wur buried here, an' she wur the +child of Fenella, an' that's why it's called Gypsy Ring. The moment I +sat down in this Ring a mullo [spirit] come and whispered in my ear, +but I can't make out whether it's my mammy or Fenella Stanley, and I +can't make out what she said. It's hard sometimes for them as has to +gnaw their way out o' the groun' to get their words out clear. +[Footnote] Howsomever, this I do know, reia, you an' me must part. I +felt as we must part when we was in Wales togither last time, and now +I knows it.' + +[Footnote: Some Romanies think that spirits rise from the ground.] + +'Part, Sinfi! Not if I can prevent it.' + +'Reia,' replied Sinfi emphatically, 'when I've wonst made up my mind, +you know it's made up for good an' all. When us two leaves this 'ere +Ring to-night, you'll turn your ways and I shall turn mine.' + +I thought it best to let the subject drop. Perhaps by the time we had +left the Ring this mood would have passed. After a minute or so she +said, + +'You needn't see no fear about not marryin' Winifred Wynne. You +_must_ marry her; your dukkeripen on Snowdon didn't show itself there +for nothink. When you two was a-settin' by the pool, a-eatin' the +breakfiss, I was a-lookin' at you round the corner of the rock. I +seed a little kindlin' cloud break away and go floatin' over your +heads, and then it shaped itself into what us Romanies calls the +Golden Hand. You know what the Golden Hand means when it comes over +two sweethearts? You don't believe it? Ask Rhona Boswell! Here she +comes a-singin' to herself. She's trying to get away from that devil +of a Scollard as says she's bound to marry him. I've a good mind to +go and give him a left-hand body-blow in the ribs and settle him for +good and all. He means mischief to the Tarno Rye, and Rhona too. +Brother, I've noticed for a long while that the Romany blood is a +good deal stronger in you than the Gorgio blood. And now mark my +words, that cuss o' your feyther's'll work itself out. You'll go to +his grave and you'll jist put that trúshul back in that tomb, and +arter that, and not afore, you'll marry Winnie Wynne.' + +Sinfi's creed did not surprise me: the mixture of guile and +simplicity in the Romany race is only understood by the few who know +it thoroughly: the race whose profession it is to cheat by +fortune-telling, to read the false 'dukkeripen' as being 'good enough +for the Gorgios,' believe profoundly in nature's symbols; but her +bearing did surprise me. + +'Your dukkeripen will come true,' said she; 'but mine won't, for I +won't let it.' + +'And what is yours?' I asked. + +'That's nuther here nor there.' + +Then she stood again as though listening to something, and again I +thought, as her lips moved, that I heard her whisper, 'I will, I +will.' + + +III + +I had intended to go to London at once after leaving Gypsy Dell, but +something that Sinfi told me during our interview impelled me to go +on to Raxton Hall, which was so near. The fact that Sinfi was my +kinswoman opened up new and exciting vistas of thought. + +I understood now what was that haunting sense of recognition which +came upon me when I first saw Sinfi at the wayside inn in Wales. Day +by day had proofs been pouring in upon me that the strain of Romany +blood in my veins was asserting itself with more and more force. Day +by day I had come to realise how closely, though the main current of +my blood was English, I was affined to the strange and mysterious +people among whom I was now thrown--the only people in these islands, +as it seemed to me, who would be able to understand a love-passion +like mine. And there were many things in the great race of my +forefathers which I had found not only unsympathetic to me, but +deeply repugnant. In Great Britain it is the Gypsies alone who +understand nature's supreme charm, and enjoy her largesse as it used +to be enjoyed in those remote times described in Percy Aylwin's poems +before the Children of the Roof invaded the Children of the Open Air, +before the earth was parcelled out into domains and ownerships as it +now is parcelled out. In the mind of the Gorgio, the most beautiful +landscape or the most breezy heath or the loveliest meadow-land is +cut up into allotments, whether of fifty thousand acres or of two +roods, and owned by people. Of ownership of land the Romany is +entirely unconscious. The landscape around him is part of Nature +herself, and the Romany on his part acknowledges no owner. No doubt +he yields to _force majeure_ in the shape of gamekeeper or constable, +but that is because he has no power to resist it. Nature to him is as +free and unowned by man as it was to the North American Indian in his +wigwam before the invasion of the Children of the Roof. + +During the time that I was staying in Flintshire and near Capel +Curig, rambling through the dells or fishing in the brooks, it was +surprising how soon the companionship of a Gorgio would begin to pall +upon me. And here the Cymric race is just as bad as the Saxon. The +same detestable habit of looking upon nature as a paying +market-garden, the same detestable inquiry as to who was the owner of +this or that glen or waterfall, was sure at last to make me sever +from him. But as to Sinfi, her attitude towards nature, though it was +only one of the charms that endeared her to me, was not the least of +them. There was scarcely a point upon which she and I did not touch. + +And what about her lack of education? Was that a drawback? Not in the +least. The fact that she knew nothing of that traditional ignorance +which for ages has taken the name of knowledge--that record of the +foolish cosmogonies upon which have been built the philosophies and +the social systems of the blundering creature Man--the fact that she +knew nothing of these gave an especial piquancy to everything she +said. I had been trying to educate myself in the new and wonderful +cosmogony of growth which was first enunciated in the sixties, and +was going to be, as I firmly believed, the basis of a new philosophy, +a new system of ethics, a new poetry, a new everything. But in +knowledge of nature as a sublime consciousness, in knowledge of the +human heart, Sinfi was far more learned than I. And believing as I +did that education will in the twentieth century consist of +unlearning, of unlading the mind of the trash previously called +knowledge, I could not help feeling that Sinfi was far more advanced, +far more in harmony than I could hope to be With the new morning of +Life of which we are just beginning to see the streaks of dawn. + +'I must go and see Fenella's portrait,' I said, as I Walked briskly +towards Raxton. + +When I reached Raxton Hall I seemed to startle the butler and the +servants, as though I had come from the other world. + +I told the butler that I should sleep there that night, and then went +at once to the picture gallery and stood before Reynolds' famous +picture of Fenella Stanley as the Sibyl. The likeness to Sinfi was +striking. How was it that it had not previously struck me more +forcibly? The painter had evidently seized the moment when Fenella's +eyes expressed that look of the seeress which Sinfi's eyes, on +occasion, so powerfully expressed. I stood motionless before it while +the rich, warm light of evening bathed it in a rosy radiance. And +when the twilight shadows fell upon it, and when the moon again lit +it up, I stood there still. The face seemed to pass into my very +being, and Sinfi's voice kept singing in my ears, 'Fenella Stanley's +dead and dust, and that's why she can make you put that cross in +your feyther's tomb, and she will, she will.' + +I left the picture and went into the library: for I bethought me of +that sheaf of Fenella's letters to my great-grandfather which he had +kept so sacredly, and which had come to me as representative of the +family. My previous slight inspection of them had shown me what a +wonderful woman she was, how full of ideas the most original and the +most wild. The moment a Gypsy-woman has been taught to write there +comes upon her a passion for letter-writing. + +Nothing could be more striking than the contrast between the +illiterate locutions and the eccentric orthography of Fenella's +letters and the subtle remarks and speculations upon the symbols of +nature.--the dukkeripen of the woods, the streams, the stars, and the +winds. But when I came to analyse the theories of man's place in +nature expressed in the ignorant language of this Romany heathen, +they seemed to me only another mode of expressing the mysticism of +the religious enthusiast Wilderspin, the more learned and +philosophic mysticism of my father, and the views of D'Arcy, the +dreamy painter. + +As I rode back to London, I said to myself, 'What change has come +over me? What power has been gradually sapping my manhood? Why do I, +who was so self-reliant, long now so passionately for a friend to +whom to unburthen my soul--one who could give me a sympathy as deep +and true as that I got from Sinfi Lovell, and yet the sympathy of a +mind unclouded by ignorant superstitions?' + +With the exception of D'Arcy, whose advice as to the disposal of the +cross had proclaimed him to be as superstitious as Sinfi herself, not +a single friend had I in all London. Indeed, besides Lord Sleaford (a +tall, burly man with the springy movement of a prize-tighter, with +blue-grey eyes, thick, close-cropped hair, and a flaxen moustache, +who had lately struck up a friendship with my mother) I had not even +an acquaintance. Cyril Aylwin, whom I had not seen since we parted in +Wales, was now on the Continent with Wilderspin. Strange as it may +seem, I looked forward with eagerness to the return of this +light-hearted jester. Cyril's sagacity and knowledge of the world had +impressed me in Wales; but his cynical attitude, whether genuine or +assumed, towards subjects connected with deep passion, had prevented +my confiding in him. He must, I knew, have gathered from Sinfi, and +from other sources, that I was mourning the loss of a Welsh girl in +humble life; but during our very brief intercourse in Wales neither +of us had mentioned the matter to the other. Now, however, in my +present dire strait I longed to call in the aid of his penetrative +mind. + + + +VIII + +ISIS AS HUMOURIST + + +I + +On reaching London I resumed my wanderings through the London +streets. Bitter as these wanderings were, my real misery now did not +begin until I got to bed. Then began the terrible struggle of the +soul that wrestles with its ancestral fleshly prison--that prison +whose warders are the superstitions of bygone ages. 'Have you not +seen the curse literally fulfilled?' ancestral voices of the +blood--voices Romany and Gorgio--seemed whispering in my ears. 'Have +you not heard the voice of his daughter upon whose head the curse of +your dead father has fallen a beggar in the street, while not all +your love can succour her or reach her?' + +And then my soul would cry out in its agony, 'Most true, Fenella +Stanley--most true, Philip Aylwin; but before I will succumb to such +a theory of the universe as yours, a theory which reason laughs at +and which laughs at reason, I will die--die by this hand of mine: +this flesh that imprisons me in a world of mocking delusion shall be +destroyed, but first the symbol itself of your wicked, cruel old +folly shall go.' + +I would then leap from my bed, light a candle, unlock my cabinet, +take out the cross, and holding it aloft prepare to dash it against +the wall, when my hand would be arrested by the same ancestral +voices, Romany and Gorgio, whispering in my ears and at my heart, + +'If you break that amulet, how shall you ever be able to see what +would be the effect upon Winnie's fate of its restoration to your +father's tomb?' + +And then I would laugh aloud and mock the voices of Fenella Stanley +and Philip Aylwin and millions of other voices that echoed or +murmured or bellowed through half a million years, echoed or murmured +or bellowed from European halls and castles, from Gypsy tents, from +caves of palæolithic man. + +'How shall you stay the curse from working in the blood of the +accursed one?' the voices would say. And then I would laugh again +till I feared the people in the hotel would hear me and take me for a +maniac. + +But then my aunt's picture of a beggar-girl standing in the rain +would fill my eyes and the whispers would grow louder than the voice +of the North Sea in the March wind: 'Look at _that_. How dare you +leave undone anything, howsoever wild, which might seem to any +one--even to an illiterate Gypsy, even to a crazy mystic--a means of +finding Winifred? What is the meaning of the great instinct which has +always conquered the soul in its direst need--which has always driven +man when in the grip of unbearable calamity to believe in powers that +are unseen? What though that scientific reason of yours tells you +that Winifred's misfortunes have nothing to do with any curse? what +though your reason tells you that all these calamities may be read as +being the perfectly natural results of perfectly natural causes? Is +the voice of man's puny reason clothed with such authority that it +dares to answer his heart, which knows nothing but that it bleeds? +The terrible facts of the case may be read in two ways. With an +inscrutable symmetry these facts may and do fit in with the universal +theory of the power of the spirit-world to execute a curse from the +grave. Look at that beggar in the street! How dare you ignore the +theory of the sorrowing soul, the logic of the lacerated heart, even +though your reason laughs it to scorn?' + +And then at last my laughter would turn to moans, and, replacing the +cross in the cabinet, I would creep hack to my bed ashamed, like a +guilty thing--ashamed before myself. + +But the more I felt at my throat the claws of the ancestral ogre +Superstition, the more enraged I became with myself for feeling them +there. And the auger against my ancestors' mysticism grew with the +growing consciousness that I was rapidly yielding to the very same +mysticism myself. And then I would get up again and take from my +escritoire the sheaf of Fenella Stanley's letters which I had brought +from Raxton, and read again those stories about curses, such as that +about the withering of a Romany family under a dead man's curse which +Winnie had described to me that night on the sands. + + +II + +I was delighted to be told by Sleaford, whom I met one afternoon in +Piccadilly, that Cyril had returned to London within the last few +days. 'He is appointed artist-in-chief of the new comic paper, _The +Caricaturist,_ said Sleaford, 'and is in great feather. I have just +been calling upon him.' + +'The very man I want to see,' I replied. Sleaford thereupon directed +me to Cyril's studio 'You'll find him at work,' said he, 'doin' a +caricature of Wilderspin's great picture, "Faith and Love." Mother +Gudgeon is sittin' as his model. He does everything from models, you +know.' + +'Mother Gudgeon?' + +'A female costermonger that he picked up some where in the slums, the +funniest woman in London: haw! haw! I promise you she'll make you +laugh when Cyril draws her out.' + +He then began to talk upon the subject which interested him above all +others, the smartness and swiftness of his yacht. 'I am trying to +persuade your mother and aunt to go for a cruise with me, and I think +I shall succeed.' + +He directed me to the studio, and we parted. + +I found Cyril in a large and lofty studio in Chelsea, filled with the +curiously carved black furniture of Bombay, mixed, for contrast, with +a few Indian cabinets of carved and fretted ivory exquisitely +wrought. He greeted me cordially. The walls were covered with +Japanese drawings. I began by asking him about The Caricaturist. + +'Well,' said he, 'now that the House of Commons has become a +bear-garden, and t'other House a waxwork show, and the intellect and +culture of the country are leaving politics to dummies and cads, how +can the artistic mind condescend to caricature the political world--a +world that has not only ceased to be intelligent, but has even ceased +to be funny? The quarry of _The Caricaturist_ will be literature, +science, and art. Instead of wasting artistic genius upon such small +fry as premiers, diplomatists, and cabinet ministers, our cartoons +will be caricatures of the pictures of Millais, Leighton, +Burne-Jones, Rossetti, Madox Brown, Holman Hunt, Watts, Sandys, +Whistler, Wilderspin: our letterpress will be Aristophanic parodies +of Tennyson, Browning, Meredith, Arnold, Morris, Swinburne; game +worth flying at, my boy! The art-world is in a dire funk, I can tell +you, for the artistic epidermis has latterly grown genteel and thin.' + +Already I was beginning to ask myself whether it was possible to make +a confidant of this inscrutable cynic. 'You are fond of Oriental +things?' I said, wishing to turn the subject. I looked round at the +Chinese, Indian, and Japanese monstrosities scattered about the room. + +'That,' said he, pointing to a picture of a woman (apparently drunk) +who was amusing herself by chasing butterflies, while a number of +broad-faced, mischievous-looking children were teasing her--'that is +the masterpiece of Hokusai. The legend in the corner is "Kiyó-jo chó +ni tawamureru," which, according to the lying Japanese scholars, +means nothing more than "A cracked woman chasing butterflies." It was +left for me to discover that it represents Yoka, the goddess of Fun, +sportively chasing the butterfly souls of men, while the urchins, the +little Yokas, are crying, "Ma! you're screwed."' + +'But what are these quaint figures?' I asked, pointing to certain +drawings of an obese Japanese figure, grinning with lazy good-humour +above several of the cabinets. + +'Hoteï, the fat god of enjoyment.' + +'A Japanese god?' I asked. + +'Yes, nothing artistic is quite right now unless it has a savour of +blue mould or Japan. Wonderful people, the Japanese, to have +discovered the Jolly Hoteï. And here is Hoteï's wife, the +goddess-queen Yoka herself--the real masquerader behind that mystic +veil which has so enveloped and bemuddled the mind of poor +Wilderspin. She is to figure in the first number of _The +Caricaturist_.' + +He pointed to an object I had only partially observed: a broad-faced +burly woman, of about forty-five years of age, in an eccentric dress +of Japanese silks, standing on the model-throne between two lay +figures. 'Good heavens!' I exclaimed, 'why, she's alive.' + +'An' kickin', sir,' said a voice that was at once strident and +unctuous. Owing to the almond shape of her sparkling black eyes and +the flatness of her nose, the bridge of which had been broken (most +likely in childhood), she looked absurdly like a Japanese woman, save +that upon her quaintly-cut mouth, curving slightly upwards horse-shoe +fashion, there was that twitter of humorous alertness which is +perhaps rarely seen in perfection except among the lower orders, +Celtic or Saxon, of London. Her build was that of a Dutch +fisher-woman. The set of her head on her muscular neck showed her to +be a woman of immense strength. But still more was her great physical +power indicated by her hands, the fingers of which seemed to have a +grip like that of an eagle's claws. + +I then perceived upon an easel a large drawing. 'I have not seen +Wilderspin's "Faith and Love,"' I said; 'but this, I see, must be a +caricature of it.' + +In it the woman figured as Isis, grinning beneath a veil held over +her head by two fantastically-dressed figures--one having the face of +Darwin, the other the face of Wilderspin. + +'Allow me,' said Cyril, 'to introduce you to the Goddess Yoka, the +true Isis or goddess of bohemianism and universal joke, who, when she +had the chance of I making a rational and common-sense universe, +preferred amusing herself with flamingoes, dromedaries, ring-taile +monkeys, and men.' + +'Pardon me,' I said; 'I merely called to see you. Good afternoon.' + +'Allow me,' said he, turning to the woman, 'to introduce to your +celestial majesty Mr. Henry Aylwin, a kinsman of mine, whose +possessions in Little Egypt are as brilliant (judging from the +colours of his royal waggon) as are his possessions in Philistia.' + +The woman made me a curtsey of much gravity. 'And allow me to +introduce _you_,' he said, turning to me, 'to the real original +Natura Mystica,--she who for ages upon ages has been trying by her +funny goings-on to teach us that "the _Principium hylarchicum_ of the +cosmos" (to use the simple phraseology of a great spiritualistic +painter) is the benign principle of joke.' + +The woman made me another curtsey. 'You forget your exalted position, +Mrs. Gudgeon,' said Cyril; 'when a mystic goddess-queen is so +condescending as to curtsey she should be careful not to bend too +low. Man is a creature who can never with safety be treated with too +much respect.' + +'We's all so modest in Primrose Court, that's the wust on us,' +replied the woman. 'But, Muster Cyril, sir, I don't think you've +noticed that the queen's _t'other_ eye's got dry now.' + +Cyril gravely poured her out a glass of foaming ale from a bottle +that stood upon a little Indian bamboo-table, and handed it to her +carefully over the silks, saying to me, + +'Her majesty's elegant way of hinting that she likes to wet both +eyes!' + +Such foolery as this and at such a time irritated me sorely; but +there was no help for it now. Whether I should or should not open to +him the subject that had taken me thither, I must, I saw, let him +have his humour till the woman was dismissed. + +'And now, goddess,' said he, 'while I am doing justice to the design +of your nose--' + +'You can't do that, sir,' interjected the creature, 'it's sich a +beauty, ha! ha! I allus say that when I do die, I shall die +a-larfin'. They calls me "Jokin' Meg" in Primrose Court. I shall die +a-larfin', they say in Primrose Court, and so I shall--unless I die +a-cryin',' she added in an utterly different and tragic voice which +greatly struck me. + +'While I am trying to do justice to that beautiful bridge you must +tell my friend about yourself and your daughter, and how you and she +first became two shining lights in the art world of London.' + +'You makes me blush,' said the woman, 'an' blow me if blushin' ain't +bin an' made _t'other_ eye dry.' + +She then took another glass of ale, grinned, shook herself, as though +preparing for an effort, and said, + +'Well you must know, sir, as my name's Meg Gudgeon, leaseways that +was my name till my darter chrissened me Mrs. Knocker, and I lives in +Primrose Court, Great Queen Street, and my reg'lar perfession is +a-sellin' coffee "so airly in the mornin'," and I've got a darter as +ain't quite so 'ansom as me, bein' the moral of her father as is over +the water a-livin' in the fine 'Straley. And you must know, sir, that +one of summer's day there comes a knock at our door as sends my 'eart +into my mouth and makes me cry out, "The coppers, by jabbers!" and +when I goes down and opens the door, lo! and behold, there stan's a +chap wi' great goggle eyes, dressed all in shiny black, jest like a +Quaker.' (Here she made a noise between a laugh and a cough.) 'I +allus say that when I do die I shall die a-larfin'--unless I die +a-cryin',' she added, in the same altered voice that had struck me +before. + +'Well, mother,' said Cyril, 'and what did the shiny Quaker say?' + +'They calls me "Jokin' Meg" in Primrose Court. The shiny Quaker, 'e +axes if my name is Gudgeon. "Well," sez I, "supposin' as my name _is_ +Gudgeon,--I don't say it is," says I, "but supposin' as it is,--what +then?" sez I. "But _is_ that your name?" sez 'e. "Supposin' as it +was," sez I, "what then?" "Will you answer my simple kervestion?" sez +'e. "Is your name Mrs. Gudgeon, or ain't it not?" sez 'e. "An' will +_you_ answer _my_ simple kervestion, Mr. Shiny Quaker?" sez I. +"Supposin' my name was Mrs. Gudgeon,--I don't say it _is_, but +supposin' it was,--what's that to you?" sez I, for I thought my poor +bor Bob what lives in the country had got into trouble agin and had +sent for me.' + +'Go on, mother,' said Cyril, 'what did the shiny Quaker say then?' + +'"Well then," sez 'e, "if your name is Mrs. Gudgeon, there is a +pootty gal as is, I am told, a-livin' along o' you." "Oh, oh, my fine +shiny Quaker gent," sez I, an' I flings the door wide open an' there +I stan's in the doorway, "it's _her_ you wants, is it?" sez I. "And +pray what does my fine shiny Quaker gent want wi' my darter?" "Your +darter?" sez 'e, an opens 'is mouth like this, and shets it agin like +a rat-trap. "Yis, my darter," sez I. "I s'pose," sez I, "you think +she ain't 'ansom enough to be my darter. No more she ain't," sez I; +"but she takes arter her father, an' werry sorry she is for it," sez +I. "I want to put her in the way of 'arnin' some money," sez 'e. "Oh, +_do_ you?" sez I. "How very kind! I'm sure it does a pore woman's +'eart good to see how kind you gents is to us pore women's pootty +darters," sez I,--"even shiny Quaker gents as is generally so quiet. +You're not the fust shiny gent," sez I, "as 'ez followed 'er 'um, I +can tell you,--not the fust by a long way; but up to now," sez I, +"I've allus managed to send you all away with a flea in your ears, +cuss you for a lot of wicious warm exits, young and old," sez I, "an' +if you don't get out," sez I--"My good woman, you mistake my +attentions," sez 'e. "Oh no, I don't," sez I, "not a bit on it. It's +sich ole sinners as you in your shiny black coats," sez I, "as I +never _do_ mistake, and if you don't git out there's a pump-'andle +behind this werry door, as my poor bor Bob brought up from the +country for me to sell for him--" "My good woman," sez 'e, "I am a +hartist," sez 'e. "What's that?" sez I. "A painter," sez 'e. "A +painter, air you? you don't look it," sez I. "P'raps it's holiday +time with ye," sez I, "and that makes you look so varnishy. Well, +and what do painters more nor any other trade want with pore women's +pootty darters?" sez I,--"more nor plumbers nor glaziers, nor +bricklayers, for the matter of that?" sez I. "But I ain't a +'ousepainter," sez 'e; "I paints picturs, and I want this gal to set +as a moral," sez 'e. "A moral! an' what's a moral?" sez I. "You ain't +a-goin' to play none o' your shiny-coat larks wi' my pootty darter," +sez I. "I wants to paint her portrait," sez 'e, "an' then put it in a +pictur." "Oh," sez I, "you wants to paint her portrait 'cause she's +such a pootty gal, an' then you wants to make believe you drawed it +out of your own 'ead, an' sell it," sez I. "Oh, but you're a downy +one, you are, an' no mistake," sez I. "But I likes you none the wuss +for that. I likes a downy chap, an' I don't see no objection to that; +but how much will you give to paint my pootty darter?" sez I. "P'raps +I'd better come in," sez he. "P'raps you 'ad, if we're a-comin' to +bisniss," sez I; "so jest make a long leg an' step over them +dirty-nosed child'n o' Mrs. Mix's, a-settin' on my doorstep, an' I +dessay we sha'n't quarrel over a 'undud p'un' or two," sez I. An' +then I bust out a-larfin' agin--I shall die a-larfin'.' And then she +added suddenly in the same tone of sadness, 'if I don't die +a-cryin'.' + +'Really, mother,' said Cyril, 'it is very egotistical of you to +interrupt your story with prophecies about the mood in which you will +probably shuffle off the Gudgeon coil and take to Gudgeon wings. It +is the shiny Quaker we want to know about.' + +'And then the shiny Quaker comes in,' said the woman, 'and I shets +the door, being be'ind 'im, and that skears _'im_ for a moment, till +I bust out a-larfin': "Oh, you needn't be afeard," sez I;--"when we +burgles a Quaker in Primrose Court we never minces 'im for +sossingers, 'e's so 'ily in 'is flavour." Well, sir, to cut a long +story short, I agrees to take my pootty darter to the Quaker gent's +studero; an' I takes 'er nex' day, an' 'e puts her in a pictur. But +afore long,' continued the old woman, leering round at Cyril, 'lo! +and behold, a young swell, p'raps a young lord in disguise (I don't +want to be pussonal, an' so I sha'n't tell his name), 'e comes into +that studero one day when I was a-settlin' up with the Quaker gent +for the week's pay, an' he sets an' admires me, till I sets an' +blushes as I'm a-blushin' at this werry moment; an' when I gits 'ome, +I sez to Polly Onion (that's a pal o' mine as lives on the ground +floor), I sez, "Poll, bring my best lookin'-glass out o' my bowdore, +an' let's have a look at my old chops, for I'm blowed if there ain't +a young swell, p'raps a young lord in disguise, as 'ez fell 'ead over +ears in love with me." And sure enough when I goes back to the +studero the werry nex' time, my young swell 'e sez to me, "It's your +own pootty face as I wants for _my_ moral. I dessay your darter's a +stunner--I ain't seen her yit--but she cain't be nothin' to you." And +I sez to 'im, "In course she ain't, for she takes arter her father's +family, pore gal, and werry sorry she is for it."' + +At this moment a servant entered and said Mr. Wilderspin was waiting +in the hall. + +All hope having now fled of my getting a private word +with Cyril that afternoon, I was preparing to slip I away; but he +would not let me go. + +'I don't want Wilderspin to know about the caricature till it is +finished,' whispered he to me; 'so I told Bunner never to let him +come suddenly upon me. You'd better be off, mother,' he said to the +old woman, 'and come again to-morrow.' + +She bustled up and, throwing off the Japanese finery, left the room, +while Cyril removed the drawing from the easel and hid it away. + +'Isn't she delightful?' ejaculated Cyril. + +'Delightful! What, that old wretch? All that interests me in her is +the change in her voice after she says she will die laughing.' + +'Oh,' said Cyril, 'she seems to be troubled with a drunken son in the +country somewhere, who is always getting into scrapes. Wilderspin's +in love with her daughter, a wonderfully beautiful girl, the finding +of whom at the very moment when he was in despair for the want of the +right model gave the final turn to his head. He thinks she was sent +to him from Paradise by his mother's spirit! He does, I assure you.' + +'Wilderspin in love with a model!' + +'Oh, not _à la_ Raphael.' + +'If you think Wilderspin to be in love with any woman, you little +know what love is,' I exclaimed. 'He is in love with his art and with +that beautiful memory of his mother's self-sacrifice which has +shattered his reason, but built up his genius. Except as a means +towards the production of those pictures that possess him, no model +is anything more to him than his palette-knife. Shall you be alone +this evening?' + +'This evening I dine at Sleaford's. To-morrow I am due in Paris.' + +Wilderspin, who had now entered the studio, seemed genuinely pleased +to see me again, and told me that in a few days he should be able to +borrow 'Faith and Love' of its owner for the purpose of beginning a +replica of it, and hoped then to have the pleasure of showing it to +me. + +'I observed Mrs. Gudgeon in the hall,' said he to Cyril. 'To think +that so unlovely a woman should, through an illusion of the senses, +seem to be the mere material mother of her who was sent to me from +the spirit-world in the very depths of my despair! Wonderful are the +ways of the spirit-world. Ah, Mr. Aylwin, did it never occur to you +how important is the expression of the model from whom you work?' + +'I am not a painter,' I said, 'only an amateur,' trying to stop a +conversation that might run on for an hour. + +'It has never occurred to you! That is strange. Let me read to you a +passage upon this subject just published in _The Art Review_, written +by the great painter D'Arcy.' + +He then took from Cyril's table a number of _The Art Review_, and +began to read aloud:-- + + It is a curious thing that not only the general public, but the art + connoisseurs and the writers upon art, although they know full well + how a painter goes to work in painting a picture, speak and write + as though they thought that the head of a beautiful woman was drawn + from the painter's inner consciousness, instead of from the real + woman who sits to him as a model. Notwithstanding all the technical + excellence of Raphael, his extraordinary good luck in finding the + model that suited his genius had very much to do with his enormous + success and fame. And with all Michael Angelo's instinct for + grandeur, if he had not been equally lucky in regard to models, he + could never adequately have expressed that genius. It is impossible + to give vitality to the painting of any head unless the artist has + nature before him; this is why no true judge of pictures was ever + deceived as to the difference between an original and a copy. It + stands to reason that in every picture of a head, howsoever the + model's features may be idealised, Nature's own handiwork and + mastery must dominate. + +Here Cyril gently took the magazine from Wilderspin's hand, but did +not silence him. 'As I told you in Wales,' said he to me, 'I had an +abundance of imagination, but I wanted some model in order to realise +it. I could never meet a face that came anything nigh my own ideal of +expression as the purely spiritual side of the beauty of woman; and +until I did that I knew that I should achieve nothing whereby the +world might recognise a new power in art. In vain did I try to +idealise such faces as did not please me. And this was because +nothing could satisfy me but the perfect type of expression which not +even Leonardo nor any other painter in the world had found--the true +Romantic type.' + +'I understand you, Mr. Wilderspin,' I said. 'This I perfect type of +expression you eventually found--' + +'In the daughter,' said Cyril, 'of the goddess Gudgeon.' + +'By the blessing of Mary Wilderspin in heaven,' said Wilderspin. + +And then the talk between the two friends ran upon artistic matters, +and I heard no more, for my mind was wandering up and down the London +streets. + +Wilderspin and I left the house together. As we walked along, side by +side, I said to him: 'You spoke just now of your mother's blessing. +Am I really to understand that you in an age like this believe in the +power of human blessings and human curses?' + +'Do I believe in blessings and curses, Mr. Aylwin?' said Wilderspin +solemnly. 'You are asking me whether I am with or without what your +sublime father calls the "most powerful of the primary instincts of +man." He tells us in _The Veiled Queen_ that "Even in this material +age of ours there is not a single soul that does not in its inner +depths acknowledge the power of the unseen world. The most hardened +materialist," says he, "believes in what he calls sometimes 'luck' +and sometimes 'fortune.'" Let me advise you, Mr. Aylwin, to study the +voice of your inspired father. I will send a set of his writings to +your hotel to-morrow. And, Mr. Aylwin, my duty compels me to speak +very plainly to you upon a subject that has troubled me since I had +the honour of meeting you in Wales. There is but one commandment in +the decalogue to which a distinct promise of reward is attached; it +is that which bids us honour our fathers and our mothers. Good-day, +sir.' + + + +IX + +THE PALACE OF NIN-KI-GAL + + +I + +Shortly after this I met my mother at our solicitor's office +according to appointment. As she was on the eve of departing for the +Continent, it was necessary that various family matters should be +arranged. On the day following, as I was about to leave my hotel to +call at Cyril's studio, rather doubtful, after the frivolity I had +lately witnessed, as to whether or not I should unburden my heart to +such a man, he entered my room in company with Wilderspin, the latter +carrying a parcel of books. + +'I have brought your father's works,' Wilderspin said. + +'Thank you very much,' I replied, taking the books. 'And when am I to +call and see your picture? Have you yet got it back from the owner?' + +'"Faith and Love" is now in my studio,' he replied; 'but I will ask +you not to call upon me yet for a few days. I hope to be too busily +engaged upon another picture to afford a moment to any one save the +model--that is,' he added with a sigh, 'should she make her +appearance.' + +'A picture of his called "Ruth and Boaz,"' interposed Cyril. +'Wilderspin is repainting the face from that favourite model of his +of whom you heard so much in Wales. But the fact is the model is +rather out of sorts at this moment, and Wilderspin is fearful that +she may not turn up to-day. Hence the melancholy you see on his face. +I try to console him, however, by assuring him that the daughter of a +mamma with such a sharp appreciation of half-crowns as the lady you +saw at my studio the other day is sure to turn up in due time as +sound as a roach.' + +Wilderspin shook his head gravely. + +'Good heavens!' I muttered, 'when am I to hear the last of painters' +models?' Then turning to Wilderspin, I said, + +'This is the model to whom you feel so deeply indebted?' + +'Deeply indebted, indeed!' exclaimed he in a fervid tone, taking a +chair and playing with his hat between his knees, in his previous +fashion when beginning one of his monologues. 'When I began "Faith +and Love" I worked for weeks and months and years, having but one +thought, how to give artistic rendering to the great idea of the +Renascence of Wonder in Art symbolised in the vignette in your +father's third edition. I was very poor then; but to live upon bread +and water and paint a great picture, and know that you are being +watched by loving eyes above,--there is no joy like that. I found a +model--a fine and beautiful woman, the same magnificent blonde who +sat for so many of the Master's greatest pictures. For a long time my +work delighted me; but after awhile a suspicion, and then a sickening +dread, came upon me that all was not well with the picture. And then +the withering truth broke in upon me, the scales fell from my +eyes--the model's face was beautiful, but it was not right; the +expression I wanted was as far off as ever; there was but one right +expression in the world, and that I could not find. Ah! is there any +pain like that of discovering that all the toil of years has been in +vain, that the best you can do--the best that the spiritual world +permits you to do--is as far off the goal as when you began?' + +'And so you failed after all, Mr. Wilderspin?' I said, anxious to get +him away so that I might talk to Cyril alone upon the one subject at +my heart. + +'I told the model I should want her no more,' said Wilderspin, 'and +for two days and nights I sat in the studio in a dream, and could get +nothing to pass my lips but bread and water. Then it was that Mary +Wilderspin, my mother, remembered me, blessed me--sent me a +spiritual body--' + +'For God's sake!' I whispered to Cyril, 'take the good madman away; +you don't know how his prattle harrows me just now.' + +'Ah! never,' said Wilderspin, 'shall I forget that sunny morning when +was first revealed to me--' + +'My dear fellow,' said Cyril, 'to tell the adventures of that sunny +morning would, as I know from experience, keep us here for the next +three hours. So, as I must not miss my train, and as you cannot spare +a second from "Ruth and Boaz," come along.' + +While I was accompanying them through the corridors of the hotel, +Cyril said: 'You say he is not in love with his model? Don't you see +the sulky looks he gives me? I was the innocent cause of an unlucky +catastrophe with her. I'll tell you about that, however, another +time. Good-bye; I'm off to Paris.' + +'When you return to London,' I said to Cyril, 'I wish to consult you +upon, a matter that concerns me deeply.' + + +II + +On re-entering my room, as I stood and gazed at my father's book _The +Veiled Queen_, I understood something about that fascination which +the bird feels who goes fluttering to the serpent's jaws from sheer +repulsion. 'Am I indeed,' I asked myself, 'that same Darwinian +student who in Switzerland not long since turned over in scorn these +pages, where are enshrined superstitious stories as gross as any of +those told in Fenella Stanley's ignorant letters?' + +In a chapter on 'Love and Death' certain passages showed me how great +must have been the influence of this book on Wilderspin, and I no +longer wondered at what the painter had told me in Wales. I will give +one passage here, because it had a strange effect on my imagination, +as will be soon seen: + +'There is an old Babylonian tablet of Nin-ki-gal, the Queen of Death, +whose abode the tablet thus describes:-- + + To the house men enter, but cannot depart from; + To the road men go, but cannot return; + The abode of darkness and famine, + Where earth is their food--their nourishment clay. + Light is not seen; in darkness they dwell: + Ghosts, like birds, flutter their wings there; + On the gate and the gate-posts the dust lies undisturbed.' + +Another part of the inscription describes Nin-ki-gal on her throne +scattering over the earth the 'Seeds of Life and Death,' and chanting +her responses to the Sibyl, and to the prayers of the shapes kneeling +around her, the dead gods and the souls of all the sons of men. And I +often wonder whether my ancestress, Fenella Stanley, had any +traditional knowledge of the Queen of Death when she had her portrait +painted as the Sibyl. But whether she had or not, I never think of +this Babylonian Sibyl kneeling before Nin-ki-gal, surrounded by gods +and men, without seeing in the Sibyl's face the grand features of +Fenella Stanley. + + THE SIBYL. + + What answer, O Nin-ki-gal? + What answer, O Nin-ki-gal? + Have pity, O Queen of Queens! + + NIN-KI-GAL + + Life's fountain flows, + And still the drink is Death's; + Life's garden blows, + And still 'tis Ashtoreth's; [Footnote] + But all is Nin-ki-gal's. + I lent the drink of Day + To man and beast; + I lent the drink of Day + To gods for feast; + I poured the river of Night + On gods surceased: + Their blood was Nin-ki-gal's. + +[Footnote: Hathor.] + + THE SIBYL. + + What sowest thou, Nin-ki-gal? + What growest thou, Nin-ki-gal? + Have pity, O Queen of Queens! + + NIN-KI-GAL. + + Life-seeds I sow-- + To reap the numbered breaths; + Fair flowers I grow-- + And hers, red Ashtoreth's; + Yea, all are Nin-ki-gal's! + + THE SIBYL. + + What knowest thou, Nin-ki-gal? + What showest thou, Nin-ki-gal? + Have pity, O Queen of Queens! + + NIN-KI-GAL. + + Nor king nor slave I know, + Nor tribes, nor shibboleths; + But Life-in-Death I know-- + Yea, Nin-ki-gal I know-- + Life's Queen and Death's. + +And what was the effect upon me of these communings with the +ancestors whose superstitions I have, perhaps, been throughout this +narrative treating in a spirit that hardly becomes their descendant? + +The best and briefest way of answering this question is to confess +not what I thought, as I went on studying my father's book, its +strange theories and revelations, but what I did. I read the book all +day long: I read it all the next day. I cannot say what days passed. +One night I resumed my wanderings in the streets for an hour or two, +and then returned home and went to bed,--but not to sleep. For me +there was no more sleep till those ancestral voices could be +quelled--till that sound of Winnie's song in the street could be +stopped in my ears. For very relief from them I again leapt out of +bed, lit a candle, unlocked the cabinet, and taking out the amulet, +proceeded to examine the I facets as I did once before when I heard +in the Swiss cottage these words of my stricken father:-- + +'Should you ever come to love as I have loved, you will find that +materialism is intolerable--is hell itself--to the heart that has +known a passion like mine. You will find that it is madness, Hal, +madness, to believe in the word "never"! You will find that you +_dare_ not leave untried any creed, howsoever wild, that offers the +heart a ray of hope.' + +And then while the candle burnt out dead in the socket I sat in a +waking dream. + + +III + +The bright light of morning was pouring through the window. I gave a +start of horror, and cried, 'Whose face?' Opposite to me there seemed +to be sitting on a bed the figure of a man with a fiery cross upon +his breast. That strange wild light upon the face, as it the pains at +the heart were flickering up through the flesh--where had I seen it? +For a moment when, in Switzerland, my father bared his bosom to me, +that ancestral flame had flashed up into his dull lineaments. But +upon the picture of 'The Sibyl' in the portrait-gallery that +illumination was perpetual! + +'It is merely my own reflex in a looking-glass,' I exclaimed. + +Without knowing it I had slung the cross round my neck. + +And then Sinfi Lovell's voice seemed murmuring in my ears, 'Fenella +Stanley's dead and dust, and that's why she can make you put that +cross in your feyther's tomb, and she will, she will.' + +I turned the cross round: the front of it was now next to my skin. +Sharp as needles were those diamond and ruby points as I sat and +gazed in the glass. Slowly a sensation arose on my breast, of pain +that was a pleasure wild and new. _I was feeling the facet_. But the +tears trickling down, salt, through my moustache tears of laughter; +for Sinfi Lovell seemed again murmuring, 'For good or for ill, you +must dig deep to bury your daddy.' + +What thoughts and what sensations were mine as I sat there, pressing +the sharp stones into my breast, thinking of her to whom the sacred +symbol had come, not as a blessing, but as a curse--what agonies were +mine as I sat there sobbing the one word 'Winnie,'--could be +understood by myself alone, the latest blossom of the passionate +blood that for generations had brought bliss and bale to the Aylwins. + +* * * * * + +I cannot tell what I felt and thought, but only what I did. And while +I did it my reason was all the time scoffing at my heart (for whose +imperious behoof the wild, mad things I am about to record were +done)--scoffing, as an Asiatic malefactor will sometimes scoff at the +executioner whose pitiless and conquering saw is severing his +bleeding body in twain. I arose and murmured ironically to Fenella +Stanley as I wrapped the cross in a handkerchief and placed it in a +hand-valise: 'Secrecy is the first thing for us sacrilegists to +consider, dear Sibyl, in placing a valuable jewel in a tomb in a +deserted church. To take any one into our confidence would be +impossible; we must go alone. But to open the tomb and, close it +again, and leave no trace of what has been done, will require all our +skill. And as burglars' jemmies are not on open sale we must buy, on +our way to the railway-station, screw-drivers, chisels, a hammer, and +a lantern; for who should know better than you, dear Sibyl, that the +palace of Nin-ki-gal is dark?' + + +IV + +As I hurried towards the Great Eastern Railway station, I felt like a +horse drawn by a Gypsy whisperer to do something against his own +will, and yet in the street I stopped to buy the tools. Reaching +Dullingham in the afternoon, I lunched there; and as I walked thence +along the cliff, towards Raxton, I became more calm and collected. I +determined not to go near the Hall, lest my movements should be +watched by the servants. The old churchyard was full of workmen of +the navvy kind, and I learned that for the safety of the public it +had now become necessary to hurl down upon the sands some enormous +masses of the cliff newly disintegrated by the land-springs. I +descended the gangway at Flinty Point, and concealing my implements +behind a boulder in the cliff, ascended Needle Point, and went into +the town. + +I had previously become aware, from conversations with my mother, +that Wynne had been succeeded as custodian of the old church by +Shales, the humpbacked tailor, and I apprehended no difficulty in +getting the keys of the church and crypt from my simple-minded +acquaintance, without arousing his suspicions as to my mission. + +Therefore I went at once to the tailor's shop, but found that Shales +was out, attending an annual Odd-Fellows' carousal at Graylingham. +Consequently I was obliged to open my business to his mother, a far +shrewder person, and one who might be much more difficult to deal +with. However, the fact of the navvies being at work so close to a +church whose chancel belonged to my family afforded an excellent +motive for my visit. But before I could introduce the subject to Mrs. +Shales, I had to listen to an exhaustive chronicle of Raxton and +Graylingham doings since I had left. Hence by the time I quitted her +(with a promise to return the keys in the morning) the sun was +setting. + +But, as I walked along Wilderness Road towards the church, a new and +unexpected difficulty presented itself to my mind. I could not, +without running the risk of an interruption, enter the church till +after the Odd-Fellows had all returned from Graylingham, as Shales +and his companions would have to pass along Wilderness Road, which +skirts the churchyard. Shales himself was as short-sighted as a bat; +but his companions had the usual long-sight of agriculturists, and +would descry the slightest movement in the church-yard, or any +glimmer of light at the church windows. + +I would have postponed my enterprise till the morrow; but another +important appointment at the office of our solicitor with my mother, +precluded the possibility of this. So my visit to the catacomb must +perforce be late at night. + +Accordingly I descended the cliff and waited to hear the return of +the carousers. There I sat down upon the well-remembered boulder, +lost in recollections of all that had passed on those sands, while +over the sea the night spread like the widening, darkening wings of +an enormous spectral bird, whose brooding voice was the drone of the +waves as they came nearer and nearer. Then I began to think of what +lay before me, of the strangeness and wildness of my life. + +Then I recalled, with a shudder I could not repress, those sepulchral +chambers beneath the church, which, owing, I believe, to the +directions in an ancestor's will, had been the means of saving it +from demolition after a large portion of the churchyard bad been +condemned as dangerous. Raxton church is the only one along the coast +that can boast a crypt: all the churches are Perpendicular in style, +too late for crypts; a fact which is supposed to indicate that Raxton +was, in very early times, a seaside town of great importance; for the +crypt is much older than the church, and of an entirely different +kind of architecture. It was once a depository for the bones of +Danish warriors killed before the Norman Conquest; it extends not +only beneath the chancel, as in most cases, but beneath both the +transepts. The vaulting (supported partly on low columns of +remarkable beauty and partly on the basement wall of the church) is +therefore of unusual extent. The external door in the churchyard is +now hidden by drifted sand and mould. Many years ago, to give place +to the tombs and coffins of my family, the bones of the old Danes +were piled together in various corners; and the thought of these +bones called up the picture of the abode of 'Nin-ki-gal,' the Queen +of Death, + + Ghosts, like birds, flutter their wings there; + On the gate and the gate-posts the dust lies undisturbed. + +Then my mind began to make pictures for itself of my father lying in +his coffin. I have, I think, already said that his body had been +embalmed, in order to allow of its being conveyed from Switzerland to +England. Therefore I had no dread of being confronted by that +attribute of Death alluded to by D'Arcy which is the most cruel and +terrible of all--corruption. But then what change should I find in +the _expression_ of those features which on the day of the interment +had looked so calm? A thrill ran through my frame as I pictured +myself raising the coffin-lid, and finding expressed upon the face, +in language more appalling than any malediction in articulate +speech--the curse! + +At about ten o'clock I mounted the gangway and waited behind a +deserted bungalow built for Fenella Stanley till I should hear the +Odd-Fellows returning. In a few minutes I heard them approaching. +They were singing snatches of songs they had been entertained with at +Graylingham, and chatting and laughing as they went down Wilderness +Road towards Raxton. As they passed the bungalow and adjoining mill +there was a silence. + +I heard one man say: ''Ez Tom Wynne's ghooast bin seen here o' late?' + +'Nooa, but the Squoire's 'ez,' said another. + +'_I_ say they've both on 'em bin seed,' exclaimed a third voice, +which I recognised to be that of old Lantoff of the 'Fishing +Smack'--'leaseways, if they ain't bin seed they've bin 'eeared. One +Saturday arternoon old Sal Gunn wur in the church a-cleanin' The Hall +brasses, an' jist afore sundown, as she wur a-comin' away, she +'eeared a awful scrimmage an squealin' in the crypt, and she 'eeared +the v'ice o' the Squoire a-callin' out, and she 'eeared Tom Wynne's +v'ice a-cussin' an' a-swearin' at 'im. And more nor that, Sal told me +that on the night when the Squoire wur buried, she seed Tom +a-draggin' the Squoire's body along the churchyard to the cliff; only +she never spoke on it at the time. And Sal says she larnt in a dream +that the moment as Tom went and laid 'is 'and on that 'ere dimind +cross in the coffin, up springs Squoire and claps 'old o' Tom's +throat, and Tom takes 'old on him, and drags him out o' the church, +meanin' to chuck him over the cliffs, when God o' mighty, as wur +a-keepin' 'is eye on Tom all the time, he jist lets go o' the cliffs +and down they falls, and kills Tom, an' buries him an' Squoire tew.' + +'Did you say Sal seed all that in a dream? or did she see it in ole +ale, Muster Lantoff?' said Shales. + +'Well,' replied Lantoff, as the party turned past the bungalow, +'p'raps it wur ole ale as made me see in this very bungaler when I +wur a bor the ghooast o' the great Gypsy lady whose pictur hangs up +at the Hall, her as they used to call the old Squoire's Witch-wife.' +Soon the singing and laughing were renewed; and I stood and listened +to the sounds till they died away in the distance. Then I unlocked +the church door and entered. + + +V + +As I walked down an aisle, the echoes of my footsteps seemed almost +loud enough to be heard on the Wilderness Road. No one could have a +more contemptuous disbelief in ghosts than I, and yet the man's words +about the ghost of Fenella Stanley haunted me. When I reached the +heavy nailed door leading down to the crypt, I lit the lantern. The +rusty key turned so stiffly in the lock, that, to relieve my hands +(which were burdened with the implements I had brought), I slung the +hair-chain of the cross around my neck, intending merely to raise the +coffin-lid sufficiently high to admit of my slipping the amulet in. + +Having, with much difficulty, opened the door, I entered the crypt. +The atmosphere, though not noisome, was heavy, and charged with an +influence that worked an extraordinary effect upon my brain and +nerves. It was as though my personality were becoming dissipated, +until at last it was partly the reflex of ancestral experiences. +Scarcely had this mood passed before a sensation came upon me of +being fanned as if by clammy bat-like wings; and then the idea seized +me that the crypt scintillated with the eyes of a malignant foe. It +was as if the curse which, until I heard Winnie a beggar singing in +the street, had been to me but a collocation of maledictory words, +harmless save in their effect upon her superstitious mind, had here +assumed an actual corporeal shape. In the uncertain light shed by the +lantern, I seemed to see the face of this embodied curse with an +ever-changing mockery of expression; at one moment wearing the +features of my father; at another those of Tom Wynne; at another the +leer of the old woman I had seen in Cyril's studio. + +'It is an illusion,' I said, as I closed my eyes to shut it out; 'it +is an illusion, born of opiate fumes or else of an over-taxed brain +and an exhausted stomach.' Yet it disturbed me as much as if my +reason had accepted it as real. Against this foe I seemed to be +fighting towards my father's coffin as a dreamer lights against a +nightmare, and At last I fell over one of the heaps of old Danish +bones in a corner of the crypt. The candle fell from my lantern, and +I was in darkness. As I sat there I passed into a semi-conscious +state. I saw sitting at the apex of a towering pyramid, built of +phosphorescent human bones that reached far, far above the stars, the +'Queen of Death, Nin-ki-gal,' scattering seeds over the earth below. +At the pyramid's base knelt the suppliant figure of a Sibyl pleading +with the Queen of Death: + + What answer, O Nin-ki-gal? + Have pity, O Queen of Queens! + +And the Sibyl's face was that of Fenella Stanley--her voice was that +of Sinfi Lovell. + +And then from that dizzy height seemed to come a cackling laugh:-- + +'You makes me blush, an' blow me if blushin' ain't bin an' made +_t'other_ eye dry. I lives in Primrose Court, Great Queen Street, an' +my reg'lar perfession is a-sellin' coffee "so airly in the mornin'," +and I've got a darter as ain't quite so 'ansom as me, bein' the moral +of her father.' + +And now in my vision I perceived that Nin-ki-gal's face was that of +the old woman I had seen in Cyril's studio, and that she was dressed +in the same fantastic in which Cyril had bedizened her. + + +VI + +I sprang up, struck a light and relit the candle, and soon reached +the coffin resting on a stone table. I found, on examining it, that +although it had been screwed down after the discovery of the +violation, the work had been so loosely done that a few turns of the +screwdriver were sufficient to set the lid free. Then I paused; for +to raise the loosened lid (knowing as I did that it was only the +blood's inherited follies that had conquered my rationalism and +induced me to disturb the tomb) seemed to require the strength of a +giant. Moreover, the fantastic terror of old Lantoff's story, which +at another time would have made me smile, also took bodily shape, and +the picture of a dreadful struggle at the edge of the cliff between +Winnie's father and mine seemed to hang in the air--a fascinating +mirage of ghastly horror. + +* * * * * + +At last, by an immense effort of will, I closed my eyes and pushed +the lid violently on one side. + +* * * * * + +The 'sweet odours and divers kinds of spices' of the Jewish embalmer +rose like a gust of incense--rose and spread through the crypt like +the sweet breath of a new-born blessing, till the air of the +charnel-house seemed laden with a mingled odour of indescribable +sweetness. Never had any odour so delighted my senses; never had any +sensuous influence so soothed my soul. + +While I stood inhaling the scents of opobalsam, and cinnamon and +myrrh, and wine of palm and oil of cedar, and all the other spices of +the Pharaohs, mingled in one strange aromatic cloud, my personality +seemed again to become, in part, the reflex of ancestral experiences. + +I opened my eyes. I looked into the coffin. The face (which had been +left by the embalmer exposed) confronted mine. 'Fenella Stanley!' I +cried, for the great transfigurer Death had written upon my father's +brow that self-same message which the passions of a thousand Romany +ancestors had set upon the face of her whose portrait hung in the +picture-gallery. And the rubies and diamonds and beryls of the cross +as it now hung upon my breast, catching the light of the opened +lantern in my left hand, shed over the features an indescribable +reflex hue of quivering rose. + +Beneath his head I placed the silver casket: I hung the hair-chain +round his neck: I laid upon his breast the long-loved memento of his +love and the parchment scroll. + +Then I sank down by the coffin, and prayed. I knew not what or why. +But never since the first human prayer was breathed did there rise to +heaven a supplication so incoherent and so wild as mine. Then I rose, +and laying my hand upon my father's cold brow, I said: 'You have +forgiven me for all the wild words that I uttered in my long agony. +They were but the voice of intolerable misery rebelling against +itself. You, who suffered so much--who know so well those flames +burning at the heart's core--those flames before which all the forces +of the man go down like prairie-grass before the fire and wind--you +have forgiven me. You who knew the meaning of the wild word Love--you +have forgiven your suffering son, stricken like yourself. You have +forgiven me, father, and forgiven him, the despoiler of your tomb: +you have removed the curse, and his child--his innocent child--is +free.' + +I replaced the coffin-lid, and screwing it down left the crypt, so +buoyant and exhilarated that I stopped in the churchyard and asked +myself: 'Do I, then, really believe that she was under a curse? Do I +really relieve that my restoring the amulet has removed it? Have I +really come to this?' + +Throughout all these proceedings--yes, even amidst that prayer to +Heaven, amidst that impassioned appeal to my dead father--had my +reason been keeping up that scoffing at my heart which I have before +described. + +I knocked up the landlord of the 'White Hart,' and, turning into bed, +slept my first peaceful sleep since my trouble. + +To escape awkward questions, I did not in the morning take back the +keys to Shales's house myself, but sent them, and walking to +Dullingham took the train to London. + + + +X + +BEHIND THE VEIL + + +I + +When I met my mother at the solicitor's office next day, she was +astonished at my cheerfulness and at the general change in me. As we +left the office together, she said, + +'Everything is now arranged: your aunt and I have decided to accept +Lord Sleaford's invitation to go for a cruise in his yacht. We leave +to-morrow evening. Lord Sleaford has promised to take me to-morrow +afternoon to Mr. Wilderspin's studio, to see the great painter's +portrait of me, which is now, I understand, quite finished.' + +'Why did you not ask me to accompany you, instead of asking +Sleaford?' + +'I did not know that you would care to do so.' 'Dear mother,' I said, +in a tender tone that startled her, 'you must let me go with you and +Sleaford to the studio.' + +She consented, and on the following afternoon I called at my aunt's +house in Belgrave Square. The hall was full of portmanteaux, boxes, +and packages. Sleaford had already arrived, and was waiting with +stolid patience for my mother, who had gone to her room to dress. He +began to talk to me about the astonishing gifts of Cyril Aylwin. + +'Have you made an appointment with Wilderspin?' I said to my mother, +when she entered the room. 'The last time I saw him he seemed to be +much occupied with some disturbing affairs of his own.' + +'Appointment? No,' said she, with an air that seemed to imply that an +Aylwin, even with Gypsy blood in his veins, in calling upon Art, was +conferring upon it a favour to be welcomed at any time. + +'I have not seen this portrait yet,' said Sleaford, as the carriage +moved off; 'but Cyril Aylwin says it is magnificent, and if anybody +knows what's good and what's bad it's Cyril Aylwin.' + +'Do you know,' said my mother to me, 'I have taken vastly to this +eccentric kinsman of ours? I had really no idea that a bohemian could +be so much like a gentleman; but, of course, an Aylwin must always be +an Aylwin.' + +'Haw, haw!' laughed Sleaford to himself, 'that's good about Cyril +Aylwin though--that's dooced good.' + +'We shall see Wilderspin's great picture, "Faith and Love," at the +same time,' I said, as we approached Chelsea; 'for Wilderspin tells +me that he has borrowed it from the owner to make a replica of it.' + +'That is very fortunate,' said my mother. 'I have the greatest desire +to see this picture and its wonderful predella. Wilderspin is one of +the few painters who revert to the predella of the old masters. He is +said to combine the colour of him whom he calls "his master" with the +draughtsmanship and intellect of Shields, whose stained-glass windows +the owner was showing me the other day at Eaton Hall; and do you +know, Henry, that the painter of this wonderful "Faith and Love" is +never tired of declaring that the subject was inspired by your dear +father?' + +When we reached the studio the servant said that Mr. Wilderspin was +much indisposed that afternoon, and was also just getting ready to go +to Paris, where he was to join Mr. Cyril in his studio; 'but perhaps +he would see us,'--an announcement that brought a severe look to my +mother's face, and another half-suppressed 'Haw, haw!' from +Sleaford's deep chest. + +Mounting the broad old staircase, we found ourselves in the studio of +the famous spiritualist-painter--one of two studios; for Wilderspin +had turned two rooms communicating with each other by folding-doors +into a sort of double studio. One of these rooms, which was of +moderate size, fronted the north-east, the other faced the +south-west. There were (as I soon discovered) easels in both. It was +the smaller of these rooms into which we were now shown by the +servant. The walls were covered with sketches and drawings in various +stages, and photographs of sculpture. + +'By Jove, that's dooced like!' said Sleaford, pointing to my mother's +portrait, which was standing on the floor, as though just returned +from the frame-maker's: 'ask Cyril Aylwin if it ain't when you see +him.' + +It was a truly magnificent painting, but more full of imagination +than of actual portraiture. + +One of the windows was open, and the noise of an anvil from a +blacksmith's shop in Maud Street came into the room. + +'Do you know,' said my mother in an undertone, 'that this strange +genius can only, when in London, work to the sound of a blacksmith's +anvil? Nothing will induce him to paint a portrait out of his own +studio; and I observed, when I was sitting to him here, that +sometimes when the noise from the anvil ceased he laid down his brush +and waited for the hideous din to be resumed. + +Wilderspin now came through the folding-doors, and greeted us in his +usual simple, courteous way. But I saw that he was in trouble. 'The +portrait will look better yet,' he said. 'I always leave the final +glazing till the picture is in the frame.' + +After we had thoroughly examined the portrait, we turned to look at a +large canvas upon an easel. Wilderspin had evidently been working +upon it very lately. + +'That's "Ruth and Boaz," don't you know?' said Sleaford. 'Finest crop +of barley I ever saw in my life, judgin' from the size of the +sheaves. Barley paid better than wheat last year. So the farmers all +say.' + +'Don't look at it,' said Wilderspin. 'I have been taking out part of +Ruth, and was just beginning to repaint her from the shoulders +upwards. It will never be finished now,' he continued with a sigh. + +We asked him to allow us to see 'Faith and Love.' + +'It is in the next room,' said he, 'but the predella is here on the +next easel. I have removed it from underneath the picture to work +upon.' + +'The head of Ruth has been taken out,' said my mother, turning to me: +'but isn't it like an old master? You ought to see the marvellous +Pre-Raphaelite pictures at Mr. Graham's and Mr. Leyland's, Henry.' + +'Pre-Raphaelites?' said Wilderspin, 'the Master rhymes, madam, and +Burne-Jones actually _reads_ the rhymes! However, they are on the +right track in art, though neither has the slightest intercourse with +the spirit world, not the slightest.' + +'My exploits as a painter have not been noticeable as yet,' I said; +'but an amateur may know what a barley-field is. That is one before +us. He may know what a man in love is; Boaz there is in love.' + +'I wish we could see the woman's face,' said Sleaford. 'A woman, you +know, without a face--' + +'Come and see the predella of "Faith and Love,"' said Wilderspin, and +he moved towards an easel where rested the predella, a long narrow +picture without a frame. My mother followed him, leaving me standing +before the picture of 'Ruth and Boaz.' Although the head of Ruth had +been painted out, the picture seemed to throb with life. Boaz had +just discovered the Moabitish maiden in the gleaming barley-field, as +she had risen from stooping to glean the corn. Two ears of barley +were in one hand. In the face of Boaz was an expression of surprise, +and his eyes were alight with admiration. The picture was finished +with the exception of the face of Ruth, which was but newly sketched +in. Wilderspin had contrived to make her attitude and even the very +barley-ears in her hand (one of which was dangling between her +slender fingers in the act of falling) express innocent perturbation +and girlish modesty. + + +II + +At length I joined the others, who were standing before the easel, +looking at the predella which, as Wilderspin again took care to tell +us, had been removed from the famous picture of 'Faith and Love' we +were about to see in the next room--'the culmination and final +expression of the Renascence of Wonder in Art.' + +'Perhaps it is fortunate,' said he, 'that I happen to be working at +this very time upon the predella, which acts as a key to the meaning +of the design. You will now have the advantage of seeing the predella +before you see the picture itself. And really it would be to the +advantage of the picture if every one could see it under like +circumstances; it would add immensely to the effect of the design. +Look well and carefully at the predella first. Try to imagine the +Oriental Queen behind that veil, then observe the way in which the +features are expressed through the veil; and then, but not till then, +come into the adjoining room and see the picture itself, see what +Isis really is (according to the sublime idea of Philip Aylwin) when +Faith and Love, the twin angels of all true art, upraise the veil.' + +He then turned and passed through the folding-doors into a room of +great size, crowded with easels, upon which pictures were resting. + +The predella before me seemed a miracle of imaginative power. At that +time I had not seen the work of the great poet-painter of modern +times whom Wilderspin called 'the Master,' and by whom he had been +unconsciously inspired. + +'Most beautiful!' my mother ejaculated, as we three lingered before +the predella. 'Do look at the filmy texture of the veil.' + +'Looks more like steam than a white veil, don't you know?' said +Sleaford. + +'Like steam, my lord?' exclaimed Wilderspin from the next room. 'The +painter of that veil had peculiar privileges. As a child he had been +in the habit of watching a face through the curtain of steam around a +blacksmith's forge when hot iron is plunged into the water-trench, +and the face, my lord, though begrimed by earthly toil, was an +angel's. No wonder, then, that the painting in that veil is unique in +art. The flesh-tints that are pearly and yet rosy seem, as you +observe, to be breaking through it, and yet you cannot say what is +the actual expression on the face. But now come and see the picture +itself.' + +My mother and Sleaford lingered for a moment longer, and then passed +between the folding-doors. + +But I did not follow them; I could not. For now there was something +in the predella before me which fascinated me, I scarcely knew why. +It was the figure of the queen--the figure between the two sleeping +angels--the figure behind the veil, and expressed by the veil--that +enthralled me. + +There was a turn about the outlined neck and head that riveted my +gaze; and, as I looked from these to the veil falling over the face, +a vision seemed to be rapidly growing before my eyes--a vision that +stopped my breath--a vision of a face struggling to express itself +through that snowy film--_whose_ face? + +* * * * * + +'In the crypt my senses had a kind of license to play me tricks,' I +murmured; 'but now and here my reason _shall_ conquer.' + +And I stood and gazed at the veil. During all the time I could hear +every word of the talk between Wilderspin, Sleaford, and my mother +before the picture in the other room. + +'Awfully fine picture,' said Sleaford, 'but the Queen there--Isis: +more like a European face than an Egyptian. I've been to Egypt a good +deal, don't you know?' + +'This is not an historical painting, my lord. As Philip Aylwin says, +"the only soul-satisfying function of art is to give what Zoroaster +calls 'apparent pictures of unapparent realities.'" Perfect beauty +has no nationality; hers has none. All the perfections of woman +culminate in her. How can she then be disfigured by paltry +characteristics of this or that race or nation? In looking at that +group, my lord, nationality is forgotten, and should be forgotten. +She is the type of Ideal Beauty whose veil can never be raised save +by the two angels of all true art, Faith and Love. She is the type of +Nature, too, whose secret, as Philip Aylwin says, "no science but +that of Faith and Love can read."' + +'Seems to be the type of a good deal; but it's all right, don't you +know? Awfully fine picture! Awfully fine woman!' said Sleaford in a +conciliatory tone. 'She's a good deal fairer, though, than any +Eastern women I've seen; but then I suppose she has worn a veil al +her life up to now. Most of 'em take sly peeps, and let in the hot +Oriental sun, and that tans 'em, don't you know?' + +'And the original of this face?' I heard my mother say in a voice +that seemed agitated; 'could you tell me something about the original +of this remarkable face?' 'The model?' said Wilderspin. 'We are not +often asked about our models, but a model like that would endow +mediocrity itself with genius, for, though apparently, and by way of +beneficent illusion, the daughter of an earthly costermonger, she was +a wanderer from another and a better world. She is not more beautiful +here than when I saw her first in the sunlight on that memorable day, +at the corner of Essex Street, Strand, bare-headed, her shoulders +shining like patches of polished ivory here and there through the +rents in her tattered dress, while she stood gazing before her, +murmuring a verse of Scripture, perfectly unconscious whether she was +dressed in rags or velvet; her eyes--' + +'The eyes--it _is_ the eyes, don't you know--it is the eyes that are +not quite right,' said Sleaford. 'Blue eyes with black eyelashes are +awfully fine; you don't see 'em in Egypt. But I suppose that's the +type of something too. Types always floor me, don't you know?' + +'But the scene is no longer Egypt, my lord; it is Corinth,' replied +Wilderspin. + +During this dialogue I stood motionless before the predella: I could +not stir; my feet seemed fixed in the floor by what can only be +described as a wild passion of expectation. As I stood there a +marvellous change appeared to be coming over the veiled figure of the +predella. The veil seemed to be growing more and more filmy--more and +more like the 'steam' to which Sleaford had compared it, till at last +it resolved itself into a veil of mist--into the rainbow-tinted +vapours of a gorgeous mountain sunrise--and looking straight at me +were two blue eyes sparkling with childish happiness and childish +greeting, through flushed mists across a pool on Snowdon. + +That she was found at last my heart knew, though my brain was dazed. +That in the next room, within a few yards of me, my mother and +Sleaford and Wilderspin were looking at the picture of Winifred's +face unclouded by the veil, my heart knew as clearly as though my +eyes were gazing at it, and yet I could not stir. Yes, I knew that +she was now neither a beggar in the street, nor a prisoner in one of +the dens of London, nor starving in a squalid garret, but was safe +under the sheltering protection of a good man. I knew that I had only +to pass between those folding-doors to see her in Wilderspin's +picture--see her dressed in the 'azure-coloured tunic bordered with +stars,' and the upper garment of the 'colour of the moon at +moonrise,' which Wilderspin had so vividly described in Wales; and +yet, paralysed by expectation, I could not stir. + + +III + +Soon I was conscious that my mother, Sleaford, and Wilderspin were +standing by my side, that Wilderspin's hand was laid on my arm, and +that I was pointing at the predella--pointing and muttering, + +'She lives! She is saved.' + +My mother led me into the other studio, and I stood before the great +picture. Wilderspin and Sleaford, feeling that something had occurred +of a private and delicate nature, lingered out of hearing in the +smaller studio. + +'I must be taken to her at once,' I muttered to my mother; 'at once.' + +So living was the portrait of Winifred that I felt that she must be +close at hand. I looked round to see if she herself were not standing +by me dressed in the dazzling draperies gleaming from Wilderspin's +superb canvas. + +But in place of Winifred the profile of my mother's face, cold, +proud, and white, met my gaze. Again did the stress of overmastering +emotion make of me a child, as it had done on the night of the +landslip. 'Mother!' I said, 'you see who it is?' + +She made no answer: she stood looking steadfastly at the picture; but +the tremor of the nostrils, the long deep breaths she drew, told me +of the fierce struggle waging within her breast between conscience +and pity, with rage and cruel pride. My old awe of her returned. I +was a little boy again, trembling for Winnie. In some unaccountable +and, I believe, unprecedented way I had always felt that she, my own +mother, belonged to some haughty race superior to mine and Winnie's; +and nothing but the intensity of my love for Winnie could ever have +caused me to rebel against my mother. + +'Dear mother,' I murmured, 'all the mischief and sorrow and pain are +ended now; and we shall all be happy; for you have a kind heart, +dear, and cannot help loving poor Winnie, when you come to know her.' + +She made no answer save that her lips slowly reddened again after the +pallor; then came a quiver in them, as though pity were conquering +pride within her breast, and then that contemptuous curl that had +often in the past cowed the heart of the fearless and pugnacious boy +whom no peril of sea or land could appal. + +'She is found,' I said. 'And, mother, there is no longer an +estrangement between you and me. I forgive you everything now.' + +I leapt from her as though I had been stung, so sudden and unexpected +was the look of scorn that came over her face as she said, 'You +forgive me!' It recalled my struggle with her on that dreadful +night: and in a moment I became myself again. The pleading boy +became, at a flash, the stern and angry man that misery had made him. +With my heart hedged once more with points of steel to all the world +but Winnie, I turned away. I did not know then that her attitude +towards me at this moment came from the final struggle in her breast +between her pride and that remorse which afterwards took possession +of her and seemed as though it would make the remainder of her life a +tragedy without a smile in it. At that moment Wilderspin and Sleaford +came in from the smaller studio. 'Where is she?' I said to +Wilderspin. 'Take me to her at once--take me to her who sat for this +picture. It is she whom I and Sinfi Lovell were seeking in Wales.' + +A look of utter astonishment, then one of painful perplexity, came +over his face--a look which I attributed to his having heard part of +the conversation between my mother and myself. + +'You mean the--the--model? She is not here, Mr. Aylwin,' said he. +'The same young lady you were seeking in Wales! Mysterious indeed are +the ways of the spirit world!' and then his lips moved silently as +though in prayer. + +'Where is she?' I asked again. + +'I will tell you all about her soon--when we are alone,' he said in +an undertone. 'Does the picture satisfy you?' + +The picture! He was thinking of his art. Amid all that gorgeous +pageant in which mediæval angels; were mixed with classic youths and +flower-crowned; maidens, in such a medley of fantastic beauty as +could never have been imagined save by a painter; who was one-third +artist, one-third madman, and one-third seer--amid all the marvels of +that strange, uncanny culmination of the neo-Romantic movement in Art +which had excited the admiration of one set of the London critics and +the scorn of others, I had really and fully seen but one face--the +face of Isis, or Pelagia, or Eve, or _Natura Benigna_, or whosoever +she was looking at me with those dear eyes of Winnie's which were my +very life--looking at me with the same bewitching, indescribable +expression that they wore when she sat with her 'Prince of the Mist' +on Snowdon. I tried to take in the _ensemble_. In vain! Nothing but +the face and figure of Winifred--crowned with seaweed as in the +Raxton photograph--could stay for the thousandth part of a second +upon my eyes. + +'Wilderspin,' I said, 'I cannot do the picture justice at this +moment. I must see it again--after I have seen her. Where is she? Can +I not see her now?' + +'You cannot.' + +'Can I not see her to-day?' + +'You cannot. I will tell you soon, and I have much to tell you,' said +Wilderspin, looking uneasily round at my mother, who did not seem +inclined to leave us. 'I will tell you all about her when--when you +are sufficiently calm.' + +'Tell me now,' I said. + +'Gad! this is a strange affair, don't you know? It would puzzle Cyril +Aylwin himself,' said Sleaford. 'What the dooce does it all mean?' + +'Is she safe?' I cried to Wilderspin. + +There was a pause. + +'Is she safe?' I cried again. + +'Quite safe,' said Wilderspin, in a tone whose solemnity would have +scared me had the speaker been any other person than this eccentric +creature. 'When you are less agitated, I will tell you all about +her.' + +'No! now, now!' + + +IV + +'Well, Mr. Aylwin,' said Wilderspin, 'when I first saw your father's +book, _The Veiled Queen_, it was the vignette on the title-page +that attracted me. In the eyes of that beautiful child-face, even as +rendered by a small reproduction, there was the very expression that +my soul had been yearning after--the expression which no painter of +woman's beauty had ever yet caught and rendered. I felt that he who +could design or suggest to a designer such a vignette must be +inspired, and I bought the book: it was as an artist, not as a +thinker, that I bought the book for the vignette. When, on reading +it, I came to understand the full meaning of the design, such sweet +comfort and hope did the writer's words give me, that I knew at once +who had impressed me to read it--I knew that my mission in life was +to give artistic development to the sublime ideas of Philip Aylwin. +I began the subject of "Faith and Love." But the more I tried to +render the expression that had fascinated me the more impossible did +the task seem to me. Howsoever imaginative may be any design, the +painter who would produce a living picture must paint from life, and +then he has to fight against his model's expression. Do you remember +my telling you the other day how the spirit of Mary Wilderspin in +heaven came upon me in my sore perplexity and blessed me--sent me a +spiritual body--led me out into the street, and--' + +'Yes, yes, I remember; but what happened?' + +'We will sit,' said Wilderspin. + +He placed chairs for us, and I perceived that my mother did not +intend to go. + +'Well,' he continued, 'on that sunny morning I was impressed to +leave my studio and go out into the streets. It was then that I found +what I had been seeking,--the expression in the beautiful child-face +off the vignette.' + +'In the street!' I heard my mother say to herself. 'How did it come +about?' she asked aloud. + +'It had long been my habit to roam about the streets of London +whenever I could afford the time to do so, in the hope of finding +what I sought, the fascinating and indescribable expression on that +one lovely child-face. Sometimes I believed that I had found this +expression. I have followed women for miles, traced them home, +introduced myself to them, told them of my longings; and have then, +after all, come away in bitter disappointment. The insults and +revilings I have, on these occasions, sometimes submitted to I will +narrate to no man, for they would bring me no respect in a cynical +age like this--an age which Carlyle spits at and the great and good +John Ruskin chides. Sometimes my dear friend Mr. Cyril has +accompanied me on these occasions, and he has seen how I have been +humiliated.' + +An involuntary 'haw, haw!' came from Sleaford, but looking towards my +mother and perceiving that she was listening with intense eagerness, +he said: 'Ten thousand pardons, but Cyril Aylwin's droll +stories,--don't you know? they will--hang it all--keep comin' up and +makin' a fellow laugh.' + +'Well,' continued Wilderspin, 'on that memorable morning I was +impressed to walk down the street towards Temple Bar. I was passing +close to the wall to escape the glare of the sun, when I was stopped +suddenly by a sight which I knew could only have been sent to me in +that hour of perplexity by her who had said that Jesus would let her +look down and watch her boy. Moreover, at that moment the noise of +the Strand seemed to cease in my ears, which were rilled with the +music I love best--the only music that I have patience to listen +to--the tinkle of a black-smith's anvil.' + +'Blacksmith's anvil in the Strand?' said Sleaford. + +'It was from heaven, my lord, that the music fell like rain; it was +a sign from Mary Wilderspin who lives there.' + +'For God's sake be quick!' I exclaimed. 'Where was it?' + +'At the corner of Essex Street. A bright-eyed, bright-haired girl in +rags was standing bare-headed, holding out boxes of matches for sale, +and murmuring words of Scripture. This she was doing quite +mechanically, as it seemed, and unobservant of the crowd passing +by,--individuals of whom would stop for a moment to look at her; some +with eyes of pure admiration and some with other eyes. The squalid +attire in which she was clothed seemed to add to her beauty.' + +'My poor Winnie!' I murmured, entirely overcome. + +'She seemed to take as little heed of the heat and glare as of the +people, but stood there looking before her, murmuring texts from +Scripture as though she were communing with the spiritual world. Her +eyes shook and glittered in the sunshine; they seemed to emit lights +from behind the black lashes surrounding them; the ruddy lips were +quivering. There was an innocence about her brow, and yet a mystic +wonder in her eyes which formed a mingling of the child-like with the +maidenly such as--' + +'Man! man! would you kill me with your description?' I cried. Then +grasping Wilderspin's hand, I said, 'But,--but was she begging, +Wilderspin? Not literally begging! My Winnie! my poor Winnie!' + +My mother looked at me. The gaze was full of a painful interest; but +she recognised that between me and her there now was rolling an +infinite sea or emotion, and her eyes drooped before mine as though +she had suddenly invaded the privacy of a stranger. + +'She was offering matches for sale,' said Wilderspin. + +'Winnie! Winnie! Winnie!' I murmured. 'Did she seem emaciated, +Wilderspin? Did she seem as though she wanted food?' + +'Heaven, no!' exclaimed my mother. + +'No,' replied Wilderspin firmly. 'On that point who is a better judge +than the painter of "Faith and Love"? She did not want food. The +colour of the skin was not--was not--such as I have seen--when a +woman is dying for want of food.' + +'God bless you, Wilderspin, God bless you! But what then?--what +followed?' + +'Well, Mr. Aylwin, I stood for some time gazing at her, muttering +thanks to my mother for what I had found. I then went up to her, and +asked her for a box of matches. She held me out a box, mechanically, +as it seemed, and, when I had taken it of her, she held out her hand +just as though she had been a real earthly beggar-girl; but that was +part of the beneficent illusion of Heaven.' + +'That was for the price, don't you know?' said Sleaford. 'What did +you give her?' + +'I gave her a shilling, my lord, which she looked at for some time in +a state of bewilderment. She then began to feel about her as if for +something.' + +'She was feelin' for the change, don't you know?' said Sleaford, not +in the least degree perceiving how these interruptions of a prosaic +mind were maddening me. + +'I told her that I wanted to speak to her,' continued Wilderspin, +'and asked her where she lived. She gave me the same bewildered, +other-world look with which she had regarded the shilling, a look +which seemed to say, "Go away now: leave me alone!" As I did not go, +she began to appear afraid of me, and moved away towards Temple Bar, +and then crossed the street. I followed, as far behind as I could +without running the danger of losing sight of her, to a wretched +place running out of Great Queen Street. Holborn, which I afterwards +found was called Primrose Court, and when I got there she had +disappeared in one of the squalid houses opening into the court. I +knocked at the first door once or twice before an answer came, and +then a tiny girl with the face of a woman opened it. "Is there a +beggar-girl living here?" I asked. "No," answered the child in a +sharp, querulous voice. "You mean Meg Gudgeon's gal wot sings and +does the rainy-night dodge. She lives next house." And the child +slammed the door in my face. I knocked at the next door, and after +waiting for a minute it was opened by a short, middle-aged woman, +with black eyes and a flattened nose, who stared at me, and then +said, "A Quaker, by the looks o' ye." She had the strident voice of a +raven, and she smelt, I thought, of gin.' + +'But, Mr. Wilderspin, Mr. Wilderspin, you said the girl was safe!' + +It was my mother's voice, but so loud, sharp, and agonised was it +that it did not seem to be her voice at all. In that dreadful moment, +however, I had no time to heed it. At the description of the hideous +den and the odious Mrs. Gudgeon, whose face as I had seen it in +Cyril's studio had haunted me in the crypt, a dreadful shudder +passed through my frame; an indescribable sense of nausea stirred +within me; and for a moment I felt as though the pains of +dissolution were on me. And there was something in Wilderspin's +face--what was it?--that added to my alarm. 'Stay for a moment,' I +said to him; 'I cannot yet bear to hear any more.' + +'I know the dread that has come upon you, and upon your kind, +sympathetic mother,' said he; 'but she you are disturbed about was +not a prisoner in the kind of place my words seem to describe.' + +'But the woman?' said my mother. 'How could she be safe in such +hands?' + +'Has he not said she is safe?' I cried, in a voice that startled even +my own ears, so loud and angry it was, and yet I hardly knew why. + +'You forget,' said Wilderspin, turning to my mother, 'that the whole +spiritual world was watching over her.' + +'But was the place very--was it so very squalid?' said my mother. +'Pray describe it to us, Mr. Wilderspin; I am really very anxious.' + +'No!' I said; 'I want no description: I shall go and see for myself.' + +'But; Henry, I am most anxious to know about this poor girl, and I +want Mr. Wilderspin to tell us how and where he found her.' + +'The "poor girl" concerns me alone, mother. Our calamities--Winnie's +and mine--are between us two and God....You engaged her, Wilderspin, +of the woman whom I saw at Cyril's studio, to sit as a model? What +passed when she came?' + +'The woman brought her next day,' said Wilderspin, 'and I sketched in +the face of Pelagia as Isis at once. I had already taken out the face +of the previous model that had dissatisfied me. I now took out the +figure too, for the figure of this new model was as perfect as her +face.' + +'Go on, go on. What occurred?' + +'Nothing, save that she stood dumb, like one who had no language save +that of another world. But at the second sitting she had a fit of a +most dreadful kind.' + +'Ah! Tell me quickly,' I said. Her face became suddenly distorted by +an expression of terror such as I had never seen and never imagined +possible. I have caught it exactly in my picture "Christabel." She +revived and tried to run out of the studio. Her mother and I seized +her, and she then fell down insensible.' + +'What occasioned the fit? What had frightened her?' + +'That is what I am not quite certain about. When she entered the +studio she fixed her eyes upon a portrait which I had been working +upon; but that must have been merely a coincidence.' + +'A portrait!' I cried. And Winifred's scared expression when she +encountered my mother's look of hate in the churchyard came back to +me like a scene witnessed in a flash of lightning. 'The portrait was +my mother's?' + +'It was the face of the kind, tender, and noble lady your mother,' +said Wilderspin gently. + +I gave a hurried glance at my mother, and saw the pallor of her +face,--but to me the world held now only two realities, Winifred and +Wilderspin; all other people were dreams, obtrusive and irritating +dreams. 'Go on, go on,' I said. + +'She recovered,' continued Wilderspin, 'and seemed to have forgotten +all about the portrait, which I had put away.' + +'Did she talk?' + +'Never, Mr. Aylwin,' said Wilderspin solemnly. 'Nor did I invite her +to talk, knowing whence she came--from the spirit-world. At the first +few sittings Mrs. Gudgeon came with her, and would sit looking on +with the intention of seeing that she came to no harm. She said her +daughter was very beautiful, and she, her mother, never trusted her +with men.' + +'God bless the hag, God bless her; but go on!' + +'Gradually Mrs. Gudgeon seemed to acquire more confidence in me; and +one day, on leaving, she lingered behind the girl, and told me that +her daughter, though uncommonly stupid and a little touched in the +head, had now learnt her way to my studio, and that in future she +should let her come alone, as she believed that she could trust her +with me. She warned me earnestly, however, not to "worrit" the girl +by asking her all sorts of questions.' + +'And there she was right,' I cried. 'But you did ask her +questions,--I see you did, you asked her about her father and brought +on another catastrophe.' + +'No,' said Wilderspin with gentle dignity; 'I was careful not to ask +her questions, for her mother told me that she was liable to fits.' + +'Mr. Wilderspin, I beg your pardon,' I said. + +'I see you are deeply troubled,' said he; 'but, Mr. Aylwin, you need +not beg my pardon. Since I saw Mary Wilderspin, my mother, die for +her children, no words of mere Man have been able to give me pain.' + +'Go on, go on. What did the woman say to you?' + +'She said, "The fewer questions you ask her the better, and don't pay +her any money. She'd only lose it; I'll come for it at the proper +times." From that day the model came to the sittings alone, and Mrs. +Gudgeon came at the end of every week for the money.' + +'And did the model maintain her silence all this time?' + +'She did. She would, every few minutes, sink into a reverie, and +appear to be stone-deaf. But sometimes her face would become suddenly +alive with all sorts of shifting expressions. A few days ago she had +another fit, exactly like the former one. That was on the day +preceding my call at your hotel with your father's books. This time +we had much more difficulty in bringing her round. We did so at last; +and when she was gone I gave the final touch to my picture of "The +Lady Geraldine and Christabel." I was at the moment, however, at work +upon "Ruth and Boaz," which I had painted years before--removing the +face of Ruth originally there. I worked long at it; and as she was +not coming for two days I kept steadily at the picture. This was the +day on which I called upon you, wishing you to postpone your visit, +lest you should interrupt me while at work upon the head of Ruth, +which I was hoping to paint. On Thursday I waited for her at the +appointed hour, but she did not come, and I saw her no more.' + + +V + +'Mr. Wilderspin,' I said, as I rose hurriedly, with the intention of +going at once in search of Winifred, 'let me see the picture you +allude to--"Christabel," and then tell me where to find her.' + +'Better not see it!' said Wilderspin solemnly; 'there's something to +tell you yet, Mr. Aylwin.' + +'Yes, yes; but let me see the picture first. I can bear anything now. +Howsoever terrible it may be, I can bear it now; for she's +found--she's safe.' And I rushed into the next room, and began +turning round in a wild manner one after another some dozens of +canvases that were standing on the floor and leaning against the +wall. + +Half the canvases had been turned, and then I came upon what I +sought. + +I stood petrified. But I heard Wilderspin's voice at my side say, 'Do +not let an imaginary scene distress you, Mr. Aylwin. The picture +merely represents the scene in Coleridge's poem where the Lady +Christabel, having secretly and in pity brought to her room to share +her bed the mysterious lady she had met in the forest at midnight, +watches the beautiful witch undress, and is spell-bound and struck +dumb by some "sight to dream of, not to tell," which she sees at the +lady's bosom.' + +* * * * * + +Christabel! It was Winifred sitting there upright in bed, confronted +by a female figure--a tall lady, who with bowed head was undressing +herself beneath a lamp suspended from the ceiling. Christabel! It was +Winifred gazing at this figure--gazing as though fascinated; her dark +hair falling and tumbling down her neck, till it was at last partly +lost between her shining bosom and her nightdress. Yes, and in her +blue eyes there was the same concentration of light, there was the +same uprolling of the lips, there was the same dreadful gleaming of +the teeth, the same swollen veins about the throat that I had seen in +Wales. No wonder that at first I could see only the face and figure +of Winifred. My consciousness had again dwindled to a single point. +In a few seconds, however, I perceived that the scene was an antique +oak-panelled chamber, corniced with large and curiously-carven +figures, upon which played the warm light from a silver lamp +suspended from the middle of the ceiling by a twofold silver chain +fastened to the feet of an angel, quaintly carved in the dark wood of +the ceiling. It was beneath this lamp that stood the majestic figure +of the beautiful stranger, the Lady Geraldine. As she bent her head +to look at her bosom, which she was about fully to uncover, the +lamp-light gleaming among the gems and flashing in her hair and down +her loosened white silken robe to her naked feet, shining, +blue-veined and half-hidden in the green rushes that covered the +floor, she seemed to be herself the source from which the lurid light +was shed about the room. But her eyes were brighter than all. They +were more dreadful by far to look at than Winifred's own--they were +rolling wildly as if in an agony of hate, while she was drawing in +her breath till that marble throat of hers seemed choking. It was not +upon her eyes, however, that Winifred's were fixed: it was upon the +lady's bosom, for out from beneath the partially-loosened robes that +covered that bosom a tiny fork of flame was flickering like a +serpent's tongue ruddy from the fires of a cruel and monstrous hate +within. + +This sight was dreadful enough; but it was not the terror on +Winifred's face that now sent me reeling against Sleaford, who with +my mother had followed me into the smaller room. Whose figure was +that, and whose was the face which at first I had half-recognised in +the Lady Geraldine? My mother's! + +In painting this subject Wilderspin had, without knowing it, worked +with too strong a reminiscence of my mother's portrait, unconscious +that he was but giving expression to the awful irony of Heaven. + +I turned round. Wilderspin was supporting with difficulty my mother's +dead weight. For the first time (as I think) in her life, she whom, +until I came to know Sinfi Lovell, I had believed to be the +strongest, proudest, bravest woman living, had fainted. + +'Dear me!' said Wilderspin, 'I had no idea that Christabel's terror +was so strongly rendered,--no idea! Art should never produce an +effect like this. Romantic art knows nothing of a mere sensational +illusion. Dear me!--I must soften it at once.' + +He was evidently quite unconscious that he had given my mother's +features to Geraldine, and attributed the effect to his own +superlative strength as a dramatic artist. + +I ran to her: she soon recovered, but asked to be taken to Belgrave +Square at once. Wild as I was with the desire to go in quest of +Winifred; goaded as I was by a new, nameless, shapeless dread which +certain words of Wilderspin's had aroused, but which (like the dread +that had come to me on the night of my father's funeral) was too +appalling to confront, I was obliged to leave the studio and take my +mother to the house of my aunt, who was, I knew, waiting to start for +the yacht. + + + +XI + +THE IRONY OF HEAVEN + + +I + +As we stepped into the carriage, Sleaford, full of sympathy, jumped +in. This fortunately prevented a conversation that would have been +intolerable both to my mother and to me. + +'Studio oppressively close,' said Sleaford; 'usual beastly smell of +turpentine and pigments and things. Why the dooce don't these fellows +ventilate their studios before they get ladies to go to see their +paintin's!' This he kept repeating, but got no response from either +of us. + +As to me, let me honestly confess that I had but one thought: how +much time would be required to go to Belgrave Square and back to the +studio, to learn the whereabouts of Winifred. 'But she's safe,' I +kept murmuring, in answer to that rising dread: 'Wilderspin said she +was safe.' + +During that drive to Belgrave Square, he whose bearing towards my +mother was that of the anxious, loving son was not I, the only living +child of her womb, but poor, simple, empty-headed Sleaford. + +When we reached Belgrave Square my mother declared that she had +entirely recovered from the fainting fit, but I scarcely dared to +look into those haggard eyes of hers, which showed only too plainly +that the triumph of remorse in her bosom was now complete. My aunt, +who seemed to guess that something lowering to the family had taken +place, was impatient to get on board the yacht. I saw how my mother +now longed to remain and learn the upshot of events; but I told her +that she was far better away now, and that I would write to her and +keep her posted up in the story day by day. I bade them a hurried +'Good-bye.' + +'How shall I be able to stay out of England until I know all about +her?' said my mother. 'Go back and learn all about her, Henry, and +write to me; and be sure to get and take care of that dreadful +picture, and write to me about that also.' + +When the carriage left I walked rapidly along the Square, looking +for a hansom. In a second or two Sleaford was by my side. He took my +arm. + +'I suppose you're goin' back to cane him, aren't you?' said he. + +'Cane whom?' I said impatiently, for that intolerable thought which +I have hinted at was now growing within my brain, and I must, _must_ +be alone to grapple with it. + +'Cane the d----d painter, of course,' said Sleaford, opening his +great blue eyes in wonder that such a question should be asked. +'Awfully bad form that fellow goin' and puttin' your mother in the +picture. But that's just the way with these fellows.' + +'What do you mean?' I asked again. + +'What do I mean? The paintin' and writin' fellows. You can't make a +silk purse out of a sow's ear, as I've often and often said to Cyril +Aylwin; and by Jove, I'm right for once. I suppose I needn't ask you +if you're going back to cane him.' + +'Wilderspin did what he did quite unconsciously,' I replied, as I +hailed a hansom. 'It was the finger of God.' + +'The finger of--Oh come! That be hanged, old chap.' + +'Good-bye,' I said, as I jumped into the hansom. + +'But you don't mean to say you are goin' to let a man put your mother +into--' + +I heard no more. The terrible idea which had been growing in my +brain, shaping itself out of a nebulous mass of reminiscences of what +had just occurred at the studio, was now stinging me to madness. +Wilderspin's extreme dejection, the strange way in which he had +seemed inclined to evade answering my question as to the safety of +Winifred, the look of pity on his face as at last he answered 'quite +safe'--what did all these indications portend? At every second the +thought grew and grew, till my brain seemed like a vapour of fire, +and my eyeballs seemed to scorch their sockets as I cried aloud: +'Have I found her at last to lose her?' + +On reaching the studio door I rapped: before the servant had time to +answer my summons, I rapped again till the sounds echoed along the +street. When my summons was answered, I rushed upstairs. Wilderspin +stood at the studio door, listening, apparently, to the sound of the +blacksmith's anvil coming in from the back of Maud Street through the +open window. Though his sorrowful face told all, I cried out, +'Wilderspin, she's safe? You said she was safe?' + +'My friend,' said Wilderspin solemnly, 'the news I have to give you +is news that I knew you would rather receive when you could hear it +alone.' + +'You said she was safe!' + +'Yes, safe indeed! She whom you, under some strange but no doubt +beneficent hallucination, believe to be the lady you lost in Wales, +is safe indeed, for she is in the spirit-land with her whose blessing +lent her to me--she has returned to her who was once a female +blacksmith at Oldhill, and is now the brightest, sweetest, purest +saint in Paradise.' + +Dead! My soul had been waiting for the word--expecting it ever since +I left the studio with my mother--but now it sounded more dreadful +than if it had come as a surprise. + +'Tell me all,' I cried, 'at once--at once. She did not return, you +say, on the day following the catastrophe--when did she return?--when +did you next see her?' + +'I never saw her again alive,' answered Wilderspin mournfully; 'but +you are so pale, Mr. Aylwin, and your eyes are so wild, I had better +defer telling you what little more there is to tell until you have +quite recovered from the shock.' + +'No; now, now.' + +Wilderspin looked with a deep sigh at the picture of 'Faith and +Love,' fired by the lights of sunset, where Winnie's face seemed +alive. + +'Well,' said he, 'as she did not come, I worked at my painting of +"Ruth" all day; and on the next morning, as I was starting for +Primrose Court to seek her, Mrs. Gudgeon came kicking frantically at +the street-door. When it was opened, she came stamping upstairs, and +as I advanced to meet her, she shook her fists in my face, shouting +out: "I could tear your eyes out, you vagabones." "Why, what is the +matter?" I asked in great surprise. "You've bin and killed her, +that's all," said the woman, foaming at the mouth. She then told me +that her daughter, almost immediately on reaching home after having +left the studio in the company of my servant, had fallen down in a +swoon. A succession of swoons followed. She never rallied. She was +then lying dead in Primrose Court.' + +'And what then? Answer me quickly.' + +'She asked me to give her money that her daughter might be buried +respectably and not by the parish. I told her it was all +hallucination about the girl being her daughter, and that a spiritual +body could not be buried, but she seemed so genuinely distressed that +I gave her the money.' + +'Spiritual body! Hallucination!' I said. 'I heard her voice in the +London streets, and she was seen selling baskets at the theatre door. +Where shall I find the house?' + +'It is of no use for you to go there,' he said. + +'Nothing shall prevent my going at once.' A feverish yearning had +come upon me to see the body. + +'If you _will_ go,' said Wilderspin, 'it is No. 2 Primrose Court, +Great Queen Street, Holborn. + + +II + +I hurried out of the house, and soon finding a cab I drove to Great +Queen Street. + +My soul had passed now into another torture-chamber. It was being +torn between two warring, maddening forces--the passionate desire to +see her body, and the shrinking dread of undergoing the ordeal. At +one moment I felt--as palpably as I felt it, on the betrothal +night--her slim figure, soft as a twine of flowers in my arms: at the +next I was clasping a corpse--a rigid corpse in rags. And yet I can +scarcely say that I had any thoughts. At Great Queen Street I +dismissed the cab, and had some little difficulty in finding Primrose +Court, a miserable narrow alley. I knocked at a door which, even in +that light, I could see was a peculiarly wretched one. After a +considerable delay the door was opened and a face peered out--the +face of the woman whom I had seen in Cyril's studio. She did not at +first seem to recognise me. She was evidently far gone in liquor, and +looked at me, murmuring, 'You're one o' the cussed body-snatchers; I +know you: you belong to the Rose Alley "Forty Thieves." You'll +swing--every man Jack o' ye'll swing yet, mind if you don't.' + +At the sight of the squalid house in which Winifred had lived and +died I passed into a new world of horror. Dead matter had become +conscious, and for a second or two it was not the human being before +me, but the rusty iron, the broken furniture, the great patches of +brick and dirty mortar where the plaster had fallen from the +walls,--it was these which seemed to have life--a terrible life--and +to be talking to me, telling me what I dared not listen to about the +triumph of evil over good. I knew that the woman was still speaking, +but for a time I heard no sound--my senses could receive no +impressions save from the sinister eloquence of the dead and yet +living matter around me. Not an object there that did not seem +charged with the wicked message of the heartless Fates. + +At length, and as I stood upon the doorstep, a trembling, a mighty +expectance, seized me like an ague-fit; and I heard myself saying, 'I +am come to see the body, Mrs. Gudgeon.' Then I saw her peer, +blinking, into my face, as she said, + +'Oh, oh, it's _you_, is it? It's one o' the lot as keeps the +studeros, is it?--the cussed Chelsea lot as killed her. I recklet yer +a-starin' at the goddess Joker! So you've come to see my poor +darter's body, are you? How werry kind, to be sure! Pray come in, +gentleman, an' pray let the beautiful goddess Joker be perlite an' +show sich a nice kind wisiter the way upstairs.' + +She took a candle, and with a mincing, mocking movement, curtseying +low at every step, she backed before me, and then stood waiting at +the foot of the staircase with a drunken look of satire on her +features. + +'Pray go upstairs fust, gentleman,' said she; 'I can't think o' goin' +up fust, an' lettin' my darter's kind wisiter foller behind like a +sarvint. I 'opes we knows our manners better nor that comes to in +Primrose Court.' + +'None of this foolery now, woman,' said I. 'There's a time for +everything, you know.' + +'How right he is!' she exclaimed, nodding to the flickering candle +in her hand. 'There's a time for everything an' this is the time for +makin' a peep-show of my pore darter's body. Oh, yes!' + +I mounted a shaky staircase, the steps of which were, some of them, +so broken away that the ascent was no easy matter. The miserable +light from the woman's candle, as I entered the room, seemed suddenly +to shoot up in a column of dazzling brilliance that caused me to +close my eyes in pain, so unnaturally sensitive had they been +rendered by the terrible expectance of the sight that was about to +sear them. + +When I re-opened my eyes, I perceived that in the room there was one +window, which looked like a trap-door; on the red pantiles of the +opposite roof lay a smoke-dimmed sheet of moonlight. On the floor at +the further end of the garret, where the roof met the boards at a +sharp angle, a mattress was spread. Then speech came to me. + +'Not there!' I groaned, pointing to the hideous black-looking bed, +and turning my head away in terror. The woman burst into a cackling +laugh. + +'Not there? Who said she _was_ there? _I_ didn't. If you can see +anythink there besides a bed an' a quilt, you've got eyes as can make +picturs out o' nothink, same as my darter's eyes could make 'em, pore +dear.' + +'Ah, what do you mean?' I cried, leaping to the side of the mattress, +upon which I now saw that no dead form was lying. + +For a moment a flash of joy as dazzling as a fork of lightning seemed +to strike through my soul and turn my blood into a liquid fire that +rose and blinded my eyes. + +'Not dead,' I cried; 'no, no, no! The pitiful heavens would have +rained blood and tears at such a monstrous tragedy. She is not +dead--not dead after all! The hideous dream is passing.' + +'Oh, ain't she dead, pore dear?--ain't she? She's dead enough for +one,' said the woman; 'but 'ow can she be there on that mattress, +when she's buried, an' the prayers read over her, like the darter of +the most 'spectable mother as ever lived in Primrose Court! That's +what the neighbours say o' me. The most 'spectable mother as +ever--' + +'Buried!' I said, 'who buried her?' + +'Who buried her? Why the parish, in course.' + +Despair then again seemed to send a torrent of ice-water through my +veins. But after a time the passionate desire to see her body leapt +up within my heart. + +At this moment Wilderspin, who had evidently followed me with +remarkable expedition, came upstairs and stood by my side. + +'I must go and see the grave,' I said to him. 'I must see her face +once more. I must petition the Home Secretary. Nothing can and +nothing shall prevent my seeing her--no, not if I have to dig down to +her with my nails.' + +'An' who the dickens are you as takes on so about my darter?' said +the woman, holding the candle to my face. + +'Drunken brute!' said I. 'Where is she buried?' + +'Well, I'm sure!' said the woman in a mincing, sarcastic voice. 'How +werry unperlite you is all at wonst! how werry rude you speaks to +such a werry 'spectable party as I am! You seem to forgit who I am. +Ain't I the goddess as likes to 'ave 'er little joke, an' likes to +wet both eyes, and as plays sich larks with her flummeringeroes and +drumming-dairies an' ring-tailed monkeys an' men?' + +When I saw the creature whip up the quilt from the mattress, and, +holding it over her head like a veil, leer hideously in imitation of +Cyril's caricature, a shudder went again through my frame--a strange +kind of dementia came upon me; my soul again seemed to leave my +body--seemed to be lifted through the air and beyond the stars, +crying, in agony, 'Shall there be evil in a city, and the Lord hath +not done it?' Yet all the while, though my soul seemed fleeing +through infinite space, where a pitiless universe was waltzing madly +round a ball of cruel fire--all the while I was acutely conscious of +looking down upon the dreadful dream-world below, looking down into a +frightful garret where a dialogue between two dream-figures was going +on--a dialogue between Wilderspin and the woman, each word of which +struck upon my ears like a sharp-edged flint, though it seemed +millions of miles away. + +* * * * * + +'What made you trick me like this? Where is the money I gave you for +the funeral?' + +'That's werry true, about that money, an' where is it? The orkerdest +question about money allus is--"Where is it?" The money for that +funeral I 'ad, I won't deny that. The orkard question ain't that: +it's "Where is it?" But you see, arter I left your studero I sets on +that pore gal's bed a-cryin' fit to bust; then I goes out into +Clement's Alley, and I calls on Mrs. Mix--that's a werry dear friend +of mine, the mother o' seven child'n as are allus a-settin' on my +doorstep, an' she comes out of Yorkshire you must know, an' she's bin +a streaker in her day (for she was well off wonst was Mrs. Mix afore +she 'ad them seven dirty-nosed child'n as sets on her neighbours' +doorsteps)--an' she sez, sez she, "My pore Meg" (meanin' me), "I've +bin the mother o' fourteen beautiful clean-nosed child'n, an' I've +streaked an' buried seven on 'em, so I ought to know somethink about +corpuses, an' I tell you this corpse o' your darter's must be +streaked an' buried at wonst, for she died in a swownd. An' there's +nothink like the parishes for buryin' folk quick, an' I dessay the +coffin's ordered by this time, an' I dessay the gent gev you that +money just to make you comforble like, seein' as he killed your +darter." That's what Mrs. Mix says to me. So the parish comed an' +brought a coffin an' tookt her, pore dear. And I've cried myself +stupid-like, bein' her pore mother as 'es lost her on'y darter--an' +I was just a-tryin' to make myself comfable when this 'ere young toff +as seems so werry drunk comes a-rappin' at my door fit to rap the +'ouse down.' + +'Has she been buried at all? How can a spiritual body be buried?' + +'"Buried at all?" What do you mean by insinivatin' to the pore gal's +conflicted mother as she p'raps ain't buried at all? You're a-makin' +me cry ag'in. She lays comfable enough underneath a lot of other +coffins, in the pauper part of the New North Cimingtary.' + +'Underneath a lot of others; how can that be?' + +'What! ain't you toffs never seed a pauper finneral? Now that's a +pity; and sich nice toffs as they are, a-settin' theirselves up to +look arter the darters o' pore folks. P'raps you never thought how we +was buried. We're buried, when our time comes, and then they're werry +kind to us, the parish toffs is:--It's in a lump--six at a time--as +they buries us, and sich nice deal coffins they makes us, the parish +toffs does, an' sich nice lamp-black they paints 'em with to make 'em +look as if they was covered over with the best black velvid; an' then +sich a nice sarmint--none o' your retail sarmints, but a hulsale +sarmint--they reads over the lot, an' into one hole they packs us one +atop o' the other, jest like a pile o' the werry best Yarmith +bloaters, an' that's a good deal more sociable an' comfable, the +parish toffs thinks, than puttin' us in single; so it is, for the +matter o' that.' + +Then I heard no more; for at the intolerable picture called up by the +woman's words, my soul in its misery seemed to have soared, scared +and trembling, above and beyond the heavens at whose futile gates it +had been moaning, till at last it sank at the feet of the mighty +power that my love had striven with on the sands of Raxton when the +tide was coming in--some pale and cruel ruler whose brow I saw +wrinkled with the woman's mocking smile--some frightful +columbine-queen, wicked, bowelless, and blind, shaking a starry cap +and bells, and chanting-- + + I lent the drink of Day + To gods for feast; + I poured the river of Night + On gods surceased: + Their blood was Nin-ki-gal's. + +And there, at the feet of the awful jesting hag, Circumstance, I +could only cry 'Winnie! my poor Winnie!' while over my head seemed to +pass Necessity and her black ages of despair. + +When I came to myself I said to the woman, + +'You can point out the grave?' + +'Well, yes,' paid slip, turning round sharply; 'but may I ax who the +dickens you are?--an' what makes you so cut up about a pore woman's +darter? It's right-on beautiful to see how kind gentlemen is +nowadays': and she turned and tried, stumbling, to lead the way +downstairs. + +As we left the room I turned round to look at it. The picture of the +mattress, now nearly hidden in the shadows--the picture of the other +furniture in the room--two chairs--or rather one and a part of a +chair, for the rails of the hack were gone--a table, a large brown +jug, the handle of which had been replaced by a piece of string, and +a white washhand-basin, with most of the rim broken away, and a +shallow tub apparently used for a bath--seemed to sink into my flesh +as though bitten in by the etcher's aquafortis. Winifred's +sleeping-room! + +'Of course she wasn't her daughter,' said Wilderspin meditatively, as +we stood on the stairs. + +'Not my darter! Why, in course she was. What an imperent thing to +say, sure_lie_!' + +'There is one thing I wish to say to you,' said he to the woman. +'When I agreed with you as to the sum to be paid for the model's +sittings, it was clearly understood that she was to sit to no other +artist, and that the match-selling was to cease. + +'Well, and 'ave I broke my word?' + +'A person has heard her singing and seen her selling baskets,' I +said. + +'The person tells a lie,' said the woman, with a dogged and sullen +look, and in a voice that grew thicker with every word. 'Ain't there +sich things as doubles?' + +At these last words my heart gave a sudden leap. We left the house, +and neither of us spoke till we got into the Strand. + +'Did you see the--body at all?' I asked Wilderspin. + +'Oh, yes. After I gave her the money for the funeral I went to +Primrose Court. The woman took me upstairs, and there on the mattress +lay--what the poor woman believed to be the earthly body of an +earthly daughter. It was covered with a quilt. Over the face a ragged +shawl had been thrown.' + +'Yes, yes. She raised the shawl?' + +'Yes, the woman went and held the candle over the head of the +mattress and uncovered the face; and there lay she whom the woman +believed to be her daughter, and whom you believe to be the young +lady you seek, but whom I _know_ to be a spiritual body--the perfect +type that was sent to me in order that I might fulfil my mission. You +groan, Mr. Aylwin, but remember that you have lost only a dream, a +beautiful hallucination; I have lost a reality: there is nothing real +but the spiritual world. + + +III + +As I wandered about the streets after parting from Wilderspin, what +were my emotions? If I could put them into words, is there one human +being in ten thousand who would understand me? Happily, no. For there +is not one in ten thousand who, having sounded the darkest depths of +human misery, will know how strong is Hope when at the true +death-struggle with Despair. 'Hope in the human breast,' wrote my +father, 'is a passion, a wild, a lawless, and an indomitable passion, +that almost no cruelty of Fate can conquer.' + +Many a passer-by in the streets of London that night must have asked +himself, What lunatic is this at large? At one moment I would bound +along the pavement as though propelled by wings, scarcely seeming to +touch the pavement with my feet. At the next I would stop in a cold +perspiration and say to myself, 'Idiot, is it possible that you, so +learned in suffering--you, whom Destiny, or Heaven, or Hell, has +taken in hand as a special sport--can befool yourself with Hope now, +after the terrible comedy by which you and the ancestral idiots from +whom you sprang amused Queen Nin-ki-gal in Raxton crypt?' + +Hope and Despair were playing at shuttlecock with my soul. Underneath +my misery there flickered a thought which, wild as it was, I dared +not dismiss--the thought that, after all, it _might_ not be Winifred +who had died in that den. Possible it was--however improbable--that I +_might_ be labouring under a delusion. My imagination _might_ have +exaggerated a resemblance into actual identity, and Winifred and she +whom Wilderspin painted might be two different persons--and there +might be hope even yet. But so momentous was the issue to my soul, +that the mere fact of having clearly marshalled the arguments on the +side of Hope made my reason critical and suspicious of their cogency. +From the sweet sophisms that my reason had called up, I turned, and +there stood Despair, ready for me behind a phalanx of arguments, +which laughed all Hope's 'ragged regiment' to scorn. + +Had not my mother recognised her? Could the infallible perceptive +faculties of my mother be also deceived? + +But to accept the fact that she who died on that mattress was little +Winnie of the sands was to go stark mad, and the very instinct of +self-preservation made me clutch at every sophism Hope could offer. + +'Did not the woman declare that the singing-girl and the model were +_not_ one and the same?' said Hope. 'And if she did not lie, may you +not have been, after all, hunting a shadow through London?' + +'It might not have been Winifred,' I shouted. + +But no sooner had I done so than the scene in the +studio--Wilderspin's story of the model's terror on seeing my +mother's portrait--came upon me, and 'Dead! dead!' rang through me +like a funeral knell: all the superstructure of Hope's sophisms was +shattered in a moment like a house of cards: my imagination flew +away to all the London graveyards I had ever heard of; and there, in +the part divided by the pauper line, my soul hovered over a grave +newly made, and then dived down from coffin to coffin, one piled +above another, till it reached Winifred, lying pressed down by the +superincumbent mass; those eyes staring. + +Yes; that night I was mad! + +I could not walk fatigue into my restless limbs. Morning broke in +curdling billows of fire over the east of London--which even at this +early hour was slowly growing hazy with smoke. I found myself in +Primrose Court, looking at that squalid door, those squalid windows. +I knocked at the door. No answer came to my summons, and I knocked +again and again. Then a window opened above my head, and I heard the +well-known voice of the woman exclaiming, + +'Who's that? Poll Onion's out to-night, and the rooms are emp'y 'cept +mine. Why, God bless me, man, is it you?' + +'Hag! that was not your daughter.' + +She slammed the window down. + +'Let me in, or I will break the door.' + +The window was opened again. + +'Lucky as I didn't leave the front door open to-night, as I mostly +do. What do you want to skear a pore woman for?' she bawled. 'Go +away, else I'll call up the people in Great Queen Street.' + +'Mrs. Gudgeon, all I want to do is to ask you a question.' + +'Ah, but that's what you jis' _won't_ do, my fine gentleman. I don't +let you in again in a hurry.' + +'I will give you a sovereign.' + +'Honour bright?' bawled the old woman; 'let me look at it.' + +'Here it is, in my hand.' + +'Jink it on the stuns.' + +I threw it down. + +'Quid seems to jink all right, anyhow,' she said, 'though I'm more +used to the jink of a tanner than a quid in these cussed times. You +won't skear me if I come down?' + +'No, no.' + +At last I heard her fumbling inside at the lock, and then the door +opened. + +'Why, man alive! your eyes are afire jist like a cat's wi' drownded +kitlins.' + +'She was not your daughter.' + +'Not my darter?' said she, as she stooped to pick up the sovereign. +'You ain't a-goin' to catch me the likes o' that. The Beauty not my +darter! All the court knows she was my own on'y darter. I'll swear +afore all the beaks in London as I'm the mother of my own on'y darter +Winifred, allus' wur 'er mother, and allus wull be; an' if she went +a-beggin' it worn't my fort. She liked beggin', poor dear; some gals +does.' + +'Her name Winifred!' I cried, with a pang at my heart as sharp as +though there had been a reasonable hope till now. + +'In course her name was Winifred.' + +'Liar! How came she to be called Winifred?' + +'Well, I'm sure! Mayn't a Welshman's wife give her own on'y Welsh +darter a Welsh name? Us poor folks is come to somethink! P'raps +you'll say I ain't a Welshman's wife next? It's your own cussed lot +as killed her, ain't it? What did I tell the shiny Quaker when fust I +tookt her to the studero? I sez to the shiny un, "She's jist a bit +touched here," I sez' (tapping her own head), '"and nothink upsets +her so much as to be arsted a lot o' questions," I sez to the shiny +un. "The less you talks to her," I sez, "the better you'll get on +with her," I sez, "and the better kind o' pictur you'll make out on +her," I sez to the shiny un; "an' don't you go an' arst who her +father is," I sez, "for that word 'ull bring such a horful look on +her face," I sez, "as is enough to skear anybody to death. I sha'n't +forget the look the fust time I seed it," I sez. That's what I sez to +the shiny Quaker. An' yit you did go an' worrit 'er, a-arstin' 'er a +lot o' questions about 'er father. You _did_--I know you did! You +_must_ 'a done it--so no lies; for that wur the on'y thing as ever +skeared 'er, arstin' 'er about 'er father, pore dear....Why, man +alive! what _are_ you a-gurnin' at? an' what are you a-smackin' your +forred wi' your 'and like that for, an' a-gurnin' in my face like a +Chessy cat? Blow'd if I don't b'lieve you're drunk. An' who the +dickens are you a-callin' a fool, Mr. Imperance?' + +It was not the woman but myself I was cursing when I cried out, +'Fool! besotted fool!' + +Not till now had the wild hope fled which had led me back to the den. +As I stood shuddering on the doorstep in the cold morning light, +while the whole unbearable truth broke in upon me, I could hear my +lips murmuring, + +'Fool of ancestral superstitions! Fenella Stanley's fool! Philip +Aylwin's fool! Where was the besotted fool and plaything of besotted +ancestors, when the truth was burning so close beneath his eyes that +it is wonderful they were not scorched into recognising it? Where was +he when, but for superstitions grosser than those of the negroes on +the Niger banks, he might have saved the living heart and centre of +his little world? Where was the rationalist when, but for +superstitions sucked in with his mother's milk, he would have gone to +a certain studio, seen a certain picture which would have sent him on +the wings of the wind to find and rescue and watch over the one for +whom he had renounced all the ties of kindred? Where was then the +most worthy descendant of a line of ancestral idiots--Romany and +Gorgio--stretching back to the days when man's compeers, the mammoth +and the cave-bear, could have taught him better? Rushing down to +Raxton church to save her!--to save her by laying a poor little +trinket upon a dead man's breast!' + + +After the paroxysm of self-scorn had partly exhausted itself, I +stood staring in the woman's face. + +'Well,' said she, 'I thought the shiny Quaker was a rum un, but blow +me if you ain't a rummyer. + +'Her name was Winifred, and the word "father" produced fits,' I said, +not to the woman, but to my soul, in mocking answer to its own woe. +'What about my father's spiritualism now? Good God! Is there no other +ancestral tomfoolery, no other of Superstition's patent Aylwinian +soul-salves for the philosophical Nature-worshipper and apostle of +rationalism to fly to? Her name was Winifred. + +'Yis; don't I say 'er name wur Winifred?' said the woman, who thought +I was addressing her. 'You're jist like a poll-parrit with your +"Winifred, Winifred, Winifred." That was 'er name, an' she 'ad a +shock, pore dear, an' it was all along of you at the studero +a-talkin' about 'er father. You _must_ a-talked about 'er father: so +no lies. She 'ad fits arter that, in course she 'ad. Why, you'll make +me die a-larfin' with your poll-parritin' ways, sayin' "a shock, a +shock, a shock," arter me. In course she 'ad a shock; she 'ad it when +she was a little gal o' six. My pore Bill (that's my 'usband as now +lives in the fine 'Straley) was a'most killed a-fightin' a Irishman. +They brought 'im 'um an' laid 'im afore her werry eyes, an' the sight +throw'd 'er into high-strikes, an' arter that the name of "father" +allus throwed her into high-strikes, an' that's why I told 'em at the +studero never to say that word. An' I know you _must_ 'a' said it, +some o' your cussed lot must, or else why should my pore darter 'a' +'ad the high-strikes? Nothin' else never gev 'er no high-strikes only +talkin' to 'er about 'er father. An' as to me a-sendin' 'er +a-beggin', I tell you she liked beggin'. I gev her baskets to sell, +an' flowers to sell, an' yet she _would_ beg. I tell you she liked +beggin'. Some gals does. She was touched in the 'ead, an' she used to +say she _must_ beg, an' there was nothink she used to like so much as +to stan' with a box o' matches a-jabberin' a tex' out o' the Bible +unless it was singin'. There you are, a-larfin' and a-gurnin' ag'in. +If I wur on'y 'arf as drunk as you are the coppers 'ud 'a' run _me_ +in hours ago; cuss 'em, an' their favouritin' ways.' + + +At the truth flashing in upon me through these fantastic lies, I had +passed into that mood when the grotesque wickedness of Fate's awards +can draw from the victim no loud lamentations--when there are no +frantic blows aimed at the sufferer's own poor eyeballs till the +beard--like the self-mutilated Theban king's--is bedewed with a dark +hail-shower of blood. More terrible because more inhuman than the +agony imagined by the great tragic poet is that most awful condition +of the soul into which I had passed--when the cruelty that seems to +work at Nature's heart, and to vitalise a dark universe of pain, +loses its mysterious aspect and becomes a mockery; when the whole +vast and merciless scheme seems too monstrous to be confronted save +by mad peals of derisive laughter--that dreadful laughter which +bubbles lower than the fount of tears--that laughter which is the +heart's last language; when no words can give it the relief of +utterance--no words, nor wails, nor moans. + +'Another quid,' bawled the woman after me, as I turned away, 'another +quid, an' then I'll tell you somethink to your awantage. Out with it, +and don't spile a good mind.' + +What I did and said that morning as I wandered through the streets of +London in that state of tearless despair and mad unnatural merriment, +one hour of which will age a man more than a decade of any woe that +can find a voice in lamentations, remains a blank in my memory. + + +I found myself at the corner of Essex Street, staring across the +Strand, which, even yet, had scarcely awoke into life. Presently I +felt my sleeve pulled, and heard the woman's voice. + +'You didn't know as I was cluss behind you all the while, a-watchin' +your tantrums. Never spile a good mind, my young swell. Out with +t'other quid, an' then I'll tell you somethink about my pootty darter +as is on my mind.' + +I gave her money, but got nothing from her save more incoherent lies +and self-contradictions about the time of the funeral. + +'Point out the spot where she used to stand and beg. No, don't stand +on it yourself, but point it out.' + +'This is the werry spot. She used to hold out her matches like this +'ere,--my darter used,--an' say texes out o' the Bible. She loved +beggin', pore dear!' + +'Texts from the Bible?' I said, staggering under a new thought that +seemed to strike through me like a bar of hot metal. 'Can you +remember any one of them?' + +'It was allus the same tex', an' I ought to remember it well enough, +for I've 'eerd it times enough. She wur like you for poll-parritin' +ways, and used to say the same thing over an' over ag'in. It wur +allus, "Let his children be wagabones and beg their bread; let them +seek it also out of desolate places." Why, you're at it +ag'in--gurnin' ag'in. You _must_ be drunk.' + +Again there came upon me the involuntary laughter of heart-agony at +its tensest. I cried aloud: 'Faith and Love! Faith and Love! That +farce of the Raxton crypt with the great-grandmother's fool on his +knees shall be repeated for the delight of Nin-ki-gal and the Danish +skeletons and the ancestral ghosts from Hugh the Crusader down to the +hero of the knee-caps and mittens; and there shall be a dance of +death and a song, and the burden shall be-- + + As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods: + They kill us for their sport.' + +Misery had made me a maniac at last; my brain swam, and the head of +the woman seemed to be growing before me--seemed once more to be +transfigured before me into a monstrous mountainous representation of +an awful mockery-goddess and columbine-queen, down whose merry +wrinkles were flowing tears that were at once tears of Olympian +laughter and tears of the oceanic misery of Man. + +'Well, you _are_ a rum un, and no mistake,' said the woman. 'But who +the dickens _are_ you? _That's_ what licks me. Who the dickens _are_ +you? Howsomever, if you'll fork out another quid, the Queen of the +Jokes'll tell you some'ink to your awantage, an' if you won't fork +out the Queen o' the Jokes is mum.' + +I stood and looked at her--looked till the street seemed to heave +under my feet and the houses to rock. After this I seem to have +wandered back to Wilderspin's studio, and there to have sunk down +unconscious. + + + + +XII + +THE REVOLVING CAGE OF CIRCUMSTANCE + + +I + +I will not trouble the reader with details of the illness that came +upon me as the result of my mental agony and physical exhaustion. At +intervals I was aware of what was going on around me, but for the +most part I was in a semi-comatose state. I realised at intervals +that a medical man was sitting by my side, as I lay in bed. Then I +had a sense of being moved from place to place; and then of being +rocked by the waves. Slowly the periods of consciousness became more +frequent and also more prolonged. + +My first exclamation was--'Dead! Have I been ill?' and I tried to +raise myself in vain. + +'Yes, very ill,' said a voice, my mother's. + +'Dangerously?' + +'For several days you were in danger. Your recovery now entirely +depends upon your keeping yourself calm.' + +'I am out at sea?' + +'Yes,' said my mother; 'in Lord Sleaford's yacht.' + +'How did I come here?' + +'Well, Henry, I was so anxious to wait for a day or two to learn the +sequel of the dreadful tragedy, that I persuaded Lord Sleaford to +delay sailing. Next day he called at Belgrave Square, and told us he +had heard that you had been taken suddenly ill and were lying +unconscious at the studio. I went at once and saw the medical man, +Mr. Finch, whom Mr. Wilderspin had called in. This gentleman took a +serious view of your case. When I asked him what could be done he +said that nothing would benefit you so much as removal from London, +and recommended a sea voyage. It occurred to me at once to ask Lord +Sleaford if we might take you in his yacht, and he with his usual +good-nature agreed, and agreed also that Mr. Finch should accompany +us as your medical attendant.' + +'You know all?' I said; 'you know that she is dead.' + +'Alas! yes.' + +At that moment the doctor came into the cabin, and my mother retired. + +'When did you last see Wilderspin?' I asked Mr. Finch. + +'Before leaving England to join a friend in Paris he went to Belgrave +Square to get tidings of you, and I was there.' + +'He told you--what had occurred to make me ill?' + +'He told me that it was the death of some one in whom you took an +interest, a model of his, but told it in such a wild and excited way +that I lost patience with him. His addled brains are crammed with the +wildest and most ignorant superstitions.' + +'Did you ask him about her burial?' + +'I did. I gathered from him that she was buried by the parish in the +usual way. But I assure you the man's account of everything that +occurred was so bewildered and so incoherent that I could really make +nothing out of him. What is his creed? Is it Swedenborgianism? He +seems to think that the model he has lost is a spirit (or spiritual +body, to use his own jargon) sent to him by the artistic-minded +spirits for entirely artistic purposes, but snatched from him now by +the mean jealousy of the same spirit-world.' 'But what did he say +about her burial?' 'Well, he seems not to have ignored so completely +the mundane question of burying this spiritual body as his creed +would have warranted, for he gave the mother money to bury it. The +mother, however, seems to have spent the money in gin and to have +left the duty of burying the spiritual body to the parish, who make +short work of all bodies; and, of course, by the parish she was +buried, you may rest assured of that, though the artist seems to +think that she was simply translated to heaven like Elijah.' + +'I must return to England at once,' I said. 'I shall apply to the +Home Secretary to have the body disinterred.' + +'Why, sir?' + +'In order that she may be buried in a proper place, to be sure.' + +'No use. You have no _locus standi_.' + +'What do you mean?' + +'You are not a relative, and to ask for a disinterment for such an +unimportant reason as that you, a stranger, would prefer to see her +buried elsewhere, would be idle.' + +Sleaford now came into the cabin. I thanked him for his kindness, but +told him I must return at once. + +'Even if your health permitted,' he said, 'it is impossible for the +yacht to go back. I have an appointment to meet a yachting friend. +But in any case depend upon it, old fellow, the doctor won't hear of +your returning for a long while yet. He told me not five minutes ago +that nothing but sea air, and keeping your mind tranquil, you know, +will restore you.' + +The feeling of exhaustion that came upon me as he spoke convinced me +that there was only too much truth in his words. I felt that I must +yield to the inevitable; but as to tranquillity of mind, my entire +being was now filled with a yearning to see the New North +Cemetery--to see her grave. I seemed to long for the very pang which +I knew the sight of the grave would give me. + + +It is of course impossible for me to linger over that cruise, or to +record any of the incidents that took place at the ports at which we +touched and landed. My recovery, or rather my partial recovery, was +slower than the doctor had anticipated. Weeks and months passed, and +still there seemed but little improvement in me. + +The result was that I was obliged to yield to the importunities of my +mother, and to the urgent advice of Dr. Finch, to remain on board +Sleaford's yacht during the entire cruise, and afterwards to go with +them to Italy. + +Absence from England gave me not the smallest respite from the grief +that was destroying me. + + +My parting with my mother was a very pathetic one. She was greatly +changed, and I knew why. The furrows Time sets on the face can never +be mistaken for those which are caused by the passions. The struggle +between pride and remorse had been going on apace; her sufferings had +been as great as my own. + +It was in Rome we parted. We were sitting in the cool, perfumed +atmosphere of St. Peter's, and for the moment a soothing wave seemed +to pass over my soul. For some little time there had been silence +between us. At length I said, 'Mother, it seems strange indeed for me +to have to say to you that you blame yourself too much for the part +you took in the tragedy of Winnie. When you sent her into Wales you +didn't know that her aunt was dead; you did it, as you thought, for +her good as well as for mine.' + +She rose as if to embrace me, and then sank down again. + +'But you don't know all, Henry; you don't know all. I knew her aunt +was dead, though Shales did not, or he would never have taken her. +All that concerned me was to get her away before your own recovery. I +thought there might be relatives of hers or friends whom Shales might +find. But I was possessed by a frenzied desire to get her away. For +years my eyes had been fixed on the earldom. I had been told by your +aunt that Cyril was consumptive, and also that he was very unlikely +to marry.' + +I could not suppress a little laugh. 'Ha, ha! Cyril consumptive! No +man's stronger and sounder, I am glad to tell you; but if by +ill-chance he should die and the title should come to me, then, +mother, I'll wear the coronet, and it shall be made of the best +gingerbread gilt and ornamented thus. I'll give public lectures on +the British aristocracy and its origin, and its present relations to +the community, and my audience shall consist of society--that society +which is so much to aunt and the likes of her. Society shall be my +audience, and then, after my course of lectures is over, I will join +the Gypsies. But pray pardon me, mother. I had no idea I should thus +lose my temper. I should not have lost it so entirely had I not +witnessed how you are suffering from the tyranny of this blatant +bugbear called "Society."' + +'My suffering, Henry, has brought me nearer to your line of thought +than you may suppose. It has taught me that when the affections are +deeply touched everything which before had seemed so momentous stands +out in a new light, that light in which the insignificance of the +important stands revealed. In that terrible conflict between you and +me on the night following the landslip, you spoke of my "cruel +pride." Oh, Henry, if you only knew how that cruel pride had been +wiped out of existence by remorse, I believe that even you would +forgive me. I believe that even she would if she were here.' + +'I told you that I had entirely forgiven you, mother, and that I was +sure Winnie would forgive you if she were alive.' + +'You did, Henry, but it did not satisfy me; I felt that you did not +know all.' + +'I fear you have been very unhappy,' I said. + +'I have been constantly thinking of Winifred a beggar in the streets +as described by Wilderspin. Oh, Henry, I used to think of her in the +charge of that woman. And Miss Dalrymple, who educated her, tells me +that in culture she was far above the girls of her own class; and +this makes the degradation into which she was forced through me the +more dreadful for me to think of. I used to think of her dying in the +squalid den, and then the Italian sunshine has seemed darker than a +London fog. Even the comfort that your kind words gave me was +incomplete, for you did not know the worst features of my cruelty.' + +'But have you had no respite, mother? Surely the intensity of this +pain did not last, or it would have killed you.' + +'The crisis did pass, for, as you say, had it lasted in its most +intense form, it would have killed me or sent me mad. After a while, +though remorse was always with me, I seemed to become in some degree +numbed against its sting. I could bear at last to live, but that was +all. Yet there was always one hour out of the twenty-four when I was +overmastered by pathetic memories, such as nearly killed me with +pity--one hour when, in a sudden and irresistible storm, grief would +still come upon me with almost its old power. This was on awaking in +the early morning. I learnt then that if there is trouble at the +founts of life, there is nothing which stirs that trouble like the +twitter of the birds at dawn. At Florence, I would, after spending +the day in wandering with you through picture galleries or about +those lovely spots near Fiesole, go to bed at night tolerably calm; +I would sink into a sleep, haunted no longer by those dreams of the +tragedy in which my part had been so cruel, and yet the very act of +waking in the morning would bring upon me a whirlwind of anguish; and +then would come the struggling light at the window, and the twitter +of the birds that seemed to say, "Poor child, poor child!" and I +would bury my face in my pillow and moan.' + +When I looked in her face, I realised for the first time that not +even such a passion of pity as that which had aged me is so cruel in +its ravages as Remorse. To gaze at her was so painful that I turned +my eyes away. + +When I could speak I said, + +'I have forgiven you from the bottom of my heart, mother, but, if +that does not give you comfort, is there anything that will?' + +'Nothing, Henry, nothing but what is impossible for me ever to +get--the forgiveness of the wronged child herself. _That_ I can never +get in this world. I dare only hope that by prayers and tears I may +get it in the end. Oh, Henry, if I were in heaven I could never rest +until I had sought her out, and found her and thrown myself on her +neck and said, "Forgive your persecutor, my dear, or this is no place +for me."' + + +II + +As soon as I reached London, thinking that Wilderspin was still on +the Continent, I went first to D'Arcy's studio, but was there told +that D'Arcy was away--that he had been in the country for a long +time, busy painting, and would not return for some months. I then +went to Wilderspin's studio, and found, to my surprise and relief, +that he and Cyril had returned from Paris. I learnt from the servant +that Wilderspin had just gone to call on Cyril; accordingly to +Cyril's studio I went. + +'He is engaged with the Gypsy-model, sir,' said Cyril's man, pointing +to the studio door, which was ajar. 'He told me that if ever you +should call you were to be admitted at once. Mr. Wilderspin is there +too.' + +'You need not announce me,' I said, as I pushed open the door. + +Entering the studio, I found myself behind a tall easel where Cyril +was at work. I was concealed from him, and also from Wilderspin and +Sinfi. On my left stood Cyril's caricature of Wilderspin's 'Faith and +Love,' upon which the light from a window was falling aslant! + +Before I could pass round the easel into the open space I was +arrested by overhearing a conversation between Cyril, Sinfi, and +Wilderspin. + +They were talking about _her_! + +With my eyes fixed on Cyril's caricature on my left hand; I stood, +every nerve in my body seeming to listen to the talk, while the veil +of the goddess-queen in the caricature appeared to become +illuminated; the tragedy of our love (from the spectacle of her +father's dead body shining in the moonlight, with a cross on his +breast, down to the hideous-grotesque scene of the woman at the +corner of Essex Street) appeared to be represented on the veil of the +mocking queen in little pictures of scorching flame. These are the +words I heard: + +'Keep your head in that position, Lady Sinfi,' said Cyril, 'and pray +do not get so excited.' + +'I thought I felt the Swimmin' Rei in the room,' said Sinfi. + +'What do you mean?' + +'I thought I felt the stir of him in my burk [bosom]. Howsomever, it +must ha' bin all a fancy o' mine. But you see, Mr. Cyril, she wur +once a friend o' mine. I want to know what skeared her? If it _was_ +her as set for the pictur, she'd never 'a' had the fit if she hadn't, +'a' bin skeared. I s'pose Mr. Wilderspin didn't go an' say the word +"feyther" to her? I s'pose he didn't go an' ax her who her feyther +was?' + +I heard Wilderspin's voice say. 'No, indeed. _I_ would never have +asked who her father was. Ah, Mr. Cyril, I knew how mysteriously she +had come to me; why should I ask who was her father? Her earthly +parentage was not an illusion. But you will remember that I was not +in the studio at the time of the fit. Mr. Ebury had called about a +commission, and I had gone into the next room to speak to him. You +came into the studio at the time, Mr. Cyril. When I returned, I found +her in the fit, and you standing over her.' + +'No, don't get up, Sinfi, my girl,' I heard Cyril say. 'Sit down +quietly, and I will tell you what, passed. There is no doubt I did +ask her about her father, poor thing; but I did it with the best +intentions--did it for her good, as I thought--did it to learn +whether she had been kidnapped, and certainly not from idle +curiosity.' + +'Scepticism, the curse of the age,' said Wilderspin. + +I heard Cyril say, 'Who could have thought it would turn out so? But +you yourself had told me, Wilderspin, of Mother Gudgeon's injunction +not to ask the girl who her father was, and of course it had upon me +the opposite effect the funny hag had intended it to have upon you. +It was hard to believe that such a flower could have sprung from such +a root. I thought it very likely that the woman had told you this to +prevent your getting at the truth about their connection; so I +decided to question the model myself, but determined to wait till you +had had a good number of sittings, lest there should come a quarrel +with the woman.' + +'Well, an' so you asked her?' said Sinfi. + +'I thought the moment had come for me to try to read the puzzle,' +said Cyril. 'So, on that day when Ebury called, when you, Wilderspin, +had left us together, I walked up to her and said, "Is your father +alive?"' + +'Ah!' cried Sinfi, 'it was as I thought. It was the word "feyther" as +killed her! An' what'll become o' _him_?' + +'The word "father" seemed to shoot into her like a bullet,' said +Cyril. 'She shrieked "Father," and her face looked--' + +'No, don't, tell me how she looked!' said Sinfi. 'Mr. Wilderspin's +pictur' o' the witch and the lady shows how she looked--whoever she +was. But if it was Winnie Wynne. what'll become o' _him_?' + +Then I heard. Cyril address Wilderspin again. 'We had great +difficulty, you remember, Wilderspin, in bringing her round, and +afterwards I took her out of the house, put her into a cab, and you +directed your servant whither to take her.' + +'It was scepticism that ruined all.' I heard Wilderspin say. + +'And yet,' said Sinfi, 'the Golden Hand on Snowdon told as he'd marry +Winifred Wynne. Ah! surely the Swimmin' Rei is in the room! I thought +I heard that choke come in his throat as comes when he frets about +Winnie. Howsomever, I s'pose it must ha' bin all a fancy o' mine.' + +'You make _me_ laugh, Sinfi, about this golden hand of yours that is +stronger than the hand of Death,' said Cyril; 'and yet I wish from my +heart I could believe it.' + +'My poor mammy used to say, "The Gorgios believes when they ought to +disbelieve, and they disbelieve when they ought to believe, and that +gives the Romanies a chance."' + +'Sinfi Lovell,' said Wilderspin, 'that saying of your mother's +touches at the very root of romantic art.' + +'Well, if Gorgios don't believe enough, Sinfi,--if there is not +enough superstition among certain Gorgio acquaintances of mine, it's +a pity,' said Cyril. + +'I don't know what you are a-talkin' about with your romantic art an' +sich like, but I _do_ know that nothink can't go ag'in the +dukkeripen o' the clouds; but if I was on Snowdon with my crwth I +could soon tell for sartin whether she's alive or dead,' said Sinfi. + +'And how?' said Cyril. + +'How? By playin' on the hills the old Welsh dukkerin' tune [Footnote +1] as she was so fond on. If she was dead, she wouldn't hear it, but +if she was alive she would, and her livin' mullo [Footnote 2] 'ud +come to it,' said Sinfi. + +[Footnote 1: Incantation song.] + +[Footnote 2: Wraith or fetch.] + +'Do you believe that possible?' said Cyril, turning to Wilderspin. + +'My friend,' said Wilderspin, 'I was at that moment repeating to +myself certain wise and pregnant words quoted from an Oriental book +by the great Philip Aylwin--words which tell us that he is too bold +who dares say what he will believe, what disbelieve, not knowing in +any wise the mind of God--not knowing in any wise his own heart and +what it shall one day suffer.' + +'But,' said Sinfi, 'about her as sat to Mr. Wilderspin; did she never +talk at all, Mr. Cyril?' + +'Never; but I saw her only three times,' said Cyril. + +'Mr. Wilderspin,' said Sinfi, 'did she never talk?' + +'Only once, and that was when the woman addressed her as Winifred. +That name set me thinking about the famous Welsh saint and those +wonderful miracles of hers, and I muttered "St. Winifred." The face +of the model immediately grew bright with a new light, and she spoke +the only words I ever heard her speak.' + +'You never told me of this,' said Cyril. + +'She stooped,' said Wilderspin, 'and went through a strange kind of +movement, as though she were dipping water from a well, and said, +"Please, good St. Winifred, bless the holy water and make it +cure--"' + +'Ah, for God's sake stop!' cried Sinfi. 'Look! the Swimmin' Rei! He's +in the room! There he stan's, and he's a-hearin' every word, an' +it'll kill him outright!' + +I stared at Cyril's picture of Leæna for which Sinfi was sitting. I +heard her say, + +'There ain't nothink so cruel as seein' him take on like that; I've +seed it afore, many's the time, in old Wales. You'll find her yit. +The dukkeripen says you'll marry her yit, and you will. She can't be +dead when the sun and the golden clouds say you'll marry her at last. +Her as is dead _must_ ha' been somebody else.' + +'Sinfi, you know there is no hope.' + +'It might not ha' bin your Winnie, arter all,' said she. 'It might +ha' bin some poor innocent as her feyther used to beat. It's +wonderful how cruel Gorgio feythers is to poor born naterals. And she +might ha' heerd in London about St. Winifred's Well a-curin' people.' + +'Sinfi,' I said, 'you know there is no hope. And I have no friend but +you now--I am going back to the Romanies.' + +'No, no, brother,' she said, 'never no more.' + +She put on her shawl. I rose mechanically. When she bade Cyril and +Wilderspin good-bye and passed out of the studio, I did so too. In +the street she stood and looked wistfully at me, as though she saw me +through a mist, and then bade me good-bye, saying that she must go to +Kingston Vale where her people were encamped in a hired field. We +separated, and I wandered I knew not whither. + + +III + +I found myself inquiring for the New North Cemetery, and after a time +I stood looking through the bars of tall iron gates at long lines of +gravestones and dreary hillocks before me. Then I went in, walking +straight over the grass towards a gravedigger digging in the +sunshine. He looked at me, resting his foot on his spade. + +'I want to find a grave.' + +'What part was the party buried in?' + +'The pauper part,' I said. + +'Oh,' said he, losing suddenly his respectful tone. 'When was she +buried? I suppose it was a she by the look o' you.' + +'When? I don't know the date.' + +'Rather a wide order that, but there's the pauper part.' And he +pointed to a spot at some little distance, where there were no +gravestones and no shrubs. I walked across to this Desert of Poverty, +which seemed too cheerless for a place of rest. I stood and gazed at +the mounds till the black coffins underneath grew upon my mental +vision, and seemed to press upon my brain. Thoughts I had none, only +a sense of being another person. + +The man came slowly towards me, and then looked meditatively into my +face. I shall never forget him. A tall, sallow, emaciated man he was, +with cheek-bones high and sharp as an American Indian's, and +straight black hair. He looked like a wooden image of Mephistopheles, +carved with a jack-knife. + +'Who are you?' The words seemed to come, not from the gravedigger's +mouth, but from those piles of lamp-blacked coffins which were +searing my eyes through four feet of graveyard earth. By the +fever-fires in my brain I seemed to see the very faces of the +corpses. + +'Who am I?' I said to myself, as I thought, but evidently aloud; +'I am the Fool of Superstition. I am Fenella Stanley's Fool, and +Sinfi Lovell's Fool, and Philip Aylwin's Fool, who went and averted +a curse from one of the heads resting down here, averted a curse by +burying a jewel in a dead man's tomb.' + +'Not in this cemetery, so none o' your gammon,' said the +gravedigger, who had overheard me. 'The on'y people as is fools +enough to bury jewels with dead bodies is the Gypsies, and _they_ +take precious good care, as I know, to keep it mum _where_ they bury +'em. There's bin as much diggin' for them thousand guineas as was +buried with Jerry Chilcott in Foxleigh Parish, where I was born, as +would more nor pay for emptying a gold mine; but I never heard o' +Christian folk a-buryin' jewels. But who are you?' + +I felt a hand upon my shoulder, and looking round, I found Sinfi by +my side. + +'Does he belong to you, my gal?' + +'Yis,' said Sinfi, with a strange, deep ring in her rich contralto +voice. 'Yis, he belongs to me now--leastways he's my pal +now--whatever comes on it.' + +'Then take him away, my wench. What's the matter with him? The old +complaint, I s'pose,' he added, lifting his hand to his mouth as +though drinking from a glass. + +Sinfi gently put out her hand and brushed the man aside. + +'I've bin a-followin' on you all the way, brother,' said Sinfi, as +we moved out of the cemetery, 'for your looks skeared me a bit. Let's +go away from this place.' + +'But whither, Sinfi? I have no friend but you; I have no home.' + +'No home, brother? The kairengros [Footnote] has got about +everythink, 'cept the sky an' the wind, an' you're one o' the richest +kairengros on 'em all--leastways so I wur told t'other day in +Kingston Vale. It's the Romanies, brother, as 'ain't got no home +'cept the sky an' the wind. Howsumever, that's nuther here nor there; +we'll jist go to the woman they told me on, an' if there's any truth +to be torn out of her, out it'll ha' to come, if I ha' to tear out +her windpipe with it.' + +[Footnote: The house-dwellers.] + +We took a cab and were soon in Primrose Court. + +The front door was wide open--fastened back. Entering the narrow +common passage, we rapped at a dingy inner door. It was opened by a +pretty girl, whose thick chestnut hair and eyes to match contrasted +richly with the dress she wore--a dirty black dress, with great +patches of lining bursting through holes like a whity-brown froth. + +'Meg Gudgeon?' said the girl in answer to our inquiries; and at first +she looked at us rather suspiciously, 'upstairs, she's very bad--like +to die--I'm a-seein' arter 'er. Better let 'er alone; she bites when +she's in 'er tantrums.' + +'We's friends o' hern,' said Sinfi, whose appearance and decisive +voice seemed to reassure the girl. + +'Oh, if you're friends that's different,' said she. 'Meg's gone off +'er 'ead; thinks the p'leace in plain clothes are after 'er.' + +We went up the stairs. The girl followed us. When we reached a low +door, Sinfi proposed that she should remain outside on the landing, +but within ear-shot, as 'the sight o' both on us, all of a suddent, +might make the poor body all of a dither if she was very ill.' + +The girl then opened the door and went in. I heard the woman's voice +say in answer to her, + +'Friend? Who is it? Are you sure, Poll, it ain't a copper in plain +clothes come about that gal?' + +The girl came out, and signalling me to enter, went leisurely +downstairs. Leaving Sinfi outside on the landing, I entered the room. +There, on a sort of truckle-bed in one corner, I saw the woman. She +slowly raised herself up on her elbows to stare at me. I took for +granted that she would recognise me at once; but either because she +was in drink when I saw her last, or because she had got the idea of +a policeman in plain clothes, she did not seem to know me. Then a +look of dire alarm broke over her face and she said, + +'P'leaceman, I'm as hinicent about that air gal as a new-born babe.' + +'Mrs. Gudgeon,' I said, 'I only want you to tell a friend of mine +about your daughter.' + +'Oh yis! a friend o' yourn! Another or two on ye in plain clothes +behind the door, I dessay. An' pray who said the gal wur my darter? +What for do you want to put words into the mouth of a hinicent dyin' +woman? I comed by 'er 'onest enough. The pore half-starved thing came +up to me in Llanbeblig churchyard.' + +'Llanbeblig churchyard?' I exclaimed, drawing close up to the bed. +'How came you in Llanbeblig churchyard?' But then I remembered that, +according to her own story, she had married a Welshman. + +'How did I come in Llanbeblig churchyard?' said the woman in a tone +in which irony and fear were strangely mingled. 'Well, p'leaceman, I +don't mean to be sarcy: but seein' as all my pore dear 'usband's kith +and kin o' the name o' Goodjohn was buried in Llanbeblig churchyard, +p'raps you'll be kind enough to let me go there sometimes, an' p'raps +be buried there when my time comes.' + +'But what took you there?' I said. + +'What took me to Llanbeblig churchyard?' exclaimed the woman, whose +natural dogged courage seemed to be returning to her. 'What made me +leave every fardin' I had in the world with Poll Onion, when we +ommust wanted bread, an' go to Carnarvon on Shanks's pony? I sha'n't +tell ye. I comed by the gal 'onest enough, an' she never comed to no +'arm through me, less mendin' 'er does for 'er, and bringin' 'er to +London, and bein' a mother to 'er, an' givin' 'er a few baskets an' +matches to sell is a-doin' 'er any 'arm. An' as to beggin' she +_would_ beg, she loved to beg an' say texes.' + +'Old kidnapper!' I cried, maddened by the visions that came upon me. +'How do I know that she came to no harm with a wretch like you?' + +The woman shrank back upon the pillows in a revival of her terror. +'She never comed to no 'arm, p'leaceman. No, no, she never comed to +no 'arm through me. I'd a darter once o' my own, Jenny Gudgeon by +name--p'raps you know'd 'er, most o' the coppers did--as was brought +up by my sister by marriage at Carnarvon, an' I sent for 'er to +London, I did, pl'eaceman--God forgi'e me--an' she went wrong all +through me bein' a drinkin' woman an' not seein' arter 'er, just as +my son Bob tookt to drink, through me bein' a drinkin' woman an' not +seein' arter _him_. She tookt and went from bad to wuss, bad to +wuss; it's my belief as it's allus starvation as drives 'em to it; +an' when she wur a-dyin' gal, she sez to me, "Mother," sez she, +"I've got the smell o' Welsh vi'lets on me ag'in: I wants to be +buried in Llanbeblig churchyard, among the Welsh child'n an' maids, +mother. I wants to feel the snowdrops, an' smell the vi'lets, an' +the primroses, a-growin' over my 'ead," sez she; "but that can't +never be, mother," sez she, a-sobbin' fit to bust; "never, never, +for such as me," sez she. An' I know'd what she meant, though she +never once blamed me, an' 'er words stuck in my gizzard like a thorn, +p'leaceman.' + +'But what has all this to do with the girl you kidnapped?' + +'Ain't I a-tellin' on ye as fast as I can? When my pore gal dropped +off to sleep, I sez to Polly Onion, "Poll," I sez, "to-morrow mornin' +I'll pop every-think as ain't popped a'ready, an' I'll leave you the +money to see arter 'er, an' I'll start for Carnarvon on Shanks's +pony. I knows a good many on the road," sez I, "as won't let Jokin' +Meg want for a crust and a sup, an' when I gits to Carnarvon I'll ax +'er aunt to bury 'er (she sells fish, 'er aunt does,"' sez I, "and +she's got a pot o' money), an' then I'll see the parson or the sexton +or somebody," sez I, "an' I'll tell 'em I've got a darter in London +as is goin' to die, a Carnarvon gal by family, an' I'll tell 'im she +ain't never bin married, an' then they'll bury 'er where she can +smell the primroses and the vi'lets." That's what I sez to Poll +Onion, an' then Poll she begins to pipe, an' sez, "Oh Meg, Meg, ain't +I a Carnarvon gal too? The likes o' us ain't a-goin' to grow no +vi'lets an' snowdrops in Llanbeblig churchyard." An' I sez to her, +"What a d--d fool you are, Poll! You never 'adn't a gal as went wrong +through you a-drinkin', else you'd never say that. If the parson sez +to me, 'Is your darter a vargin-maid?' d'ye think I shall say, 'Oh +no, parson'? I'll swear she is a vargin-maid on all the Bibles in all +the churches in Wales." That's jis' what I sez to Polly Onion, God +forgi'e me. An' Poll sez, "The parson'll be sure to send you to hell, +Meg, if you do that air." An' I sez, "So he may, then, but I _shall_ +do it, no fear." That's what I sez to Poll Onion (she's downstairs at +this werry moment a-warmin' me a drop o' beer); it was 'er as showed +you upstairs, cuss 'er for a fool; an' she can tell you the same +thing as I'm a-tellin' on you.' + +'But what about her you kidnapped? Tell me all about it, or it will +be worse for you.' + +'Ain't I a-tellin' you as fast as I can? Off to Carnarvon I goes, an' +every futt o' the way I walks--Lor' bless your soul, there worn't a +better pair o' pins nowheres than Meg Gudgeon's then, afore the water +got in 'em an' bust 'em; an' I got to Llanbeblig churchyard early one +mornin', and there I seed the pore half-sharp gal. So you see I comed +by 'er 'onest enough, p'leaceman, though she worn't ezzackly my own +darter.' + +'Well, well,' I said; 'go on.' + +'Yes, it's all very well to say "go on," p'leaceman; but if you'd got +as much water in your legs as I've got in mine, an' if you'd got no +more wind in your bellows than I've got in mine, you'd find it none +so easy to go on.' + +'What was she doing in the churchyard?' + +'Well, p'leaceman, I'm tellin' you the truth, s'elp me Bob! I was +a-lookin' over the graves to see if I could find a nice comfortable +place for my pore gal, an' all at once I heered a kind o' sobbin' as +would a' made me die o' fright if it 'adn't a' bin broad daylight, +an' then I see a gal a-layin' flat on a grave an' cryin', an' when I +got up to her I seed as she wur covered with mud, an' I seed as she +wur a-starvin'.' + +'Good God, woman, you are lying! you are lying!' + +'No, I ain't a-lyin'. She tookt to me the moment she clapped eyes on +me; most people does, and them as don't ought, an' she got up an' put +her arms round my neck, and she called me "Knocker."' + +'Called you what?' + +'Ain't I a-tellin' you? She called me "Knocker"; and that's the very +name as she allus called me up to the day of 'er death, pore dear! I +tried to make 'er come along o' me, an' she wouldn't stir, an' so I +left 'er, meanin' to go back; but when I got to my sister's by +marriage, there was a letter for me an' it wur from Polly Onion, +a-sayin' as my pore Jenny died the same day as I left London, +a-sayin', "Mother, vi'lets, vi'lets; mother, vi'lets, vi'lets!" an' +was buried by the parish. An' that upset me, p'leaceman, an' made me +swownd, an' when I comed to, I couldn't hear nothink only my pore +Jenny's voice a-sobbin' on the wind, "Mother, vi'lets, vi'lets; +mother, vi'lets, vi'lets!" an' that sent me off my 'ead a bit, an' I +run out o' the 'ouse, an' there was Jenny's voice a-goin' on before +me a-sobbin', "Mother, vi'lets, vi'lets; mother, vi'lets, vi'lets!" +an' it seemed to lead me back to the churchyard; an' lo an' be'old! +there was the pore half-starved creatur' a-settin' there jist as I'd +left 'er, an' I sez, "God bless you, my gal, you're a-starvin'!" an' +she jumped up, an' she comed an' throwed 'er arms round my waist, an' +there we stood both on us a-cryin' togither, an' then I runned back +into Carnarvon, an' fetched 'er some grub, an' she tucked into the +grub.--But hullo! p'leaceman, what's up now? What the devil are you +a-squeedgin' my 'and like that for? Are you a-goin' to kiss it? It +ain't none so clean, p'leaceman. You're the rummest copper in plain +clothes ever I seed in all my born days. Fust you seem as if you want +to bite me, you looks so savage, an' then you looks as if you wants +to kiss me; you'll make me laugh, I know you will, an' that'll make +me cough.--Hi! Poll Onion, come 'ere. Bring my best lookin'-glass out +o' my bowdore, an' let me look at my ole chops, for I'm blowed if +there ain't a copper in plain clothes this time as is fell 'ead over +ears in love with me, jist as the young swell did at the studero.' + +'Go on, Mrs. Gudgeon,' I said; 'go on. She ate the food?' + +'Oh, didn't she jist! And the pore half-sharp thing took to me, an' I +took to she, an' I thinks to myself, "She's a purty gal, if she's +ever so stupid, an' she'll get 'er livin' a-sellin' flowers o' fine +days, an' a-doin' the rainy-night dodge with baskets when it's wet "; +an' so I took 'er in, an' in the street she'd all of a suddent bust +out a-singin' songs about Snowdon an' sich like, just as if she was +a-singin' in a dream, and folk used to like to 'ear 'er an' gev 'er +money; an' I was a good mother to 'er, I was, an' them as sez I +worn't is cussed liars.' + +'And she never came to any harm?' I said, holding the great muscular +hands between my two palms, unwilling to let them go. 'She never came +to any harm?' + +'Ain't I said so more nor wunst? I swore on the Bible--there's the +very Bible, under the match-box, agin the winder--on that very Bible +I swore as my port Jenny brought from Wales, an' as I've never popped +yit that this pore half-sharp gal should never go wrong through me; +an' then, arter I swore that, my pore Jenny let me alone, an' I never +'eard 'er v'ice no more a-cryin'. "Mother, vi'lets, vi'lets; mother, +vi'lets, vi'lets!" An' many's the chap as 'as come leerin' after 'er +as I've sent away with a flea in 'is ear. Cuss 'em all; they's all +bad alike about purty gals, men is. She's never comed to no wrong +through _me_. Didn't I ammost kill a real sailor capting when I used +to live in the East End 'cause he tried to meddle with 'er? An' +worn't that the reason why I left my 'um close to Radcliffe 'Ighway +an' comed 'ere? Them as killed 'er wur the cussed lot in the +studeros. I'm a dyin' woman; I'm as hinicent as a new-born babe. An' +there ain't nothink o' 'ern in this room on'y a pair o' ole shoes an' +a few rags in that ole trunk under the winder.' + +I went to the trunk and raised the lid. The tattered, stained remains +of the very dress she wore when I last saw her in the mist on +Snowdon! But what else? Pushed into an old worn shoe, which with its +fellow lay tossed among the ragged clothes, was a brown stained +letter. I took it out. It was addressed to 'Miss Winifred Wynne at +Mrs. Davies's.' Part of the envelope was torn away. It bore the +Graylingham post-mark, and its superscription was in a hand which I +did not recognise, and yet it was a hand which seemed half-familiar +to me. I opened it; I read a line or two before I fully realised what +it was--the letter, full of childish prattle, which I had written to +Winifred when I was a little boy--the first letter I wrote to her. + + +I forgot where I was, I forgot that Sinfi was standing outside the +door, till I heard the woman's voice exclaiming, 'What do you want to +set on my bed an' look at me like that for?--you ain't no p'leaceman +in plain clothes, so none o' your larks. Git off o' my bed, will ye? +You'll be a-settin' on my bad leg an' a-bustin' on it in a minit. Git +off my bed, else look another way; them eyes o' yourn skear me.' + +I was sitting on the side of her bed and looking into her face. +'Where did you get this?' I said, holding out the letter. + +'You skears me, a-lookin' like that,' said she. 'I comed by it +'onest. One day when she was asleep, I was turnin' over 'er clothes +to see how much longer they would hold together, when I feels a +somethink 'ard sewed up in the breast; I rips it open, and it was +that letter. I didn't put it back in the frock ag'in, 'cause I +thought it might be useful some day in findin' out who she was. She +never missed it. I don't think she'd 'ave missed anythink, she wur +so oncommon silly. You ain't a-goin' to pocket it, air you?' + +I had put the letter in my pocket, and had seized the shoes and was +going out of the room; but I stopped, took a sovereign from my purse, +placed it in an envelope bearing my own address which I chanced to +find in my pocket, and, putting it into her hand, I said, 'Here is my +address and here is a sovereign. I will tell your friend below to +come for me or send whenever you need assistance.' The woman clutched +at the money with greed, and I left the room, signalling to Sinfi +(who stood on the landing, pale and deeply moved) to follow me +downstairs. When we reached the wretched room on the ground-floor we +found the girl hanging some wet rags on lines that were stretched +from wall to wall. + +'What is your name?' I said. + +'Polly Unwin,' replied she, turning round with a piece of damp linen +in her hand. + +'And what are you?' + +'What am I?' + +'I mean what do you do for a living?' + +'What do I do for a living?' she said. 'All kinds of things--help the +men at the barrows in the New Cut sell flowers, do anything that +comes in my way.' + +'Never mind what she does for a livin', brother,' said Sinfi; 'give +her a gold balanser or two, and tell her to see arter the woman.' + +'Here is some money,' I said to the girl. 'See that Mrs. Gudgeon +upstairs wants for nothing. Is that story of hers true about her +daughter and Llanbeblig churchyard?' + +'That's true enough, though she's a wunner at a lie: that's true +enough.' + +But as I spoke I heard a noise like the laugh or the shriek of a +maniac. It seemed to come from upstairs. + +'She's a-larfin' ag'in,' said the girl. 'It's a very wicked larf, +sir, ain't it? But there's wuss uns nor Meg Gudgeon for all 'er +wicked larf, as I knows. Many a time she's kep' me from starvin'. I +mus' run up an' see 'er. She'll kill herself a-larfin' yit.' + +The girl hurried upstairs and I followed her, leaving Sinfi below. I +re-entered the bedroom. There was the woman, her face buried in the +pillow, rocking and rolling her body half round with the regularity +of a pendulum. Between the peals of half-smothered hysterical +laughter that came from her, I could hear her say: + +'_Dear Lord Jesus, don't forget to love dear Henry who can't git up +the gangways without me_.' + +The words seemed to fall upon my heart like a rain of molten metal +dropping from the merciless and mocking skies. But I had ceased to +wonder at the cruelty of Fate. The girl went to her and shook her +angrily. This seemed to allay her hysterics, for she rolled round +upon her back and stared at us. Then she looked at the envelope +clutched in her hand, and read out the address, + +'Henry, Henry, Henry Halywin, Eskeuer! An' I tookt 'im for a copper +in plain clothes all the while! Henry, Henry, Henry Halywin, Eskeuer! +I shall die a-larfin', I know I shall! I shall die a-larfin', I know +I shall! Poll! don't you mind me a-tellin' you about my pore darter +Winifred--for my darter she _was_, as I'll swear afore all the beaks +in London--don't you mind me a-sayin' that if she wouldn't talk when +she wur awake, she could mag away fast enough when she wur asleep; +an' it were allus the same mag about dear little Henry, an' dear +Henry Halywin as couldn't git up the gangways without 'er. Well, pore +dear Henry was 'er sweet'airt, an' this is the chap, an' if my eyes +ain't stun blind, the werry chap out o' the cussed studeros as killed +'er, pore dear, an' as is a-skearin' me away from my beautiful 'um in +Primrose Court; an' 'ere wur I a-talkin' to 'im all of a muck sweat, +thinkin' he wur a copper in plain clothes!' + +At this moment Sinfi entered the room. She came up to me, and laying +her hand upon my shoulder she said: 'Come away, brother, this is +cruel hard for you to bear. It's our poor sister Winifred as is dead, +and it ain't nobody else.' + +The effect of Sinfi's appearance and of her words upon the woman was +like that of an electric shock. She sat up in her bed open-mouthed, +staring from Sinfi to me, and from me to Sinfi. + +'So my darter Winifred's your _sister_ now, is she?' (turning to me). +'A few minutes ago she was your sweet'airt: an' now she seems to ha' +bin your sister. An' she was _your_ sister, too, was she?' (turning +to Sinfi). 'Well, all I know is, that she was my darter, Winifred +Gudgeon, as is dead, an' buried in the New North Cemetery, pore dear; +an' yet she was sister to both on ye!' + +She then buried her face again in the pillows and resumed the rocking +movement, shrieking between her peals of laughter: 'Well, if I'm the +mother of a six-fut Gypsy gal an' a black-eyed chap as seems jest +atween a Gypsy and a Christian, I never knowed _that_ afore. No, I +never knowed _that_ afore! I allus said I should die a-larfin', an' +so I shall; I'm a-dyin' now--ha! ha! ha!' + +She fell back upon the pillow, exhausted by her own cruel merriment. + +'She always said she'd die a-larfin', an' she will, too--more nor I +shall ever do,' said the girl, after we had gone downstairs. + +'Did you notice what she said about Winnie a-callin' her Knocker?' +said Sinfi. + +'Yes, and couldn't understand it.' + +'_I_ know what it meant. Winnie knowed all about the Knockers of +Snowdon, the dwarfs o' the copper mine, and this woman, bein' so +thick and short, must look ezackly like a Knocker, I should say, if +you could see one.' + +I said to the girl, 'Was she really kind to--to--' + +'To her you were asking about,--the Essex Street Beauty? I should +think she just was. She's a drinker, is poor Meg, and drinking in +Primrose Court means starvation. Meg and the Beauty were often short +enough of grub, but, drunk or sober, Meg would never touch a mouthful +till the Beauty had had her fill. I noticed it many a time--not a +mouthful. When Meg was obliged to send her into the streets to sell +things she was always afraid that the Beauty might come to harm +through the toffs and the chaps. The toffs were the worst looking +after her--as they mostly are--so I was always watching her in the +day-time, and at night Meg was always watching her, and that was what +made me know your face, as soon as ever I clapt eyes on it.' + +'Why, what do you mean?' + +'Well, one rainy night when I was standing by the theatre door, I +heard a toff ask a policeman about the Essex Street Beauty, and I +thought I knew what that meant very well. So I ran off to find Meg. I +had seen her watching the Beauty all the time. But lo and behold! Meg +was gone and the Beauty too. So I run across here, and found Meg and +the Beauty getting their supper as quiet as possible. Meg had heard +the toff talking to the policeman--though I didn't know she was +standing so near--and whisked her off and away as quick as +lightning.' + +'That was I,' I said. 'God! God! If I had only known!' + +'There's the same look now on your face as there was then, and I +should know it among ten thousand.' + +'Polly Onion,' I said, 'there is my address, and if ever you want a +friend, and if you are in trouble, you will know where to find +assistance,' and I gave her another sovereign. + +'You're a good sort,' said she, 'and no mistake.' + +'Good-bye,' I said, shaking her hand. 'See well after Mrs. Gudgeon.' + +'All right,' said she, and a smile broke over her face. 'I think I +ought to tell you now,' she continued, 'that Meg's no more ill of +dropsy than I am; she could walk twenty miles off the reel; there +ain't a bullock in England half as strong as Meg; she's shamming.' + +'Shamming, but why?' + +'Well, she ain't drunk; ever since the Beauty died she's never +touched a drop o' gin. But she's turned quite cranky. She's got it +into her head that the relations of the Beauty are going to send her +to prison for kidnapping; and she thinks that every one that comes +near her is a policeman in plain clothes. She's just lying in bed to +keep herself out of the way till she starts.' + +'Where's she going, then?' + +'She talks about going to see after her son Bob in the country; her +husband is a Welshman. He's over the water.' + +'Did you say she had given up drinking?' I asked. + +'Yes; she seemed to dote on the Beauty, and when the Beauty died she +said, "My darter went wrong through me drinkin', and my son Bob went +wrong through me drinkin'; and I feel somehow that it was through my +drinkin' that I lost the Beauty; and never will you find me touch +another drop o' gin, Poll. Beer I ain't fond on, and it 'ud take a +rare swill o' beer to get up as far as Meg Gudgeon's head."' + +'There ain't much fault to be found with a woman like Meg Gudgeon,' +said Sinfi. 'Was the Beauty fond o' her? She ought to ha' bin.' + +'She used to call her Knocker,' said the girl. 'She seemed very fond +of her when they were together, but seemed to forget her as soon as +they were apart.' + +Sinfi and I then left the house. + +In Great Queen Street she took my hand as if to bid me good-bye. But +she stood and gazed at me wistfully, and I gazed at her. At last she +said, + +'An' now, brother, we'll jist go across to Kingston Vale, an' see my +daddy, an' set your livin'-waggin to rights.' + +'Then, Sinfi,' I said, 'you and I are once more--' + +I stopped and looked at her. The fearless young Amazon and seeress, +who kept a large family of the Kaulo Camloes in awe, was supposed to +have nearly conquered the feminine weakness of tears; but she had +not. There was a chink in the Amazon's armour, and I had found it. + +'Yis,' said she, nodding her head and smiling. 'You an' me's right +pals ag'in.' + +As we were going I told her how I had replaced the jewel in the tomb. + +'I know'd you would do it. Yis, I heer'd you telling the gravedigger +the same thing.' + +'And yet,' said I bitterly, 'in spite of that and in spite of the +Golden Hand, she is dead.' + +Sinfi stood silently looking at me now. Even her prodigious faith +seemed conquered. + + +IV + +For a few days I paced with Sinfi over Wimbledon Common and Richmond +Park, The weather was now unusually brilliant for the time of year. +Sinfi would walk silently by my side. + +But I could not rest with the Gypsies. I must be alone. Soon I left +the camp and returned to London, where I took a suite of rooms in a +house not far from Eaton Square--though to me London was a huge +meaningless maze of houses clustered around Primrose Court--that +horrid, fascinating, intolerable core of pain. Into my lungs poured +the hateful atmosphere of the city where Winifred had perished; +poured hot and stifling as sand-blasts of the desert. Impossible to +stay there!--for the pavement seemed actually to scorch my feet, like +the floor of a fiery furnace. To me the sun above was but the hideous +eye of Circumstance which had stared down pitilessly on that bare +head of hers, and blistered those feet. + +The lamps at night seemed twinkling, blinking in a callous +consciousness of my tragedy--my monstrous tragedy of real life, the +like of which no poet dare imagine. But what aroused my wrath to an +unbearable pitch--what determined me to leave London at once--was the +sight of the unsympathetic faces in the streets. Though sympathy +could have given me no comfort, the myriad unsympathetic eyes of +London infuriated me. + +'Died in beggar's rags--died in a hovel!' I muttered with rage as the +equipages and coarse splendours of the West End rolled insolently by. +'Died in a hovel!--and this London, this vast, ridiculous, swarming +human ant-hill, whose millions of paltry humdrum lives were not worth +one breath from those lips--this London spurned her, left her to +perish alone in her squalor and misery.' + + +Cyril and Wilderspin had returned to the Continent. D'Arcy was still +away. + + +I made application to the Home Secretary to have the pauper grave +opened. On the ground that I was 'not a relative of the deceased,' +the officials refused to institute even preliminary inquiries. + +During this time no news of Mrs. Gudgeon had come to me through Polly +Onion, and I determined to go to Primrose Court and see what had +become of her. + +When I reached Primrose Court I found that the shutters of the house +were up. Knocking and getting no response, I ascertained from a +pot-boy who was passing the corner of the court that Mrs. Gudgeon had +decamped. Neither the pot-boy nor any one in the court could tell me +whither she was gone. + +'But where is Polly Onion?' I asked anxiously; for I was beginning to +blame myself bitterly for having neglected them. + +'I can tell you where poor Polly is,' said the pot-boy. 'She's in the +New North Cemetery. She fell downstairs and broke her neck.' + +'Why, she lived downstairs,' I said. + +'That's true; you seem to be well up in the family, sir. But Poll +couldn't pay her rent, so old Meg took her in. And on the very +morning when Meg and Poll were a-startin' off together into the +country--it was quite early and dark--Poll stumbles over three young +flower-gals as 'ad crep' in the front door in the night time and was +makin' the stairs their bed. Gals as hadn't made enough to pay for +their night's lodgin' often used to sleep on Meg's stairs. Poll was +picked up as nigh dead as a toucher, and she died at the 'ospital.' + + +Toiling in the revolving cage of Circumstance, I strove in vain +against that most appalling form of envy--the envy of one's fellow +creatures that they should live and breathe while there is no breath +of life for the _one_. + + +My uncle Cecil's death had made me a rich man; but what was wealth to +me if it could not buy me respite from the vision haunting me day and +night--the vision of the attic, the mattress, and the woman? + +And as I thought of the powerlessness of wealth to give me one crumb +of comfort, and remembered Winnie's sermon about wealth, I would look +at myself in the mirror above my mantelpiece and smile bitterly at +the sight of the hollow cheeks, furrowed brow, and melancholy eyes, +and recall her words about her hovering near me after she was dead. + +The thought of my wealth and the squalor in which she had died was, I +think, the most maddening thought of all. I had now become the +possessor of Wilderspin's picture 'Faith and Love,' having bought it +of the Bond Street dealer to whom it belonged; and also of the +'Christabel' picture, and these I was constantly looking at as they +hung up on the walls of my room. After a while, however, I destroyed +the 'Christabel' picture, it was too painful. Though I would not see +such friends as I had, I read their letters; indeed, it was these +same letters which alone could draw from me a grim smile now and +then. + +Almost every letter ended by urging me, in order to flee from my +sorrows, to travel! With the typical John Bull travelling seems to be +always the panacea. In sorrow, John's herald of peace is Baedeker: +the dispenser of John's true nepenthe is Mr. Murray. Pity and love +for Winifred pursued me, tortured me nigh unto death, and therefore +did these friends of mine seem to suppose that I wanted to flee from +my pity and sorrow! Why, to flee from my sorrow, to get free of my +pity, to flee from the agonies that went nigh to tearing soul from +body, would have been to flee from all that I had left of +life--memory. + +Did I want to flee from Winnie? Why, memory was Winnie now; and did +I want to flee from _her_? And yet it was memory that was goading me +on to the verge of madness. No doubt the reader thinks me a weak +creature for allowing the passion of pity to sap my manhood in this +fashion. But it was not so much her death as the manner of her death +that withered my heart and darkened my soul. The calamities which +fell upon her, grievous beyond measure, unparalleled, not to be +thought of save with a pallor of cheek and a shudder of the flesh, +were ever before me, mocking me--maddening me. + +'Died in a hovel!' As I gave voice to this impeachment of Heaven, +night after night, wandering up and down the streets, my brain was +being scorched and withered by those same thoughts of anger against +destiny and most awful revolt which had appalled me when first I saw +how the curse of Heaven or the whim of Circumstance had been +fulfilled. + +Then came that passionate yearning for death, which grief such as +mine must needs bring. But if what Materialism teaches were true, +suicide would rob me even of my memory of her. If, on the other hand, +what I had been taught by the supernaturalism of my ancestors were +true, to commit suicide might be but to play finally into the hands +of that same unknown pitiless power with whom my love had all along +been striving. + +'Suicide might sever my soul from hers for ever.' I said, and then +the tragedy would seem too monstrously unjust to be true, and I said: +'It cannot be--such things cannot be: it is a hideous dream. She is +not dead! She is in Wales with friends at Carnarvon, and I shall +awake and laugh at all this imaginary woe!' + +And what were now my feelings towards the memory of my father? Can +a man cherish in his heart at one and the same moment scorn of +another man for believing in the efficacy of a curse, and bitter +anger against him for having left a curse behind him? He can! On my +return to London after my illness I had sent back to Wilderspin the +copy of _The Veiled Queen_ he had lent me. But from the library of +Raxton Hall I brought my father's own copy, elaborately bound in the +tooled black calf my father affected. The very sight of that black +binding now irritated me; never did I pass it without experiencing a +sensation that seemed a blending of scorn and fear: scorn of the +ancestral superstitions the book gave voice to: fear of them. + +One day I took the book from the shelves and then hurled it across +the room. Stumbling over it some days after this, a spasm of +ungovernable rage came upon me, for terribly was my blood struggling +with Fenella Stanley and Philip Aylwin, and thousands of ancestors, +Romany and Gorgio, who for ages upon ages had been shaping my +destiny. I began to tear out the leaves and throw them on the fire. +But suddenly I perceived the leaves to be covered with marginalia in +my father's manuscript, and with references to Fenella Stanley's +letters--letters which my father seemed to have studied as deeply as +though they were the writings of a great philosopher instead of the +scribblings of an ignorant Gypsy. My eye had caught certain written +words which caused me to clutch at the sheets still burning on the +fire. Too late!--I grasped nothing save a little paper-ash. Then I +turned to the pages still left in my hand, and read these words of my +father's: + +'These marginalia are written for the eyes of my dear son, into whose +hands this copy of my book will come. Until he gave me his promise to +bury the amulet with me, I felt alone in the world. But even he +failed to understand what he called "my superstition." He did not +know that by perpetually feeling on my bosom the facets of the +beloved jewel which had long lain warm upon hers--the cross which had +received the last kiss from her lips--I had been able to focus all +the scattered rays of thought--I had been able to vitalise memory +till it became an actual presence. He did not know that out of my +sorrow had been born at last a strange kind of happiness--the +happiness that springs from loving a memory--living with a +memory--till it becomes a presence--an objective reality. He did not +know that, by holding her continually in my thoughts, by means of +the amulet, I achieved at last the miracle described by the Hindoo +poets--the miracle of reshaping from the undulations of "the three +regions of the universe the remembered object by the all-creative +magic of love!"' + + +Then followed some translations from the Kumara-sambhava and other +Sanscrit poems, and then the well-known passage in Lucretius about +dreams, and then a pathetic account of the visions called up within +him by the sensation caused by the lacerations of the facets of the +cherished amulet upon his bosom--visions something akin, as I +imagine, to those experienced by _convulsionnaires_. And then after +all this learning came references to poor ignorant Fenella Stanley's +letters and extracts from them. + +In one of these extracts I was startled to come upon the now familiar +word 'crwth.' + + +'De Welch fok ses as de livin mullos only follow the crwth on Snowdon +wen it is playde by a Welch Chavi, but dat is all a lie. Dey follows +the crwth when a Romany Chi plays it as I nows very wel, but de +chavi wot play on the crwth, shee must love the living mullo she want +for to come, and de living mullo must love her.' + + +And then followed my father's comments on the extract. + + +'_N.B._--To see and hear a crwth, if possible, and ascertain the true +nature of the vibrations. But there are said to be only a few crwths +in existence; and very likely there is no musician who could play +upon them.' + + +Then followed a few sentences written at a later date. + + +'The crwth is now becoming obsolete; on inquiry I learn that it is a +stringed instrument played with a bow like a violin; but as one of +the feet of the bridge passes through one of the sound-holes and +rests on the inside of the back, the vibrations must be quite unique, +if we remember how important a part is played by the back in all +instruments of the violin kind. It must be far more subtle than the +vibrations of the Welsh harp, and even more subtle (if also more +nasal) than those of the violin. + +'The reason why music has in all ages been called in to aid in +evoking the spirits, the reason why it is as potent now as ever it +was in aiding the spirits to manifest themselves, is simple enough: +the rhythmic vibrations of music set in active motion the magnetic +waves through whose means alone the two worlds, spiritual and +material, can hold communication. The quality and the value of these +vibrations depend mainly, no doubt, upon the magnetic power, +conscious or other, of the musician, but partly also upon the kind of +instrument used. The vibrations awakened by stringed instruments have +been long known to be more subtle than any others: instruments of the +violin kind are of course the most subtle of all. Doubtless this is +why among the Welsh hills the old saying used to be "The spirits +follow the crwth."' + +'Which folly is the more besotted,' I said, as I read and re-read the +marginalia--'that of the scholar with his scientific nonsense about +vibrations, or that of the ignorant Gypsy with her living mullos +drawn through the air by music and love?' + +But now my eyes fell upon a very different kind of marginal note +which ran thus:-- + + +'The one important fact of the twentieth century will be the growth +and development of that great Renascence of Wonder which set in in +Europe at the close of the eighteenth century and the beginning of +the nineteenth. + +'The warring of the two impulses governing man (and probably not man +only, but the entire world of conscious life)--the impulse of +acceptance, the impulse to take unchallenged and for granted all the +phenomena of the outer world as they are, and the impulse to confront +these phenomena with eyes of inquiry and wonder--will occupy all the +energies of the next century. + +'The old impulse of wonder which came to the human race in its +infancy has to come back--has to triumph--before the morning of the +final emancipation of man can dawn. + +'But the wonder will be exercised in very different fields from those +in which it was exercised in the past. The materialism which at this +moment seems to most thinkers inseparable from the idea of evolution +will go. Against their own intentions certain scientists are showing +that the spiritual force called life is the maker and not the +creature of organism--is a something outside the material world, a +something which uses the material world as a means of phenomenal +expression. + +'The materialist, with his primitive and confiding belief in the +testimony of the senses, is beginning to be left out in the cold, +when men like Sir W. R. Grove turn round on him and tell him that +"the principle of all certitude" is not and cannot be the testimony +of his own senses; that these senses, indeed, are no absolute tests +of phenomena at all; that probably man is surrounded by beings he can +neither see, feel, hear, nor smell; and that, notwithstanding the +excellence of his own eyes, ears, and nose, the universe the +materialist is mapping out so deftly is, and must be, monophysical, +lightless, colourless, soundless--a phantasmagoric show--a deceptive +series of undulations, which become colour, or sound, or what not, +according to the organism upon which they fall.' + + +These words were followed by a sequence of mystical sonnets about +"the Omnipotence of Love," which showed, beyond doubt, that if my +father was not a scientific thinker, he was, at least, a very +original poet. And this made me perplexed as to what could have drawn +Wilderspin, who scorned the art of poetry, into the meshes of _The +Veiled Queen_. Perhaps, however, it was because Wilderspin's ancestry +was, notwithstanding his English name, largely, if not wholly, Welsh, +as I learnt from Cyril. Welshmen, whether sensitive or not to the +rhythmic expression of the English language, are almost all, I +believe, of the poetic temperament. + +But from this moment my mind began to run upon the picture of Fenella +Stanley, surrounded by those Snowdonian spirits which her music was +supposed to have evoked from the mountain air of the morning. + + + +XIII + +THE MAGIC OF SNOWDON + + +I + +In a few days I left London and went to North Wales. + +Opposite to me in the railway carriage sat an elderly lady, into +whose face I occasionally felt myself to be staring in an unconscious +way. But I was merely communing with myself: I was saying to myself, +'My love of North Wales, and especially of Snowdon, is certainly very +strong; but it is easily accounted for--it is a matter of +temperament. Even had Wales not been associated with Winnie, I still +must have dearly loved it. Much has been said about the effect of +scenery upon the minds and temperaments of those who are native to +it. But temperament is a matter of ancestral conditions: the place of +one's birth is an accident. As some, like my cousin Percy, for +instance are born with a passion for the sea, and some with a passion +for forests, some with a passion for mountains, and some with a +passion for rolling plains. The landscape amid which I was born had, +no doubt, a charm for me, and could bring to me that nature-ecstacy +which I inherited from Fenella Stanley. But with Wales I actually +fell in love the moment I set foot in the country. This is why I am +hurrying there now.' + +And I laughed at myself, and evidently frightened the old lady very +much. She did not know that underneath the soul's direst +struggle--the struggle of personality with the tyranny of the +ancestral blood--there is an awful sense of humour--a laughter +(unconquerable, and yet intolerable) at the deepest of all +incongruities, the incongruity of Fate's game with man. I apologised +to her, and told her that I had been absorbed in reading a droll +story, in which a man believed that the Angel of Memory had +refashioned for him his dead wife out of his own sorrow and +unquenchable fountain of tears. + +'What an extraordinary idea!' said the old lady, in the conciliatory +tone she would have adopted towards a madman whom she found alone +with her in a railway carriage. 'I mean he was very eccentric, wasn't +he?' + +'Who shall say, madam? "Bold is the donkey-driver and bold the ka'dee +who dares say what he will believe, what disbelieve, not knowing in +any wise the mind of Allah, not knowing in any wise his own heart and +what it shall some day suffer."' + +At the next station the old lady left the carriage and entered +another, and I was left alone. + +My intention was to take up my residence at the cottage where +Winifred had lived with her aunt. Indeed, for a few days I did this, +taking with me one of the Welsh peasants with whom I had previously +made friends. But of course a lengthened stay in such a house was +impossible. More than ever now I needed attendance, and good +attendance, for I had passed into a strange state of irritability--I +had no command over my nerves, which were jarred by the most trifling +thing. I went to the hotel at Peri y Gwryd, but there tourists and +visitors made life more intolerable still to a man in my condition. + +At first I thought of building a house as near to the cottage as +possible; but this would take time, and I could not rest out of +Wales. I decided at last to have a wooden bungalow built. By telling +the builders that time was the first consideration with me, the cost +a secondary one, I got a bungalow built in a few weeks. By the +tradesmen of Chester I got it fitted up and furnished to my taste +with equal rapidity. Attending to this business gave real relief. + +When the bungalow was finished I removed into it the picture 'Faith +and Love.' I also got in as much painting material as I might want +and began to make sketches in the neighbourhood. + +Time went on, and there I remained. In a great degree, however, the +habit of grieving was conquered by my application to work. My +moroseness of temper gradually left me. + +Beautiful memories began to take the place of hideous ones--the +picture of the mattress and the squalor gave place to pictures of +Winifred on the sands of Raxton or on Snowdon. Yet so much of habit +is there in grief that even at this time I was subject to recurrent +waves of the old pain--waves which were sometimes as overmastering as +ever. + +I did not neglect the cottage, which was now my property, but kept it +in exactly the same state as that in which it had been put by Sinfi +after Winnie had wandered back to Wales. + +By isolating myself from all society, by surrounding myself with +mementos of Winifred, memory really did at last seem to be working a +miracle such as was worked for the widowed Ja'afar. + +Yet not entirely had memory passed into an objective presence. I +seemed to feel Winnie near me; but that was all. I felt that more +necessary than anything else in perfecting the atmosphere of memory +in which I would live was the society of her in whom alone I had +found sympathy--Sinfi Lovell. Did I also remember the wild theories +of my father and Fenella Stanley about the crwth? To obtain the +company of Sinfi had now become very difficult--her attitude towards +me had so changed. When she allowed me to rejoin the Lovells at +Kingston Vale she did so under the compulsion of my distress. But my +leaving the Gypsies of my own accord left her free from this +compulsion. She felt that she had now at last bidden me farewell +for ever. + +Still, opportunities of seeing her occasionally would, I knew, +present themselves, and I now determined to avail myself of these. +Panuel Lovell and some of the Boswells were not unfrequently in the +neighbourhood, and they were always accompanied by Sinfi and Videy. + + +II + +On a certain occasion, when I learnt that the Lovells were in the +neighbourhood, I sought them out. Sinfi at first was extremely shy, +or distant, or proud, or scared, and it was not till after one or two +interviews that she relaxed. She still was overshadowed by some +mysterious feeling towards me that seemed at one moment anger, at +another dread. However, I succeeded at last. I persuaded Panuel and +his daughters to leave their friends at 'the Place,' and spend a few +days with me at the bungalow. Great was the gaping and wide the +grinning among the tourists to see me inarching along the Capel Curig +road with three Gypsies. But to all human opinion I had become as +indifferent as Wilderspin himself. + +As we walked along the road, Sinfi slowly warmed into her old self, +but Videy, as usual, was silent, preoccupied, and meditative. When we +got within sight of the bungalow, however, the lights flashing from +the windows made the long low building look very imposing. Pharaoh, +the bantam cock which Sinfi was carrying, began to crow, but silence +again fell upon Sinfi. + +Panuel, when we entered the bungalow, said he was very tired and +would like to go to bed. I had perceived by the glossy appearance of +his skin (which was of the colour of beeswaxed mahogany) and the +benevolent dimple in his check that, although far from being +intoxicated, he was 'market-merry'; and as the two sisters also +seemed tired, I took the party at once to their bedrooms. + +'Dordi! what a gran' room,' said Sinfi, in a hushed voice, as I +opened the door of the one allotted to her. 'Don't you mind, Videy, +when you an' me fust slep' like two kairengros?' [Footnote] + +[Footnote: House-dwellers.] + +'No, I don't,' said Videy sharply. + +'It was at Llangollen Fair,' continued Sinfi, her frank face beaming +like a great child's; 'two little chavies we was then. An' don't you +mind, Videy, how we both on us cried when they put us to bed, 'cause +we was afeard the ceilin' would fall down on us?' + +Videy made no answer, but tossed up her head and looked around to see +whether there was a grinning servant within earshot. + +'Good-night, Sinfi,' I said, shaking her hand; 'and now, Videy, I +will show you your room.' + +'Oh, but Videy an' me sleeps togither, don't we?' + +'Certainly, if you wish it,' I replied. + +'She's afeard o' the "mullos,"' said Videy scornfully, as she went +and stood before an old engraved Venetian mirror I had picked up at +Chester, admiring her own perfect little figure reflected therein. +'Ever since she's know'd you she's bin afeard o' mullos, and keeps +Pharaoh with her o' nights; the mullos never come where there's a +crowin' cock.' + +I did not look at Sinfi, but bent my eyes upon the mirror, where, +several inches above the reflex of Videy's sarcastic face, shone the +features of Sinfi, perfectly cut as those of a Greek statue. + +'It's the dukkerin' dook [Footnote] as she's afeard on,' said Videy, +smiling in the glass till her face seemed one wicked glitter of +scarlet lips and pearly teeth. 'An' yit there ain't no dukkerin' +dook, an' there ain't no mullos.' + +[Footnote: The prophesying ghost.] + +Among the elaborately-engraved flowers and stars at the top of the +mirror was the representation of an angel grasping a musical +instrument. + +'Look, look!' said Sinfi, 'I never know'd afore that angels played +the crwth. I wonder whether they can draw a livin' mullo up to the +clouds, same as my crwth can draw one to Snowdon?' + +I bade them good-night, and joined Panuel at the door. + +I was conducting him along the corridor to his room when the door was +reopened and Sinfi's head appeared, as bright as ever, and then a +beckoning hand. + +'Reia,' said she, when I had returned to the door, 'I want to whisper +a word in your ear'; and she pulled my head towards the door and +whispered, 'Don't tell nobody about that 'ere jewelled trúshul in the +church vaults at Raxton. We shall be going down there at the fair +time, so don't tell nobody.' + +'But you surely are not afraid of your father,' I whispered in reply. + +'No, no,' said she, bringing her lips so close to my face that I felt +the breath steaming round my ear. 'Not daddy--Videy!--Daddy can't +keep a secret for five minutes. It's her I'm afeared on.' + +I had scarcely left the door two yards behind me when I heard the +voices of the sisters in loud altercation. I heard Sinfi exclaim, 'I +sha'n't tell you what I said to him, so now! It was somethin' atween +him an' me.' + +'There they are ag'in,' said Panuel, bending his head sagely round +and pointing with his thumb over his shoulder to the door; 'at it +ag'in! Them two chavies o' mine are allus a-quarrellin' now, an' it's +allus about the same thing. 'Tain't the quarrellin' as I mind so +much,--women an' sparrows, they say, must cherrup an' quarrel,--but +they needn't allus keep a-nag-naggin' about the same thing.' + +'What's their subject, Panuel?' I asked. + +'Subjick? Why _you_, in course. That's what the subjick is. When +women quarrels you may allus be sure there's a chap somewheres +about.' + +By this time we had entered his bedroom: he went and sat upon the +bed, and without looking round him began unlacing his 'highlows.' I +had often on previous occasions remarked that Panuel, who, when +sober, was as silent as Videy, and looked like her in the face, +became, the moment that he passed into 'market-merriness,' as frank +and communicative as Sinfi, and (what was more inexplicable) _looked_ +as much like Sinfi as he had previously looked like Videy. + +'How can I be the subject of their quarrels?' I said, listlessly +enough, for I scarcely at first followed his words. + +'How? Ain't you a chap?' + +'Undoubtedly, Panuel, I am a chap.' + +'When women quarrels there's allus a chap somewheres about, in course +there is. But look ye here, Mr. Aylwin, the fault ain't Sinfi's, not +a bit of it. It's Videy's, wi' her dog-in-the-manger ways. She's a +back-bred un,' he said, giving me a knowing wink as he pulled off his +calf-skin waistcoat and tossed it on to a chair at the further end of +the room with a certainty of aim that would have been marvellous, +even had he been entirely free from market-merriness. + +I had before observed that Panuel when market-merry always designated +Videy the 'back-bred un, that took a'ter Shuri's blazin' ole dad!' +When sober his views of heredity changed; the 'back-bred un' was +Sinfi. + +After breakfast next morning it was agreed that Panuel and Videy +should walk to the Place to see that everything was going on well, +while Sinfi and I should remain in the bungalow. I observed from the +distance that Videy had loitered behind her father on the Capel Curig +road. I saw a dark shadow of anger pass over Sinfi's face, and I soon +understood what was causing it. The daughter of the well-to-do Panuel +Lovell and my guest was accosting a tourist with, 'Let me tell you +your fortune, my pretty gentleman. Give the poor Gypsy a sixpence for +luck, my gentleman.' + +The bungalow delighted Sinfi. 'It's just like a great livin'-waggin, +only more comfortable,' said she. + +We spent the entire morning and afternoon there, and much of the next +two days. It certainly seemed to me that her mere presence was an +immense stimulus to memory in vitalising its one image. + +'What's the use o' us a-keepin' a-talkin' about Winnie?' Sinfi said +to me one day. 'It on'y makes you fret. You skears me sometimes; for +your eyes are a-gettin' jis' as sad-lookin' as Mr. D'Arcy's eyes, an' +it's all along o' fret-tin'.' + +I persuaded her to stay with me while Panuel and Videy went on to +Chester, for she could both soothe and amuse me. + + +III + +Those who might suppose that Sinfi Lovell's lack of education would +be a barrier against our sympathy, know little or nothing of real +sorrow--little or nothing of the human heart--little or nothing of +the stricken soul that looks out on man and his conventions through +the light of an intolerable pain. + +I now began to read and study as well as paint. But so absorbed was I +in my struggle with Fenella Stanley and Romany superstitions, that +the only subject which could distract me from memory was that of +hereditary influence--prepotency of transmission in relation to +races. Though Sinfi could neither read nor write, she loved to sit by +my side and, caressing Pharaoh, to watch me as I read or wrote. To +her there evidently seemed something mysterious and uncanny in +writing, something like 'penning dukkering.' It seemed to her, I +think, a much more remarkable accomplishment than that of painting. +And as to reading, I am not sure that the satirical Videy was +entirely wrong in saying that Sinfi believed that books 'could talk +jis' like men and women.' Not a word would she speak, save when she +now and then bent down her head to whisper to Pharaoh when that +little warrior was inclined to give a disturbing chuckle, or to shake +his wattles. And when at last she and Pharaoh got wearied by the +prolonged silence, she would begin to murmur in a tone of playful +satire to the restless bird, 'Mum, mum, Pharaoh. He's too hoot of a +mush to rocker a choori chavi.' [Hush, hush, Pharaoh. He's too proud +to speak to a poor child.] + +Of course there was immense curiosity about my life at the bungalow, +not only among the visitors at the Capel Curig Hotel, but among the +Welsh residents; and rarely did the weekly papers come out without +some paragraph about me. As a result of this, some of the London +papers reproduced the paragraphs, and built upon their gossip columns +of a positively offensive nature. In a paper which I will for +convenience call the _London Satirist_ appeared a paragraph which +some one cut out of the columns of the paper and posted to me. It ran +thus: + + +'THE ECCENTRIC AYLWINS.--The power of heredity, which has much +exercised the mind of Balzac, has never been more strikingly +exemplified than in the case of the great family of the Aylwins. It +is matter of common knowledge that some generations ago one of the +Aylwins married a Gypsy. This fact did not, however, prevent his +branch from being respectable, and receiving the name of the proud +Aylwins; and the Gypsy blood remained entirely in abeyance until the +present generation. Mr. Percy Aylwin, it will be remembered, having +been smitten by the charms of a certain Rhona Boswell, actually set +up a tent with the Gypsies; and now Mr. Henry Aylwin, of Raxton Hall +(who, by the bye, has never been seen in that neighbourhood since the +great landslip), is said to be following a good example by living in +Wales with a Gypsy wife, but whether the wedding took place at St. +George's, Hanover Square, or in simpler fashion in an encampment of +Little Egypt, we do not know.' + + +One day in the bungalow, when I was reading the copious marginalia +with which my father had furnished his own copy of _The Veiled +Queen_, I came upon a passage which so completely carried my mind +back to the night of our betrothal that I heard as plainly as I had +then heard Winnie's words at the door of her father's cottage: + +'I should have to come in the winds and play around you in the woods. +I should have to peep over the clouds and watch you. I should have +to follow you about wherever you went. I should have to beset you +till you said: "Bother Winnie, I wish she'd keep in heaven!"' + +The written words of my father that had worked this magical effect +upon me were these: + + +'But after months of these lonely wanderings in Graylingham Wood and +along the sands, not even the reshaping power of memory would suffice +to appease my longing; a new hope, wild as new, was breaking in upon +my soul, dim and yet golden, like the sun struggling through a +sea-fog. While wandering with me along the sands on the eve of that +dreadful day when I lost her, she had declared that even in heaven +she could not rest without me, nor did I understand how she could. +For by this time my instincts had fully taught me that there is a +kind of love so intense that no power in the universe--not death +itself--is strong enough to sever it from its object. I knew that +although true spiritual love, as thus understood, scarcely exists +among Englishmen, and even among Englishwomen is so rare that the +capacity for feeling it is a kind of genius, this genius was hers. +Sooner or later I said to myself, "She will and must manifest +herself!"' + + +I looked up from the book and saw both Sinfi and Pharaoh gazing at +me. + +'Sinfi,' I said, 'what were Winnie's favourite places among the +hills? Where was she most in the habit of roaming when she stayed +with your people?' + +'If I ain't told you that often enough it's a pity, brother,' she +said. 'What do _you_ think, Pharaoh?' + +Pharaoh expressed his acquiescence in the satire by clapping his +wings and crowing at me contemptuously. + +'The place I think she liked most of all wur that very pool where she +and you breakfasted together on that morning.' + +'Were there no other favourite places?' + +'Yes, there wur the Fairy Glen; she wur very fond of that. And there +wur the Swallow Falls; she wur very fond of them. And there wur a +place on the Beddgelert pathway, up from the Carnarvon road, about +two miles from Beddgelert. There is a great bit of rock there where +she used to love to sit and look across towards Anglesey. And talking +about that place reminds me, brother, that our people and the +Boswells and a lot more are camped on the Carnarvon road just where +the pathway up Snowdon begins. And I wur told yesterday by a +'quaintance of mine as I seed outside the bungalow that daddy and +Videy had joined them. Shouldn't we go and see 'em?' + +This exactly fitted in with the thoughts and projects that had +suddenly come to me, and it was arranged that we should start for the +encampment next morning. + +As we were leaving the bungalow the next day, I said to Sinfi, 'You +are not taking your crwth.' + +'Crwth! we sha'n't want that.' + +'Your people are very fond of music, you know. Your father is very +fond of a musical tea.' + +'So he is. I'll take it,' said Sinfi. + + +IV + +When we reached the camping-place on the Carnarvon road we found a +very jolly party. Panuel had had some very successful dealings, and +he was slightly market-merry. He said to Videy, 'Make the tea, Vi, +and let Sinfi hev' hern fust, so that she can play on the Welsh +fiddle while the rest on us are getting ourn. It'll seem jist like +Chester Fair with Jim Burton scrapin' in the dancin' booth to heel +and toe.' + +Sinfi soon finished her tea, and began to play some merry dancing +airs, which set Rhona Boswell's limbs twittering till she spilt her +tea in her lap. Then, laughing at the catastrophe, she sprang up +saying, 'I'll dance myself dry,' and began dancing on the sward. + +After tea was over the party got too boisterous for Sinfi's taste, +and she said to me, 'Let's slip away, brother, and go up the pathway, +and I'll show you Winnie's favourite place.' + +This proposal met my wishes entirely, and under the pretence of going +to look at something on the Carnarvon road we managed to escape from +the party, Sinfi still carrying her crwth and bow. She then led the +way up a slope green with grass and moss. We did not talk till we had +passed the slate quarry. + +The evening was so fine and the scene was so lovely that Sinfi's very +body seemed to drink it in and become intoxicated with beauty. After +we had left the slate quarries behind, the panorama became more +entrancing at every yard we walked. Cwellyn Lake and Valley, Moel +Hebog, y Garnedd, the glittering sea, Anglesey, Holyhead Hill, all +seemed to be growing in gold and glory out of masses of sunset mist. + +When at last we reached the edge of a steep cliff, with the rocky +forehead of Snowdon in front, and the shining llyns of Cwm y Clogwyn +below, Sinfi stopped. + +'This is the place,' said she, sitting down on a mossy mound, 'where +Winnie loved to come and look down.' + +After Sinfi and I had sat on this mound for a few minutes, I asked +her to sing and play one or two Welsh airs which I knew to be +especial favourites of hers, and then, with much hesitancy, I asked +her to play and sing the same song or incantation which had become +associated for ever with my first morning on the hills. + +'You mean the Welsh dukkerin' gillie,' said Sinfi, looking, with an +expression that might have been either alarm or suspicion, into my +face. + +'Yes.' + +'You've been a-thinkin' all this while, brother, that I don't know +why you asked me about Winnie's favourite places on Snowdon, and why +you wanted me to take my crwth to the camp. But I've been a-thinkin' +about it, and I know now why you did, and I know why you wants me to +play the Welsh dukkerin' gillie here. It's because you heerd me say +that if I were to play that dukkerin' gillie on Snowdon in the places +she was fond on, I could tell for sartin whether Winnie wur alive or +dead. If she wur alive her livin' mullo 'ud follow the crwth. But I +ain't a-goin' to do it.' + +'Why not, Sinfi?' + +'Because my mammy used to say it ain't right to make use o' the real +dukkerin' for Gorgios, and I've heerd her say that if them as had the +real dukkerin'--the dukkerin' for the Romanies--used it for the +Gorgios, or if they turned it into a sport and a plaything, it 'ud +leave 'em altogether. And that ain't the wust on it, for when the +real dukkerin' leaves you it turns into a kind of a cuss, and it +brings on the bite of the Romany Sap. [Footnote] Even now, Hal, I +sometimes o' nights feels the bite here of the Romany Sap,' pointing +to her bosom, 'and it's all along o' you, Hal, it's all along o' you, +because I seem to be breaking the promise about Gorgios I made to my +poor mammy.' + +[Footnote: The Romany serpent, Conscience.] + +'The Romany Sap? You mean the Romany conscience, I suppose, Sinfi: +you mean the trouble a Romany feels when he has broken the Romany +laws, when he has done wrong according to the Romany notions of right +and wrong. But you are innocent of all wrong-doing.' + +'I don't know nothin' about conscience,' said she, 'I mean the Romany +Sap. Don't you mind when we was a-goin' up Snowdon arter Winifred +that mornin'? I told you as the rocks, an' the trees, an' the winds, +an' the waters cuss us when we goes ag'in the Romany blood an' ag'in +the dukkerin' dook. The cuss that the rocks, an' the trees, an' the +winds, an' the waters makes, an' sends it out to bite the burk +[Footnote] o' the Romany as does wrong--that's the Romany Sap.' + +[Footnote: Breast.] + +'You mean conscience, Sinfi.' + +'No, I don't mean nothink o' the sort; the Romanies ain't got no +conscience, an' if the Gorgios has, it's precious little good as it +does 'em, as far as I can see. But the Romanies has got the Romany +Sap. Everything wrong as you does, such as killin' a Romany, or +cheatin' a Romany, or playin' the lubbany with a Gorgio, or breakin' +your oath to your mammy as is dead, or goin' ag'in the dukkerin' +dook, an' sich like, every one o' these things turns into the Romany +Sap.' + +'You're speaking of conscience, Sinfi.' + +'Every one o' them wrong things as you does seems to make out o' the +burk o' the airth a sap o' its own as has got its own pertickler +stare, but allus it's a hungry sap, Hal, an' a sap wi' bloody fangs. +An' it's a sap as follows the bad un's feet, Hal--follows the bad +un's feet wheresomever they goes; it's a sap as goes slippin' thro' +the dews o' the grass on the brightest mornin', an' dodges round the +trees in the sweetest evenin', an' goes wriggle, wriggle across the +brook jis' when you wants to enjoy yourself, jis' when you wants to +stay a bit on the steppin'-stuns to enjoy the sight o' the dear +little minnows a-shootin' atween the water-creases. That's what the +Romany Sap is.' + +'Don't talk like that, Sinfi,' I said; 'you make me feel the sap +myself.' + +'It's a sap, Hal, as follows you everywheres, everywheres, till you +feel as you must stop an' face it whatever comes; an' stop you do at +last, an' turn round you must, an' bare your burk you must to the +sharp teeth o' that air wenemous sap.' + +'Well, and what then, Sinfi?' + +'Well then, when you ha' given up to the thing its fill o' your +blood, then the trees, an' the rocks, an' the winds, an' the waters +seem to know, for everythink seems to begin smilin' ag'in, an' you're +let to go on your way till you do somethin' bad ag'in. That's the +Romany Sap, Hal, an' I won't deny as I sometimes feel its bite pretty +hard here' (pointing to her breast) 'when I thinks what I promised my +poor mammy, an' how I kep' my word to her, when I let a Gorgio come +under our tents.' [Footnote] + +[Footnote: To prevent misconceptions, it may be well to say that the +paraphrase of Sinfi's description of the 'Romany Sap,' which appeared +in the writer's reminiscences of George Borrow, was written long +after the main portion of the present narrative.] + +'You don't mean,' I said, 'that it is a real flesh-and-blood sap, but +a sap that you think you see and feel.' + +'Hal,' said Sinfi, 'a Romany's feelin's ain't like a Gorgio's. A +Romany can feel the bite of a sap whether it's made o' flesh an' +blood or not, and the Romany Sap's all the wuss for not bein' a +flesh-and-blood sap, for it's a cuss hatched in the airth; it's +everythink a-cussin' on ye--the airth, an' the sky, an' the dukkerin' +dook.' + +Her manner was so solemn, her grand simplicity was so pathetic, that +I felt I could not urge her to do what her conscience told her was +wrong. But soon that which no persuasion of mine would have effected +the grief and disappointment expressed by my face achieved. + +'Hal,' she said, 'I sometimes feel as if I'd bear the bite o' all the +Romany saps as ever wur hatched to give you a little comfort. +Besides, it's for a true Romany arter all--it's for myself quite as +much as for you that I'm a-goin' to see whether Winnie is alive or +dead. If she's dead we sha'n't see nothink, and perhaps if she's in +one o' them fits o' hern we sha'n't see nothink; but if she's alive +and herself ag'in, I believe I shall see--p'raps we shall both +see--her livin' mullo.' + +She then drew the bow across the crwth. The instrument at first +seemed to chatter with her agitation. I waited in breathless +suspense. At last there came clearly from her crwth the wild air I +had already heard on Snowdon. Then the sound of the instrument ceased +save for the drone of the two bottom strings, and Sinfi's voice leapt +out and I heard the words of what she called the Welsh dukkering +gillie. + +As I listened and looked over the wide-stretching panorama before me, +I felt my very flesh answering to every vibration; and when the song +stopped and I suddenly heard Sinfi call out, 'Look, brother!' I felt +that my own being, physical and mental, had passed into a new phase, +and that resistance to some mighty power governing my blood was +impossible. + +'Look straight afore you, brother, and you'll see Winnie's face. +She's alive, brother, and the dukkeripen of the Golden Hand will come +true, and mine will come true. Oh, mammy, mammy!' + +At first I saw nothing, but after a while two blue eyes seemed gazing +at me as through a veil of evening haze. They were looking straight +at me, those beloved eyes--they were sparkling with childish +happiness as they had sparkled through the vapours of the pool when +she walked towards me that morning on the brink of Knockers' Llyn. + +Starting up and throwing up my arms, I cried, 'My darling!' The +vision vanished. Then turning round, I looked at Sinfi. She seemed +listening to a voice I could not hear--her face was pale with +emotion. I could hear her breath coming and going heavily; her bosom +rose and fell, and the necklace of coral and gold coins around her +throat trembled like a shuddering snake while she murmured, 'My +dukkeripen! Yes, mammy, I've gone ag'in you and broke my promise, +and this is the very Gorgio as you meant.' + +'Call the vision back,' I said; 'play the air again, dear Sinfi.' + +She sprang in front of me, and seizing one of my wrists, she gazed in +my face, and said, 'Yes, it's "dear Sinfi"! You wants dear Sinfi to +fiddle the Gorgie's livin' mullo back to you.' + +I looked into the dark eyes, lately so kind. I did not know them. +They were dilated and grown red-brown in hue, like the scorched +colour of a North African lion's mane, and along the eyelashes a +phosphorescent light seemed to play. What did it mean? Was it indeed +Sinfi standing there, rigid as a column, with a clenched brown fist +drawn up to the broad, heaving breast, till the knuckles shone white, +as if about to strike me? What made her throw out her arms as if +struggling desperately with the air, or with some unseen foe who was +binding her with chains? + +I stood astounded, watching her, as she gradually calmed down and +became herself again; but I was deeply perplexed and deeply troubled. + + +After a while she said, 'Let's go back to "the Place,"' and without +waiting for my acquiescence, she strode along down the path towards +Beddgelert. + +I was quickly by her side, but felt as little in the mood for talking +as she did. Suddenly a small lizard glided from the grass. + +'The Romany Sap!' cried Sinfi, and she--the fearless woman before +whom the stoutest Gypsy men had quailed--sobbed wildly in terror. She +soon recovered herself, and said: 'What a fool you must think me, +Hal! It wur all through talkin' about the Romany Sap. At fust I +thought it wur the Romany Sap itself, an' it wur only a poor little +effet arter all. There ain't a-many things made o' flesh and blood as +can make Sinfi Lovell show the white feather; but I know you'll think +the wuss o' me arter this, Hal. But while the pictur were a-showin' I +heard my dear mammy's whisper: "Little Sinfi, little Sinfi, beware o' +Gorgios! This is the one."' + + +V + +By the time we reached the encampment it was quite dark. Panuel, and +indeed most of the Gypsies, had turned into the tents for the night; +but both Videy Lovell and Rhona Boswell were moving about as briskly +as though the time was early morning, one with guile expressed in +every feature, the other shedding that aura of frankness and sweet +winsomeness which enslaved Percy Aylwin, and no wonder. + +Rhona was in a specially playful mood, and came dancing round us more +like a child of six than a young woman with a Romany Rye for a lover. + +But neither Sinfi nor I was in the mood for frolic. My living-waggon, +which still went about wherever the Lovells went, had been carefully +prepared for me by Rhona, and I at once went into it, not with the +idea of getting much sleep, but in order to be alone with my +thoughts. What was I to think of my experiences of that evening? Was +I really to take the spectacle that had seemed to fall upon my eyes +when listening to Sinfi's crwth, or rather when listening to her +song, as evidence that Winifred was alive? Oh, if I could, if I +could! Was I really to accept as true this fantastic superstition +about the crwth and the spirits of Snowdon and the 'living mullo'? +That was too monstrous a thought even for me to entertain. +Notwithstanding all that had passed in the long and dire struggle +between my reason and the mysticism inherited with the blood of two +lines of superstitious ancestors, which circumstances had conspired +to foster, my reason had only been baffled and thwarted; it had not +really been slain. + +What, then, could be the explanation of the spectacle that had seemed +to fall upon my eyes? 'It is hallucination,' I said, 'and it is the +result of two very powerful causes--my own strong imagination, +excited to a state of feverish exaltation by the long strain of my +suffering, and that power in Sinfi which D'Arcy had described as her +"half-unconscious power as a mesmerist." At a moment when my will, +weakened by sorrow and pain, lay prostrate beneath my own fevered +imagination, Sinfi's voice, so full of intense belief in her own +hallucination, had leapt, as it were, into my consciousness and +enslaved my imagination, which in turn had enslaved my will and my +senses.' + +For hours I argued this point with myself, and I ended by coming +to the conclusion that it was 'my mind's eye' alone that saw the +picture of Winifred. + +But there was also another question to confront. What was the cause +of Sinfi's astonishing emotion after the vision vanished? Such a +mingling of warring passions I had never seen before. I tried to +account for it. I thought about it for hours, and finally fell +asleep without finding any solution of the enigma. + +I had no conversation of a private nature with Sinfi until the next +evening, when the camp was on the move. + +'You had no sleep last night, Sinfi; I can see it by the dark circles +round your eyes.' + +'That's nuther here nor there, brother,' she said. + + +I found to my surprise that the Gypsies were preparing to remove the +camp to a place not far from Bettws y Coed. I suggested to Sinfi that +we two should return to the bungalow. But she told me that her stay +there had come to an end. The firmness with which she made this +announcement made me sure that there was no appeal. + +'Then,' said I, 'my living-waggon will come into use again. The +camping place is near some of the best trout streams in the +neighbourhood, and I sadly want some trout-fishing.' + +'We part company to-day, brother,' she said. 'We can't be pals no +more--never no more.' + +'Sister, I will not be parted from you: I shall follow you.' + +'Reia--Hal Aylwin--you knows very well that any man, Gorgio or +Romany, as followed Sinfi Lovell when she told him not, 'ud ketch +a body-blow as wouldn't leave him three hull ribs, nor a ounce o' +wind to bless hisself with.' + +'But I am now one of the Lovells, and I shall go with you. I am a +Romany myself--I mean I am becoming more and more of a Romany every +day and every hour. The blood of Fenella Stanley is in us both.' + +She looked at me, evidently astonished at the earnestness and the +energy of my tone. Indeed at that moment I felt an alien among +Gorgios. + +'I am now one of the Lovells,' I said, 'and I shall go with you.' + +'We part company to-night, brother, fare ye well,' she said. + +As she stood delivering this speech--her head erect, her eyes +flashing angrily at me, her brown fists tightly clenched, I knew that +further resistance would be futile. + +'But now I wants to be left alone,' she said. + +She bent her head forward in a listening attitude, and I heard her +murmur, 'I knowed it 'ud come ag'in. A Romany sperrit likes to come +up in the evenin' and smell the heather an' see the shinin' stars +come out.' + +While she was speaking, she began to move off between the trees. But +she turned, took hold of both my hands, and gazed into my eyes. Then +she moved away again, and I was beginning to follow her. She turned +and said: 'Don't follow me. There ain't no place for ye among the +Romanies. Go the ways o' the Gorgios, Hal Aylwin, an' let Sinfi +Lovell go hern.' + +As I leaned against a tree and watched Sinfi striding through the +grass till she passed out of sight, the entire panorama of my life +passed before me. + +'She has left me with a blessing after all,' I said; 'my poor Sinfi +has taught me the lesson that he who would fain be cured of the +disease of a wasting sorrow must burn to ashes Memory. He must flee +Memory and never look back.' + + +VI + +And did I flee Memory? When I re-entered the bungalow next day it was +my intention to leave it and Wales at once and for ever, and indeed +to leave England at once--perhaps for ever, in order to escape from +the unmanning effect of the sorrowful brooding which I knew had +become a habit. 'I will now,' I said, 'try the nepenthe that all my +friends in their letters are urging me to try--I will travel. Yes, I +will go to Japan. My late experiences should teach me that Ja'afar's +"Angel of Memory," who refashioned for him his dead wife out of his +own sorrow and tears, did him an ill service. He who would fain be +cured of the disease of a wasting sorrow should try to flee the +"Angel of Memory," and never look back.' + +And so fixed was my mind upon travelling that I wrote to several of +my friends, and told them of my intention. But I need scarcely say +that as I urged them to keep the matter secret it was talked about +far and wide. Indeed, as I afterwards found to my cost, there were +paragraphs in the newspapers stating that the eccentric amateur +painter and heir of one branch of the Aylwins had at last gone to +Japan, and that as his deep interest in a certain charming beauty of +an un-English type was proverbial, it was expected that he would +return with a Japanese, or perhaps a Chinese wife. + +But I did not go to Japan; and what prevented me? + +My reason told me that what I had just seen near Beddgelert was an +optical illusion. I had become very learned on the subject of optical +illusions ever since I had known Sinfi Lovell, and especially since I +had seen that picture of Winnie in the water near Bettws y Coed, +which I have described in an earlier chapter. Every book I could get +upon optical illusions I had read, and I was astonished to find how +many instances are on record of illusions of a much more powerful +kind than mine. + +And yet I could not leave Snowdon. The mountain's very breath grew +sweeter and sweeter of Winnie's lips. As I walked about the hills I +found myself repeating over and over again one of the verses which +Winnie used to sing to me as a child at Raxton. + + Eryri fynyddig i mi, + Bro dawel y delyn yw, + Lle mae'r defaid a'r wyn, + Yn y mwswg a'r brwyn, + Am cân inau'n esgyn i fyny, + A'r gareg yn ateb i fyny, i fyny, + O'r lle bu'r eryrod yn byw. [Footnote] + +[Footnote: + + Mountain-wild Snowdon for me! + Sweet silence there for the harp, + Where loiter the ewes and the lambs, + In the moss and the rushes, + Where one's song goes sounding up + And the rocks re-echo it higher and higher + In the height where the eagles live.] + +But then I felt that Sinfi was the mere instrument of the mysterious +magic of y Wyddfa, that magic which no other mountain in Europe +exercises. I knew that among all the Gypsies Sinfi was almost the +only one who possessed that power which belonged once to her race, +that power which is expressed in a Scottish word now universally +misused, 'glamour,' the power which Johnnie Faa and his people +brought into play when they abducted Lady Casilis. + + Soon as they saw her well-faured face + They cast the glamour oure her. + +'Yes,' I said, 'I am convinced that my illusion is the result of two +causes, my own brooding over Winnie's tragedy and the glamour that +Sinfi sheds around her, either consciously or unconsciously; that +imperious imagination of hers which projects her own visions upon the +senses of another person either with or without an exercise of her +own will. This is the explanation, I am convinced.' + +Wheresoever I now went, Snowdon's message to my heart was, 'She +lives,' and my heart accepted the message. And then the new blessed +feeling that Winnie was not lying in a pauper grave had an effect +upon me that a few who read these pages will understand--only a few. +Perhaps, indeed, even those I am thinking of, those who, having lost +the one being they loved, feel that the earth has lost all its +beauty--perhaps even these may not be able to sympathise fully with +me in this matter, never having had an experience remotely comparable +with mine. + +When I thought of Winifred lying at the bottom of some chasm in +Snowdon, my grief was very great, as these pages show. Yet it was not +intolerable; it did not threaten to unseat my reason, for even then, +when I knew so little of the magic of y Wyddfa, I felt how close was +the connection between my darling and the hills that knew her and +loved her. But during the time that her death, amidst surroundings +too appalling to contemplate, hung before my eyes in a dreadful +picture--during the time when it seemed certain that her death in a +garret, her burial in a pauper pit six coffins deep, was a hideous +truth and no fancy, all the beauty with which Nature seemed at one +time clothed was wiped away as by a sponge. The earth was nothing +more than a charnel-house, the skies above it were the roof of the +Palace of Nin-ki-gal. But now that Snowdon had spoken to me, the old +life which had formerly made the world so beautiful and so beloved +came back. + +All nature seemed rich and glowing with the deep expectance of my +heart. The sunrise and the sunset seemed conscious of Winnie, and the +very birds seemed to be warbling at times 'She's alive.' + +I think, indeed, that I had passed into that sufistic ecstasy +expressed by a writer often quoted by my father, an Oriental writer, +Ferridoddin-- + + With love I burn: the centre is within me; + While in a circle everywhere around me + Its Wonder lies-- + +that exalted mood, I mean, described in the great chapter on the +Renascence of Wonder which forms the very core and heart-thought of +the strange book so strangely destined to govern the entire drama of +my life, _The Veiled Queen_. + +The very words of the opening of that chapter came to me: + +'The omnipotence of love--its power of knitting together the entire +universe--is, of course, best understood by the Oriental mind. Just +after the loss of my dear wife I wrote the following poem called "The +Bedouin Child," dealing with the strange feeling among the Bedouins +about girl children, and I translated it into Arabic. Among these +Bedouins a father in enumerating his children never counts his +daughters, because a daughter is considered a disgrace. + + 'Ilyà s the prophet, lingering 'neath the moon, + Heard from a tent a child's heart-withering wail, + Mixt with the message of the nightingale, + And, entering, found, sunk in mysterious swoon, + A little maiden dreaming there alone. + She babbled of her father sitting pale + 'Neath wings of Death--'mid sights of sorrow and bale, + And pleaded for his life in piteous tone. + + '"Poor child, plead on," the succouring prophet saith, + While she, with eager lips, like one who tries + To kiss a dream, stretches her arms and cries + To Heaven for help--"Plead on; such pure love-breath, + Beaching the Throne, might stay the wings of Death + That, in the Desert, fan thy father's eyes." + + 'The drouth-slain camels lie on every hand; + Seven sons await the morning vultures' claws; + 'Mid empty water-skins and camel maws + The father sits, the last of all the band. + He mutters, drowsing o'er the moonlit sand, + "Sleep fans my brow: sleep makes us all pashas; + Or, if the wings are Death's, why Azraeel draws + A childless father from an empty land." + + '"Nay," saith a Voice, "the wind of Azraeel's wings + A child's sweet breath has stilled: so God decrees:" + A camel's bell comes tinkling on the breeze. + Filling the Bedouin's brain with bubble of springs + And scent of flowers and shadow of wavering trees, + Where, from a tent, a little maiden sings. + +'Between this reading of Nature, which makes her but "the superficial +film" of the immensity of God, and that which finds a mystic heart of +love and beauty beating within the bosom of Nature herself, I know no +real difference. Sufism, in some form or another, could not possibly +be confined to Asia. The Greeks, though strangers to the mystic +element of that Beauty-worship which in Asia became afterwards +sufism, could not have exhibited a passion for concrete beauty such +as theirs without feeling that, deeper than Tartarus, stronger than +Destiny and Death, the great heart of Nature is beating to the tune +of universal love and beauty.' + +This was followed by a still more mystical poem called 'The Persian +Slave Girl's Progress to Paradise,' showing the Omnipotence of Love. +[Footnote] + +[Footnote: This poem of Philip Aylwin's appears now in the present +writer's volume, _The Coming of Love_.] + + + +XIV + +SINFI'S COUP DE THÉÂTRE + + +I + +Weeks passed by. I visited all the scenes that were in the least +degree associated with Winnie. + +The two places nearest to me--Fairy Glen and the Swallow Falls--which +I had always hitherto avoided on account of their being the +favourite haunts of tourists--I left to the last, because I +specially desired to see them by moonlight. With regard to Fairy +Glen, I had often heard Winnie say how she used to go there by +moonlight and imagine the Tylwyth Teg or the fairy scenes of the +_Midsummer Night's Dream_ which I had told her of long ago--imagine +them so vividly that she could actually see, on a certain projecting +rock in the cliffs that enclose the dell, the figure of Titania +dressed in green, with a wreath of leaves round her head. And with +regard to the Swallow Falls, I remembered only too well her telling +me, on the night of the landslip, the Welsh legend of Sir John Wynn, +who died in the seventeenth century, and whose ghost, imprisoned at +the bottom of the Falls on account of his ill deeds in the flesh, was +heard to shriek amid the din of the waters. On that fatal night she +told me that on certain rare occasions, when the moon shines straight +down the chasm, the wail will become an agonised shriek. I had often +wondered what natural sound this was which could afford such pabulum +to my old foe, Superstition. So one night, when the moon was shining +brilliantly--so brilliantly that the light seemed very little +feebler than that of day--I walked in the direction of the Swallow +Falls. + +Being afraid that I should not get much privacy at the Falls, I +started late. But I came upon only three or four people on the road. +I had forgotten that my own passion for moonlight was entirely a +Romany inheritance. I had forgotten that a family of English +tourists will carefully pull down the blinds and close the shutters, +in order to enjoy the luxury of candlelight, lamp-light, or gas, +when a Romany will throw wide open the tent's mouth to enjoy the +light he loves most of all--'chonesko dood,' as he calls the +moonlight. As I approached the Swallow Falls Hotel, I lingered to +let my fancy feast in anticipation on the lovely spectacle that +awaited me. When I turned into the wood I encountered only one +person, a lady, and she hurried back to the hotel as soon as I +approached the river. + +Following the slippery path as far as it led down the dell, I +stopped at the brink of a pool about a dozen yards, apparently, +from the bottom, and looked up at the water. Bursting like a vast +belt of molten silver out of an eerie wilderness of rocks and trees, +the stream, as it tumbled down between high walls of cliff to the +platform of projecting rocks around the pool at the edge of which I +stood, divided into three torrents, which themselves were again +divided and scattered by projecting boulders into cascades before +they fell into the gulf below. The whole seemed one wide cataract of +living moonlight that made the eyes ache with beauty. + +Amid the din of the water I listened for the wail which had so deeply +impressed Winifred, and certainly there was what may be described as +a sound within a sound, which ears so attuned to every note of +Superstition's gamut as Winifred's might easily accept as the wail of +Sir John Wynn's ghost. + +There was no footpath down to the bottom, but I descended without any +great difficulty, though I was now soaked in spray. Here the +mysterious human sound seemed to be less perceptible amid the din of +the torrent than from the platform where I had stayed to listen to +it. But when I climbed up again to the spot by the mid-pool where I +had originally stood, a strange sensation came to me. My recollection +of Winnie's words on the night of the landslip came upon me with such +overmastering power that the noise of the cataract seemed changed to +the sound of billows tumbling on Raxton sands, and the 'wail' of Sir +John Wynn seemed changed to that shriek from Raxton cliff which +appalled Winnie as it appalled me. + + +The following night I passed into a moonlight as bright as that which +had played me such fantastic tricks at the Swallow Falls. + +It was not until I had crossed the bridge over the Conway, and was +turning to the right in the direction of Fairy Glen, that I fully +realised how romantic the moonlight was. Every wooded hill and every +precipice, whether craggy and bald or feathered with pines, was +bathed in light that would have made an Irish bog, or an Essex marsh, +or an Isle of Ely fen, a land of poetry. + +When I reached Pont Llyn-yr-Afange (Beaver Pool Bridge) I lingered to +look down the lovely lane on the left, through which I was to pass in +order to reach the rocky dell of Fairy Glen, for it was perfumed, not +with the breath of the flowers now asleep, but with the perfume I +love most of all, the night's floating memory of the flowery breath +of day. + +Suddenly I felt some one touching my elbow. I turned round. It was +Rhona Boswell. I was amazed to see her, for I thought that all my +Gypsy friends, Boswells, Lovells, and the rest, were still attending +the horse-fairs in the Midlands and Eastern Counties. + +'We've only just got here,' said Rhona; 'wussur luck that we got here +at all. I wants to get back to dear Gypsy Dell and Rington Wood; +that's what I wants to do.' + +'Where is the camp?' I asked. + +'Same place, twix Bettws and Capel Curig.' + +She had been to the bungalow, she told me, with a message from Sinfi. +This message was that she particularly wished to meet me at Mrs. +Davies's cottage--'not at the bungalow'--on the following night. + +'She'll go there to-morrow mornin',' said Rhona, 'and make things +tidy for you; but she won't expect you till night, same time as she +met you there fust. She's got a key o' the door, she says, wot you +gev her.' + +I was not so surprised at Sinfi's proposed place of meeting as I +should have been had I not remembered her resolution not to return +to the bungalow, and not to let me return to the camp. + +'You must be sure to go to meet her at the cottage to-morrow night, +else you'll be too late.' + +'Why too late?' I asked. + +'Well,' said Rhona, 'I can't say as I knows why ezackly. But +I know she's bin' an' bought beautiful dresses at Chester, or +somewheres,--an' I think she's goin' to be married the day arter +to-morrow.' + +'Married to whom?' + +'Well, I can't say as I rightly knows,' said Rhona. + +'Do you know whether Mr. Cyril is in Wales?' I asked. + +'Yes,' said Rhona, 'him and the funny un are not far from Capel +Curig. Now I come to think on't, it's mose likely Mr. Cyril as she's +a-goin' to marry, for I know it ain't no Romany chal. It _can't_ be +the funny un,' added she, laughing. + +'But where's the wedding to take place?' + +'I can't say as I knows ezackly,' said Rhona; 'but I thinks it's by +Knockers' Llyn if it ain't on the top o' Snowdon.' + +'Good heavens, girl!' I said. 'What on earth makes you think that? +That pretty little head of yours is stuffed with the wildest +nonsense. I ran make nothing out of you, so good-night. Tell her I'll +be there.' + +And I was leaving her to walk down the lane when I turned back and +said, 'How long has Sinfi been at the camp?' + +'On'y jist come. She's bin away from us for a long while,' said +Rhona. + +And then she looked as if she was tempted to reveal some secret that +she was bound not to tell. + +'Sinfi's been very bad,' she went on, 'but she's better now. Her +daddy says she's under a cuss. She's been a-wastin' away like, but +she's better now.' + +'So it's Sinfi who is under a curse now,' I said to myself. 'I +suppose Superstition has at last turned her brain. This perhaps +explains Rhona's mad story.' + +'Does anybody but you think she's going to be married?' I asked her. +'Does her father think so?' + +'Her daddy says it ain't Sinfi as is goin' to be married; but I think +it's Sinfi! An' you'll know all about it the day arter to-morrow.' +And she tripped away in the direction of the camp. + +Lost in a whirl of thoughts and speculations, I turned into Fairy +Glen. And now, below me, lay the rocky dell so dearly beloved by +Winnie; and there I walked in such a magic web of light and shade as +can only be seen in that glen when the moon hangs over it in a +certain position. + +I descended the steps to the stream and sat down for a time on one +of the great boulders and asked myself if this was the very boulder +on which Winnie used to sit when she conjured up her childish +visions of fairyland. And by that sweet thought the beauty of the +scene became intensified. There, while the unbroken torrent of +the Conway--glittering along the narrow gorge of the glen between +silvered walls of rock as upright as the turreted bastions of a +castle--seemed to flash a kind of phosphorescent light of its own +upon the flowers and plants and sparsely scattered trees along the +sides, I sat and passed into Winifred's own dream, and the Tylwyth +Teg, which to Winnie represented Oberon and Titania and the whole +group of fairies, swept before me. + +Awaking from this dream, I looked up the wall of the cliff to enjoy +one more sight of the magical beauty, when there fell upon my eyes, +or seemed to fall, a sight that, though I felt it must be a delusion, +took away my breath. Standing on a piece of rock that was flush with +one of the steps by which I had descended was a slender girlish +figure, so lissom that it might have been the famous 'Queen of the +Fair People.' + +'Never,' I said to myself, 'was there an optical illusion so perfect. +I can see the moonlight playing upon her hair. But the hair is not +golden, as the hair of the Queen of the Tylwyth Teg should be; it is +dark as Winnie's own.' + +Then the face turned and she looked at the river, and then I +exclaimed 'Winifred!' And then Fairy Glen vanished and I was at +Raxton standing by a cottage door in the moonlight. I was listening +to a voice--that one voice to whose music every chord of life within +me was set for ever, which said, + +'I should have to come in the winds, and play around you on the +sands. I should have to peep over the clouds and watch you. I should +have to follow you about wherever you went.' + + +The sight vanished. Although I had no doubt that what I had seen was +an hallucination, when I moved farther on and stood and gazed at the +stream as it went winding round the mossy cliffs to join the Lledr, I +felt that Winnie was by my side, her hand in mine, and that we were +children together. And when I mounted the steps and strolled along +the path that leads to the plantation where the moonlight, falling +through the leaves, covered the ground with what seemed symbolical +arabesques of silver and grey and purple, I felt the pressure of +little fingers that seemed to express 'How beautiful!' And when I +stood gazing through the opening in the landscape, and saw the rocks +gleaming in the distance and the water down the Lledr valley, I saw +the sweet young face gazing in mine with the smile of the delight +that illumined it on the Wilderness Road when she discoursed of birds +and the wind. + +The vividness of the vision of Fairy Glen drove out for a time all +other thoughts. The livelong night my brain seemed filled with it. + + 'My eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, + Or else worth all the rest,' + +I said to myself as I lay awake. So full, indeed, was my mind of this +one subject that even Rhona's strange message from Sinfi was only +recalled at intervals. While I was breakfasting, however, this +incident came fully back to me. Either Rhona's chatter about Sinfi's +reason for wanting to see me was the nonsense that had floated into +Rhona's own brain, the brain of a love-sick girl to whom everything +spelt marriage--or else poor Sinfi's mind had become unhinged. + + +II + +As I was to sleep at the cottage, and as I knew not what part I might +have to play in Sinfi's wild frolic, I told the servants that any +letters which might reach the bungalow next morning were to be sent +at once to the cottage, should I not have returned thence. + + +At about the hour, as far as I could guess, when I had first knocked +at the cottage door at the beginning of my search for Winnie, I stood +there again. The door was on the latch. I pushed it open. + +The scene I then saw was so exact a repetition of what had met my +eyes when for the first time I passed under that roof, that it did +not seem as though it could be real; it seemed as though it must be a +freak of memory: the same long low room, the same heavy beams across +the ceiling, the same three chairs, standing in the same places where +they stood then, the same table, and upon it the crwth and bow. There +was a brisk fire, and over it hung the kettle--the same kettle as +then. There were on the walls the same pictures, with the ruddy +fingers of the fire-gleam playing upon them and illuminating them in +the same pathetic way, and in front of the fire sitting upon the same +chair, was a youthful female figure--not Winnie's figure, taller than +hers, and grander than hers--the figure of Sinfi, her elbows resting +upon her knees, and her face sunk meditatively between her hands. + +After standing for fully half a minute gazing at her, I went up to +her, and laying my hand upon her shoulder, I said, 'This is a good +sight for the Swimming Rei, Sinfi.' + +At the touch of my hand a thrill seemed to dart through her frame; +she leaped up and stared wildly in my face. Her features became +contorted by terror--as horribly contorted as Winnie's had been in +the same spot and under the same circumstances. Exactly the same +terrible words fell upon my ear:-- + +'Let his children be vagabonds and beg their bread: let them seek it +also out of desolate places. So saith the Lord. Amen.' + +Then she fell on the floor insensible. + +At first I was too astonished, awed, and bewildered to stir from the +spot where I was standing. Then I knelt down, and raising her +shoulders, placed her head on my knee. For a time the expression of +horror on her pale features was fixed as though graven in marble. A +jug of water, from which the kettle had been supplied, stood on the +floor in the recess. I sprinkled some water over her face. The +muscles relaxed, she opened her eyes; the seizure had passed. She +recognised me, and at once the old brave smile I knew so well passed +over her face. Rhona's words about the curse and the purchase of the +dresses seemed explained now. Long brooding over Winnie's terrible +fate had unhinged her mind. + +'My girl, my brave girl,' I said, 'have you, then, felt our sorrow so +deeply? Have you so fully shared poor Winnie's pain that your nerves +have given way at last? You are suffering through sympathy, Sinfi; +you are suffering poor Winnie's great martyrdom.' + +'Oh, it ain't that!' she said, 'but how I must have skeared you!' + +She got up and sat upon the chair in a much more vigorous way than I +could have expected after such a seizure. + +'I am so sorry,' she said. 'It was the sudden feel o' your hand on my +shoulder that done it. It seemed to burn me like, and then it made my +blood seem scaldin' hot. If I'd only 'a' seed you come through the +door I shouldn't have had the fit. The doctor told me the fits wur +all gone now, and I feel sure as this is the last on 'em. You must go +to Knockers' Llyn with me to-morrow mornin' early. I want you to go +at the same time that we started when we tried that mornin' to find +Winnie.' + +'Then Rhona's story is true,' I thought. 'Her delusion is that she is +going to Knockers' Llyn to be married.' + +'The weather's goin' to be just the same as it was then,' she said, +'and when we get to Knockers' Llyn where you two breakfasted +together, I want to play the crwth and sing the song just as I did +then.' + +She made no allusion to a wedding. Getting up and pouring the boiling +water from the kettle into the teapot, 'Something tells me,' she went +on, 'that when I touch my crwth to-morrow, and when I sing them words +by the side of Knockers' Llyn, you'll see the picture you want to +see, the livin' mullo o' Winnie.' + +'Still no allusion to a wedding, but no doubt that will soon come,' I +murmured. + +'I want to go the same way we went that day, and I want for you and +me to see everythink as we seed it then from fust to last.' + +I was haunted by Rhona Boswell's words, and wondered when she would +begin talking about the wedding at Knockers' Llyn. + +She never once alluded to it; but at intervals when the talk between +us flagged I could hear her muttering, 'He must see everythink just +as he seed it then from fust to last, and then it's good-bye for +ever.' + +At last she said, 'I've had both the rooms upstairs made tidy to +sleep in--one for you and one for me. I'll call you in the mornin' at +the proper time. Goodnight.' + +I was not sorry to get this summary dismissal and be alone with my +thoughts. When I got to bed I was kept awake by recalling the sight I +saw on entering the cottage. There seemed no other explanation of it +than this, the tragedy of Winifred had touched Sinfi's sympathetic +soul too deeply. Her imagination had seized upon the spectacle of +Winifred in one of her fits, and had caused so serious a disturbance +of her nervous system that through sheer fascination of repulsion her +face mimicked it exactly as Winifred's face had mimicked the original +spectacle of horror on the sands. + + +III + +It was not yet dawn when I was aroused from the fitful slumber into +which I had at last fallen by a sharp knocking at the door. When I +answered the summons by 'All right, Sinfi,' and heard her footsteps +descend the stairs, the words of Rhona Boswell again came to me. + + +I found that I must return to the bungalow to get my bath. + +The startled servant who let me in asked if there was anything the +matter. I explained my early rising by telling him that I was merely +going to Knockers' Llyn to see the sunrise. He gave me a letter which +had come on the previous evening, and had been addressed by mistake +to Carnarvon. As the handwriting was new to me, I felt sure that it +was only an unimportant missive from some stranger, and I put it into +my pocket without opening it. + +On my return I found Sinfi in the little room where we had supped. I +guessed that an essential part of her crazy project was that we +should breakfast at the llyn. + +On the table was a basket filled with the materials for the +breakfast. + +Another breakfast was spread for us two on the table, and the teapot +was steaming. Sinfi saw me look at the two breakfasts and smile. + +'We've got a good way to walk before we get to the pool where we are +goin' to breakfast,' she said, 'so I thought we'd take a snack before +we start.' + + +As we went along I noticed that the air of Snowdon seemed to have its +usual effect on Sinfi. In taking the path that led to Knockers' Llyn +we saw before us Cwm-Dyli, the wildest of all the Snowdonian +recesses, surrounded by frowning precipices of great height and +steepness. We then walked briskly on towards our goal. When the three +peaks that she knew so well--y Wyddfa, Lliwedd, and Crib Goch--stood +out in the still grey light she stopped, set down her basket, clapped +her hands, and said, 'Didn't I tell you the mornin' was a-goin' to be +ezackly the same as then? No mists to-day. By the time we get to the +llyn the colours o' the vapours, what they calls the Knockers' flags, +will come out ezackly as they did that mornin' when you and me first +went arter Winnie.' + +All the way Sinfi's eyes were fixed on the majestic forehead of y +Wyddfa and the bastions of Lliwedd which seemed to guard it as though +the Great Spirit of Snowdon himself was speaking to her and drawing +her on, and she kept murmuring 'The two dukkeripens.' + +But still she said nothing about her wedding, though that some such +mad idea as that suggested by Rhona possessed her mind was manifest +enough. + + +'Here we are at last,' she said, when we reached the pool for which +we were bound; and setting down her little basket she stood and +looked over to the valley beneath. + +The colours were coming more quickly every minute, and the entire +picture was exactly the same as that which I had seen on the morning +when we last saw Winifred on the hills, so unlike the misty panorama +that Snowdon usually presents. Y Wyddfa was silhouetted against the +sky, and looked as narrow and as steep as the sides of an acorn. Here +we halted and set down our basket. + +As we did so she said, 'Hark! the Knockers! Don't you hear them? +Listen, listen!' + +I did listen, and I seemed to hear a peculiar sound as of a distant +knocking against the rocks by some soft substance. She saw that I +heard the noise. + +'That's the Snowdon spirits as guards more copper mines than ever +yet's been found. And they're dwarfs. I've seed 'em, and Winnie has. +They're little, fat, short folk, somethin' like the woman in Primrose +Court, only littler. Don't you mind the gal in the court said Winnie +used to call the woman Knocker? Sometimes they knock to show to some +Taffy as has pleased 'em where the veins of copper may be found, and +sometimes they knock to give warnin' of a dangerous precipuss, and +sometimes they knock to give the person as is talkin' warnin' that +he's sayin' or doin' somethin' as may lead to danger. They speaks to +each other too, but in a v'ice so low that you can't tell what words +they're a-speakin', even if you knew their language. My crwth and +song will rouse every spirit on the hills.' + +I listened again. This was the mysterious sound that had so +captivated Winnie's imagination as a child. + +The extraordinary lustre of Sinfi's eyes indicated to me, who knew +them so well, that every nerve, every fibre in her system, was +trembling under the stress of some intense emotion. I stood and +watched her, wondering as to her condition, and speculating as to +what her crazy project could be. + +Then she proceeded to unpack the little basket. + +'This is for the love-feast,' said Sinfi. + +'You mean betrothal feast,' I said. 'But who are the lovers?' + +'You and the livin' mullo that you made me draw for you by my crwth +down by Beddgelert--the livin' mullo o' Winnie Wynne.' + +'At last then,' I said to myself, 'I know the form the mania has +taken. It is not her own betrothal, but mine with Winnie's wraith, +that is deluding her crazy brain. How well I remember telling her how +I had promised Winnie as a child to be betrothed by Knockers' Llyn. +Poor Sinfi! Mad or sane, her generosity remains undimmed.' + +Before the breakfast cloth could be laid--indeed before the basket +was unpacked--she asked me to look at my watch, and on my doing so +and telling her the time, she jumped up and said, 'It's later than I +thought. We must lay the cloth arterwards.' She then placed me in +that same crevice overlooking the tarn whence Winnie had come to me +on that morning. + +Knockers' Llyn, it will perhaps be remembered, is enclosed in a +little gorge opening by a broken, ragged fissure at the back to the +east. Leading to this opening there is on one side a narrow, jagged +shelf which runs half-way round the pool. Sinfi's movements now were +an exact repetition of everything she did on that first morning of +our search for Winnie. + +While I stood partially concealed in my crevice, Sinfi took up her +crwth, which was lying on the rock. + +'What are you going; to do, Sinfi?' I said. + +'I'm just goin' to bring back old times for you. You remember that +mornin' when my crwth and song called Winnie to us at this very llyn? +I'm goin' to play on my crwth and sing the same song now. It's to +draw her livin' mullo, as I did at Bettws and Beddgelert, so that the +dukkeripen of the "Golden Hand" may come true.' + +'But how can it come true, Sinfi?' I said. + +'The dukkeripen allus does come true, whether it's good or whether +it's bad.' + +'Not always,' I said. + +'No, not allus,' she cried, starting up, while there came over her +face that expression which had so amazed me at Beddgelert. When at +last breath came to her she was looking towards y Wyddfa through the +kindling haze. + +'There you're right, Hal Aylwin. It ain't every dukkeripen as comes +true. The dukkeripen allus comes true, unless it's one as says a +Gorgio shall come to the Kaulo Camloes an' break Sinfi Lovell's +heart. Before that dukkeripen shall come true Sinfi Lovell 'ud cut +her heart out. Yes, my fine Gorgio, she'd cut it out--she'd cut it +out and fling it in that 'ere llyn. She did cut it out when she took +the cuss on herself. She's a-cuttin' it out now.' + +Then without saying another word Sinfi took up her crwth and moved +towards the llyn. + +'You'll soon come back, Sinfi?' I said. + +'We've got to see about that,' she replied, still pale and trembling +from the effects of that sudden upheaval of the passion of a +Titaness. 'If the livin' mullo does come you can't have a love-feast +without company, you know, and I sha'n't be far off if you find you +want me.' + +She then took up her crwth, went round the llyn, and disappeared +through the eastern cleft. In a few minutes I heard her crwth. But +the air she played was not the air of the song she called the 'Welsh +dukkerin' gillie' which I had heard by Beddgelert. It was the air of +the same idyll of Snowdon that I first beard Winifred sing on the +sands of Raxton. Then I heard in the distance those echoes, magical +and faint, which were attributed by Winifred and Sinfi to the +Knockers or spirits of Snowdon. + + +IV + +There I stood again, as on that other morning, in the crevice +overlooking the same llyn, looking at what might well have been the +same masses of vapour enveloping the same peaks, rolling as then, +boiling as then, blazing as then, whenever the bright shafts of +morning struck them. There I stood again, listening to the wild notes +of Sinfi's crwth in the distance, as the sun rose higher, pouring a +radiance through the eastern gate of the gorge, and kindling the +aerial vapours moving about the llyn till their iridescent sails +suggested the wings of some enormous dragon-fly of every hue. + +'Her song does not come,' I said, 'but, this time, when it does come, +it will not befool my senses. Sinfi's own presence by my side--that +magnetism of hers which D'Arcy spoke of--would be required before the +glamour could be cast over me, now that I know she is crazy. Poor +Sinfi! Her influence will not to-day be able to cajole my eyes into +accepting her superstitious visions as their own.' + +But as I spoke a sound fell, not upon my ears alone, but upon every +nerve of my body, the sound of a voice singing, a voice that was not +Sinfi's, but another's, + + 'I met in a glade a lone little maid, + At the foot of y Wyddfa the white; + Oh, lissom her feet as the mountain hind, + And darker her hair than the night; + Her cheek was like the mountain rose, + But fairer far to see. + As driving along her sheep with a song, + Down from the hills came she.' + +It was the same voice that I heard singing the same song on Raxton +Sands. It was the same voice that I heard singing the same song in +the London streets--Winnie's! + +And then there appeared in the eastern cleft of the gorge on the +other side of the llyn, illuminated as by a rosy steam, Winnie! Amid +the opalescent vapours gleaming round the llyn, with eyes now +shimmering as through a veil--now flashing like sapphires in the +sun--there she stood gazing through the film, her eyes expressing a +surprise and a wonder as great as my own. + + +'It is no phantasm--it is no hallucination,' I said, while my +breathing had become a spasmodic, choking gasp. + +But when I remembered the vision of Fairy Glen, I said, 'Imagination +can do that, and so can the glamour cast over me by Sinfi's music. It +does not vanish; ah, if the sweet madness should remain with me for +ever! It does not vanish--it is gliding along the side of the llyn: +it is moving towards me. And now those sudden little ripples in the +llyn--what do they mean? The trout are flying from her shadow. The +feet are grating on the stones. And hark! that pebble which falls +into the water with a splash; the glassy llyn is ribbed and rippled +with rings. Can a phantom do that? It comes towards me still. +Hallucination!' + +Still the vision came on. + + +When I felt the touch of her body, when I felt myself clasped in soft +arms, and felt falling on my face warm tears, and on my lips the +pressure of Winnie's lips--lips that were murmuring, 'At last, at +last!'--a strange, wild effect was worked within me. The reality of +the beloved form now in my arms declared itself; it brought back the +scene where I had last clasped it. + +Snowdon had vanished; the brilliant morning sun had vanished. The +moon was shining on a cottage near Raxton Church, and at the door two +lovers were standing, wet with the sea-water--with the sea-water +through which they had just waded. All the misery that had followed +was wiped out of my brain. It had not even the cobweb consistence of +a dream. + + +When, after a while, Snowdon and the drama of the present came back +to me, my brain was in such a marvellous state that it held two +pictures of the same Winnie as though each hemisphere of the brain +were occupied with its own vision. I was kissing Winnie's sea-salt +lips in the light of the moon at the cottage door, and I was kissing +them in the morning radiance by Knockers' Llyn. And yet so +overwhelming was the mighty tide of bliss overflowing my soul that +there was no room within me for any other emotion--no room for +curiosity, no room even for wonder. + +Like a spirit awakening in Paradise, I accepted the heaven in which +I found myself, and did not inquire how I got there. + +This did not last long, however. Suddenly and sharply the moonlight +scene vanished, and I was on Snowdon, and there came a burning +curiosity to know the meaning of this new life--the meaning of the +life of pain that had followed the parting at the cottage door. + + +V + +'Winnie,' I said, 'tell me where we are. I have been very ill since +we parted in your father's cottage. I have had the wildest +hallucinations concerning you; dreams, intolerable dreams. And even +now they hang about me; even now it seems to me that we are far away +from Raxton, surrounded by the hills and peaks of Snowdon. If they +were real _you_ would be the dream, but you are real; this waist is +real.' + +'Of course we are on Snowdon, Henry!' said she. 'You must indeed have +been ill--you must now be very ill--to suppose you are at Raxton.' + +'But what are we doing here?' I said. 'How did we come here?' + +'Let Badoura speak for herself only,' she said, with that arch smile +of hers. She was alluding to the old days at Raxton, when she hoped +that some day her little Camaralzaman would be carried by genii to +her as she sat thinking of him by the magic llyn. 'The genie who +brought me was Sinfi Lovell. But who brought Camaralzaman? That is a +question,' she said, 'I am dying to have answered.' + +At the name of Sinfi Lovell the past came flowing in. + +'Then there _is_ a Sinfi Lovell, Winnie! And yet she is one of the +figures in the dream. There was no Sinfi Lovell with us at Raxton.' + +'Of course there is a Sinfi Lovell! You begin to make me as dazed as +yourself. You have known her well; you and she were seeking me when I +was lost.' + +'Then you _were_ lost?' I said. 'That, then, is no dream. And yet if +you were lost you have been--But you are alive, Winnie. Let me +feel the lips on mine again. You are alive! Snowdon told me at last +that you were alive, but I dared not believe it, my darling. I dared +not believe that my misery would end thus--thus.' + +There came upon her face an expression of distressed perplexity which +did more than anything else to recall me to my senses. + +'Winnie,' I said, 'my brain is whirling. Let us sit down.' + +She sat down by my side. + +'You thought your Winnie was dead, Henry. Sinfi Lovell has told me +all about it.' Then, looking intently at me, she said, 'And how your +sorrow has changed you, dear!' + +'You mean it has aged me, Winnie. I have observed it myself, and +people tell me it has made me look older than I am by many years. +These furrows around the eyes--these furrows on my brow--you are +kissing them, dear.' + +'Oh, I love them; how I love them!' she said. 'I am not kissing them +to smooth them away. To me every line tells of your love for Winnie.' + +'And the hair, Winnie--look, it is getting quite grizzled.' Then, as +the lovely head sank upon my breast. I whispered in her ears, 'Is +there at last sorrow enough in the eyes, Winnie? Has the hardening +effect of wealth coarsened my expression? Can a rich man for once +enter the kingdom of love? Is the betrothal now complete? Are we both +betrothed now?' + +I stopped, for bliss and love were convulsing her with sobs until you +might have supposed her heart was breaking. + + +While she lay silent thus, I was able in some degree to call my wits +around me. And the difficulty of knowing in what course I ought to +direct conversation presented itself, and seemed to numb my faculties +and paralyse me. + +After a while she became more composed, and sat in a trance, so to +speak, of happiness. + +But she remained silent. The conversation, I perceived, would have to +be directed entirely by me. With the appalling seizures ever present +in my mind, I felt that every word that came from my lips was +dangerous. + +'Look,' I said, 'the colours of the vapours round the llyn are as +rich as they were when we breakfasted here together.' + +'We breakfasted here together! Why, what do you mean?' she said, +looking in my face. 'You forget, Henry, you never knew me in Wales at +all; it was only at Raxton that you ever saw me.' + +'I mean when you breakfasted with the Prince of the Mist. I was the +Prince of the Mist, dear.' + +She gave me a puzzled look which scared while it warned me. How cruel +it seemed of Sinfi, who had planned this meeting, not to have told me +how much and how little Winnie knew of the past. + +'You know nothing about the Prince of the Mist except what I told you +on Raxton sands,' she said. 'But you have been very ill; you will be +well now.' + +'Yes,' I said; 'I have found the life I had lost, and these dreams of +mine will soon pass.' + +As the conversation went on I began to see that she remembered our +meetings on the sands--remembered everything up to a certain point. +What was that point? This was the question that kept me on +tenterhooks. + +Every word she uttered, however, shed light into my mind, and served +as a warning that I must feel my way cautiously. It was evident to me +that in some unaccountable way Sinfi at some time after she left me +at Beddgelert had discovered that Winnie was not really dead, and had +brought her back to me--brought her back to me restored in mind, but +with all memory of what had passed during her dementia erased from +her consciousness. Everything depended now upon my learning how much +of her past she did remember. A single ill-judged word of mine--a +single false move--might ruin all, and bring back the life of misery +which I seemed at last to have left behind me. + + +VI + +'Winnie,' I said, 'you have not yet told me how you came here. You +have not yet told me how it is that you meet me on Snowdon--meet me +in this wonderful way.' + +'Oh,' said she with a smile, 'Badoura has been a mere puppet in the +play. She had no idea she was going to meet her prince. Sinfi was +suddenly seized with a desire that she and I should come back, and +visit the dear old places we knew together. I was nothing loth, as +you may imagine, but I could not understand what had made her set +her heart upon it. When we reached Carnarvonshire I found that +Sinfi's people were all encamped near to Bettws y Coed, and we went +and stayed there. We visited all the places in the neighbourhood that +were associated with her childhood and mine.' + +'You went to Fairy Glen?' I said. + +'Yes; we went there the night before last and saw it in the +moonlight.' + +'I was there, and I saw you.' + +'Ah! Then the man sitting on the boulder at the bottom was you! How +wonderful! Sinfi was there on the step round the corner; she must +have seen you. I know now why she suddenly hurried me away. She had +told me that she wanted to see the Glen by moonlight' + +'Then you did not know that you would meet me here?' + +'My dear Henry, do you suppose that if I had known, I could have been +induced to take part in anything so theatrical? When I saw you +standing here my amazement and joy were so great that I forgot the +strange way in which I stood exhibited.' + +I felt that the longer she chatted about such matters as these the +more opportunities I should get of learning how much and how little +she knew of her own story, so I said, + +'But tell me how Sinfi contrived to trick you.' + +'Well, this morning was the time fixed for our visiting Llyn +Coblynau, as we call Knockers' Lynn, which was my favourite place as +a child. We were to see it when the colours of the morning were upon +it. Then we were to go right to the top of Snowdon and take a mid-day +meal at the hut there, and in the evening go down to Llanberis and +sleep there. To-morrow morning we were to go to dear old Carnarvon +and see again the beloved sea. I find now that her plan was to bring +you and me together in this sensational way.' + +'Will she join us?' I asked. + +'I know no more than you what will be Sinfi's next whim. At the last +moment yesterday I was surprised to find that I was not to come with +her here, as she was not to sleep in the camp last night because she +had promised to see a friend at Capel Curig. And now, shall I tell +you how she inveigled me into taking my part in this Snowdon play she +was getting up? She told me that she had the greatest wish to +discover how the "Knockers' echoes," as they are called, would sound +if, in the early morning, she were to play her crwth in one spot and +I were to answer it from another spot with a verse of a Welsh song. +It seemed a pretty idea, and it was agreed that when I reached the +llyn I was to go round it to the opening at the east, pass through +the crevice, and wait there till I heard her crwth.' + +'Well, Winnie, I must say that the way in which our Gypsy friend +manipulated you, and the way in which she manipulated me, shows a +method that would have done credit to any madness.' + +'You? How did she trick you?' + +I was determined not to talk about myself till I had felt my way. + +'Winnie, dear,' I said, 'seeing you is such a surprise, and my +illness has left me so weak, that I must wait before talking about +myself. I shall be more able to do this after I have learnt more of +what has befallen you. You say that Sinfi proposed to bring you to +Wales; but where were you when she did so? And what brought you into +contact with Sinfi again after--after--after you and I were parted in +Raxton?' + +'Ah! that is a strange story indeed,' said Winifred. 'It bewilders me +to recall it as much as it will bewilder you when you come to hear +it. I, too, seem to have been ill, and quite unconscious for months +and months.' + +'Winnie,' I said, 'tell me this strange story about yourself. Tell it +in your own way, and do not let me interrupt you by a word. Whenever +you see that I am about to speak, stop me--put your hand over my +mouth.' + +'But where am I to begin?' + +'Begin from our first meeting on the sands on the night of the +landslip.' + +But while I spoke I thought I observed her looking at the breakfast +provided by Sinfi with something like the same wistful expression +that was on her face on that morning forgotten by her but remembered +by me so well, when she breakfasted so heartily on the same spot. + +'Winnie,' I said, 'this mountain air has given me a voracious +appetite. I wonder whether you could manage to eat some of these good +things provided by our theatrical manageress?' + +'I wonder whether I could,' said Winnie; 'I'll try--if you'll ask me +no questions, but talk about Snowdon and watch the changes of the +glorious morning. But we must call Sinfi.' + +'No, no. I want to talk to you alone first. By the time your story is +over I at least shall be ready for another breakfast, and then we +will call her.' + +This was agreed upon, and I sat down to my second breakfast with +Winnie beside Knockers' Llyn. I sat with my face opposite to the +llyn, and we had scarcely begun when I noticed Sinfi's face peeping +round a corner of the little gorge. Winnie's back being turned from +the llyn she did not see Sinfi, who gave me a sign that her part of +that performance was to be looker-on. + +I have not time to dwell upon what was said and done during our +breakfast in this romantic place, and under these more than romantic +circumstances. During the whole of the time the Knockers kept up +their knockings, and it really seemed as though the good-natured +goblins were expressing their welcome to the child of y Wyddfa. + + + +XV + +THE DAUGHTER OF SNOWDON'S STORY + + +I + +After the breakfast was ended Winifred went over the entire drama of +that night of the landslip as far as she knew it. There was not an +important incident that she missed. Every detail of her narrative was +so vividly given that I lived it all over again. She recalled our +meeting on the sands, and my inexplicable bearing when she told me of +the seaman's present of precious stones to her father. She dwelt upon +my mysterious conduct in insisting upon our ascending the cliff by +different gangways. She recalled her picking up from the sands a +parchment scroll and spelling out by the moonlight the words of the +curse it called down upon the head of any one who should violate the +tomb from which the parchment and the jewel had been stolen, but as +she repeated the words of the curse she was evidently unconscious of +the tremendous import of the words in regard to herself and her +father. She told me of her desire to conceal from me, for my own sake +merely, the evidence afforded by the scroll that my father's tomb had +been violated. She recalled my seeing the parchment and being thrown +thereby into a state of the greatest mental agony. She recalled my +taking her hand as we neared the new tongue of land made by the +_débris_, and peering round it as though in dread of some concealed +foe, but evidently she had no idea of _what_ was behind there. She +described the way in which my 'foot slipped on the sand,' and how I +was thrown back upon her as she stood waiting to pass the _débris_ +herself. She spoke of my unaccountable and apparently mad suggestion +that we should, although the tide was coming in, and we were already +in danger of being imprisoned in the cove and drowned, sit down on +the boulder made sacred to us both by our childish betrothal. She +spoke of her own suspicion, and then her conviction, that some great +calamity was threatening me on account of the violation of the tomb, +and that the knowledge of this was governing all these strange +movements of mine. She reminded me of my telling her that the shriek +we both heard at the moment when the cliff fell was connected with +the crime against my father, and that it was the call from the grave +which, according to wild traditions, will sometimes come to the heir +of an old family. She recalled the very words I used when I told her +that in answer to this call I intended to remain there until the tide +came in and drowned me. She dwelt upon the way in which I urged her +to go and leave me, her own resolution to die with me, and her +cutting up her shawl into a rope and tying herself to me. She +recalled the sudden thunderous noise of the settlement in response +to the tide, and my springing up and running to the mass of _débris_ +and looking round it, and then my calling her to join me; and finally +she described her running toward Needle Point in order to pass round +it before the tide should get any higher, her plunging into the sea +and my pulling her round the Point. + +It was manifest, from the first word she uttered to the last, that +she had no idea who was the 'miscreant,' to use her oft-repeated +word, who committed the sacrilege; and nothing could express what +relief this gave my heart. I felt as though I had just escaped from +some peril too dire to think of with calmness. + +'You remember, Henry,' said she, 'how we ran to the cottage in our +wet clothes. You remember how we parted at the cottage door. From +that night till now we have never met, and now we meet--here on +Snowdon--at the very llyn I was always so fond of. + +'But tell me more, Winnie--tell me what occurred to you on the next +morning.' + +'Well,' said she, 'I was always a sound sleeper, but my fatigue that +night made me sleep until quite late the next morning. I hurried up +and got breakfast ready for father and myself. I then went and rapped +at his door, but I got no answer. His room was empty.' + +Winifred paused here as though she expected me to say something. A +thousand things occurred to me to ask, but until I knew more--until I +knew how much and how little she remembered of that dreadful time, I +dared ask her nothing--I dared make no remark at all. I said, 'Go on, +Winnie; pray do not break your story.' + +'Well,' said she, 'I found that my father had not returned during the +night. I did not feel disturbed at that, his ways were so uncertain. +I did not even hurry over my breakfast, but dallied over it, +recalling the scenes of the previous night, and wondering what some +of them could mean. I then went down the gangway at Needle Point to +walk on the sands. I thought I might meet father coming from +Dullingham. I had to pass the landslip, where a great number of +Raxton people were gathered. They were looking at the frightful +relics of Raxton churchyard. They were too dreadful for me to look +at. I walked right to Dullingham without meeting my father. At +Dullingham I was told that he had not been there for some days. Then, +for the first time, I began to be haunted by fears, but they took no +distinct shape. When I returned to the landslip the people were still +there, and still very excited about it. In the afternoon I went again +on the sands, thinking that I might see my father and also that I +might see you. I walked about till dusk without seeing either of you, +and then I went back to the cottage. I had now become very anxious +about my father, and sat up all night. The next morning after +breakfast I went again on the sands. The number of people collected +round the landslip seemed greater than ever, and many of them, I +think, came from Graylingham, Rington, and Dullingham. They seemed +more excited than they had been on the previous day, and they did not +notice me as I joined them. I heard some one say in a cracked and +piping voice, "Well, it's my belief as Tom lays under that there +settlement. It's my belief that he wur standing on the edge of the +churchyard cliff, and when the cliff fell he fell with it." Then the +kind and good-natured little tailor Shales saw me, and I thought he +must have made some signal to the others, for they all stood silent. +I felt sure now that for some reason, unknown to me, it was generally +believed that my father had perished in the landslip. Mrs. Shales +took me by the hand, and gently led me away up the gangway. When we +reached the cottage I asked her whether my father's body had been +found. She told me that it had not, and was not likely to be found, +for if he had really fallen with the landslip his body lay under tons +upon tons of earth. I shall never forget the misery of that night; +kind Mrs. Shales would not leave me, but slept in the cottage. I had +very little doubt that the Raxton people were right in their dreadful +guesses about my father. I had very little doubt that while walking +along the cliff, either to or from the cottage, he had reached the +point at the back of the church at the moment of the landslip, and +been carried down with it, and I now felt sure that the shriek you +and I both heard was his shriek of terror as he fell. I bethought me +of the jewels that my father's sailor friend was to give him, and +searched the cottage for them. As I could not find them, I felt sure +that it was on his return from his meeting with his sailor friend, +when the jewels were upon him, that he fell with the landslip.' + +Again Winnie paused as if awaiting some question, or at least some +remark from me. + +'Did you make no inquiries about me?' I said. + +'Oh yes,' said she; 'my grief at the loss of my father was very much +increased by my not being able to see you. Mrs. Shales told me that +you were ill--very ill. And altogether, you may imagine my misery. +Day after day I got worse and worse news of you. 'And day after day +it became more and more certain, that my father had perished in the +way people supposed. I used to spend most of the day on the sands, +gazing at the landslip, and searching for my father's body. Every +one tried to persuade me to give up my search, as it was hopeless, +for his body was certain to be buried deep under the new tongue of +land.' + +'But you still continued your search, Winnie?' I said, remembering +every word Dr. Mivart had told me in connection with her being found +by the fishermen. + +'Yes, I found it impossible not to go on with it. But one morning +after there had been a great storm followed by a further settlement +of the landslip, I went out alone on the cliffs. I said to myself, +"This shall be my last search." By this time the news of your illness +and the anxiety I felt about you helped much in blunting the anxiety +I felt about my father's loss. But on this very morning I am speaking +of something very extraordinary happened. + +'Don't tell me, Winnie. For God's sake, don't tell me! It will +disturb you; it will make you ill again.' + +She looked at me in evident astonishment at my words. + +'Don't tell you, Henry? Why, there is nothing to tell,' said she. 'As +I was walking along the sands, looking at the new tongue of land made +by the landslip, I seem to have lost consciousness.' + +'And you don't know what caused this?' + +'Not in the least; unless it was my anxiety and want of sleep. This +was the beginning of the long illness that I spoke of, and I seem to +have remained quite without consciousness until a few weeks ago. I +often try to make my mind bring back the circumstances under which I +lost consciousness. I throw my thoughts, so to speak, upon a wall of +darkness, and they come reeling back like waves that are dashed +against a cliff.' + +'Then don't do so any more, Winnie. I know enough of such matters to +tell you confidently that you never will recall the incidents +connected with your collapse, and that the endeavour to do so is +really injurious to you. What interests me very much more is to know +the circumstances under which you came to yourself. I am dying with +impatience to know all about that.' + + +II + +'When I came to myself,' said Winifred, 'I was in a world as new and +strange and wonderful as that in which Christopher Sly found himself +when he woke up to his new life in Shakespeare's play.' + +She paused. She little thought how my flesh kindled with impatience. + +'Yes, Winnie,' I said; 'you are going to tell me how, and where, and +when you were restored to life--regained your consciousness, I +mean--unless it will too deeply agitate you to tell me.' + +'It would not agitate me in the least, Henry, to tell you all about +it. But it is a long story, and this seems a strange place in which +to tell it, surrounded by these glorious peaks and covered by this +roof of sunrise. But do you tell me all about yourself, all about +your illness, which seems to have been a dreadful one.' + + +My story, indeed! What was there in my story that I could or dare +tell her? My story would have to be all about herself, and the +tragedy of the supposed curse, and the terrible seizures from which +she had recovered, and of which she must never know. I set to work to +persuade her to tell me all she knew. + +At last she yielded, and said, 'Well, I awoke as from a deep sleep, +and found myself lying on a couch, with a man's face bending over +mine. I could not help exclaiming, "Henry!'" + +'Then did he resemble me?' I asked. + +'Only in this--that in his eyes there was the expression which has +always appealed to me more than any other expression, whether in +human eyes or in the eyes of animals. I mean the pleading, yearning +expression of loneliness that there was in your eyes when they were +the eyes of a little, lame boy who could not get up the gangways +without me.' + +'Ah, the egotism of love!' I exclaimed. 'You mean, Winnie, that +expression which my unlucky eyes had lost when we met upon the sands +after our childhood was passed.' + +'But which love,' said she, 'love of Winnie, sorrow for the loss of +Winnie, have brought back, increased a thousandfold, till it gives me +pain and yet a delicious pain to look into them. Oh, Henry, I can't +go on; I really can't, if you look--' + +She burst into tears. + +When she got calmer she proceeded. + +'It was only in the expression of your eyes that he resembled you. +He was much older, and wore spectacles. He, on his part, gave a start +when he looked into my eyes. It seemed to me that he had been +expecting to see something in them which he did not find there, and +was a little disappointed. I then heard voices in the room, which was +evidently, from the sound of the voices, a large room, and I looked +round. I saw that there was another couch close to mine, but nearly +hidden from view by a large screen between the two couches. Evidently +a woman was lying on the other couch, for I could see her feet; she +was a tall woman, for her feet reached out much beyond my own.' + +'Good heavens, Winnie,' I exclaimed, 'what on earth is coming? But I +promised not to interrupt you. Pray go on, I am all impatience.' + +'Well, at the sound of the voices the gentleman started, and seemed +much alarmed--alarmed on my account, I thought. + +'I then heard a voice say, "A most successful experiment. Look at the +face of this other patient, and see the expression on it." + +'The gentleman bent over me, and hurriedly raised me from the couch, +and then fairly carried me out of the room. But you seem very +excited, Henry, you have turned quite pale.' + +It would have been wonderful if I had not turned pale. So deeply +burnt into my brain had been the picture I had imagined of Winnie +dead and in a pauper's grave that even now, with Winnie in my arms, +it all came to me, and I seemed to see her lying in a pauper's +shroud, and being restored to life, and I said to her, 'Did you +observe--did you observe your dress, Winnie?' + +She answered my question by a little laugh. 'Did I observe my dress +at such a moment? Well, I knew you could be satirical on my sex when +you are in the mood, but, Henry, there are moments, I assure you, +when the first thing a woman observes is not her dress, and this was +one. Afterwards I did observe it, and I can tell you what it was. It +was a walking-dress. Perhaps,' said she, with a smile, 'perhaps you +would like to know the material? But really I have forgotten that.' +'Pardon my idle question, Winnie--pray go on. I will interrupt you no +more.' + +'Oh, you will interrupt me no more! We shall see. The gentleman then +led me through a passage of some length.' + +'Do describe it!' + +'I felt quite sure you would interrupt me no more. Well! The dim +light in the windows made me guess I was in an old house, and from +the sweet smell of hay and wild-flowers I thought we were near the +Wilderness, at Raxton. I could only imagine that I had fallen +insensible on the sands and been taken to Raxton Hall.' + +'Ah! that's where you ought to have been taken.' I could not help +exclaiming. + +'Surely not,' said Winnie. + +'Why?' + +'Your mother! But why have you turned so angry?' + +In spite of all that I had lately witnessed of my mother's sufferings +from remorse, in spite of all the deep and genuine pity that those +sufferings had drawn from me, Winnie's words struck deeper than any +pity for any creature but herself, and for a moment my soul rose +against my mother again. + +'Go on, Winnie, pray go on,' I said. + +'You _will_ make me talk about myself,' said Winifred, 'when I so +much want to hear all about you. This is what I call the +self-indulgence of love. Well, then, the gentleman and I mounted some +steps and then we entered a tapestried room. The windows--they were +quaint and old-fashioned casements--were open, and the sunlight was +pouring through them. I then saw at once that I was not anywhere near +Raxton. Besides, there was no sea-smell mixed with the perfumes of +the flowers and the songs of the birds. That I was not near Raxton, +very much amazed me, you may be sure. And then the room was so new to +me and so strange. I had never been in an artist's studio, but Sinfi +had talked to me of such places, and there were many signs that I was +in a studio now.' + +'A studio! And not in London! Describe it, Winnie,' I said. + +Although she had told me that the house was in the country, my mind +flew at once to Wilderspin's studio. 'You say that the gentleman was +not young, but that he had an expression of sorrow in his eyes. Had +he long iron-grey hair, and was he dressed--dressed, like a--like a +shiny Quaker?' So full was my mind of Mrs. Gudgeon's story that I was +positively using her language. + +'Like a what?' exclaimed Winnie. 'Really, Henry, you have become very +eccentric since our parting. The gentleman had not iron-grey hair, +and he was not dressed in the least like a Quaker, unless a loose, +brown lounge coat tossed on anyhow over a waistcoat and trousers of +the same colour is the costume of a shiny Quaker. But it was the room +you asked me to describe. There were pictures on the walls, and there +were two easels, and on one of them I saw a picture. The gentleman +led me to a strange and very beautiful piece of furniture. If I +attempted to describe it I should call it a divan, under a gorgeous +kind of awning ornamented with Chinese figures in ivory and precious +stones. Now, isn't it exactly like an _Arabian Nights_ story, Henry?' + +'Yes, yes, Winnie; but pray go on. What did the gentleman do?' + +'He drew a chair towards me, and without speaking looked into my face +again. The expression in his eyes drew me towards him, as it had at +first done when I awoke from my trance; it drew me towards him partly +because it said, "I am lonely and in sorrow," and partly from +another cause which I could not understand and could never define, +howsoever I might try. "Where am I?" I said; "I remember nothing +since I fell on the sands. Where is Henry? Is he better or worse? Can +you tell me?" The gentleman said, "The friend you inquire about is a +long way from here, and you are a long way from Raxton." I asked him +why I was a long way from Raxton, and said, "Who brought me here? Do, +please, tell me what it means. I am amongst friends--of that I am +sure; there is something in your voice which assures me of that; but +do tell me what this mystery means." "You are indeed among friends," +he said. Then looking at me with an expression of great kindness, he +continued, "It would be difficult to imagine where you could go +without finding friends, Miss Wynne."' + +'Then he knew who you were, Winnie?' I said. + +'Yes, he knew who I was,' said she, looking meditatively across the +hills as though my query had raised in her own mind some question +which had newly presented itself. 'The gentleman told me that I had +been very ill and was now recovered, but not so entirely recovered at +present that I could with safety be burthened and perplexed with the +long story of my illness and what had brought me there. And when he +concluded by saying, "You are here for your good," I exclaimed, "Ah, +yes; no need for me to be told that," for his voice convinced me that +it was so. "But surely you can tell me something. Where is Henry? Is +he still ill?" I said. He told me that he believed you to be +perfectly well, and that you had lately been living in Wales, but had +now gone to Japan. "Henry lately in Wales! now gone to Japan!" I +exclaimed, "and he was not with me during the illness that you say I +have just recovered from?"' + +'Winnie,' I said, 'it was no wonder you asked those questions, but you +will soon know all.' + +Whilst Winnie had been talking my mind had been partly occupied with +words that fell from her about the voice of her mysterious rescuer. +They seemed to recall something. + +'You were saying, Winnie, that the gentleman had a peculiarly musical +voice,' I said. + +'So musical,' she replied, 'that it seemed to delight and charm, not +my mind only, but every nerve in my body.' + +'Could you describe it?' + +'Describe a voice,' she said, laughing. 'Who could describe a voice?' + +'You, Winnie; only you. Do describe it.' + +'I wonder,' she said, 'whether you remember our first walk along the +Raxton road, when I made invidious comparison between the voices of +birds and the voices of men and women?' + +'Indeed I do,' I said. 'I remember how you suggested that among the +birds the rooks only could listen without offence to the cackle of a +crowd of people.' + +'Well, Henry, I can only give you an idea of the gentleman's voice by +saying that the most fastidious blackbirds and thrushes that ever +lived would have liked it. Indeed they did seem to like it, as I +afterwards thought, when I took walks with him. It was music in every +variety of tone; and, besides, it seemed to me that this music was +enriched by a tone which I had learnt from your own dear voice as a +child, the tone which sorrow can give and nothing else. The listener +while he was speaking felt so drawn towards him as to love the man +who spoke. When his voice ceased, some part of his attraction ceased. +But the moment the voice was again heard the magic of the man +returned as strong as ever.' + + +III + +For some time during Winnie's narrative glimmerings of the +gentleman's identity had been coming to me, and what she said of the +voice seemed to be turning these glimmerings into shafts of light. I +was now in a state of the greatest impatience to verify my surmise. +But this only gave a sharper edge to my intense curiosity as to +_how_ she had been rescued by him. + +'Winnie,' I said, 'you have said nothing about his appearance. Could +you describe his face?' + +'Describe his face?' said Winnie. 'If I were a painter I could paint +it from memory. But who can paint a face in words?' + +Then she launched into a description of the gentleman's appearance, +and gave me a specimen of that 'objective' power which used to amaze +me as a child but which I afterwards found was a speciality of the +girls of Wales. + +'I should like a description of him feature by feature,' I said. + +She laughed, and said, 'I suppose I must begin with his forehead +then. It was almost of the tone of marble, and contrasted, but not +too violently, with the thin crop of dark hair slightly curling round +the temples, which were partly bald. The forehead in its form was so +perfect that it seemed to shed its own beauty over all the other +features; it prevented me from noticing, as I afterwards did, that +these other features--the features below the eyes, were not in +themselves beautiful. The eyes, which looked at me through +spectacles, were of a colour between hazel and blue-grey, but there +were lights shining within them which were neither grey, nor hazel, +nor blue--wonderful lights. And it was to these indescribable lights, +moving and alive in the deeps of the pupils, that his face owed its +extraordinary attractiveness. Have I sufficiently described him? or +am I to go on taking his face to pieces for you?' + +'Go on, Winnie--pray go on.' + +'Well, then, between the eyes, across the top of the nose, where the +bridge of the spectacles rested, there was a strongly marked indented +line which had the appearance of having been made by long-continued +pressure of the spectacle frame. Am I still to go on?' + +'Yes, yes.' + +'The beauty of the face, as I said before, was entirely confined to +the upper portion. It did not extend lower than the cheek-bones, +which were well shaped.' + +'The mouth, Winnie? Describe that, and then I need not ask you his +name, though perhaps you don't know it yourself.' + +'A dark brown moustache covered the mouth. I have always thought that +a mouth is unattractive if the lips are so close to the teeth that +they seem to stick to them; and yet what a kind woman Mrs. Shales is, +and her mouth is of this kind. But, on the other hand, where the +space between the teeth and the lips is too great no mouth can be +called beautiful, I think. Now though the mouth of the gentleman was +not ill-cut, the lips were too far from the teeth, I thought; they +were too loose, a little baggy, in short. And when he laughed--' + +'What about that, Winnie? I specially want to know about his laugh.' + +'Then I will tell you. When he laughed his teeth were a little too +much seen; and this gave the mouth a somewhat satirical expression.' + +'Winnie,' I said, 'there is no need now for you to tell me the name +of the gentleman. In a few sentences you have described him better +than I could have done in a hundred.' + +'And certainly there is no reason why I should not tell you his +name,' she said, laughing, 'for if there is a word that is musical in +my ears, it is the name of him whose voice is music--D'Arcy. When he +told me that I should know everything in time, and that there was +nothing for me to know except that which would give me comfort, and +said, "You confide in me!" I could only answer, "Who would not +confide in you? I will wait patiently until you tell me what you have +to tell." "Then," said he, "the best thing you can do is to lie down +for an hour or two on that divan and rest yourself, and go to sleep +if you can, while I go and attend to certain affairs that need me." +He then left the room. I was glad to be alone, for I was terribly +tired. I felt as though I had been taking violent bodily exercise, +but without feeling the staying power that Snowdon air can give. I +lay down on the divan, and must have fallen asleep immediately. When +I woke I found the same kind face near me, and the same kind eyes +watching me. Mr. D'Arcy told me that I had been sleeping for two +hours, and that it had, he hoped, much refreshed me. He told me also +that he took a constitutional walk every day, and asked me if I would +accompany him. I said, "Yes, I should like to do so." At this moment +there passed the window some railway men leaving some luggage. On +seeing them Mr. D'Arcy said, "I see that I must leave you for a +minute or two to look after a package of canvases that has just come +from my assistant in London," and he left me. When I was left alone I +had an opportunity of observing the room. The walls were covered with +old faded tapestry, so faded indeed that its general effect was that +of a dull grey texture. On looking at it closely I found that it told +the story of Samson. Every piece of furniture seemed to me to be a +rare curiosity.' + +'Now, Winnie,' I said, 'I am not going to interrupt you any more. I +want to hear your story as an unbroken narrative.' + + +IV + +'Well,' said Winnie, 'after a while Mr. D'Arcy returned and told me +that he was now ready to take me for a stroll across the meadows, +saying, "The doctor told me that, at first, your walks must be short; +so while you go to your room I will get Mrs. Titwing in for my usual +consultation about our frugal meal." + +'"My room," I said, "my room, and Mrs. Titwing; who's--" + +'"Ha! I quite forgot myself," he said, with an air of vexation, +which he tried, I thought, to conceal. "I will ring for Mrs. +Titwing--the housekeeper--and she will take you to your room." + +'He walked towards the bell, but before reaching it he stopped as if +arrested by a sudden thought. Then he said, "I will go to the +housekeeper's room and speak to Mrs. Titwing there. I shall be back +in a minute." And he passed from the room through the door by which +he and I had first entered. + +'Scarcely had the door closed behind him before a woman entered by +another door opposite to it. She was about the common height, +slender, and of an extremely youthful figure for a woman of middle +age. Her bright-complexioned face, lit by two watery blue eyes, was +pleasant to look upon. It was none the less pleasant because it +showed clearly that she was as guileless as a child. + +'I knew at once that she was the person--the housekeeper--that Mr. +D'Arcy had gone to seek at the other side of the house. Evidently she +had come upon me unexpectedly, for she gave a violent start, then she +murmured to herself, + +'"So it's all over, and all went off well." she said. Then she walked +quietly towards me and threw her arms round me and kissed me, saying, +"Dear child, I am so glad." + +'The tone of voice in which she spoke to me was exactly that of a +nurse speaking to a little child. + +'I was so taken by surprise that I pulled myself from her embrace +with some force. The poor woman looked at me in a hurt way and then +said, + +'"I beg your pardon, miss. I didn't notice at first how--how changed +you are. The look in your eyes makes me feel that you are not the +same person, and that I have done quite wrong." + +'While she was speaking, Mr. D'Arcy had re-entered the room by the +door by which he went out. He had evidently heard the housekeeper's +words. + +'"Miss Wynne," he said, "this is Mrs. Titwing, my excellent +housekeeper. She has been attending you during your illness; but your +weakness was so great that you were unconscious of all her kindness." + +'I went up to her and kissed her rosy cheek, at which she began to +cry a little. I afterwards found that she was in the habit of crying +a little on most occasions. + +'"Will you, then, kindly show me my room?" I said to her. But as she +turned round to lead the way to the room, Mr. D'Arcy said to her, + +'"Before you show Miss Wynne the way, I should like one word with +you, Mrs. Titwing, in your room, about the arrangements for the day." + +'The two passed out of the room, and again I was left to myself and +my own thoughts.' + + +V + +'Evidently there was some mystery about me,' said Winifred, +continuing her story. 'But the more I tried to think it out the more +puzzling it seemed. How had I been conveyed to this strange new +place? Who was the wizard whose eyes and whose voice began to enslave +me? and what time had passed since he caught me up on Raxton sands? +It seemed exactly like one of those _Arabian Nights_ stories which +you and I used to read together when we were children. The waking up +on the couch, the sight of the end of the other couch behind the +screen, and the tall woman's feet upon it, the voices from unseen +persons in the room, and above all the strange magic of him who +seemed to be the directing genie of the story--all would have seemed +to me unreal had it not been for the prosaic figure of Mrs. Titwing. +About her there could not possibly be any mystery; she was what Miss +Dalrymple would have called "the very embodiment of British +commonplace," and when, after a minute or two, she returned with Mr. +D'Arcy, I went and kissed her again from sheer delight of feeling +the touch of her real, solid; commonplace cheek, and to breathe the +commonplace smell of scented soap. Her bearing, however, towards me +had become entirely changed since she had gone out of the room. She +did not return the kiss, but said, "Shall I show you the way, miss?" +and led the way out. + +'She took me through the same dark passage by which I had entered, +and then I found myself in a large bedroom with low panelled walls, +in the middle of which was a vast antique bedstead made of black +carved oak, and every bit of furniture in the room seemed as old as +the bedstead. Over the mantelpiece was an old picture in a carved oak +frame, a Madonna and Child, the beauty of which fascinated me. I +remember that on the bottom of the frame was written in printed +letters the name "Chiaro dell' Erma." I was surprised to find in the +room another walking-dress, not new, but slightly worn, laid out +ready for me to put on. I lifted it up and looked at it. I saw at a +glance that it would most likely fit me like a glove. + +'"Whose dress is this?" I said. + +'"It's yours, miss." + +'"Mine? But how came it mine?" + +'"Oh, please don't ask me any questions, miss," she said. "Please ask +Mr. D'Arcy, miss; he knows all about it. I am only the housekeeper, +miss." + +'"Mr. D'Arcy knows all about my dress!" I said. "Why, what on earth +has Mr. D'Arcy to do with my dress?" + +'"Please don't ask me any more questions, miss," she said. "Pray +don't. Mr. D'Arcy is a very kind man; I am sure nobody has ever heard +me say but what he is a very kind man; but if you do what he says you +are not to do, if you talk about what he says you are not to talk +about, he is frightful, he is awful. He calls you a chattering old--I +don't know what he won't call you. And, of course, I know you are a +lady, miss. Of course you look a lady, miss, when you are dressed +like one. But then, you see, when I first saw you, you were not +dressed as you are now, and at first sight, of course, we go by the +dress a good deal, you know. But Mr. D'Arcy needn't be afraid I shall +not treat you like a lady, miss. I'm only a housekeeper now, though, +of course, I was once very different--very different indeed. But, of +course, anybody has only to look at you to see you are a lady, and, +besides, Mr. D'Arcy says you are a lady, and that is quite enough." + +'At this moment there came through the door--it was ajar--Mr. +D'Arcy's voice from the distance, so loud and clear that every word +could be heard. + +'"Mrs. Titwing, why do you stay chattering there, preventing Miss +Wynne from getting ready? You know we are going out for a walk +together." + +'"Oh Lord, miss!" said the poor woman in a frightened tone, "I must +go. Tell him I didn't chatter--tell him you asked me questions and I +was obliged to answer them." + +'The mysteries around me were thickening every moment. What did this +prattling woman mean about the dress in which she had at first seen +me? Was the dress in which she had first seen me so squalid that it +had affected her simple imagination? What had become of me after I +had sunk down on Raxton sands, and why was I left neglected by every +one? I knew you were ill after the landslip, but Mr. D'Arcy had just +told me that you had since been well enough to go to Wales and +afterwards to Japan. + +'I put on the dress and soon followed her. When I reached the +tapestried room there was Mr. D'Arcy talking to her in a voice so +gentle, tender, and caressing, that it seemed impossible the rough +voice I had heard bellowing through the passage could have come from +the same mouth, and Mrs. Titwing was looking into his face with the +delighted smile of a child who was being forgiven by its father for +some trifling offence. As I stood and looked at them I said to +myself, "Truly I am in a land of wonders."' + + +VI + +'Mr. D'Arcy and I,' said Winifred, 'went out of the house at the +back, walked across a roughly paved stable-yard, and passed through a +gate and entered a meadow. Then we walked along a stream about as +wide as one of our Welsh brooks, but I found it to be a backwater +connected with a river. For some time neither of us spoke a word. He +seemed lost in thought, and my mind was busy with what I intended to +say to him, for I was fully determined to get some light thrown upon +the mystery. + +'When we reached the river bank we turned towards the left, and +walked until we reached a weir, and there we sat down upon a fallen +willow tree, the inside of which was all touchwood. Then he said, + +'"You are silent, Miss Wynne." + +'"And you are silent," I said. + +'"My silence is easily explained," he said. "I was waiting to hear +some remark fall from you as to these meadows and the river, which +you have seen so often." + +'"Which I see now for the first time, you mean." + +'"Miss Wynne," he said, looking earnestly in my face, "you and I have +taken this walk together nearly every day for months." + +'"That," I said, "is--is quite impossible." + +'"It is true," he said. And then again we sat silent. + +'Then I said to him with great firmness, "Mr. D'Arcy, I'm only a +peasant girl, but I'm Welsh; I have faith in you, faith in your +goodness and faith in your kindness to me; but I must insist upon +knowing how I came here, and how you and I were brought together." + +'He smiled, and said, "I was right in thinking that your face +expresses a good deal of what we call character. I should have +preferred waiting for a day or two before relating all I have to +tell," he said, "in answer to what you ask, but as you _insist_ upon +having it now," with a playful kind of smile, "it would be ill-bred +for me to insist that you must wait. But before I begin, would it not +be better if you were to tell me something of what occurred to +yourself when you were taken ill at Raxton?" + +'"Then will your story begin where mine breaks off?" I said. + +'"We shall see that," he said, "as soon as you have ended yours." + +'"Do you know Raxton?" I said. + +'At first he seemed to hesitate about his reply, and then said, + +'"No, I do not." + +'I then told him in as few words as I could our adventures on the +sands on the night of the landslip, and my search for my father's +body afterwards, until I suddenly sank down in a fit. When I had +finished Mr. D'Arcy was silent, and was evidently lost in thought. At +last he said, + +'"My story, I perceive, cannot begin where yours breaks off. I first +became acquainted with you in the studio of a famous painter named +Wilderspin, one of the noblest-minded and most admirable men now +breathing, but a great eccentric." + +'"Why, Mr. D'Arcy, I never was in a studio in my life until to-day," +I said. + +'"You mean, Miss Wynne, that you were not consciously there," he +said. "But in that studio you certainly were, and the artist, who +reverenced you as a being from another world, was painting your face +in a beautiful picture. While he was doing this you were taken +seriously ill, and your life was despaired of. It was then that I +brought you into the country, and here you have been living and +benefiting by the kind services of Mrs. Titwing for a long time." + +'"And you know nothing of my history previously to seeing me in the +London studio?" I asked. + +'"All that I could ever learn about that," said he, in what seemed to +me a rather evasive tone, "I had to gather from the incoherent and +rambling talk of Wilderspin, a religious enthusiast whose genius is +very nearly akin to mania. He was so struck by you that he actually +believed you to be not a corporeal woman at all; he believed you had +been sent from the spirit-world by his dead mother to enable him to +paint a great picture." + +'"Oh, I must see him, and make him tell me all," I said. + +'"Yes," said he, "but not yet." + + +'What Mr. D'Arcy told me,' said Winnie, 'affected me so deeply that I +remained silent for a long time. Then came a thought which made me +say, + +'"You. too, are a painter, Mr. D'Arcy?" + +'"Yes," he said. + +'"During the months that I have been living here have you used me as +your model?" + +'"No; but that was not because I did not wish to do so." + +'Then he suddenly looked in my face and said, + +'"Is your family entirely Welsh, Miss Wynne?" + +'"Entirely," I said. "But why did you not use me as your model, Mr. +D'Arcy?" + +'"Poor Wilderspin believed you to be a spiritual body," he said; "I +did not. I knew that you were a young lady in an unconscious +condition. To have painted you in such a condition and without the +possibility of getting your consent would have been sacrilege, even +if I had painted you as a Madonna." + +'I could not speak, his words and tone were so tender. He broke the +silence by saying, + +'"Miss Wynne, there is one thing in connection with you that puzzles +me very much. You speak of yourself as though you were a kind of +Welsh peasant girl, and yet your conversation--well, I mustn't tell +you what I think of that." + +'This made me laugh outright, for ladies who called on Miss Dalrymple +used to make the same remark. + +'"Mr. D'Arcy," I said, "you are harbouring the greatest little +impostor in the British Islands. I am the mere mocking-bird of one of +the most cultivated women living. My true note is that of a simple +Welsh bird." + +'"A Welsh warbler," he said, with a smile, "but who was the original +of the impostor?" + +'"Miss Dalrymple," I said. + +'"Miss Dalrymple, the writer!--why I knew her years ago--before you +were born." + + +'Our talk had been so lively that we had not noticed the passage of +time, nor had we noticed that the clouds had been gathering for a +summer shower. Suddenly the rain fell heavily; although we ran to the +house, we were quite wet by the time we got in. + +'We found poor Mrs. Titwing in a great state of excitement on account +of the rain, and also because the dinner had been waiting for nearly +an hour. That scamper in the rain, and the laughing and joking at our +predicament, seemed to bring us closer together than anything else +could have done. Mr. D'Arcy told Mrs. Titwing to take me to my room +to change my dress for dinner, and he seemed quite disappointed when +I told him that I could eat no dinner, and would like to retire to my +room for the night. The fact was that the events of that wonderful +day had exhausted all my powers; every nerve within me seemed crying +out for sleep. + +'I went to my room, dismissed Mrs. Titwing, and went to bed at once. +But no sooner had I got into bed than I began to perceive that, +instead of sleep, a long wakeful night was before me. Mr. D'Arcy's +story about finding me in a London studio took entire possession of +my mind. How did I get there? Where had I been and what had been my +adventures before I got there? Why did the painter, in whose studio +Mr. D'Arcy found me, believe that I had been super-naturally sent to +him? I shuddered as a thousand dreadful thoughts flowed into my mind. +"Mr. D'Arcy," I said to myself, "must know more than he has told +me." Then, of course, came thoughts about you. I wondered why you had +allowed me to drift away from you in this manner. True, I was +probably removed from Raxton immediately after my illness, when you +were very ill, as I knew; but then you had recovered!' + + +VII + +When Winifred reached this point in her story, I said, + +'And so you wondered what had become of me from your last seeing me +down to your waking up in Mr. D'Arcy's house?' + +'Yes, yes, Henry. Do tell me what you were doing all that time.' + +As she said these words the whole tragedy of my life returned to me +in one moment, and yet in that moment I lived over again every +dreadful incident and every dreadful detail. The spectacle on the +sands, the search for her in North Wales, the meeting in the cottage, +the frightful sight as she leapt away from me on Snowdon, the +heart-breaking search for her among the mountains, the sound of her +voice, singing by the theatre portico in the rain, the search for her +in the hideous London streets, the scenes in the studios, the +soul-blasting drama in Primrose Court--all came upon me in such a +succession of realities that the beautiful radiant creature now +talking to me seemed impossible except as a figure in a dream. And +she was asking me to tell her what I had been doing during all these +months of nightmare. But I knew that I never could tell her, either +now or at any future time. I knew that to tell her would be to kill +her. + +'Winnie,' I said, 'I will tell you all about myself, but I must hear +your story first. The faster you get on with that the sooner you will +hear what I have to tell.' + +'Then I will get on fast,' said she. 'After a while my thoughts, as I +tossed in my bed, turned from the past to the future. What was the +future that was lying before me? For months I had evidently been +living on the charity of Mr. D'Arcy. My only excuse for having done +so was that I was entirely unconscious of it; but now that I did know +the relations between us I must of course end them at once. But what +was I to do? Whither was I to go? Besides Miss Dalrymple, whose +address I did not know, I had no friends except Sinfi Lovell and the +Gypsies and a few Welsh farmers. To live upon my benefactor's +generous charity now that I was conscious of it was, I felt, +impossible. + +'I was penniless. I had not even money to pay my railway fare to any +part of England. There was only one thing for me to do--write to you. +When I rose in the morning it was with the full determination to +write to you at once. I had been told by Mrs. Titwing that Mr. D'Arcy +always breakfasted alone in a little anteroom adjoining his bedroom, +and always breakfasted late. My breakfast, she said, would be +prepared in what she called the little green room. And when I left my +bedroom, dressed in a morning dress that was carefully laid out for +me, I found the housekeeper moving about in the passages. She +conducted me to the little green room. On the walls were two +looking-glasses in old black oak frames carved with knights at tilt +and angels' heads hovering above them. Each frame contained two +circular mirrors surrounded by painted designs telling the story of +the Holy Grail. The room was furnished with quaint sofas and chairs +on which beautiful little old-fashioned designs were painted. She +told me that as I had not named an hour for breakfasting I should +have to wait about twenty minutes. + +'In one corner of the room was a rather large whatnot, on which lay +one or two French novels in green and yellow paper covers and a few +daily and weekly newspapers, which I went and turned over. Among them +I was startled to find a paper called the _Raxton Gazette_. But I saw +at once how it got there, for written on the margin at the top of the +paper was the address, "Dr. Mivart, Wimpole Street, London." Mr. +D'Arcy had told me that the gentleman whose voice I heard behind the +screen was the medical man who attended to me during my illness, and +it now suddenly flashed upon my mind that at Raxton there was a Dr. +Mivart, though I had never seen him during my stay there. These were, +no doubt, one and the same person, and some one from Raxton had +posted the newspaper to the doctor's house in London. + +'I looked down the columns of the paper with a very lively interest, +and my eye was soon caught by a paragraph encircled by a thick blue +pencil mark. It gave from a paper called the _London Satirist_ what +professed to be a long account of you, in which it was said that you +were living in a bungalow in Wales with a Gypsy girl.' + +When Winifred said this I forgot my promise not to interrupt her +narrative, and exclaimed, + +'And you believed this infamous libel, Winnie?' + +'To say that I believed it as a simple statement of fact would of +course be wrong. I never doubted you loved me as a child.' + +'As a child! Do you then think that I did not love you that night on +Raxton sands?' + +'I did not doubt that you loved me then. But wealth, I had been told, +is so demoralising, and I thought your never coming forward to find +me and protect me in my illness might have something to do with +inconstancy. Anyhow, these thoughts combined with my dread of your +mother to prevent me from writing to you.' + +'Winnie, Winnie!' I said, 'these theories of the so-called advanced +thinkers, whom your aunt taught you to believe in--these ideas that +love and wealth cannot exist together, are prejudices as narrow and +as blind as those of an opposite kind which have sapped the natures +of certain members of my own family.' + +'The sight of your dear sad face when I first saw it here was proof +enough of that,' she said. 'As your life was said to be that of a +wanderer, I did not care to write to Raxton, and I did not know where +to address you. What I had read in the newspaper, I need not tell +you, troubled me greatly. I cried bitterly, and made but a poor +breakfast. After it was over Mr. D'Arcy entered the room, and shook +me warmly by the hand. He saw that I had been crying, and he stood +silent and seemed to be asking himself the cause. Drawing a chair +towards me, and taking a seat, he said, + +'"I fear you have not slept well, Miss Wynne." + +'"Not very well," I answered. Then, looking at him, I said, "Mr. +D'Arcy, I have something to say to you, and this is the moment for +saying it." + +'He gave a startled look, as though he guessed what I was going to +say. + +'"And I have something to say to _you_, Miss Wynne," he said, +smiling, "and this seems the proper time for saying it. Up to the +last few weeks a young gentleman from Oxford has been acting as my +secretary. He has now left me, and I am seeking another. His duties, +I must say, have not been what would generally be called severe. I +write most of my own letters, though not all, and my correspondence +is far from being large. His chief duty has been that of reading to +me in the evening. For many years my eyes have not been so strong as +a painter's ought to be, and the oculist whom I consulted told me +that the strain of the painter's work was quite as much as my eyes +ought to bear, and that I could not afford much eyesight for reading +purposes. I am passionately fond of reading. To be without the +pleasure that books can afford me would be to make me miserable, and +I have looked upon my secretary's duty of reading aloud to me as an +important one. If you would take his place you would be conferring +the greatest service upon me." + +'"Mr. D'Arcy," I said, "I suspect you." + +'"Suspect me, Miss Wynne?" + +'"I suspect that generous heart of yours. I suspect you are merely +inventing a post for me to fill, because you pity me." + +'"No, Miss Wynne; upon my honour this is not so. I will not deny that +if it were not in your power to do me the service that I ask of you, +I should still feel the greatest disappointment if you passed from +under this roof. Your scruples about living here as you lived during +your illness--simply as my guest--I understand, but do not approve. +They show that you are not quite so free from the bondage of custom +as I should like every friend of mine to be. The tie of friendship +is, in my judgment, the strongest of all ties, stronger than that of +blood, because it springs from the natural kinship of soul to soul, +and there is no reason in the world why I should not offer you a home +as a friend, or why, if the circumstances of our lives were reversed, +you should not offer me one. But in this case it is the fact that the +service I am asking you to render me is greater than any service I +can render you." + +'I was so deeply touched by his words and by his way of speaking +them, that my lips trembled, and I could make no reply. + + +'"It is a shame," he said, "for me to talk about business so soon +after your recovery. Let us leave the matter for the moment, and come +to me in the studio during the morning, and let me show you the +pictures I am painting, and some of my choice things." + +'The morning wore on, and still I sat pondering over the situation in +which I found myself. The servant came and removed the breakfast +things, and her furtive glances at me showed that I was an object at +once familiar and strange to her. But very little attention did I pay +to her, in such a whirl of thoughts as I then was. The moment that +one course of action seemed to me the best, the very opposite would +occur to me as being the best. However, I was determined to know from +Mr. D'Arcy, and at once, what was the state in which I was when I was +brought to this place, and what had been the course of my life during +my stay here. Mr. D'Arcy had told me that, for reasons which he so +touchingly alluded to, he had not used me as a model. How, then, had +my time been passed? To question poor Mrs. Titwing would only be to +frighten her. I would ask Mr. D'Arcy for a full confession. + +'Mrs. Titwing came into the room. She began pulling at the ribbon of +her black silk apron as though she wanted to speak and could not find +the proper words. At last she said, + +'"I hope, miss, there have been no words between you and Mr. D'Arcy?" + +''"Words between me and Mr. D'Arcy? What do you mean?" I asked. + +'"He seems very much upset, miss, about something. He is not at his +easel, but keeps walking about the studio, and every now and then he +asks where you are. I'm sure he used to dote on you when you were a +child, miss." + +'"When I was a child?" I said, laughing. "But I see what it is. I +have been very neglectful. I promised to go into the studio to see +the pictures, and he is, of course, impatient at my keeping him +waiting. I will go to him at once," and I went. + +'When I entered the studio he turned quickly round and said, + +'"Well?" + +'"You were so kind," I said, "as to invite me to see your treasures." + +'"To be sure," he said. "I thought you came to give your decision." + +'He then showed me the curious divan upon which I had rested the day +before, and explained to me the meaning of the carved designs.' + + +VIII + +Winifred described the designs on the divan so vividly that I could +almost see them. But what interested me was the painter, not his +surroundings; and she now seemed to grow weary of talking about +herself. + +'Did he,' I said, 'did he say anything about--about painters' +models?' + +'Yes,' she said, 'Mr. D'Arcy took me to an easel and showed me a +picture. It was only the half-length of a woman; but it was a tragedy +rendered fully by the expression on one woman's face. + +'"I had no idea," I said, "that any picture of a single face could do +such work as that. Was this painted from a model?" + +'"Yes," he said, with a smile, which was evidently at my ignorance of +art. "It was painted from life." + +'There were four other half-lengths in the room, all of them very +beautiful. + +'"Two of these," he said, "are copies; the originals have been sold. +The other two need still a few touches to make them complete." + +'"And they were all painted from life?" I said. + +'"Yes," he said. "Why do you repeat that question?" + +'"Because," I said, "although they are all so wonderful and so +beautiful in colour, I can see a great difference between them--I can +scarcely say what the difference is. They are evidently all painted +by the same artist, but painted in different moods of the artist's +mind." + +'"Ah," he said, "I am much interested. Let me see you classify them +according to your view. There are, as you see, two brunettes and two +blondes." + +'"Yes," I said, "between this grand brunette, to use your own +expression, holding a pomegranate in her hand and the other brunette +whose beautiful eyes are glistening and laughing over the fruit she +is holding up, there is the same difference that there is between the +blonde's face under the apple blossoms and the other blonde's face of +the figure that is listening to music. In both faces the difference +seems to be that of the soul." + +'"The two faces," said he, "in which you see what you call soul are +painted from two dear friends of mine--ladies of high intelligence +and great accomplishments, who occasionally honour me by giving me +sittings--the other two are painted from two of the finest hired +models to be found in London." + +'"Then," I said, "an artist's success depends a great deal upon his +model? I had no idea of such a thing." + +'"It does indeed," he said. "Such success as I have won since my +great loss is very largely owing to those two ladies, one so grand +and the other so sweet, whom you are admiring." + +'The way in which he spoke the words "since my great loss" almost +brought tears into my eyes. He then went round the room, and +explained in a delightful way the various pictures and objects of +interest. I felt that I was preventing him from working, and told +him so. + +'"You are very thoughtful," he said, "but I can only paint when I +feel the impulse within me, and to-day I am lazy. But while you go +and get your luncheon--I do not lunch myself--I must try to do +something. You must have many matters of your own that you would +like to attend to. Will you return to the studio about five o'clock, +and let me have your company in another walk?" + +'Until five o'clock I was quite alone, and wandered about the house +and garden trying my memory as to whether I could recall something, +but in vain. At any other time than this I should no doubt have found +the old house a very fascinating one; but not for two minutes +together could my mind dwell upon anything but the amazing situation +in which I found myself. The house was, I saw, built of grey stone, +and as it had seven gables it suggested to me Nathaniel Hawthorne's +famous story, of which my aunt was so fond. Inside I found every room +to be more or less interesting. But what attracted me most, I think, +was a series of large attics in which was a number of enormous oak +beams supporting the antique roof. With the sunlight pouring through +the windows and illuminating almost every corner, the place seemed +cheerful enough, but I could not help thinking how ghostly it must +look on a moonlight night. + +'While the thought was in my mind, a strangle sensation came upon me. +I seemed to hear a moan; it came through the door of the large attic +adjoining the one in which I stood, and then I heard a voice that +seemed familiar to me, and yet I could not recall it. It was +repeating in a loud, agonised tone the words of that curse written on +the parchment scroll which I picked up on Raxton sands. I was so +astonished that for a long time I could think of nothing else. + + +IX + +'At five o'clock I was going towards the studio to keep my +appointment when I met Mr. D'Arcy in his broad-brimmed felt hat, +ready and waiting for me to take the proposed walk with him. + +'Oh, what a lovely afternoon it was! A Welsh afternoon could not have +been lovelier. In fact, it carried my mind back here. The sun, +shining on the buttercups and the grey-tufted standing grass, made +the meadows look as though covered with a tapestry that shifted from +grey to lavender, and then from lavender to gold, as the soft breeze +moved over it. And many of the birds were still in full song; and +brilliant as was the music of the skylarks, the blackbirds and +thrushes were so numerous that the music falling from the sky seemed +caught and swallowed up by the music rising from the hedgerows and +trees. + +'I lingered at one of the gates through which we passed to enjoy the +beauty undisturbed by the motion of my own body. + +'"I have often wished," Mr. D'Arcy said, "that I had a tithe of your +passion for Nature, and all your knowledge of Nature. To have been +born in London and to have passed one's youth there is a great loss. +Nature has to be learnt, as art has to be learnt, in earliest youth." + +'"What makes you know that my chief passion is love of Nature?" I +asked. + +'"It was," he said, "the one thing you showed during your +illness--during your unconscious condition." + +'"And yet I remember nothing of that time," I said. "This gives me an +opportunity of asking you something--an opportunity which I had +determined to make for myself before another day went by." + +'"And what is that?" he said, in a tone that betrayed some +uneasiness. + +'"You have told me how I came here. I now want you to tell me, too, +what was my condition when I came and what was my course of life +during all this long period. How did the time pass? What did I do? I +remember nothing." + +'"I am glad you are asking me these questions," he said, "for I +believe that the more fully and more exactly I answer them, the +better for you and the better for me. Victor Hugo, in one of his +romances, speaks of the pensive somnambulism of the animals. +'Somnambulism,' sometimes pensive and sometimes playful, is the +very phrase I should use in characterising your condition when you +first came here and down to your recovery from that strange illness. +But this somnambulism would every now and then change and pass into +a consciousness which I can only compare with that of a child. But +no child that I have ever seen was so bewitchingly child-like as you +were. It was this that made your presence such a priceless boon to +me." + +'"Priceless boon, Mr. D'Arcy!" I said. "How could such a being as you +describe be a priceless boon to any one?" + +'"I will tell you," he replied. "Even before that great sorrow which +has made me the loneliest man upon the earth--even in the days when +my animal spirits were considered at times almost boisterous, I was +always at intervals subject to periods of great depression, or +rather, I should say, to periods of _ennui_. I must either be +painting or reading or writing. I had not the precious faculty of +being able on occasions to sit and let the rich waters of life flow +over me. I would yearn for amusement, and search in vain for some +object to amuse me. When you first came I was deeply interested in so +extraordinary a case as yours; and after a while, when the acuteness +of my curiosity and the poignancy of my sympathy for you had abated, +you became to me a joy, as a child is a joy in the eyes of its +parents." + +'"Then your interest in me," I said, with a smile, "was that which +you would feel towards a puppy or a kitten." + +'"I perceive that you have a turn for satire," he said, laughing. +"I will not deny that I have an extraordinarily strong passion for +watching the movements of animals. I have, to the sorrow of my +neighbours, filled my garden in London with all kinds of purchases +from Jamrach's. But from the moment that I knew you, who combined the +fascination of a fawn and a child with that of a sylph or a fairy, my +poor little menagerie was neglected, and what became of its members I +scarcely know. I suppose I am very uncomplimentary to you, but you +would have the truth. The moment that I felt myself threatened by the +fiend _Ennui_ I used to tell Mrs. Titwing, who was in the habit of +calling you her baby, to bring you into the studio, and at once the +fiend fled. At last I grew so attached to you that your presence was +a positive necessity of my life. Unless I knew that you were in the +studio I could not paint. It was necessary for me at intervals to +look across the room at that divan and see you there amusing +yourself--playing with yourself, so to speak, sometimes like a +kitten, sometimes like a child. I would not have parted with you for +the world." + +'He did not say he would not now part with me for the world, Henry, +and I thought I understood the meaning of that expression of +disappointment which I had observed in his eyes when I first saw them +looking into mine. I thought I understood this extraordinary man--so +unlike all others; I thought I knew why my eyes lost the charm he was +now so eloquently describing to me the moment that they became +lighted with what he called self-consciousness. + +'After a while I said, "But as I was in such an unconscious state as +you describe, how could you possibly know that a speciality of mine +is a love of Nature?" + +'"It was only when you were out in the open air that the condition +which I have compared to somnambulism seemed at times to disappear. +Then your consciousness seemed to spring up for a moment and to take +heed of what was passing around you. You would sometimes scamper +through the meadows, pluck the wild-flowers and weave them into +wreaths round your head, or stand listening to the birds, or hold out +your hands as if to embrace the sunny wind. One day when a friend of +mine, an enthusiastic angler, who comes here, was going down to the +river to fish, you showed the greatest interest in what was going on. +The fishing tackle seemed so familiar to you that my friend put a +fishing rod into your hand and you went with him to the river. I do +not myself care for angling, and I was at the time very busy with a +picture, but I could not resist the temptation to follow you. You +skipped into the punt with the greatest glee, baited your hook, +adjusted your float on the line, cast it into the water and fished +with such skill that you caught two fish to my friend's one. +Observing all these things, I came to the conclusion that you had +lived much in the open air, and other incidents made me know that you +were a great lover of Nature." + +'"And you," I said, "must also be a lover of Nature, or you could not +find such delight in watching animals." + +'"No," he said, "the interest I take in animals has nothing whatever +to do with love of Nature or study of Nature. They interest me by +that unconsciousness of grace which makes them such a contrast to +man." + +'We then went into the house. Our talk during our ramble in the +fields seemed to remove effectually all awkwardness and restraint +between us. + + +X + +'That day,' said Winnie, 'a determination which had been caused by +many a reflection during the last few hours induced me at dinner to +lead the conversation to the subject of pictures and models. In a few +minutes Mr. D'Arcy launched out in an eloquent discourse upon a +subject which was so new to me and so familiar to him. + +'"You were saying this morning, Mr. D'Arcy," I urged me to tell her +what had befallen myself since we had parted at the cottage door at +Raxton. Even had it been possible for me to talk about myself without +touching upon some dangerous incident or another, my impatience to +get at the mystery of mysteries in connection with her and her rescue +from Primrose Court was so great that I could only implore her to +tell me what had occurred down to her leaving Hurstcote Manor, and +also what had been the cause of her leaving. + +'Well,' said Winnie, 'I am now going to tell you of an extraordinary +thing that happened. One fine night the moon was so brilliant that +after I quitted Mr. D'Arcy I stole out of the side door into the +garden, a favourite place of mine, for old English flowers were mixed +with apple trees and pear trees. I was strolling about the garden, +thinking over a thousand things connected with you, and myself, and +Mr. D'Arcy, when I saw stooping over a flower-bed the figure of a +tall woman. I could scarcely believe my eyes, for I had all the while +supposed that, excepting Mr. D'Arcy, myself, and Mrs. Titwing, the +servants were the only occupants of the place. I turned away, and +walked silently through the little wicket into what is called the +home close. As I pondered over the incident, I recalled certain +things which singly had produced no effect on my mind, but which now +fitted in with each other, and seemed to open up vistas of mystery +and suspicion. Mysterious looks and gestures on the faces of the +servants pointed to there being some secret that was to be kept from +me. I had not given much heed to these things, but now I could not +help connecting them with the appearance of the tall woman in the +garden. + + +'Some guests arrived next day, and when I pleaded headache Mr. D'Arcy +said, "Perhaps you would rather keep to your own room to-day." + +'I told him I should, and I spent the day alone--spent it mainly in +thinking about the tall woman. In the evening I went into the garden, +and remained there for a long time, but no tall woman made her +appearance. + +'I passed out through the wicket into the home close, and as I walked +about in the grass, under the elms that sprang up from the tall +hedge, I thought and thought over what I had seen, but could come to +no explanation. I was standing under a tree, in the shadow which its +branches made, when I became suddenly conscious that the tall woman +was close to me. I turned round, and stood face to face with Sinfi +Lovell. The sight of a spectre could not have startled me more, but +the effect of my appearance upon her was greater still. Her face took +an expression that seemed to curdle my blood, and she shrieked, +"Father! the curse! Let his children be vagabonds and beg their +bread; let them seek it also out of desolate places." And then she +ran towards the house. + +'In a few minutes Mr. D'Arcy came out into the field without his hat, +and evidently much agitated. + +'"Miss Wynne," he said, "I fear you must have been half frightened to +death. Never was there such an unlucky _contretemps_." + +'"But why is Sinfi Lovell here?" I said, "and why was I not told she +was here?" + +'"Sinfi is an old friend of mine," he said. "I have been in the habit +of using her as a model for pictures. She came here to sit to me, +when she was taken ill. She is subject to fits, as you have seen. The +doctor believed that they were over and would not recur, and I had +determined that to-morrow I would bring you together." + +'I made no reply, but walked silently by his side across the field to +the little wicket. The confidence I had reposed in Mr. D'Arcy had +been like the confidence a child reposes in its father. + +'"Miss Wynne," he said, in a voice full of emotion, "I feel that an +unlucky incident has come between us, and yet if I ever did anything +for your good, it was when I decided to postpone revealing the fact +that Sinfi Lovell was under this roof until her cure was so complete +and decisive that you could never by any chance receive the shock +that you have now received." + +'I felt that my resentment was melting in the music of his words. + +'"What caused the fits?" I said. "She talked about being under a +curse. What can it mean?" + +'"That," he said, "is too long a story for me to tell you now." + +'"I know," said I, "that some time ago the tomb of Mr. Aylwin's +father was violated by some undiscovered miscreant, and I know that +the words Sinfi uttered just now are the words of a curse written by +the dead man on a piece of parchment, and stolen with a jewel from +his tomb. I have seen the parchment itself, and I know the words +well. Her father, Panuel Lovell, is as innocent of the crime of +sacrilege as my poor father was. What could have made her suppose +that she had inherited the curse from her father?" + +'"I have no explanation to offer," he said. "As you know so much of +the matter and I know so little, I am inclined to ask you for some +explanation of the puzzle." + +'I thought over the matter for a minute, and then I said to him, +"Sinfi Lovell knows Raxton as well as Snowdon, and must have been +very familiar with the crime. I can only suppose that she has brooded +so long over the enormity of the offence and the appalling words of +the curse that she has actually come at last to believe that poor, +simple-minded Panuel Lovell is the offender, and that she, as his +child, has inherited the curse." + +'"A most admirable solution of the mystery," he said, his face +beaming with delight.' + + +XII + +When Winnie got to this point she said, 'Yes, Henry, poor Sinfi seems +in some unaccountable way to have learnt all about that piece of +parchment and the curse written upon it. She has been under the +extraordinary delusion that her own father, poor Panuel Lovell, was +the violator of the tomb, and that she has inherited the curse.' + +'Good God, Winnie!' I exclaimed; and when I recalled what I had seen +of Sinfi in the cottage, I was racked with perplexity, pity, and +wonder. What could it mean? + +'Yes,' said Winifred, 'she has been possessed by this astounding +delusion, and it used to bring on fits which were appalling to +witness. They are passed now, however.' + +'Is she recovered now?' + +'Mr. D'Arcy,' said Winnie, 'assured me that, in the opinion of the +doctor, the delusion would not he permanent, but that Sinfi would +soon be entirely restored to health. While Mr. D'Arcy and I were +talking about her Sinfi came through the wicket again. Rushing up to +me and seizing my hand, she said, + +'"Oh, Winnie, how I must have skeared you! I dare say Mr. D'Arcy has +told you that I've been subject to fits o' late. It was comin' on you +suddint as I did under the tree that brought it on. I wouldn't let +Mr. D'Arcy tell you I wur here until I wur quite sure I should have +no more on 'em, but the doctor said this very day that I wur now +quite well." + +'My mind ran all night long upon the mystery of Sinfi Lovell. Mr. +D'Arcy's explanation of her appearance at Hurstcote Manor was +certainly clear enough, but somehow its very clearness aroused +suspicion--no, I will not say suspicion--misgivings. If he had been +able, while he seemed so frank and open, to keep away from me a +secret--I mean the secret of Sinfi Lovell's being concealed in the +house--what secrets might he not be concealing from me about my own +mystery? Did he not know everything that occurred during that period +which was a blank in my mind, the period from my sinking down on the +sands to my waking up in his house? + +'From the very first, indeed, a feeling of mystery had haunted me. I +had often pondered over every circumstance that attended my waking +into life, but that incident which was the most firmly fixed in my +mind was the sight of the feet of a tall woman whose body was hid by +the screen between my couch and the other one. When I asked Mr. +D'Arcy about this, he did not say in so many words that I was +suffering from a delusion about those feet, but he talked about the +illusion which generally accompanied a recovery from such illnesses +as mine. Now of course I felt sure that Sinfi was the person I had +seen on the couch. But why was she there? + +'I did not see Mr. D'Arcy until the afternoon after the guests had +left, for in order to avoid seeing him and them, I took a long stroll +by the river and then got into the punt. I had scarcely done so when +Sinfi appeared on the bank and hailed me. I took her into the punt. +She was so entirely herself that I found it difficult to believe in +the startling spectacle of the previous evening, although her +expression was careworn, and she certainly looked a little paler than +she used to look when she and I and Rhona Boswell were such great +friends; her splendid beauty and bearing were as striking as ever, I +thought. I was expecting every minute that she would say something +about what occurred under the elm tree in the home close. But she did +not allude to it, and therefore I did not. We spent the entire +afternoon in reminiscences of Carnarvonshire. When she told me that +she knew you and that you had been there together, and when she told +me the cause of your being there, and told me of your search for me, +and all the distress that came to you on my account, my longing to +see you was like a fever. + +'But vivid as were the pictures that Sinfi gave me of your search for +me, I could not piece them together in a plain tale. I tried to do +so; it was impossible. What had happened to me after I had become +unconscious on the sands in that unaccountable way--why I was found +in Wales--how I could possibly have got there without knowing about +it--what had led to my being discovered by Mr. D'Arcy--discovered in +London, above all places, and in a painter's studio--these questions +were with me night and day, and Sinfi was entirely unable to tell me +anything about the matter, unless, as I sometimes half-thought, she +was concealing something from me.' + + +'How could you have suspicions of poor Sinfi?' I said, for I was +becoming alarmed at the way in which these inquiries were absorbing +Winnie's mind. + +'It is, I know, Henry, a peculiarity of my nature to be extremely +confiding until I have once been deceived, and then to be just as +suspicious. Kind as Mr. D'Arcy has been to me, I began to feel +restless in his haven of refuge. I think that he perceived it, for I +often found his eyes fixed upon me with a somewhat inquiring and +anxious expression in them. I felt that I must leave him and go out +into the world and take my place in the battle of life.' + +'But, Winnie,' I said, 'you don't say that you intended to come to +me. Battle of life, indeed! Where should Winnie stand in that battle +except by the side of Henry? You knew now where to find me. Sinfi, +of course, told you that I was in Wales. And you did not even write +to me! What can it mean?' + +'Why, Henry, don't you know what it means? Don't you know that the +newspapers were full of long paragraphs about the heir of the Aylwins +having left his famous bungalow and gone to Japan? Why, it was +actually copied into the little penny weekly thing that Mrs. Titwing +takes in, and it was there that I read it.' + +'This shows the folly of ignoring the papers,' I said. 'I did +undoubtedly say in some letters to friends that I proposed going to +Japan; but my loss of you, my grief, my misery, paralysed every +faculty of mine. My strength of purpose was all gone. I delayed and +delayed starting, and never left Wales at all, as you see.' + +'Two things,' continued Winnie, 'prevented my leaving Hurstcote--my +promise to Mr. D'Arcy to sit to him for his picture of Zenelophon, +and the prosaic fact that I had not money in my pocket to travel +with; for it was part of the delicate method of Mr. D'Arcy to furnish +me with everything money could buy, but to give me no money. His +extravagant expenditure upon me in the way of dress, trinkets, and +every kind of luxury that could be placed in my room by Mrs. Titwing +appalled me. Mrs. Titwing's own bearing, when I spoke to her about +them, would have made one almost suppose that they grew there like +mushrooms; and if I mentioned them to Mr. D'Arcy he would tell me +that Mrs. Titwing was answerable for all that; he knew nothing about +such matters. + +'What I should in the end have done as to leaving Hurstcote or +remaining there I don't know; but after a while something occurred to +remove my difficulties. One morning, when I was giving Mr. D'Arcy a +long sitting for his picture, a Gypsy friend of Sinfi's, belonging to +a family of Lees encamped two or three miles off, called to see her. +It was a man, Sinfi told me, whom I did not know, and he had gone +away without my seeing him. + +'In the afternoon, when Sinfi and I were in the punt fishing +together, I could not help noticing that she was much absorbed in +thought. + +'"This 'ere fishin' brings back old Wales, don't it?" she said. + +'"Yes," I said, "and I should love to see the old places again." + +'"You would?" she said; and her excitement was so great that she +dropped her fishing-rod in the river. "Jake Lee has been tellin' me +that our people are there, all camped in the old place by Bettws y +Coed. I told him to write to my daddy--Jake can write--and tell him +that I'm goin' to see him." + +'"But you already knew they were there, Sinfi; you told me. What +makes you so suddenly want to go?" + +'"That's nuther here nor there. I do want to go. Why can't you go +with me?" + +'"I should much like it," I said, "but it's impossible." + +'"Why? You can come back to Mr. D'Arcy again." + +'"But, Sinfi," I said, "how are we to travel without money? I have +not a copper." + +'"Ah, but I've got gold balansers about me, and they're better nor +copper." + +'"Dear Sinfi!" I said, "I'd rather borrow of you than any one in the +world." + +'"Borrow!" said she,--"all right! Now we shall have to speak to Mr. +D'Arcy about it. It'll be like drawin' one o' his teeth partin' with +you." + +'When I next saw Mr. D'Arcy I found that Sinfi had already spoken to +him about our project. He seemed very reluctant for me to leave him, +although I promised him that I would return. + +'"It is a strange fancy of Sinfi's, Miss Wynne," said he, "and a very +disconcerting one to me; but I feel that it must be yielded to. +Whatever can be done to serve or even gratify Sinfi Lovell, it is my +duty and yours to do." + +'Mr. D'Arcy always spoke of Sinfi in this way. She seems to have done +something of a peculiarly noble kind for him and for me too, but what +it is I have tried in vain to discover. + +'And a few days after this we started for Wales. + +'Oh, Henry, I wonder whether any one who is not Welsh-born can +understand my delight as we passed along the railway at nightfall and +I first felt upon my cheek the soft rich breath of the Welsh meadows, +smelling partly of the beloved land and partly of the beloved sea. +"Yr Hen Wlad, yr Hen Gartref!" I murmured when at Prestatyn I heard +the first Welsh word and saw the first white-washed Welsh cottage. +From head to foot I became a Welsh girl again. The loveliness of +Hurstcote Manor seemed a dull, grey, far-away house in a dream. But +if I had known that I should also find you, my dear! If I had dreamed +that I should find Henry!' + + +And then silence alone would satisfy her. And Snowdon was speaking to us +both. + + +XIII + +And what about Sinfi Lovell? In those supreme moments of bliss did +Winifred and I think much about Sinfi? Alas, that love and happiness +should be so selfish! + +When at last the sound of Sinfi's crwth and song came from some spot +a good way up the rugged path leading to the summit, it quite +startled us. + +'That's Sinfi's signal,' said Winnie; 'that is the way we used to +call each other when we were children. She used to sing one verse of +a Snowdon song, and I used to answer it with another. Upon my word, +Henry, I had forgotten all about her. What a shame! We have not seen +each other since we parted yesterday at the camp.' + +And she sprang up to go. + +'No, don't leave me,' I said; 'wait till she comes to us. She's sure +to come quite soon enough. Depend upon it she is eager to see how her +_coup de théâtre_ has prospered.' + +'I must really go to her,' said Winifred; 'ever since we left +Hurstcote I have fallen in with her wishes in everything.' + +'But why?' + +'Because I am sure from Mr. D'Arcy's words that she has rendered me +some great service, though what it is I can't guess in the least.' + +'But what are really the plans of the day of this important Gypsy?' + +'There again I can't guess in the least,' said Winifred. 'Probably +the walk to the top and then down to Llanberis, and then on to +Carnarvon, is really to take place, as originally arranged--only with +the slight addition that _some one_ is to join us! I shall soon be +back, either alone or with Sinfi, and then we shall know.' + +She ran up the path. Against her wish I followed her for a time. She +moved towards the same dangerous ledge of rock where I had last seen +her on that day before she vanished in the mist. + +I cried out as I followed her, 'Winnie, for God's sake don't run that +danger!' + +'No danger at all,' she cried. 'I know every rock as well as you know +every boulder of Raxton Cliffs.' + +I watched her poising herself on the ledge; it made me dizzy. Her +confidence, however, was so great that I began to feel she was safe; +and after she had passed out of sight I returned to the llyn where we +had breakfasted. + +Sinfi's music ceased, but Winifred did not return. I sat down on the +rock and tried to think, but soon found that the feat was impossible. +The turbulent waves of my emotion seemed to have washed my brain +clear of all thoughts. The mystery in connection with Sinfi was now +as great as the mystery connected with the rescue of Winifred from +the mattress in Primrose Court. So numbed was my brain that I at last +pinched myself to make sure that I was awake. In doing this I seemed +to feel in one of my coat pockets a hard substance. Putting my hand +into the pocket, I felt the sharp corner of a letter pricking between +a finger and its nail. The acute pain assured me that I was awake. I +pulled out the letter. It was the one that the servant at the +bungalow had given me in the early morning when I called to get my +bath. I read the address, which was in a handwriting I did not +know:-- + +'HENRY AYLWIN, ESQ., +'Carnarvon, North Wales.' + +The Carnarvon postmark and the words written on the envelope, 'Try +Capel Curig,' showed the cause of the delay in the letter's reaching +me. In the left-hand corner of the envelope were written the words +'Very urgent. Please forward immediately.' I opened it, and found it +to be a letter of great length. I looked at the end and gave a start, +exclaiming, 'D'Arcy!' + + + +XVI + +D'ARCY'S LETTER + +This is how the letter ran:-- + +HURSTCOTE MANOR. + +MY DEAR AYLWIN, + +I have just learned by accident that you are somewhere in Wales. I +had gathered from paragraphs in the newspapers about you that you +were in Japan, or in some other part of the East. + +Miss Wynne and Sinfi Lovell are at this moment in Wales, and I write +at once to furnish you with some facts in connection with Miss Wynne +which it is important for you to know before you meet her. I can +imagine your amazement at learning that she you have lost so long +has been staying here as my guest. I will tell you all without more +preamble. + +One day, some little time after I parted from you in the streets of +London, I chanced to go into Wilderspin's studio, when I found him +in great distress. He told me that the beautiful model who had sat +for his picture 'Faith and Love' had suddenly died. The mother of the +girl had on the previous day been in and told him that her daughter +had died in one of the fits to which at intervals she had been +subject. + +Wilderspin, in his eccentric way, had always declared that the +model was not the woman's daughter. He did not think her, as I did, +to have been kidnapped; he believed her to be not a creature of flesh +and blood at all, but a spiritual body sent from heaven by his mother +in order that he might use her as a model. As to the woman Gudgeon, +who laid claim to be her mother, he thought she was suffering from a +delusion--a beneficent delusion--in supposing the model to be her +daughter. And now he thought that this beautiful phantom from the +spirit-world had been recalled because his picture was complete. When +I entered the studio he was just starting for the second time, as he +told me, to the woman's house, in the belief that the body of the +girl which he had seen lying on a mattress was a delusion--a +spiritual body, and must by this time have vanished. + +I had reasons for wishing to prevent his going there and being again +brought into contact with the woman before I saw her myself. From my +first seeing the woman and the model, I had found it impossible to +believe that there could be any blood relationship between them, for +the girl's frame from head to foot was as delicate as the woman's +frame from head to foot was coarse and vulgar. + +Naturally, therefore, it occurred to me that this was an excellent +opportunity to find out the truth of the matter. I determined to go +and bully the impudent hag into a confession; but of course +Wilderspin was the last man I should choose to accompany me on such +a mission. Your relative, Cyril Aylwin, was, as I believed, on the +Continent, expecting Wilderspin to join him there, or I might have +taken him with me. + +I have always had great influence over Wilderspin, and I easily +persuaded him to remain in the studio while I went myself to the +woman's address, which he gave me. I knew that if the model were +really dead she would have to be buried by the parish at a pauper +funeral, that is to say, lowered into a deep pit with other paupers. +It was painful to me to think of this, and I determined to get her +buried myself. So I took a hansom and drove to the squalid court in +the neighbourhood of Holborn, where the woman lived. + +On reaching the house, I found the door open. Wilderspin had +described to me the room occupied by Mrs. Gudgeon, so I went at once +upstairs. I found the model upon a mattress, her features horribly +contorted, lying in the same clothes apparently in which she had +fallen when seized. + +In an armchair in the middle of the room was Mrs. Gudgeon, in a +drunken sleep so profound that I could not have roused her had I +tried. While I stood looking at the girl, something in the appearance +of her flesh--its freshness of hue--made me suspect that she was +still alive, and that she was only suffering from a seizure of a more +acute kind than any the woman had yet seen. As I stood looking at +these two it occurred to me that should the model recover from the +seizure this would be an excellent and quite unexpected opportunity +for me to get her away. The woman, I thought, would after a while +wake up, and find to her amazement the body gone of her whom she +thought dead. If she had really kidnapped the girl she would be +afraid to set any inquiry afoot. She might even perhaps imagine that +the girl's relations had traced her, found the dead body, and removed +it for burial while she, the kidnapper, was asleep. + +After a while the expression of terror on the model's face began to +relax, and she soon awoke into that strange condition which had +caused Wilderspin to declare that she had been sent from another +world. She recognised me in the semi-conscious way in which she +recognised all those who were brought into contact with her, and +looked into my face with that indescribably sweet smile of hers. From +the first she had in her dazed way seemed attached to me, and I had +now no difficulty whatever in persuading her to accompany me +downstairs and out of the house. + +Before going, however, the whim seized me to write on the wall in +large letters, with a piece of red drawing-chalk I had in my +waistcoat pocket, '_Kidnapper, beware! Jack Ketch is on your track_.' +I took the girl to my house, and put her under the care of my +housekeeper (much to the worthy lady's surprise), who gave her every +attention. I then went to Wilderspin's studio. + +'Well,' said he, 'there is no body lying there, I suppose?' + +'None,' I said. + +'Did I not tell you that the spirit-world had called her back? What +I saw has vanished, as I expected. How could you suppose that a +material body could ever be so beautiful?' + +As I particularly wished that the model should, for a time at least, +be removed from all her present surroundings, I thought it well to +let Wilderspin retain his wild theory as to her disappearance. + +I had already arranged to go on the following day to Hurstcote Manor, +where several unfinished pictures were waiting for me, and I decided +to take the model with me. + +Before, however, I started for the country with her, I had the +curiosity to call next morning upon the woman in Primrose Court, +in order to discover what had been the effect of my stratagem. I +found her sitting in a state of excitement, and evidently in great +alarm, gazing at the mattress. The words I had written on the wall +had been carefully washed out. + +'Well, Mrs. Gudgeon,' I said, 'what has become of your daughter?' + +'Dead,' she whimpered, 'dead.' + +'Yes, I know she's dead,' I said. 'But where is the body?' + +'Where's the body? Why, buried, in course,' said the woman. + +'Buried? Who buried her?' I said. + +'What a question, sure_lie_!' she said, and kept repeating the words +in order, as I saw, to give herself time to invent some story. Then a +look of cunning overspread her face, and she whimpered, 'Who _does_ +bury folks in Primrose Court? The parish, to be sure.' + +These words of the woman's showed that matters had taken exactly the +course I should have liked them to take. She would tell other +inquirers as she had told me, that her daughter had been buried by +the parish. No one would take the trouble, I thought, to inquire into +it, and the matter would end at once. + +So I said to her, 'Oh, if the parish buried her, that's all right; no +one ever makes inquiries about people who are buried by the parish.' + +This seemed to relieve the woman's mind vastly, and she said, 'In +course they don't. What's the use of askin' questions about people as +are buried by the parish?' + +Not thinking that the time was quite ripe for cross-examining Mrs. +Gudgeon as to her real relations to the model, I left her, and that +same afternoon I took the model down to Hurstcote Manor, determining +to keep the matter a secret from everybody, as I intended to +discover, if possible, her identity. + +I need scarcely remind you that although you told me some little of +the story of yourself and a young lady to whom you were deeply +attached, you were very reticent as to the cause of her dementia; and +your story ended with her disappearance in Wales. I, for my part, had +not the smallest doubt that she had fallen down a precipice and was +dead. Everything--especially the fact that you last saw her on the +brink of a precipice, running into a volume of mist--pointed to but +one conclusion. To have imagined for a moment that she and +Wilderspin's model, who had been discovered in the streets of London, +were the same, would have been, of course, impossible. Besides, you +had given me no description of her personal appearance, nor had you +said a word to me as to her style of beauty, which is undoubtedly +unique. + +When I got the model fairly settled at Hurstcote her presence became +a delight to me such as it could hardly have been to any other man. +It is difficult for me to describe that delight, but I will try. + +Do you by chance remember our talk about animals and the charm they +had for me, especially young animals? And do you remember my saying +that the most fascinating creature in the world would be a beautiful +young girl as unconscious as a child or a young animal; if such a +combination of charms were possible? Such a young girl as this it was +whom I was now seeing every day and all day. The charm she exercised +over me was no doubt partly owing to my own peculiar temperament--to +my own hatred of self-consciousness and to an innate shyness which +is apt to make me feel at times that people are watching me, when +they most likely are doing nothing of the kind. + +And charming as she is now, restored to health and +consciousness--charming above most young ladies with her sweet +intelligence and most lovable nature--the inexpressible witchery I +have tried to describe has vanished, otherwise I don't know how I +should have borne what I now have brought myself to bear, parting +from her. + +I seemed to have no time to think about prosecuting inquiries in +regard to her identity. I am afraid there was much selfishness in +this, but I have never pretended to be an unselfish man. + +The one drop of bitterness in my cup of pleasure was the recurrence +of the terrible paroxysms to which she was subject. + +I was alarmed to find that these became more and more frequent and +more and more severe. I felt at last that her system could not stand +the strain much longer, and that the end of her life was not far +distant. + +It was in a very singular way that I came to know her name and also +her relations with you. In my original perplexity about finding a +model for my Zenelophon, I had bethought me of Sinfi Lovell, who, +with a friend of hers named Rhona Boswell, sat to Wilderspin, to your +cousin, and others. I had made inquiries about Sinfi, but had been +told that she was not now to be had, as she had abandoned London +altogether, and was settled in Wales. + +One day, however, I was startled by seeing Sinfi walking across the +meadows along the footpath leading from the station. + +She told me that she had quitted Wales for good, and had left you +there, and that on reaching London and calling at one of the studios +where she used to sit, she had been made aware of my inquiries after +her. As she had now determined to sit a good deal to painters, she +had gone to my studio in London. Being told there that I was at +Hurstcote Manor, where she had sat to me on several occasions, she +had taken the train and come down. + +During our conversation the model passed through the garden gate and +walked towards the Spinney, and stood looking in a rapt way at the +sunset clouds and listening to the birds. + +When Sinfi caught sight of her she stood as if petrified, and +exclaimed, 'Winnie Wynne! Then she ain't dead; the dukkeripen was +true; they'll be married arter all. Don't let her see me suddenly, it +might bring on fits.' + +Miss Wynne, however, had observed neither Sinfi nor me, and we two +passed into the garden without any difficulty. + +In the studio Sinfi sat down, and in a state of the deepest agitation +she told me much of the story, as far as she knew it, of yourself and +Miss Wynne, but I could see that she was not telling me all. + +We were both perplexed as to what would be the best course of action +to take in regard to Miss Wynne--whether to let her see Sinfi or not, +for evidently she was getting worse, the paroxysms were getting more +frequent and more severe. They would come without any apparent +disturbing cause whatever. Now that I had to connect her you had lost +in Wales with the model, many things returned to me which I had +previously forgotten, things which you had told me in London. I had +quite lately learnt a good deal from Dr. Mivart, who formerly +practised near the town in which you lived, but who now lives in +London. He had been attending me for insomnia. While speculating as +to what would be best to do, it occurred to me that I would write to +Mivart, asking him to run down to me at Hurstcote Manor and consult +with me, because he had told me that he had given attention to cases +of hysteria. I did this, and persuaded Sinfi to remain and to keep +out of Miss Wynne's sight. Although Sinfi was still as splendid a +woman as ever, I noticed a change in her. Her animal spirits had +fled, and she had to me the appearance of a woman in trouble; but +what her trouble was I could not guess, and I cannot now guess. +Perhaps she had been jilted by some Gypsy swain. + +When Dr. Mivart came he was much startled at recognising in Miss +Wynne his former patient of Raxton, whom he had attended on her first +seizure. He said that it would now be of no use for me to write to +you, as it was matter of common knowledge that you had gone to Japan. +If it had not been for this I should have written to you at once. He +took a very grave view of Miss Wynne's case, and said that her +nervous system must shortly succumb to the terrible seizures. Sinfi +Lovell was in the room at the time. I asked Dr. Mivart if there was +any possible means of saving her life. + +'None,' he said, 'or rather there is one which is unavailable.' + +'And what is that?' I asked. + +'They have a way at the Salpêtrière Hospital of curing cases of acute +hysteria By transmitting the seizure to a healthy patient by means of +a powerful magnet. My friend Marini, of that hospital, has had +recently some extraordinary successes of this kind. Indeed, by a +strange coincidence, as I was travelling here this morning I chanced +to buy a _Daily Telegraph_, in which this paragraph struck my eye.' + +Mivart then pointed out to me a letter from Paris in the _Daily +Telegraph_, giving an account of certain proceedings at the +Salpêtrière Hospital, and in the same paper there was a long leading +article upon the subject. The report of the experiments was to me so +amazing that at first I could not bring my mind to believe in it. As +you will, I am sure, feel some incredulity, I have cut out the +paragraph, and here it is pasted at the bottom of this page:-- + +'The chief French surgeons and medical professors have, for some +time, been carefully studying the effect of mesmerism on the female +patients of the Salpêtrière Hospital, and M. Marini, a clinical +surgeon of that establishment, has just effected a series of +experiments, the results of which would seem to open up a new field +for medical science. M. Marini tried to prove that certain hysterical +symptoms could be transferred by the aid of the magnet from one +patient to another. He took two subjects: one a dumb woman afflicted +with hysteria, and the other a female who was in a state of hypnotic +trance. A screen was placed between the two, and the hysterical woman +was then put under the influence of a strong magnet. After a few +moments she was rendered dumb, while speech was suddenly restored to +the other. Luckily for his healthier patients, however, their +borrowed pains and symptoms did not last long.' + +And Mivart was able to give me some more extraordinary instances of +the transmission of hysterical seizures from one patient to +another--instances where permanent cures were effected. [Footnote] +Naturally I asked Mivart what befell the new victims of the seizures. + +[Footnote: The transmissions here alluded to were mostly effected by +M. Babinski of the Salpêtrière. They excited great attention in +Paris.] + +'That depends,' said Mivart, 'upon three circumstances--the acuteness +of the seizure, the strength of the recipient's nervous system, and +the kind of imagination she has. In all Marini's experiments the new +patient has quickly recovered, and the original patient has remained +entirely cured and often entirely unconscious that she has ever +suffered from the paroxysms at all.' + +Mivart went on to say that the case of Miss Wynne was so severe a one +that if the new patient's imagination were very strong the risk to +her would be exceptionally great. + +At the end of this discussion Mivart directed my attention to Sinfi +Lovell. She sat as though listening to some voice. Her head was bent +forward, her lips were parted, and her eyes were closed. Then I heard +her say in a loud whisper, 'Yis, mammy dear, little Sinfi's +a-listenin'. Yis, this is the way to make her dukkeripen come true, +and then mine can't. Yis, this is the very way. They shall meet again +by Knockers' Llyn, where I seed the Golden Hand, and arter that, +never shall little Sinfi go agin you, dear. And never no more shall +any one on 'em, Gorgio or Gorgie, bring their gries and their +beautiful livin'-waggins among tents o' ourn. Never no more shall +they jine our breed--never no more, never no more. And then my +dukkeripen _can't_ come true.' + +Then, springing up, she said, 'I'll stand the risk anyhow. You may +pass the cuss on to me if you can.' + +'The seizure has nothing to do with any curse,' said Mivart, 'but if +you think it has, you are the last person to whom it should be +transmitted.' + +'Oh, never fear,' said Sinfi; 'Gorgio cuss can't touch Romany. But +if you find you can pass the cuss on to me, I'll stand the cuss all +the same.' + +I always admired this noble girl very much, and I pointed out to her +the danger of the experiment to one of her temperament, but assured +her the superstition about the Gorgio curse was entirely an idle one. + +'Danger or no danger,' she said, 'I'll chance it; I'll chance it.' + +'It might be the death of you,' I said, 'if you believe that the +seizure is a curse.' + +'Death!' she murmured, with a smile. 'It ain't death as is likely to +scare a Romany chi, 'specially if she happens to want to die;' and +then she said aloud, 'I tell you I mean to chance it, but I think my +dear old daddy ought to know about it. So if you'll jist write to him +at Gypsy Dell, by Rington, and ask him to come and see me here, I'm +right well sure he'll come and see me at wonst. He can't read the +letter hisself, of course, but the Scollard can, and so can Rhona +Boswell. One on 'em will read it to him, and I know he'll come at +wonst. I shouldn't like to run such a risk without my dear blessed +old daddy knowin' on it.' + +It ended in Mivart's writing to Sinfi's father, and Panuel Lovell +turned up the next evening in a great state of alarm as to what he +was wanted for. Panuel's opposition to the scheme was so strong that +I refused to urge the point. + +It was a very touching scene between him and Sinfi. + +'You know what your mammy told you about you and the Gorgios,' said +he, with tears trickling down his cheeks. 'You know the dukkeripen +said as you wur to beware o' Gorgios, because a Gorgio would come to +the Kaulo Camloes as would break your heart.' + +She looked at her father for a second, and then she broke into a +passion of tears, and threw herself upon the old man's neck, and I +_thought_ I heard her murmur, 'It's broke a'ready, daddy.' But I +really am not quite sure that she did not say the opposite of this. + +I had no idea before how strong the family ties are between the +Gypsies. It seems to me that they are stronger than with us, and I +was really astonished that Sinfi could, in order to be of service to +two people of another race, resist the old Gypsy's appeal. She did, +however, and it was decided that at the next seizure the experiment +should be made, and Dr. Mivart telegraphed to London for his +assistant to bring one of Marini's magnets. + +We had not long to wait, for the very next day, just as Mivart was +preparing to leave for London, Miss Wynne was seized by another +paroxysm. It was more severe than any previous one--so severe, +indeed, that it seemed to me that it must be the last. + +It was with great reluctance that Mivart consented to use Sinfi as +the recipient of the seizure, because of her belief that it was the +result of a curse. However, he at last consented, and ordered two +couches to be placed side by side with a large magnet between them. +Then Miss Wynne was laid on one couch, and Sinfi Lovell on the other; +a screen was placed between the couches, and then the wonderful +effect of the magnetism began to show itself. + +The transmission was entirely successful, and Miss Wynne awoke as +from a trance, and I saw as it were the beautiful eyes change as the +soul returned to them. She was no longer the fascinating child who +had become part of my life. She was another person, a stranger whose +acquaintance I had now to make, and whose friendship I had yet to +win. Indeed the change in the expression was so great that it was +really difficult to believe that the features were the same. This +was owing to the wonderful change in the eyes. + +To Sinfi Lovell the seizure was transmitted in a way that was +positively uncanny--she passed into a paroxysm so severe that Mivart +was seriously alarmed for her. Her face assumed the same expression +of terror which I had seen on Miss Wynne's face, and she uttered the +cry, 'Father!' and then fell back into a state of rigidity. + +'The transmission was just in time,' said Mivart; 'the other patient +would never have survived this.' + +Strong as Sinfi Lovell was, the effect of the transmission upon her +nervous system was to me appalling. Indeed it was much greater, +Mivart said, than he was prepared for. Poor Panuel Lovell kept gazing +at us, and then said, 'It's cruel to let one woman kill herself for +another; but when her as kills herself is a Romany, and t'other a +Gorgie, it's what I calls a blazin' shame. She would do it, my poor +chavi would do it. "No harm can't come on it," says she, "because a +Gorgio cuss can't touch a Romany." An' now see what's come on it.' + +Mivart would not hear of Sinfi's returning at present to the Gypsies, +as she required special treatment. Hence there was no course left +open to us but that of keeping her here attended by a nurse whom +Mivart sent. While the recurrent paroxysms were severe, Sinfi was to +be carefully kept apart from Miss Wynne until it should become quite +clear how much and how little Miss Wynne remembered of her past life. +Mivart, however, leaned to the opinion that nothing could recall to +her mind the catastrophe that caused the seizure. By an unforeseen +accident they met, and I was at first fearful of the consequences, +but soon found that Mivart's theory was right. No ill effects +whatever followed the meeting. Sinfi's transmitted paroxysms have +gradually become less acute and less frequent, and Miss Wynne has +been constantly with her and ministering to her; the affection +between them seems to have been of long standing, and very great. + +I found that Miss Wynne remembered all her past life down to her +first seizure on Raxton sands, while everything that had since passed +was a blank. Since her recovery her presence here has seemed to shed +a richer sunlight over the old place, but of course she is no longer +the fairy child who before her cure fascinated me more than any other +living creature could have done. + +Apart from her sweet companionship, she has been of great service to +me in my art. When I learnt who she was, I should not have dreamed of +asking her to sit to me as a model without having first taken your +views, and you were, as I understood, abroad; but she herself +generously volunteered to sit to me for a picture I had in my mind, +'The Spirit of Snowdon.' It was a failure, however, and I abandoned +it. Afterwards, knowing that I was at my wits' end for a model in the +painting I have been for a long time at work upon, 'Zenelophon,' she +again offered to sit to me. The result has been that the picture, now +near completion, is by far the best thing I have ever done. + +I had noticed for some time that Sinfi's mind seemed to be running +upon some project. Neither Miss Wynne nor I could guess what it was. +But a few days ago she proposed that Miss Wynne and she should take a +trip to North Wales in order to revisit the places endeared to them +both by reminiscences of their childhood. Nothing seemed more natural +than this. And Sinfi's noble self-sacrifice for Miss Wynne had +entitled her to every consideration, and indeed every indulgence. + +And yesterday they started for Wales. It was not till after they were +gone that I learnt from another newspaper paragraph that you did not +go to Japan, and are in Wales. And now I begin to suspect that +Sinfi's determination to go to Wales with Miss Wynne arose from her +having suddenly learnt that you are still there. + +And now, my dear Alywin, having acted as a somewhat prosaic reporter +of these wonderful events, I should like to conclude my letter with a +word or two about what took place when I parted from you in the +streets of London. I saw then that your sufferings had been very +great, and since that time they must have been tenfold greater. And +now I rejoice to think that, of all the men in this world who have +ever loved, you, through this very suffering, have been the most +fortunate. As Job's faith was tried by Heaven, so has your love been +tried by the power which you call 'circumstance' and which Wilderspin +calls 'the spiritual world.' All that death has to teach the mind and +the heart of man you have learnt to the very full, and yet she you +love is restored to you, and will soon be in your arms. I, alas! have +long known that the tragedy of tragedies is the death of a beloved +mistress, or a beloved wife. I have long known that it is as the King +of Terrors that Death must needs come to any man who knows what the +word 'love' really means. I have never been a reader of philosophy, +but I understand that the philosophers of all countries have been +preaching for ages upon ages about resignation to Death--about the +final beneficence of Death--that 'reasonable moderator and equipoise +of justice,' as Sir Thomas Browne calls him. Equipoise of justice +indeed! He who can read with tolerance such words as these most have +known nothing of the true passion of love for a woman as you and I +understand it. The Elizabethans are full of this nonsense; but where +does Shakespeare, with all his immense philosophical power, ever show +this temper of acquiescence? All his impeachments of Death have the +deep ring of personal feeling--dramatist though he was. But, what I +am going to ask you is, How shall the modern materialist, who you +think is to dominate the Twentieth Century and all the centuries to +follow--how shall he confront Death when a beloved mistress is struck +down? When Moschus lamented that the mallow, the anise, and the +parsley had a fresh birth every year, whilst we men sleep in the +hollow earth a long, unbounded, never-waking sleep, he told us what +your modern materialist tells us, and he re-echoed the lamentation +which, long before Greece had a literature at all, had been heard +beneath Chaldean stars and along the mud-banks of the Nile. Your +bitter experience made you ask materialism, What comfort is there in +being told that death is the very nursery of new life, and that our +heirs are our very selves, if when you take leave of her who was and +is your world it is 'Vale, vale, in æternum vale'? The dogged +resolution with which at first you fought and strove for materialism +struck me greatly. It made you almost rude to me at our last meeting. + +When I parted from you I should have been blind indeed had I failed +to notice how scornfully you repudiated my suggestion that you should +replace the amulet in the tomb from which it had been stolen. I did +not then know that the tomb was your father's. Had I known it my +suggestion would have been much more emphatic. I saw that you had +the greatest difficulty in refraining from laughing in my face when I +said to you that you would eventually replace it. Yes, you had great +difficulty in refraining from laughing. I did not take offence. I +felt sure that the cross was in some way connected with the young +lady you had lost in Wales, but I could not guess how. Had you told +me that the cross had been taken from your father's tomb I should no +doubt have connected it with the cry of 'Father' which had, I knew, +several times been uttered in Wilderspin's studio by the model in her +paroxysms, and I should have earlier done what I was destined to +do--I should earlier have brought you together. From sympathy that +sprang from a deep experience I knew you better than you knew +yourself. When I learnt from Sinfi Lovell that you had fulfilled +my prophecy I did not laugh. Tears rather than laughter would have +been more in my mood, for I realised the martyrdom you must have +suffered before you were impelled to do it. I knew how you must +have been driven by sorrow--driven against all the mental methods +and traditions of your life--into the arms of supernaturalism. +But you were simply doing what Hamlet would have done in such +circumstances--what Macbeth would have done, and what he would have +done who spoke to the human heart through their voices. All men, I +believe, have Macbeth's instinct for making 'assurance doubly sure,' +and I cannot imagine the man who, entangled as you were in a net of +conflicting evidence--the evidence of the spiritual and the +evidence of the natural world--would not, if the question were that +of averting a curse from acting on a beloved mistress, have done as +you did. That paralysis of Hamlet's will which followed when the +evidence of two worlds hung in equipoise before him, no one can +possibly understand better than I. For it was exactly similar to my +own condition on that never-to-be-forgotten night when she whom I +lost... + + +While the marvellous sight fell, or appeared to fall, upon my eyes, +my blood, like Hamlet's, became so masterful that my reason seemed +nothing but a blind and timorous guide. No sooner had the sweet +vision fled than my reason, like Hamlet's, rose and rejected it. It +was not until I became acquainted with the _rationale_ of sympathetic +manifestations--it was not till I learnt, by means of that +extraordinary book of your father's, which seems to have done its +part in turning friend Wilderspin's head, what is the supposed +method by which the spiritual world acts upon the material +world--acts by the aid of those same natural bonds which keep the +stars in their paths--that my blood and my reason became reconciled, +and a new light came to me. And I knew that this would be your case. +Yes, my dear Aylwin, I knew that when the issues of Life are greatly +beyond the common, and when our hearts are torn as yours has been +torn, and when our souls are on fire with a flame such as that which +I saw was consuming you, the awful possibilities of this universe--of +which we, civilised men or savage, know nothing--will come before us, +and tease our hearts with strange wild hopes, 'though all the +"proofs" of all the logicians should hold them up to scorn.' + +I am, my dear Aylwin, + +Your sincere Friend, + +T. D'ARCY. + + + +XVII + +THE TWO DUKKERIPENS + +Was the mystery at an end? Was there one point in this story of +stories which this letter of D'Arcy's had not cleared up? Yes, indeed +there was one. What motive--or rather, what mixture of motives--had +impelled Sinfi to play her part in restoring Winifred to me? Her +affection for me was, I knew, as strong as my own affection for her. +But this I attributed largely to the mysterious movements of the +blood of Fenella Stanley which we both shared. In many matters there +was a kinship of taste between us, such as did not exist between me +and Winnie, who was far from being scornful of conventions, and to +whom the little Draconian laws of British 'Society' were not objects +of mere amusement, as they were to me and Sinfi. + +All this I attributed to that 'prepotency of transmission in descent' +which I knew to be one of the Romany characteristics. All this I +attributed, I say, to the far-reaching influence of Fenella Stanley. + +But would this, coupled with her affection for Winifred, have been +strong enough to conquer Sinfi's terror of a curse and its supposed +power? And then that colloquy recorded by D'Arcy with what she +believed to be her mother's spirit--those words about 'the two +dukkeripens'--what did they mean? At one moment I seemed to guess +their meaning in a dim way, and at the next they seemed more +inexplicable than ever. But be their import what it might, one thing +was quite certain--Sinfi had saved Winifred, and there swept through +my very being a passion of gratitude to the girl who had acted so +nobly which for the moment seemed to drown all other emotions. +I had not much time, however, for bringing my thoughts to bear upon +this new source of wonderment; for I suddenly saw Winifred and Sinfi +descending the steep path towards me. + +But what a change there was in Sinfi! The traces of illness had fled +entirely from her face, and were replaced by the illumination of the +triumphant soul within--a light such as I could imagine shining on +the features of Boadicea fresh from a successful bout with the foe of +her race. Even the loveliness of Winnie seemed for the moment to pale +before the superb beauty of the Gypsy girl, whom the sun was +caressing as though it loved her, shedding a radiance over her +picturesque costume, and making the gold coins round her neck shine +like dewy whin-flowers struck by the sunrise. + +I understood well that expression of triumph. I knew that, with her, +imagination was life itself. I knew that this imagination of hers had +just escaped from the sting of the dominant thought which was +threatening to turn a supposed curse into a curse indeed. + +I went to meet them. + +'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. + + + +XVIII + +THE WALK TO LLANBERIS + +When, on coming to rejoin us, Winnie learnt that Sinfi had left for +Capel Curig, she seemed at first somewhat disconcerted, I thought. +Her training, begun under her aunt, and finished under Miss +Dalrymple, had been such that she was by no means oblivious of Welsh +proprieties; and, though I myself was entirely unable to see in what +way it was more eccentric to be mountaineering with a lover than with +a Gypsy companion, she proposed that we should follow Sinfi. + +'I have seen your famous living-waggon,' she said. 'It goes wherever +the Lovells go. Let us follow her. You can stay at Bettws or Capel +Curig, and I can stay with Sinfi.' + +I told her how strong was Sinfi's wish that we should not do so. +Winnie soon yielded her point, and we began leisurely our descent +westward, along that same path which Sinfi and I had taken on that +other evening, which now seemed so far away, when we walked down to +Llanberis with the setting sun in our faces. If my misery could then +only find expression in sighs and occasional ejaculations of pain, +absolutely dumb was the bliss that came to me now, growing in power +with every moment, as the scepticism of my mind about the reality of +the new heaven before me gave way to the triumphant acceptance of it +by my senses and my soul. + +The beauty of the scene--the touch of the summer breeze, soft as +velvet even when it grew boisterous, the perfume of the Snowdonian +flowerage that came up to meet us, seemed to pour in upon me through +the music of Winnie's voice which seemed to be fusing them all. That +beloved voice was making all my senses one. + +'You leave all the talk to me,' she said. But as she looked in my +face her instinct told her why I could not talk. She knew that such +happiness and such bliss as mine carry the soul into a region where +spoken language is not. + +Looking round me towards the left, where the mighty hollow of Cwm +Dyli was partly in sunshine and partly in shade, I startled Winnie by +suddenly calling out her name. My thoughts had left the happy dream +of Winifred's presence and were with Sinfi Lovell. As I looked at the +tall precipices rising from the chasm right up to the summit of +Snowdon, I recalled how Sinfi, notwithstanding her familiarity with +the scene, appeared to stand appalled as she gazed at the jagged +ridges of Crib-y-Ddysgyl, Crib Goch, Lliwedd, and the heights of Moel +Siabod beyond. I recalled how the expression of alarm upon Sinfi's +features had made me almost see in the distance a starving girl +wandering among the rocks, and this it was that made me now exclaim +'Winnie!' With this my lost power of speech returned. + +We went to the ruined huts where Sinfi had on that memorable day +lingered by the spring, and Winnie began to scoop out the water with +her hand and drink it. She saw how I wanted to drink the water out of +the little palm, and she scooped some out for me, saying, 'It's the +purest, and sweetest, and best water on Snowdon.' + +'Yes,' I said, 'the purest, and sweetest, and best water in the world +when drunk from such a cup.' + +She drew her hand away and let the water drop through her fingers, +and turned round to look at the scene we had left, where the summit +of Snowdon was towering beyond a reach of rock, bathed in the rapidly +deepening light. + +'No idle compliments between you and me, sir,' she said, with a +smile. 'Remember that I have still time and strength to go back to +the top and follow Sinfi down to the camp.' + +And then we both laughed together, as we laughed that afternoon in +Wilderness Road when she enunciated her theories upon the voices of +men and the voices of birds. She then stood gazing abstractedly into +a pool of water, upon which the evening lights were now falling. As I +saw her reflected in the surface of the stream, which was as smooth +as a mirror--saw her reflected there sometimes on an almost +colourless surface, sometimes amid a procession in which every colour +of the rainbow took part, I sighed. 'Why do you sigh?' said she. + +I could not tell her why, for I was recalling Wilderspin's words +about her matchless beauty and its inspiring effect upon the painter +who painted it. It would indeed, as Wilderspin had said, endow +mediocrity with genius. + +'Why do you sigh?' she repeated. + +'Oh, if I could paint that, Winnie, if I could paint that picture in +the water.' + +'And why should you not?' she said, in a dreamy way. And then a +sudden thought seemed to strike her, and she said with much energy, +'Become a painter, Henry! Become a painter! No man ever yet satisfied +a true woman who did not work--work hard at something--anything--if +not in the active affairs of life, in the world of art. My love you +must always have now--you must always have it under any +circumstances. I could not help under any circumstances giving you +love. But I fear I could not give a rich, idle man--even if he were +Henry himself--enough love to satisfy a yearning like yours.' + +She bent her face again over the water, and looked at the picture. + +'You have often told me that my face is beautiful, Henry, and you +know you never could make me believe it. But suppose you should be +right after all, and suppose that you were a painter, and used it for +a picture of the Spirit of Snowdon, I should then thank God for +having given me a beautiful face, for it would enable you to win your +goal. And afterwards, when its beauty had passed away, as it soon +would, I should have no further need for beauty, for my +painter-husband would, partly through me, have won.' + +As we walked along, she pointed to the tubular bridge over the Menai +Straits and to the coast of Anglesey. The panorama had that +fairy-like expression which belongs so peculiarly to Welsh scenery. +Other mountainous countries in Europe are beautiful, and since that +divine walk I have become intimately acquainted with them, but for +associations romantic and poetic, there is surely no land in the +world equal to North Wales. + +'Do you remember, Winnie,' I murmured, 'when you so delighted me by +exclaiming, "What a beautiful world it is!"?' + +'Ah, yes,' said Winnie, 'and how I should love to paint its beauty. +The only people I really envy are painters.' + +We were now at the famous spot where the triple echo is best heard, +and we began to shout like two children in the direction of Llyn +Ddu'r Arddu. And then our talk naturally fell on Knockers' Llyn and +the echoes to be heard there. She then took me to another famous +sight on this side of Snowdon, the enormous stone, said to be five +thousand tons in weight, called the Knockers' Anvil. While we +lingered here Winnie gave me as many anecdotes and legends of this +stone as would fill a little volume. But suddenly she stopped. + +'Look!' she said, pointing to the sunset. 'I have seen that sight +only once before. I was with Sinfi. She called it "the Dukkeripen +of the Trushul."' + +The sun was now on the point of sinking, and his radiance, falling on +the cloud-pageantry of the zenith, fired the flakes and vapoury films +floating and trailing above, turning them at first into a +ruby-coloured mass, and then into an ocean of rosy fire. A horizontal +bar of cloud which, until the radiance of the sunset fell upon it, +had been dull and dark and grey, as though a long slip from the slate +quarries had been laid across the west, became for a moment a deep +lavender colour, and then purple, and then red-gold. But what Winnie +was pointing at was a dazzling shaft of quivering fire where the sun +had now sunk behind the horizon. Shooting up from the cliffs where +the sun had disappeared, this shaft intersected the bar of clouds and +seemed to make an irregular cross of deep rose. + +When Winnie turned her eyes again to mine I was astonished to see +tears in them. I asked her what they meant. She said, 'While I was +looking at that cross of rose and gold in the clouds it seemed to me +that there came on the evening breeze the sound of a sob, and that it +was Sinfi's, my sister Sinfi's; but of course by this time Snowdon +stands between us and her.' + + + +POSTSCRIPT + +In every case where I have brought into this story facts connected +with medical matters, I have been most cautious to avail myself of +the authority of medical men. I will give here the words of Mr. James +Douglas upon this matter. After stating the fact that the story was +in part dictated to my dear friend Dr. Gordon Hake during a stay with +him at Roehampton, he says:-- + +Dr. Hake is mainly known as the 'parable poet,' but as a fact he was +a physician of extraordinary talent who had practised first at Bury +St. Edmunds and afterwards at Spring Gardens, London, until he partly +retired to be private physician to the late Lady Ripon. After her +death he left practice altogether in order to devote himself to +literature, for which he had very great equipments. As _Aylwin_ +touched upon certain subtle nervous phases, it must have been a great +advantage to the author to dictate these portions of the story to so +skilled and experienced a friend. The rare kind of cerebral +exaltation into which Henry Aylwin passed after his appalling +experience in the cove, in which the entire nervous system was +disturbed, was not what is known as brain fever. The record of it in +_Aylwin_ is, I understand, a literal account of a rare and wonderful +case brought under the professional notice of Dr. Hake. + +But I am now going to touch upon a much more important medical +subject. Since the appearance of _Aylwin_, I have received many +letters enquiring whether the transmission of hysteria from one +patient to another by means of a magnet is an imaginary experiment, +or whether it is based on fact. It has been impossible for me to +answer all these letters. But some of them, coming from loving +relatives of those who have suffered from hysteria, have been couched +in such earnest and pathetic words that they could not be left +unanswered, and this has caused me great inconvenience. I have +therefore determined to give the reader some tangible data upon this +subject. The extract from the _Daily Telegraph_ which appears on page +465 is a real extract, and records a real case of transmission of +hysteria. Upon the same subject I take the following admirable +remarks from an article in the _Quarterly Review_ for July 1890, +called 'Mesmerism and Hypnotism.' + + +_The Influence of Magnets_.--We have briefly referred to the action +of magnets on the muscles in speaking of the physiological phenomena, +but they possess other properties which hardly come under that head. +They have the power of attracting hypnotised subjects. Thus, if a +good-sized magnet is placed at some little distance from the subject, +and behind a screen so that he cannot see it, after a time he will +get up and go towards it. If now another magnet be placed at an equal +distance behind him, he will stop and remain as it were balanced +between the two. By withdrawing one or other he can be drawn +backwards or forwards. Further, he can be charged with magnetism by +placing near him a large magnet with five ends. If it be suddenly +removed and hidden in another room, he is impelled to follow it with +such force that he will fling aside all obstacles in his way, and +tracking it step by step will walk straight up to it. 'Once he sights +it, he either remains in dumb contemplation of it in front of its two +poles, or else lays his hands on both of the poles with a kind of +profound satisfaction.' These experiments with magnets are very +exhausting. + +* * * * * + +Finally, if the senses can be so heightened as in the cases already +cited from Braid and the clinique of La Salpêtrière, it requires no +great stretch of imagination to suppose them carried still further +until they become comparable to those inexplicable faculties which we +call instinct in animals, that for instance by which animals--cats, +dogs, and sheep--can find their way home, sometimes over hundreds of +miles of unknown country. + +Concerning the faculty of presensation, it is worth while to say a +little more. The early mesmerists made a great point of the power of +some patients to diagnose the condition of another. Dr. Puysegur's +patient Joly, mentioned above, possessed the faculty to an unusual +degree. He was an educated man, of good position, and could express +himself intelligibly:-- + + +C'est une sensation veritable que j'éprouve dans un endroit +correspondant à la partie qui souffre chez celui que je touche: ma +main va naturellement se porter à l'endroit de son mal, et je ne peux +pas plus m'y tromper que je ne pourrois le faire en portant ma main +où je souffrirois moi-meme. + + +Now, the following experiment has been carried out by Charcot at La +Salpêtrière. A young girl suffering from hysterical hemiplegia +(paralysis of one side) came up one day from the country. She was +placed in a chair behind a screen and a hypnotic patient sent for +from the wards. The latter was placed on the other side of the screen +and hypnotised. Neither of the patients was aware of the other's +presence. At the end of a minute the hypnotised patient was found to +have acquired the other's hemiplegia. The experiment was repeated +every day, and in four days the new comer was relieved of her +trouble, which had lasted over a year. The same experiment was tried +in many cases, and always succeeded, although in some of them the +affections imitated were of a very complex character, such as +paralysis of half the tongue. With these facts in view, the alleged +experiences of the older mesmerists appear by no means impossible. + + + + + + + +APPENDICES + +I. IN DEFENCE OF A GREAT AND BELOVED POET WHOSE CHARACTER IS + DELINEATED IN THIS STORY. + +II. A KEY TO "AYLWIN," BY THOMAS ST. E. HAKE, + REPRINTED FROM "NOTES AND QUERIES." + + + + + + + +APPENDIX I + + D. G. R. + + Thou knewest that island, far away and lone, + Whose shores are as a harp, where billows break + In spray of music and the breezes shake + O'er spicy seas a woof of colour and tone, + While that sweet music echoes like a moan + In the island's heart, and sighs around the lake, + Where, watching fearfully a watchful snake. + A damsel weeps upon her emerald throne. + + Life's ocean, breaking round thy senses' shore, + Struck golden song, as from the strand of Day: + For us the joy, for thee the fell foe lay-- + Pain's blinking snake around the fair isle's core, + Turning to sighs the enchanted sounds that play + Around thy lovely island evermore. + +Certain remarks that have been made upon the character of _D'Arcy_ in +_Aylwin_ have rendered it an imperative--nay, a sacred--duty for the +author to seize an opportunity that may never occur again of saying +here a few words upon the subject. + +It is universally acknowledged that characters in fiction are not +creations projected from the author's inner consciousness, but are +founded more or less upon characters that he was brought into contact +with in real life. + +Mr. A. C. Benson, in his monograph on D. G. Rossetti, in _English Men +of Letters_, says, 'It was for a long time hoped that Mr. +Watts-Dunton would give the memoir of his great friend to the world, +but there is such a thing as knowing a man too well to be his +biographer. It is, however, an open secret that a vivid sketch of +Rossetti's personality has been given to the world in Mr. +Watts-Dunton's well-known romance _Aylwin_, where the artist D'Arcy +is drawn from Rossetti.' + +Since the appearance of these words many people who take an +increasing interest in the most mysterious and romantic figure in the +artistic world of the mid-Victorian period, have urged the author to +tell them whether the portrait of Rossetti in _Aylwin_ is a true one, +or whether it is not idealized as certain cynical critics have +affirmed. Nothing but the dread of being charged with egotism has +prevented the author's stating publicly, and once for all, that the +portrait of Rossetti in _Aylwin_ showing him to be the creature of +varying moods, gay and even frolicsome at one moment, profoundly +meditative at the next, deeply dejected at the next, but always the +most winsome of men, is true to the life. It is more than hinted in +the story that _D'Arcy's_ melancholy was the result of the loss of +one he deeply loved. From such a loss it was that Rossetti's +melancholy moods resulted. There are documentary evidences of the +verisimilitude of the picture in every respect. Let one be given out +of many. There exists a pathetic record that has never yet been +published, by one who knew Rossetti--knew him with special +intimacy--the poet Swinburne--depicting the great tragedy which +darkened Rossetti's life--the loss of his wife. + +It gives the only authorized account of that tragedy--a tragedy which +ever since the publication of William Bell Scott's _Autobiographical +Notes_ has been so grievously misunderstood and misrepresented. In +this narrative Swinburne tells how, when first introduced to +Rossetti, he himself was an Oxford undergraduate of twenty. He +records how he and Rossetti had lived on terms of affectionate +intimacy: shaped and coloured on Rossetti's side by the cordial +kindness and exuberant generosity which, to the last, distinguished +his recognition of younger men's efforts: on his (Swinburne's) part +by gratitude as loyal and admiration as fervent as ever strove and +ever failed to express 'all the sweet and sudden passion of youth +towards greatness in its elder.' He records how, during that year, he +had come to know, and to regard with little less than a brother's +affection, the noble lady whom Rossetti had recently married. He +records how on the evening of her terrible death, they all three had +dined together at a restaurant which Rossetti had been accustomed to +frequent. He records how next morning, on coming by appointment to +sit for his portrait, he heard that she had died in the night, under +circumstances which afterwards made necessary his (Swinburne's) +appearance and evidence at the inquest held on her remains. He dwells +upon the anguish of the widower, when next they met, under the roof +of the mother with whom he had sought refuge. He records how Rossetti +appealed to his friendship in the name of the dead lady's regard for +him--a regard such as she had felt for no other of Rossetti's +friends--to cleave to him in this time of sorrow, to come and keep +house with him as soon as a residence could be found. + +Can there be a more convincing and a more beautiful testimony as to a +friend's sorrow and its cause? + +Over and above the touching testimony of Swinburne, no one will deny +that if ever one man knew another too well to be his biographer, as +Mr. Benson says, the author of _Aylwin_ was that man with regard to +Rossetti. No one has ever ventured to challenge the assertion in the +article on Rossetti in the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ that there was a +time when with the exception of his own family the poet-painter saw +scarcely any one save the writer of this book, whom he was never +tired of designating his friend of friends. There is no need to +multiply instances of this friendship, which has been enlarged upon +by Rossetti's brother, and by many others. Elizabeth Luther Gary, in +the best of all the books upon Rossetti, published by G. P. Putnam's +Sons two years after the first edition of _Aylwin_, speaks of +_D'Arcy_ as being 'the mouthpiece of Rossetti.' + +It may be added that Rossetti's _Ballads and Sonnets_, published in +1882, were dedicated to the author in these words: 'To the Friend +whom my verse won for me, these few more pages are affectionately +inscribed.' When he drew his last breath at Birchington it was in +that friend's arms. It is necessary to dwell upon such facts as the +above to show how fully equipped is the author of _Aylwin_ for +understanding and depicting the great poet-painter, to whose memory +he addressed the sonnet at the head of this note. + +As to the personality of Rossetti, to which Mr. Benson alludes, to +say that it was the one that stood out among the lives of the +Victorian poets is to state the case very feebly. It has been the +fortune of the delineator of D'Arcy to be thrown intimately across +several of the great poets of his time, not one of whom displayed a +personality so dominant as Rossetti's. Fine as is Rossetti's poetry +and fine as are his paintings, they but inadequately represent the +man. As to his personal fascination, among all the poets of England +we have no record of anything equal to it. It asserted itself not +only in relation to the pre-Raphaelite group, but in relation to all +other members of society with whom he was brought into contact. To +describe the magnetism of such a man is, of course, impossible. Much +has been written upon what is called the _demonic_ power in certain +individuals--the power of casting one's own influence over all +others. Napoleon's case is generally instanced as a typical one. But +Napoleon's demonic power was of a self-conscious kind. It would seem, +however, that there is another kind of demonic power--the power of +shedding quite unconsciously one's personality upon all brought into +contact with it. The demonic power of Rossetti, like that of _D'Arcy_ +in this story, was quite unconscious. In Rossetti's presence, as in +_D'Arcy's_, it was impossible not to yield to this strange, +mysterious power. At the time when he was not so entirely reclusive +as he afterwards became, when he used to meet all sorts of people, +the author had many opportunities of noticing its effect upon others. +He has seen them try to resist it, and in vain. On a certain occasion +a very eminent man, much used to society, and much used to the +brilliant literary clubs of London, was quite cowed and silenced +before Rossetti. It is necessary to dwell upon these subtle +distinctions, because this is the D'Arcy who, as a critic has +remarked, 'is the real protagonist of _Aylwin_--although the reader +does not discover it until the very end of the story, where D'Arcy +is the character who unravels and explains all.' Without D'Arcy, +indeed, and the demonic power possessed by him, the story would have +no existence. + +It is, of course, in the illustrated editions of _Aylwin_ that +D'Arcy's identification with Rossetti and his importance in the story +become specially manifest. On page 204 of the illustrated editions an +exact picture has been given by Rossetti's pupil, Dunn, of the famous +studio at 16 Cheyne Walk--the studio which will always be associated +with Rossetti's name. It has been immortalized by his friend, Dr. +Gordon Hake, in the following lines addressed to the author of +_Aylwin_ in the sonnet-sequence, _The New Day_: + + + Sitting with him, his tones as Petrarch's tender, + With many a speaking vision on the wall, + The fire, a-blaze, flashing the studio fender, + Closed in from London shouts and ceaseless brawl-- + Twas you brought Nature to the visiting, + Till she herself seemed breathing in the room, + And Art grew fragrant in the glow of Spring + With homely scents of gorse and heather bloom. + Or sunbeams shone by many an Alpine fountain, + Fed by the waters of the forest stream; + Or glacier-glories in the rock-girt mountain, + Where they so often fed the poet's dream; + Or else was mingled the rough billow's glee + With cries of petrels on a sullen sea. + + +Again on page 393 of the same editions will be found Miss May +Morris's beautiful water colour of Kelmscott Manor, the country-house +jointly occupied by Rossetti and William Morris in which takes place +what has been called 'the crucial scene in _Aylwin_.' + + + + + + + +APPENDIX II + +So many questions about the characters depicted in _Aylwin_ were put +to the editor of _Notes and Queries_ that he suggested that a key to +the novel would he found acceptable. Some weeks after this suggestion +was made there appeared in that journal (7th June 1902) the following +contribution by Mr. Thomas St. E. Hake, an intimate friend of +Rossetti, and of other leading characters of the story. The +republication of it here has been kindly sanctioned by Mr. J. C. +Francis, a name so indissolubly associated both with the _Athenæum_ +and _Notes and Queries_. Mr. Hake writes as follows: + + +Ever since the publication of _Aylwin_ I have, at various times, seen +in _Notes and Queries_, the _Daily Chronicle_, the _Contemporary +Review_, and other organs, inquiries as to the identification of the +characters that appear in that story. And now that an inquiry comes +from so remote a place as Libau in Russia, I think I may come forward +and say what I know on the subject. But, of course, within the limited +space that could possibly be allotted to me in _Notes and Queries_, I +can only say a few words on a subject that would require many pages to +treat adequately. Until _Aylwin_ appeared, Mr. Joseph Knight's +monograph on Rossetti in the 'Great Writers' series was, with the sole +exception of what has been written about him by his own family and by +my late father, Dr. Gordon Hake, in his _Memoirs of Eighty Years_, the +only account that gave the reader the least idea of the man--his +fascination, his brilliance, his generosity, and his whimsical +qualities. But in _Aylwin_ Rossetti lives as I knew him; it is +impossible to imagine a more living picture of the man. I have stayed +with Rossetti at 16 Cheyne Walk for weeks at a time, and at Bognor +also, and at Kelmscott--the 'Hurstcote' of _Aylwin_. With regard to +'Hurstcote,' I well knew 'the large bedroom with low-panelled walls +and the vast antique bedstead made of black carved oak' upon which +Winifred Wynne slept. In fact, the only thing in the description of +this room that I do not remember is the beautiful _Madonna and Child_ +upon the frame of which was written 'Chiaro dell' Erma' (readers of +_Hand and Soul_ will remember that name). This quaint and picturesque +bedroom leads by two or three steps to the tapestried room 'covered +with old faded tapestry--so faded, indeed, that its general effect +was that of a dull grey texture'--depicting the story of Samson. +Rossetti used the tapestry room as a studio, and I have seen in it +the very same pictures that so attracted the attention of Winifred +Wynne: the 'grand brunette' (painted from Mrs. Morris) 'holding a +pomegranate in her hand'; the 'other brunette, whose beautiful eyes +are glistening and laughing over the fruit she is holding up' +(painted from the same famous Irish beauty named Smith who appears +in _The Beloved_), and the blonde 'under the apple blossoms' (painted +from a still more beautiful woman--Mrs. Stillman). These pictures +were not permanently placed there, but, as it chanced, they were +there (for retouching) on a certain occasion when I was visiting at +Kelmscott. With regard to the green room in which Winifred took her +first breakfast at 'Hurstcote' I am a little in confusion. It seems +to me more like the green dining-room in Cheyne Walk, decorated with +antique mirrors, which was painted by Dunn, showing Rossetti reading +his poems aloud. This is the only portrait of Rossetti that really +calls up the man before me. As Mr. Watts-Dunton is the owner of +Dunn's drawing, and as so many people want to see what Rossetti's +famous Chelsea house was like inside, it is a pity he does not give +it as a frontispiece to some future edition of _Aylwin_. +Unfortunately, Mr. G. F. Watts's picture, now in the National +Portrait Gallery, was never finished, and I never saw upon Rossetti's +face the dull, heavy expression which that portrait wears. I think +the poet told me that he had given the painter only one or two +sittings. As to the photographs, none of them is really satisfactory. + +The 'young gentleman from Oxford who has been acting as my +secretary,' as mentioned in _Aylwin_, was my brother. [Footnote] With +regard to the two circular mirrors surrounded by painted designs +telling the story of the Holy Grail, 'in old black oak frames carved +with knights at tilt,' I do not remember seeing these there. But they +are evidently the mirrors decorated with copies of the lost Holy +Grail frescoes once existing on the walls of the Union Reading-Room +at Oxford. These beautiful decorations I have seen at 'The Pines,' +but not elsewhere. I have often seen 'D'Arcy' in the company of +several of the other characters introduced into _Aylwin_; for +instance, 'De Castro' and 'Symonds' (the late F. R. Leyland, at that +time the owner of the Leyland line of steamers, living at Prince's +Gate, where was the famous Peacock Room painted by Mr. Whistler). I +did not myself know that quaint character Mrs. Titwing, but I have +been told by people who knew her well that she is true to the life. +With regard to 'De Castro,' it is a matter of regret to those who +knew him that, after giving us that most vivid scene between 'D'Arcy' +and 'De Castro' at Scott's oyster-rooms (a place which Rossetti was +very fond of frequenting in those nocturnal rambles that caused 'De +Castro' to give him the name of Haroun al Raschid), the author did +not go on and paint to the full the most extraordinary man of the +very extraordinary group, the centre of which was Rossetti's Chelsea +house. Rossetti was a well-known figure at Scott's and at Rule's +oyster-rooms at the time he encountered 'Henry Aylwin.' That scene at +Scott's is, in my opinion, the most living thing in the book--a +picture that whenever I turn to it makes me feel that everything said +and done must have occurred. 'De Castro' seemed to belong not merely +to the Rossetti group, but to all groups, for he was brought into +touch with almost every remarkable man of his time, and fascinated +every one of them. Literary and artistic London was once full of +stories of him, and no one that knew him doubted he was what must be +called a man of genius--although a barren genius. Among others, he +was brought into close relations with Ruskin, Burne-Jones, and, I +think, Smetham ('Wilderspin'), and others. + +[Footnote: This was George Hake, who died in Central Africa a few +years ago.] + +Rossetti used to say that since Blake there has been no more +visionary painter in the art world than Smetham. Rossetti had a quite +affectionate feeling towards Smetham, and several of his pictures +(small ones) were on Rossetti's studio walls. I remember one or two +extraordinary pictures of his--especially one depicting a dragon in a +fen, of which Rossetti had a great opinion; and I believe this, with +other pictures of Smetham's, is in the hands of Mr. Watts-Dunton. The +author of _Aylwin_ would have been much amused had he seen, as I did, +in an American magazine the statement that 'Wilderspin' was +identified with William Morris--a man who was as much the opposite +of the visionary painter as a man can be. Morris, whom I had the +privilege of knowing very well, and with whom I have stayed at +Kelmscott during the Rossetti period, is alluded to in _Aylwin_ +(chap. ix. book xv.) as the 'enthusiastic angler' who used to +go down to 'Hurstcote' to fish. At that time this fine old +seventeenth-century manor house was in the joint occupancy of +Rossetti and Morris. 'Wilderspin' was Smetham with a variation: +certain characteristics of another painter of genius were introduced, +I believe, into the portrait of him in _Aylwin_; and the story of +'Wilderspin's' early life was not that of Smetham. The series of +'large attics in which was a number of enormous oak beams' supporting +the antique roof was a favourite resort of my own; but all the +ghostly noise that I there heard was the snoring of young owls--a +peculiar sound that had a special fascination for Rossetti; and after +dinner Rossetti, my brother, and I would go to the attics to listen +to them. + +But a more singular mistake with regard to the _Aylwin_ characters +than that of Morris being confounded with 'Wilderspin' was that of +confounding, as certain newspaper paragraphs at the time did, 'Cyril +Aylwin' with Mr. Whistler. I am especially able to speak of this +character, who has been inquired about more than any other in the +book. I knew him, I think, even before I knew Rossetti and Morris, or +any of that group. He was a brother of Mr. Watts-Dunton's--Mr. Alfred +Eugene Watts. He lived at Park House, Sydenham, and died suddenly +either in 1870 or 1871, very shortly after I had met him at a wedding +party. Among the set in which I moved at that time he had a great +reputation as a wit and humorist. His style of humour always struck +me as being more American than English. While bringing out humorous +things that would set a dinner-table in a roar, he would himself +maintain a perfectly unmoved countenance. And it was said of him, as +'Wilderspin' says of 'Cyril Aylwin,' that he was never known to +laugh. The pen-picture of him in _Aylwin_ is one of the most vivid +things in the book. + +With regard to the most original character in the story, those who +knew Clement's Inn, where I myself once resided, and Lincoln's Inn +Fields, will be able at once to identify Mrs. Gudgeon, who lived in +one of the streets running into Clare Market. Her business was that +of night coffee-stall keeper. At one time, I believe--but I am not +certain about this--she kept a stall on the Surrey side of Waterloo +Bridge, and it might have been there that, as I have been told, her +portrait was drawn for a specified number of early breakfasts by an +unfortunate artist who sank very low, but had real ability. Her +constant phrase was 'I shall die o' laughin'--I know I shall!' On +account of her extra-ordinary gift of repartee, and her inexhaustible +fund of wit and humour, she was generally supposed to be an +Irishwoman. But she was not: she was cockney to the marrow. Recluse +as Rossetti was in his later years, he had at one time been very +different, and could bring himself in touch with the lower orders of +London in a way such as was only known to his most intimate friends. +With all her impudence, and I may say insolence, Mrs. Gudgeon was a +great favourite with the police, who were the constant butts of her +chaff. + +With regard to the gipsies, although I knew George Borrow intimately, +and saw a great deal of Mr. Watts-Dunton's other Romany Rye friend, +the late Frank Groome, I did not know Sinfi Lovell or Rhona Boswell. +But I may say that those who have said that Sinfi Lovell was painted +from the same model as Mr. Meredith's Kiomi are mistaken. Sinfi +Lovell was extremely beautiful, whereas Kiomi, I believe, was never +very beautiful. But that they are represented as being contemporaries +and friends is shown by D'Arcy's mention of Kiomi in Scott's +oyster-rooms. The characters who figure in the early Raxton scenes I +cannot speak of for reasons which may be pretty obvious; nor can I +speak of the Welsh chapters in _Aylwin_, which have been a good deal +discussed in recent numbers of _Notes and Queries_. But being myself +an East Anglian by birth--one of my Christian names is St. Edmund, +because I was born at Bury St. Edmunds--I can say something about +what the East Anglian papers call 'Aylwinland,' and of the truth of +the pictures of the east coast to be found in the story, Since +_Aylwin_ was published an interesting attempt has been made by a +correspondent in the _Lowestoft Standard_ (25th August 1900) to +identify Pakefield Church as the 'Raxton' Church of the story, and +the writer of the letter mentions the most remarkable, and to me +quite new fact, that although the guide-books of Lowestoft and the +district are quite silent as to a curious crypt at the east end of +Pakefield Church, there is exactly such a crypt as that described in +_Aylwin_, and that in the early days of the correspondent in question +it was used as a storehouse for bones. The readers of _Aylwin_ will +remember the author's words: 'The crypt is much older than the +church, and of an entirely different architecture. It was once the +depository of the bones of Danish warriors killed before the Norman +conquest.' + +THOMAS ST. E. HAKE. + + +In _Notes and Queries_ [9th S., ix. 369, 450; x. 16] a letter had +appeared, signed 'Jay Aitch,' inquiring as to the school of mystics +founded by Lavater, alluded to on page 83 of the _Illustrated +Aylwin_. This afforded Mr. Thomas St. E. Hake another opportunity of +unloading his wallet of Rossetti and _Aylwin_ lore. And in the same +journal, for 2nd August 1902, he wrote as follows: + + +The question raised by Jay Aitch as to the school of mystics founded +by Lavater, and the large book _The Veiled Queen_, by 'Philip +Aylwin,' which contains quotations that Jay Aitch affirms have +haunted him ever since he read them, are certainly questions about as +interesting as any that could have been raised in connexion with the +story. And in answering these queries I find an opportunity of saying +a few authentic words on a subject upon which many unauthentic ones +have been-uttered--that of the occultism of D. G, Rossetti and some +of his friends. It has been frequently said that Rossetti was a +spiritualist, and it is a fact that he went to several _séances_; but +the word 'spiritualism' seems to have a rather elastic meaning. A +spiritualist, as distinguished from a materialist, Rossetti certainly +was, but his spiritualism was not, I should say, that which in common +parlance bears this name. It was exactly like 'Aylwinism,' which +seems to have been related to the doctrines of the Lavaterian sect +about which Jay Aitch inquires. As a matter of fact, it was not the +original of 'Wilderspin' nearly so much as the original D'Arcy who +was captured by the doctrine of what is called in the story the +'Aylwinian.' + +With regard to Johann Kaspar Lavater, Jay Aitch is no doubt aware +that, although this once noted writer's fame rests entirely upon his +treatise _Physiognomische Fragmente_, he founded a school of mystics +in Switzerland. This was before what is called spiritualism came into +vogue. I believe that the doctrines of _The Veiled Queen_ are closely +related to the doctrines of the Lavaterians; but my knowledge on this +matter is of a second-hand kind, and is derived from conversations +upon Lavater and his claims as a physiognomist, which I heard many +years ago at Coombe and during walks in Richmond Park, between the +author of _Aylwin_ and my father, who, admittedly a man of +intellectual grasp, went even further than Lavater. + +A writer in the _Literary World_, in some admirable remarks upon this +story, is, as far as I know, the only critic who has dwelt upon the +extraordinary character of 'Philip Aylwin.' He says: + + +'The melancholy, the spiritual isolation, and the passionate love of +this master-mystic for his dead wife are so finely rendered that the +reader's sympathies go out at once to this most pathetic and lonely +figure....It would be difficult for any sensitive man or woman to +follow Philip Aylwin's story as related by his son without the +tribute of aching heart and scalding tears. To our thinking, the +man's sanity is more moving, more supremely tragic, than even the +madness of Winifred, which is the culminating tragedy of the book.' + + +I must say that I agree with this writer in thinking 'Philip Aylwin' +to be the most impressive character in the story. The most remarkable +feature of the novel, indeed, is that, although 'Philip Aylwin' +disappears from the scene so early, his opinions, his character, and +his dreams are cast so entirely over the book from beginning to end +that the novel might have been called _Philip Aylwin_. I have a +special interest in this character, because I knew the undoubted +original of the character with a considerable amount of intimacy. +Without the permission of the author of _Aylwin_, I can only touch on +outward traits--the deep, spiritual life of this man is beyond me. +Although a very near relation, he was not, as has been so often +surmised, the author's father. [Footnote] He was a man of +extraordinary learning in the academic sense of the word, and +possessed still more extraordinary general knowledge. He lived for +many years the strangest kind of hermit life, surrounded by his +books and old manuscripts. His two great passions were philology +and occultism. He knew more, I think, of those strange writers +discussed in Vaughan's _Hours with the Mystics_ than any other +person--including, perhaps, Vaughan himself; but he managed to +combine with his love of Mysticism a deep passion for the physical +sciences, especially astronomy. He seemed to be learning languages up +to almost the last year of his life. His method of learning languages +was the opposite of that of George Borrow, that is to say, he made +great use of grammars; and when he died it is said that from four to +five hundred treatises on grammar were found among his books. He used +to express great contempt for Borrow's method of learning languages +from dictionaries only. + +[Footnote: He was Mr. Watts-Dunton's uncle--Mr. James Orlando Watts.] + +I do not think that any one connected with literature--with the +exception of Mr. Watts-Dunton, Mr. Swinburne, my father, and Dr. R. +G. Latham--knew so much of him as I did. His personal appearance was +exactly like that of 'Philip Aylwin,' as described in the novel. +Although he never wrote poetry, he translated, I believe, a good deal +from the Spanish and Portuguese poets. I remember that he was an +extraordinary admirer of Shelley. His knowledge of Shakespeare and +the Elizabethan dramatists was a link between him and Mr. Swinburne. + +At a time when I was a busy reader at the British Museum +Reading-Room, I used frequently to see him, and he never seemed to +know any one among the readers except myself, and whenever he spoke +to me it was always in a hushed whisper, lest he should disturb the +other readers, which in his eyes would have been a heinous offence. +For very many years he had been extremely well known to the +second-hand booksellers, for he was a constant purchaser of their +wares. He was a great pedestrian, and, being very much attached to +the north of London, would take long, slow tramps ten miles out in +the direction of Highgate, Wood Green, etc. I have a very distinct +recollection of calling upon him in Myddelton Square at the time when +I was living close to him in Percy Circus. Books were piled up from +floor to ceiling, apparently in great confusion, but he seemed to +remember where to find every book and what there was in it. It is a +singular fact that the only person outside those I have mentioned who +seems to have known him was that brilliant but eccentric journalist, +Thomas Purnell, who had an immense opinion of him and used to call +him 'the scholar.' How Purnell managed to break through the icy wall +that surrounded the recluse always puzzled me; but I suppose they +must have come across one another at one of those pleasant inns in +the north of London where 'the scholar' was taking his chop and +bottle of Beaune. He was a man that never made new friends, and as +one after another of his old friends died he was left so entirely +alone that, I think, he saw no one except Mr. Swinburne, the author +of _Aylwin_, and myself. But at Christmas he always spent a week at +'The Pines,' when and where my father and I used to meet him. His +memory was so powerful that he seemed to be able to recall not only +all that he had read, but the very conversations in which he had +taken a part. He died, I think, at a little over eighty, and his +faculties up to the last were exactly like those of a man in the +prime of life. He always reminded me of Charles Lamb's description +of George Dyer. + +Such is my outside picture of this extraordinary man; and it is only +of externals that I am free to speak here, even if I were competent +to touch upon his inner life. He was a still greater recluse than +the 'Philip Aylwin' of the novel. I think I am right in saying that +he took up one or two Oriental tongues when he was seventy years of +age. Another of his passions was numismatics, and it was in these +studies that he sympathized with the author of _Aylwin's_ friend, the +late Lord de Tabley. I remember one story of his peculiarities which +will give an idea of the kind of man he was. He had a brother who was +the exact opposite of him in every way--strikingly good-looking, with +great charm of mariner and _savoir faire_, but with an ordinary +intellect and a very superficial knowledge of literature, or, indeed, +anything else, except records of British military and naval +exploits--where he was really learned. Being full of admiration of +his student brother, and having a parrot-like instinct for mimicry, +he used to talk with great volubility upon all kinds of subjects +wherever he went, and repeat in the same words what he had been +listening to from his brother, until at last he got to be called the +'walking encyclopedia.' The result was that he got the reputation of +being a great reader and an original thinker, while the true student +and book-lover was frequently complimented on the way in which he +took after his learned brother. This did not in the least annoy the +real student, it simply amused him, and he would give with a dry +humour most amusing stories as to what people had said to him on this +subject. + +THOMAS ST. E. HAKE. + + +The editor of _Notes and Queries_ has the following footnote: + +'We hail some acquaintance with the being Mr. Hake depicts (Mr. James +Orlando Watts) and can testify to the truth of the portraiture.' + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13454 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..be320cf --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #13454 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13454) diff --git a/old/13454-8.txt b/old/13454-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1e3b710 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13454-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,19919 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Aylwin, by Theodore Watts-Dunton + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Aylwin + +Author: Theodore Watts-Dunton + +Release Date: September 14, 2004 [eBook #13454] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AYLWIN*** + + +E-text prepared by Roy Brown, Trowbridge, England + + + +AYLWIN + +With Two Appendices, One Containing a Note on the Character of +D'arcy; the Other a Key to the Story, Reprinted from _Notes and +Queries_ + +by + +THEODORE WATTS-DUNTON + +Author of 'The Coming of Love: Rhona Boswell's Story,' etc. etc. + + + + + + + +TO +C. J. R. +IN REMEMBRANCE OF SUNNY DAYS AND STARLIT NIGHTS +WHEN WE RAMBLED TOGETHER ON CRUMBLING CLIFFS THAT +ARE NOW AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA +THIS EDITION OF A STORY WHICH HAS BEEN A LINK BETWEEN US +IS INSCRIBED + + + +CAUGHT IN THE EBBING TIDE + +A REMINISCENCE OF RAXTOX CLIFFS + +The mightiest Titan's stroke could not withstand + An ebbing tide like this. These swirls denote + How wind and tide conspire. I can but float +To the open sea and strike no more for land. +Farewell, brown cliffs, farewell, beloved sand + Her feet have pressed--farewell, dear little boat + Where Gelert,[Footnote] calmly sitting on my coat, +Unconscious of my peril, gazes bland! + +All dangers grip me save the deadliest, fear: + Yet these air-pictures of the past that glide-- + These death-mirages o'er the heaving tide-- +Showing two lovers in an alcove clear, + Will break my heart. I see them and I hear +As there they sit at morning, side by side. + +[Footnote: A famous swimming dog.] + + +THE VISION + +_With Barton elms behind--in front the sea, + Sitting in rosy light in that alcove, +They hear the first lark rise o'er Raxton Grove: +'What should I do with fame, dear heart?' says he, +'You talk of fame, poetic fame, to me + Whose crown is not of laurel but of love-- + To me who would not give this little glove +On this dear hand for Shakespeare's dower in fee. + +While, rising red and kindling every billow, + The sun's shield shines 'neath many a golden spear, +To lean with you, against this leafy pillow, + To murmur words of love in this loved ear-- +To feel you bending like a bending willow, + This is to be a poet--this, my dear!'_ + +O God, to die and leave her--die and leave + The heaven so lately won!--And then, to know + What misery will be hers--what lonely woe!-- +To see the bright eyes weep, to see her grieve +Will make me a coward as I sink, and cleave + To life though Destiny has bid me go. + How shall I bear the pictures that will glow +Above the glowing billows as they heave? + +One picture fades, and now above the spray + Another shines: ah, do I know the bowers + Where yon sweet woman stands--the woodland flowers, +In that bright wreath of grass and new-mown hay-- + That birthday wreath I wove when earthly hours +Wore angel-wings,--till portents brought dismay? + +Shall I turn coward here who sailed with Death + Through many a tempest on mine own North Sea, + And quail like him of old who bowed the knee-- +Faithless--to billows of Genesereth? +Did I turn coward when my very breath + Froze on my lips that Alpine night when He + Stood glimmering there, the Skeleton, with me, +While avalanches rolled from peaks beneath? + +Each billow bears me nearer to the verge + Of realms where she is not--where love must wait. +If Gelert, there, could hear, no need to urge + That friend, so faithful, true, affectionate, + To come and help me, or to share my fate. +Ah! surely I see him springing through the surge. + [_The dog, plunging into the tide and striking + towards his master with immense strength, + reaches him and swims round him._] + +Oh, Gelert, strong of wind and strong of paw, + Here gazing like your namesake, 'Snowdon's Hound,' + When great Llewelyn's child could not be found, +And all the warriors stood in speechless awe-- +Mute as your namesake when his master saw + The cradle tossed--the rushes red around-- + With never a word, but only a whimpering sound +To tell what meant the blood on lip and jaw! + +In such a strait, to aid this gaze so fond, + Should I, brave friend, have needed other speech +Than this dear whimper? Is there not a bond + Stronger than words that binds us each to each?-- +But Death has caught us both. 'Tis far beyond + The strength of man or dog to win the beach. + +Through tangle-weed--through coils of slippery kelp + Decking your shaggy forehead, those brave eyes + Shine true--shine deep of love's divine surmise +As hers who gave you--then a Titan whelp!-- +I think you know my danger and would help!-- + See how I point to yonder smack that lies + At anchor--Go! His countenance replies. +Hope's music rings in Gelert's eager yelp! + [_The dog swims swiftly away down the tide._] + +Now, life and love and death swim out with him! + If he should reach the smack, the men will guess + The dog has left his master in distress. +She taught him in these very waves to swim-- +'The prince of pups,' she said, 'for wind and limb'-- + And now those lessons come to save--to bless. + + +ENVOY + +(_The day after the rescue: Gelert and his master walking along +the sand._) + +'Twas in no glittering tourney's mimic strife,-- + 'Twas in that bloody fight in Raxton Grove, + While hungry ravens croaked from boughs above, +And frightened blackbirds shrilled the warning fife-- +'Twas there, in days when Friendship still was rife. + Mine ancestor who threw the challenge-glove + Conquered and found his foe a soul to love, +Found friendship--Life's great second crown of life. + +So I this morning love our North Sea more + Because he fought me well, because these waves +Now weaving sunbows for us by the shore + Strove with me, tossed me in those emerald caves + That yawned above my head like conscious graves-- +I love him as I never loved before. + + + +PREFACE TO THIS EDITION + +The heart-thought of this hook being the peculiar doctrine in Philip +Aylwin's _Veiled Queen_, and the effect of it upon the fortunes +of the hero and the other characters, the name 'The Renascence of +Wonder' was the first that came to my mind when confronting the +difficult question of finding a name for a book that is at once a +love-story and an expression of a creed. But eventually I decided, +and I think from the worldly point of view wisely, to give it simply +the name of the hero. + +The important place in the story, however, taken by this creed did +not escape the most acute and painstaking of the critics. Madame +Galimberti, for instance, in the elaborate study of the book which +she made in the Rivista d' Italia, gave great attention to its +central idea: so did M. Maurice Muret, in the _Journal des +Débats_; so did M. Henri Jacottet in _La Semaine Littéraire_. +Mr. Baker, again, in his recently published work on fiction, +described _Aylwin_ as 'an imaginative romance of modern days, +the moral idea of which is man's attitude in face of the unknown,' +or, as the writer puts it, 'the renascence of wonder.' With regard to +the phrase itself, in the introduction to the latest edition of +Aylwin--the twenty-second edition--I made the following brief reply +to certain questions that have been raised by critics both in England +and on the Continent concerning it. The phrase, I said, 'The +Renascence of Wonder,' + + Is used to express that great revived movement of the soul of man + which is generally said to have begun with the poetry of + Wordsworth, Scott, Coleridge, and others, and after many varieties + of expression reached its culmination in the poems and pictures of + Rossetti. The phrase 'The Renascence of Wonder' merely indicates + that there are two great impulses governing man, and probably not + man only but the entire world of conscious life--the impulse of + acceptance--the impulse to take unchallenged and for granted all + the phenomena of the outer world as they are, and the impulse to + confront these phenomena with eyes of inquiry and wonder. + +The painter Wilderspin says to Henry Aylwin, 'The one great event of +my life has been the reading of _The Veiled Queen_, your +father's hook of inspired wisdom upon the modern Renascence of Wonder +in the mind of man.' And further on he says that his own great +picture symbolical of this renascence was suggested by Philip +Aylwin's vignette. Since the original writing of Aylwin, many years +ago, I have enlarged upon its central idea in the _Encyclopaedia +Britannica_ and in the introductory essay to the third volume of +Chambers's _Cyclopædia of English Literature_, and in other +places. Naturally, therefore, the phrase has been a good deal +discussed. Quite lately Dr. Robertson Nicoll has directed attention +to the phrase, and he has taken it as a text of a remarkable +discourse upon the 'Renascence of Wonder in Religion.' I am tempted +to quote some of his words:-- + + Amongst the Logia recently discovered by the explorers of the Egypt + Fund, there is one of which part was already known to have occurred + in the Gospel according to the Hebrews. It runs as follows:--'Let + not him that seeketh cease from his search until he find, and when + he finds he shall wonder: wondering he shall reach the kingdom, and + when he reaches the kingdom he shall have rest.'...We believe that + Butler was one of the first to share in the Renascence of Wonder, + which was the renascence of religion....Men saw once more the + marvel of the universe and the romance of man's destiny. They + became aware of the spiritual world, of the supernatural, of the + lifelong struggle of the soul, of the power of the unseen. + +The words quoted by Dr. Nicoll might very appropriately be used as a +motto for _Aylwin_ and also for its sequel _The Coming of +Love: Rhona Boswells Story_. + + + + +PREFACE TO THE TWENTY-SECOND EDITION OF 1904 + +Nothing in regard to Aylwin has given me so much pleasure as the way +in which it has been received both by my Welsh friends and my Romany +friends. I little thought, when I wrote it, that within three years +of its publication the gypsy pictures in it would be discoursed upon +to audiences of 4000 people by a man so well equipped to express an +opinion on such a subject as the eloquent and famous 'Gypsy Smith,' +and described by him as 'the most trustworthy picture of Romany life +in the English language, containing in Sinfi Lovell the truest +representative of the Gypsy girl.' + +And as regards my Welsh readers, they have done me the honour of +suggesting that an illustrated edition of the work would be prized by +all lovers of 'Beautiful Wales.' + +Although such an edition is, I am told, an expensive undertaking, my +friend and publisher, Mr. Blackett, sees his way, he tells me, to +bringing it out. + +Since the first appearance of the book there have been many +interesting discussions by Welsh readers, in various periodicals, +upon the path taken by Sinfi Lovell and Aylwin in their ascent of +Snowdon. + +A very picturesque letter appeared in _Notes and Queries_ on May +3rd, 1902, signed _C. C. B._ in answer to a query by E. W., +which I will give myself the pleasure of quoting because it describes +the writer's ascent of Snowdon (accompanied by a son of my old friend +Harry Owen, late of Pen-y-Gwryd) along a path which was almost the +same as that taken by Aylwin and Sinfi Lovell, when he saw the same +magnificent spectacle that was seen by them:-- + + The mist was then clearing (it was in July) and in a few moments + was entirely gone. So marvellous a transformation scene, and so + immense a prospect, I have never beheld since. For the first and + only time in my life I saw from one spot almost the whole of North + and Mid-Wales, a good part of Western England, and a glimpse of + Scotland and Ireland. The vision faded all too quickly, but it was + worth walking thirty-three or thirty-four miles, as I did that day, + for even a briefer view than that. + +Referring to Llyn Coblynau this interesting writer says-- + + Only from Glaslyn would the description in _Aylwin_ of y Wyddfa + standing out against the sky 'as narrow and as steep as the sides of + an acorn' be correct, but from the north and north-west sides of + Glaslyn this answers with quite curious exactness to the appearance + of the mountain. We must suppose the action of the story to have + taken place before the revival of the copper-mining industry on + Snowdon. + +With regard, however, to the question here raised, I can save myself +all trouble by simply quoting the admirable remarks of _Sion o +Ddyli_ in the same number of _Notes and Queries:_-- + + None of us are very likely to succeed in placing this llyn, because + the author of _Aylwin_, taking a privilege of romance often + taken by Sir Walter Scott before him, probably changed the + landmarks in idealising the scene and adapting it to his story. It + may be, indeed, that the Welsh name given to the llyn in the book + is merely a rough translation of the gipsies' name for it, the + 'Knockers' being gnomes or goblins of the mine; hence 'Coblynau' + equals goblins. If so, the name itself can give us no clue unless + we are lucky enough to secure the last of the Welsh gipsies for a + guide. In any case, the only point from which to explore Snowdon + for the small llyn, or perhaps llyns (of which Llyn Coblynau is a + kind of composite ideal picture), is no doubt, as E. W. has + suggested, Capel Curig; and I imagine the actual scene lies about a + mile south from Glaslyn, while it owes something at least of its + colouring in the book to that strange lake. The 'Knockers,' it must + be remembered, usually depend upon the existence of a mine near by, + with old partly fallen mine-workings where the dropping of water or + other subterranean noises produce the curious phenomenon which is + turned to such imaginative account in the Snowdon chapters of + _Aylwin_. + +There is another question--a question of a very different +kind--raised by several correspondents of _Notes and Queries_, +upon which I should like to say a word--a question as to _The +Veiled Queen_ and the use therein of the phrase 'The Renascence of +Wonder'--a phrase which has been said to 'express the artistic motif +of the book.' The _motif_ of the book, however, is one of +emotion primarily, or it would not have been written. + +There is yet another subject upon which I feel tempted to say a few +words. D'Arcy in referring to Aylwin's conduct in regard to the cross +says:-- + + You were simply doing what Hamlet would have done in such + circumstances--what Macbeth would have done, and what he would have + done who spoke to the human heart through their voices. All men, I + believe, have Macbeth's instinct for making 'assurance doubly + sure,' and I cannot imagine the man who, entangled as you were in a + net of conflicting evidence--the evidence of the spiritual and the + evidence of the natural world--would not, if the question were that + of averting a curse from acting on a beloved mistress, have done as + you did. That paralysis of Hamlet's will which followed when the + evidence of two worlds hung in equipoise before him, no one can + possibly understand better than I. + +Several critics have asked me to explain these words. Of course, +however, the question is much too big and much too important to +discuss here. I will merely say that Shakespeare having decided in +the case of 'Macbeth' to adopt the machinery he found in Holinslied, +and in the case of 'Hamlet' the machinery he found in the old +'Hamlet,' seems to have set himself the task of realising the +situation of a man oscillating between the evidence of two worlds, +the physical and the spiritual--a man in each case unusually +sagacious, and in each case endowed with the instinct for 'making +assurance doubly sure'--the instinct which seems, from many passages +in his dramas, to have been a special characteristic of the poet's +own, such for instance as the words in _Pericles_: + + + For truth can never be confirm'd enough, + Though doubts did ever sleep. + +Why is it that, in this story, Hamlet, the moody moraliser upon +charnel-houses and mouldy bones, is identified with the jolly companion +of the Mermaid, the wine-bibbing joker of the Falcon, and the Apollo +saloon? It is because Hamlet is the most elaborately-painted character +in literature. It is because the springs of his actions are so +profoundly touched, the workings of his soul so thoroughly laid bare, +that we seem to know him more completely than we know our most intimate +friends. It is because the sea which washes between personality and +personality is here, for once, rolled away, and we and this Hamlet +touch, soul to soul. That is why we ask whether such a character can +be the mere evolvement of the artistic mind at work. That is why we +exclaim: 'The man who painted Hamlet must have been painting himself.' +The perfection of the dramatist's work betrays him. For, really and +truly, no man can paint another, but only himself, and what we call +'character painting' is, at the best, but a poor mixing of painter and +painted, a 'third something' between these two; just as what we call +colour and sound are born of the play of undulation upon organism. + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE SNOWDON EDITION OF 1901 + +Though written many years ago this story was, for certain personal +reasons easy to guess, withheld from publication--withheld, as _The +Times_ pointed out, because 'with the _Dichtung_ was mingled +a good deal of _Wahrheit_,' But why did I still delay in +publishing it after these reasons for withholding it had passed away? +This is a question that has often been put to me both in print and in +conversation. And yet I should have imagined that the explanation was +not far to seek. It was simply diffidence; in other words it was that +infirmity which, though generally supposed to belong to youth, comes +to a writer, if it comes at all, with years. Undoubtedly there was a +time in my life when I should have leapt with considerable rashness +into the brilliant ranks of our contemporary novelists. But this was +before I had reached what I will call the diffident period in the +life of a writer. And then, again, I had often been told by George +Borrow, and also by my friend Francis Groome, the great living +authority on Romany matters, that there was in England no interest in +Gypsies. Altogether then, had it not been for the unexpected success +of _The Coming of Love_, a story of Gypsy life, it is doubtful +whether I should not have delayed the publication of _Aylwin_ +until the great warder of the gates of day we call Death should close +his portal behind me and shut me off from these dreams. However, I am +very glad now that I did publish it; for it has brought around me a +number of new friends--brought them at a time when new friends were +what I yearned for--a time when, looking back through this vision of +my life, I seem to be looking down an Appian way--a street of +tombs--the tombs of those I loved. No wonder, then, that I was deeply +touched by the kindness with which the Public and the Press received +the story. + +One critic did me the honour of remarking upon what he called the +'absolute newness of the plot and incidents of _Aylwin_.' He +seems to have forgotten, however, that one incident--the most daring +incident in the book--that of the rifling of a grave for treasure +--is not new: it will at once remind folk-lorists of certain +practices charged against our old Norse invaders. And students of +Celtic and Gaelic literature are familiar with the same idea. Quite, +lately, indeed, Mr. Alfred Nutt, in his analysis of the Gaelic +_Agallamh na Senorach_, or 'Colloquy of the Elders,' has made +some interesting remarks upon the subject. + + +As far as I remember, the only objection made by the critics to +_Aylwin_ was that I had imported into a story written for +popular acceptance too many speculations and breedings upon the +gravest of all subjects--the subject of love at struggle with death. +My answer to this is that although it did win a great popular +acceptance I never expected it to do so. I knew the book to be an +expression of idiosyncrasy, and no man knows how much or how little +his idiosyncrasy is in harmony with the temper of his time, until his +book has been given to the world. It was the story of _Aylwin_ +that was born of the speculations upon Love and Death; it was not the +speculations that were pressed into the story; without these +speculations there could have been no story to tell. Indeed the chief +fault which myself should find with _Aylwin_, if my business +were to criticise it, would be that it gives not too little but too +much prominence to the strong incidents of the story--a story written +as a comment on love's warfare with death--written to show that +confronted as a man is every moment by signs of the fragility and +brevity of human life, the great marvel connected with him is not +that his thoughts dwell frequently upon the unknown country beyond +Orion where the beloved dead are loving us still, but that he can +find time and patience to think upon anything else--a story written +further to show how terribly despair becomes intensified when a man +has lost--or thinks he has lost--a woman whose love was the only +light of his world--when his soul is torn from his body, as it were, +and whisked off on the wings of the 'viewless winds' right away +beyond the farthest star, till the universe hangs beneath his feet a +trembling point of twinkling light, and at last even this dies away +and his soul cries out for help in that utter darkness and +loneliness. + +It was to depict this phase of human emotion that both _Aylwin_ +and its sequel, _The Coming of Love_, were written. They were +missives from the lonely watch-tower of the writer's soul, sent out +into the strange and busy battle of the world--sent out to find, if +possible, another soul or two to whom the watcher was, without +knowing it, akin. + + +And now as to my two Gypsy heroines, the Sinfi Lovell of +_Aylwin_ and the Rhona Boswell of _The Coming of Love_. +Although Borrow belonged to a different generation from mine, I +enjoyed his intimate friendship in his later years--during the time +when he lived in Hereford Square; and since his death I have written +a good deal about him--both in prose and in verse--in the Athenæum, +in the Encyclopædia Britannica, and in other places. When, some seven +or eight years ago, I brought out an edition of _Lavengro_ (in +Messrs. Ward, Lock & Co.'s Minerva Library), I prefaced that +delightful book by a few desultory remarks upon Sorrow's Gypsy +characters. On that occasion I gave a slight sketch of the most +remarkable 'Romany Chi' that had ever been met with in the part of +East Anglia known to Borrow and myself--Sinfi Lovell. I described +her playing on the crwth. I discussed her exploits as a boxer, and I +contrasted her in many ways with the glorious Anglo-Saxon road-girl +Isopel Berners. Since the publication of _Aylwin_ and _The +Coming of Love_ I have received very many letters from English and +American readers inquiring whether 'the Gypsy girl described in the +introduction to _Lavenyro_ is the same as the Sinfi Lovell of +_Aylwin_,' and also whether 'the Rhona Boswell that figures in +the prose story is the same as the Rhona of _The Coming of +Love_?' The evidence of the reality of Rhona so impressed itself +upon the reader that on the appearance of Rhona's first letter in the +_Athenæum_, where the poem was printed in fragments, I got among +other letters one from the sweet poet and adorable woman Jean +Ingelow, who was then very ill,--near her death indeed,--urging me to +tell her whether Rhona's love-letter was not a versification of a +real letter from a real Gypsy to her lover. As it was obviously +impossible for me to answer the queries individually, I take this +opportunity of saying that the Sinfi of _Aylwin_ and the Sinfi +described in my introduction to _Lavengro_ are one and the same +character--except that the story of the child Sinfi's weeping for the +'poor dead Gorgios' in the churchyard, given in the Introduction, is +really told by the Gypsies, not of Sinfi, but of Rhona Boswell. Sinfi +is the character alluded to in the now famous sonnet describing 'the +walking lord of Gypsy lore,' Borrow, by his most intimate friend Dr. +Gordon Hake. + + 'And he, the walking lord of Gypsy lore! + How often 'mid the deer that grazed the Park, + Or in the fields and heath and windy moor, + Made musical with many a soaring lark, + Have we not held brisk commune with him there, + While Lavengro, then towering by your side, + With rose complexion and bright silvery hair, + Would stop amid his swift and lounging stride + To tell the legends of the fading race--. + As at the summons of his piercing glance, + Its story peopling his brown eyes and face, + While you called up that pendant of romance + To Petulengro with his boxing glory + Your Amazonian Sinfi's noble story?' + +Now that so many of the griengroes (horse-dealers), who form the +aristocracy of the Romany race, have left England for America, it is +natural enough that to some readers of _Aylwin_ and _The +Coming of Love_ my pictures of Romany life seem a little +idealised. The _Times_, in a kindly notice of _The Coming of +Love_, said that the kind of Gypsies there depicted are a very +interesting people, 'unless the author has flattered them unduly.' +Those who best knew the Gypsy women of that period will be the first +to aver that I have not flattered them unduly. But I have fully +discussed this matter, and given a somewhat elaborate account of +Sinfi Lovell and Rhona Boswell, in the introduction to the fifth +edition of _The Coming of Love: Rhona Boswell's Story._ + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAP. + +1. THE CYMRIC CHILD +2. THE MOONLIGHT CROSS OF THE GNOSTICS +3. WINIFRED'S DUKKERIPEN +4. THE LEADER OF THE AYLWINIANS +5. HAROUN-AL-RASCHID THE PAINTER +6. THE SONG OF Y WYDDFA +7. SINFI'S DUKKERIPEN +8. ISIS AS HUMOURIST +9. THE PALACE OF NIN-KI-GAL +10. BEHIND THE VEIL +11. THE IRONY OF HEAVEN +12. THE REVOLVING CAGE OF CIRCUMSTANCE +13. THE MAGIC OF SNOWDON +14. SINFI'S COUP DE THÉÂTRE +15. THE DAUGHTER OF SNOWDON'S STORY +16. D'ARCY'S LETTER +17. THE TWO DUKKERIPENS +18. THE WALK TO LLANBERIS +APPENDICES + + + +AYLWIN + +THE RENASCENCE OF WONDER + + + +I + +THE CYMRIC CHILD + + +I + +'Those who in childhood have had solitary communings with the sea +know the sea's prophecy. They know that there is a deeper sympathy +between the sea and the soul of man than other people dream of. They +know that the water seems nearer akin than the land to the spiritual +world, inasmuch as it is one and indivisible, and has motion, and +answers to the mysterious call of the winds, and is the writing +tablet of the moon and stars. When a child who, born beside the sea, +and beloved by the sea, feels suddenly, as he gazes upon it, a dim +sense of pity and warning; when there comes, or seems to come, a +shadow across the waves, with never a cloud in the sky to cast it; +when there comes a shuddering as of wings that move in dread or ire, +then such a child feels as if the bloodhounds of calamity are let +loose upon him or upon those he loves; he feels that the sea has told +him all it dares tell or can. And, in other moods of fate, when +beneath a cloudy sky the myriad dimples of the sea begin to sparkle +as though the sun were shining bright upon them, such a child feels, +as he gazes at it, that the sea is telling him of some great joy near +at hand, or, at least, not far off.' + +One lovely summer afternoon a little boy was sitting on the edge of +the cliff that skirts the old churchyard of Raxton-on-Sea. He was +sitting on the grass close to the brink of the indentation cut by the +water into the horse-shoe curve called by the fishermen Mousetrap +Cove; sitting there as still as an image of a boy in stone, at the +forbidden spot where the wooden fence proclaimed the crumbling hollow +crust to be specially dangerous--sitting and looking across the sheer +deep gulf below. + +Flinty Point on his right was sometimes in purple shadow and +sometimes shining in the sun; Needle Point on his left was sometimes +in purple shadow and sometimes shining in the sun; and beyond these +headlands spread now the wide purple, and now the wide sparkle of the +open sea. The very gulls, wheeling as close to him as they dared, +seemed to be frightened at the little boy's peril. Straight ahead he +was gazing, however--gazing so intently that his eyes must have been +seeing very much or else very little of that limitless world of light +and coloured shade. On account of certain questions connected with +race that will be raised in this narrative, I must dwell a little +while upon the child's personal appearance, and especially upon his +colour. Natural or acquired, it was one that might be almost called +unique; as much like a young Gypsy's colour as was compatible with +respectable descent, and yet not a Gypsy's colour. A deep undertone +of 'Romany brown' seemed breaking through that peculiar kind of ruddy +golden glow which no sunshine can give till it has itself been +deepened and coloured and enriched by the responsive kisses of the +sea. + +Moreover, there was a certain something in his eyes that was not +Gypsy-like--a something which is not uncommonly seen in the eyes of +boys born along that coast, whether those eyes be black or blue or +grey; a something which cannot be described, but which seems like a +reflex of the daring gaze of that great land-conquering and daring +sea. Very striking was this expression as he momentarily turned his +face landward to watch one of the gulls that had come wheeling up the +cliffs towards the flinty grey tower of the church--the old deserted +church, whose graveyard the sea had already half washed away. As his +eyes followed the bird's movements, however, this daring sea-look +seemed to be growing gradually weaker and weaker. At last it faded +away altogether, and by the time his face was turned again towards +the sea, the look I have tried to describe was supplanted by such a +gaze as that gull would give were it hiding behind a boulder with a +broken wing. A mist of cruel trouble was covering his eyes, and soon +the mist had grown into two bright glittering pearly tears, which, +globing and trembling, larger and larger, were at length big enough +to drown both eyes; big enough to drop, shining, on the grass: big +enough to blot out altogether the most brilliant picture that sea and +sky could make. For that little boy had begun to learn a lesson which +life was going to teach him fully--the lesson that shining sails in +the sunny wind, and black trailing bands of smoke passing here and +there along the horizon, and silvery gulls dipping playfully into the +green and silver waves (nay, all the beauties and all the wonders of +the world), make but a blurred picture to eyes that look through the +lens of tears. However, with a brown hand brisk and angry, he brushed +away these tears, like one who should say, 'This kind of thing will +never do.' + +Indeed, so hardy was the boy's face--tanned by the sun, hardened and +bronzed by the wind, reddened by the brine--that tears seemed +entirely out of place there. The meaning of those tears must be fully +accounted for, and if possible fully justified, for this little boy +is to be the hero of this story. In other words, he is Henry Aylwin; +that is to say, myself: and those who know me now in the full vigour +of manhood, a lusty knight of the alpenstock of some repute, will be +surprised to know what troubled me. They will be surprised to know +that owing to a fall from the cliff I was for about two years a +cripple. + +This is how it came about. Rough and yielding as were the paths, +called 'gangways,' connecting the cliffs with the endless reaches of +sand below, they were not rough enough, or yielding enough, or in any +way dangerous enough for me. + +So I used to fashion 'gangways' of my own; I used to descend the +cliff at whatsoever point it pleased me, clinging to the lumps of +sandy earth with the prehensile power of a spider-monkey. Many a +warning had I had from the good fishermen and sea-folk, that some day +I should fall from top to bottom--fall and break my neck. A laugh was +my sole answer to these warnings; for, with the possession of perfect +health, I had inherited that instinctive belief in good luck which +perfect health will often engender. + +However, my punishment came at last. The coast, which is yielding +gradually to the sea, is famous for sudden and gigantic landslips. +These landslips are sometimes followed, at the return of the tide, by +a further fall, called a 'settlement.' The word 'settlement' explains +itself, perhaps. No matter how smooth the sea, the return of the tide +seems on that coast to have a strange magnetic power upon the land, +and the debris of a landslip will sometimes, though not always, +respond to it by again falling and settling into new and permanent +shapes. + +Now, on the morning after a great landslip, when the coastguard, +returning on his beat, found a cove where, half-an-hour before, he +had left his own cabbages growing, I, in spite of all warnings, had +climbed the heap of _débris_ from the sands, and while I was +hallooing triumphantly to two companions below--the two most +impudent-looking urchins, bare-footed and unkempt, that ever a +gentleman's son forgathered with--a great mass of loose earth +settled, carrying me with it in its fall. I was taken up for dead. + +It was, however, only a matter of broken ribs and a damaged leg. And +there is no doubt that if the local surgeon had not been allowed to +have his own way, I should soon have been cured. As it was I became a +cripple. The great central fact--the very pivot upon which all the +wheels of my life have since been turning--is that for two years +during the impressionable period of childhood I walked with crutches. + +It must not be supposed that my tears--the tears which at this moment +were blotting out the light and glory of the North Sea in the +sun--came from the pain I was suffering. They came from certain +terrible news, which even my brother Frank had been careful to keep +from me, but which had fallen from the lips of my father--the news +that I was not unlikely to be a cripple for life. From that moment I +had become a changed being, solitary and sometimes morose. I would +come and sit staring at the ocean, meditating on tilings in general, +but chiefly on things connected with cripples, asking myself, as now, +whether life would be bearable on crutches. + +At my heart were misery and anger and such revolt as is, I hope, +rarely found in the heart of a child. I had sat down outside the +rails at this most dangerous point along the cliff, wondering whether +or not it would crumble beneath me. For this lameness coming to me, +who had been so active, who had been, indeed, the little athlete and +pugilist of the sands, seemed to have isolated me from my +fellow-creatures to a degree that is inconceivable to me now. A +stubborn will and masterful pride made me refuse to accept a disaster +such as many a nobler soul than mine has, I am conscious, borne with +patience. My nature became soured by asking in vain for sympathy at +home; my loneliness drove me--silent, haughty, and aggressive--to +haunt the churchyard, and sit at the edge of the cliff, gazing +wistfully at the sea and the sands which could not be reached on +crutches. Like a wounded sea-gull, I retired and took my trouble +alone. + +How could I help taking it alone when none would sympathise with me? +My brother Frank called me 'The Black Savage,' and I half began to +suspect myself of secret impulses of a savage kind. Once I heard my +mother murmur, as she stroked Frank's rosy cheeks and golden curls, +'My poor Henry is a strange, proud boy!' Then, looking from my +crutches to Frank's beautiful limbs, she said, 'How providential that +it was not the elder! Providence is kind.' She meant kind to the +House of Aylwin. I often wonder whether she guessed that I heard her. +I often wonder whether she knew how I had loved her. + +This is how matters stood with me on that summer afternoon, when I +sat on the edge of the cliff in a kind of dull, miserable dream. +Suddenly, at the moment when the huge mass of clouds had covered the +entire surface of the water between Flinty Point and Needle Point +with their rich purple shadow, it seemed to me that the waves began +to sparkle and laugh in a joyful radiance which they were making for +themselves. And at that same moment an unwonted sound struck my ear +from the churchyard behind me--a strange sound indeed in that +deserted place--that of a childish voice singing. + +Was, then, the mighty ocean writing symbols for an unhappy child to +read? My father, from whose book, _The Veiled Queen_, the extract +with which this chapter opens is taken, would, unhesitatingly, +have answered 'Yes.' + +'Destiny, no doubt, in the Greek drama concerns itself only with the +great,' says he, in that wonderful book of his. 'But who are the +great? With the unseen powers, mysterious and imperious, who govern +while they seem not to govern all that is seen, who are the great? In +a world where man's loftiest ambitions are to higher intelligences +childish dreams, where his highest knowledge is ignorance, where his +strongest strength is to heaven a derision--who are the great? Are +they not the few men and women and children on the earth who greatly +love?' + + +II + +So sweet a sound as that childish voice I had never heard before. +I held my breath and listened. + +Into my very being that child-voice passed, and it was a new music +and a new joy. I can give the reader no notion of it, because there +is not in nature anything with which I can compare it. The blackcap +has a climacteric note, just before his song collapses and dies, so +full of pathos and tenderness that often, when I had been sitting on +a gate in Wilderness Road, it had affected me more deeply than any +human words. But here was a note sweet and soft as that, and yet +charged with a richness no blackcap's song had ever borne, because no +blackcap has ever felt the joys and sorrows of a young human soul. + +The voice was singing in a language which seemed strange to me then, +but has been familiar enough since: + + Bore o'r cymwl aur, + Eryri oedd dy gaer. + Bren o wyllt a gwar, + Gwawr ysbrydau.[Footnote] + + [Footnote: Morning of the golden cloud, + Eryrl was thy castle, + King of the wild and tame, + Glory of the spirits of air!] + +[Eryri--the Place of Eagles, i.e. Snowdon.] + +Intense curiosity now made me suddenly forget my troubles. I +scrambled back through the trees not tar from that spot and looked +around. There, sitting upon a grassy grave, beneath one of the +windows of the church, was a little girl, somewhat younger than +myself apparently. With her head bent back she was gazing up at the +sky and singing, while one of her little hands was pointing to a tiny +cloud that hovered like a golden feather over her head. The sun, +which had suddenly become very bright, shining on her glossy hair +(for she was bare-headed) gave it a metallic lustre, and it was +difficult to say what was the colour, dark bronze or black. So +completely absorbed was she in watching the cloud to which her +strange song or incantation seemed addressed, that she did not +observe me when I rose and went towards her. Over her head, high up +in the blue, a lark that was soaring towards the same gauzy cloud was +singing, as if in rivalry. As I slowly approached the child, I could +see by her forehead (which in the sunshine gleamed like a globe of +pearl), and especially by her complexion, that she was uncommonly +lovely, and I was afraid lest she should look down before I got close +to her, and so see my crutches before her eyes encountered my face. +She did not, however, seem to hear me coming along the grass (so +intent was she with her singing) until I was close to her, and +throwing my shadow over her. Then she suddenly lowered her head and +looked at me in surprise. I stood transfixed at her astonishing +beauty. No other picture has ever taken such possession of me. In its +every detail it lives before me now. Her eyes (which at one moment +seemed blue grey, at another violet) were shaded by long black +lashes, curving backward in a most peculiar way, and these matched +in hue her eyebrows, and the tresses that were tossed about her +tender throat and were quivering in the sunlight. + +All this picture I did not take in at once; for at first I could see +nothing but those quivering, glittering, changeful eyes turned up +into my face. Gradually the other features (especially the sensitive +full-lipped mouth) grew upon me as I stood silently gazing. Here +seemed to me a more perfect beauty than had ever come to me in my +loveliest dreams of beauty beneath the sea. Yet it was not her beauty +perhaps, so much as the look she gave me, that fascinated me, melted +me. + +As she gazed in my face there came over hers a look of pleased +surprise, and then, as her eyes passed rapidly down my limbs and up +again, her face was not overshadowed with the look of disappointment +which I had waited for--yes, waited for, like a pinioned criminal for +the executioner's uplifted knife; but the smile of pleasure was still +playing about the little mouth, while the tender young eyes were +moistening rapidly with the dews of a kind of pity that was new to +me, a pity that did not blister the pride of the lonely wounded +sea-gull, but soothed, healed, and blessed. + +Remember that I was a younger son--that I was swarthy--that I was a +cripple--and that my mother--had Frank. It was as though my heart +must leap from my breast towards that child. Not a word had she +spoken, but she had said what the little maimed 'fighting Hal' +yearned to hear, and without _knowing_ that he yearned. + +I restrained myself, and did not yield to the feeling that impelled +me to throw my arms round her neck in an ecstasy of wonder and +delight. After a second or two she again threw back her head to gaze +at the golden cloud. + +'Look!' said she, suddenly clapping her hands, 'it's over both of us +now.' + +'What is it?' I said. + +'The Dukkeripen,' she said, 'the Golden Hand. Sinfi and Rhona both +say the Golden Hand brings luck: what _is_ luck?' + +I looked up at the little cloud which to me seemed more like a golden +feather than a golden hand. But I soon bent my eyes down again to +look at her. + +While I stood looking at her, the tall figure of a man came out of +the church. This was Tom Wynne. Besides being the organist of Raxton +'New Church,' Tom was also (for a few extra shillings a week) +custodian of the 'Old Church,' this deserted pile within whose +precincts we now were. Tom's features wore an expression of virtuous +indignation which puzzled me, and evidently frightened the little +girl. He locked the door, and walked unsteadily towards us. He seemed +surprised to see me there, and his features relaxed into a bland +civility. + +'This is (hiccup) Master Aylwin, Winifred,' he said. + +The child looked at me again with the same smile. Her alarm had fled. + +'This is my little daughter Winifred,' said Tom, with a pompous bow. + +I was astonished. I never knew that Wynne had a daughter, for +intimate as he and I had become, he had actually never mentioned his +daughter before. + +'My _only_ daughter,' Tom repeated. + +He then told me, with many hiccups, that, since her mother's death +(that is to say from her very infancy), Winifred had been brought up +by an aunt in Wales. 'Quite a lady, her aunt is,' said Tom proudly, +'and Winifred has come to spend a few weeks with her father.' + +He said this in a grandly paternal tone--a tone that seemed meant to +impress upon her how very much obliged she ought to feel to him for +consenting to be her father; and, judging from the look the child +gave him, she did feel very much obliged. + +Suddenly, however, a thought seemed to come back upon Tom, a thought +which my unexpected appearance on the scene had driven from his +drunken brain. The look of virtuous indignation returned, and staring +at the little girl through glazed eyes, he said with the tremulous +and tearful voice of a deeply injured parent, + +'Winifred, I thought I heard you singing one of them heathen Gypsy +songs that you learnt of the Gypsies in Wales.' + +'No, father,' said she, 'it was the song they sing in Shire-Carnarvon +about the golden cloud over Snowdon and the spirits of the air.' + +'Yes,' said Tom, 'but a little time ago you were singing a Gypsy +song--a downright heathen Gypsy song. I heard it about half an hour +ago when I was in the church.' + +The beautiful little head drooped in shame. + +'I'm s'prised at you, Winifred. When I come to think whose daughter +you are.--mine!--I'm s'prised at you,' continued Torn, whose virtuous +indignation waxed with every word. + +'Oh. I'm so sorry!' said the child. 'I won't do it any more.' + +This contrition of the child's only fanned the flame of Tom's +virtuous indignation. + +'Here am I,' said he, 'the most (hiccup) respectable man in two +parishes,--except Master Aylwin's father, of course,--here am I, the +organ-player for the Christianest of all the Christian churches along +the coast, and here's my daughter sings heathen songs just like a +Gypsy or a tinker. I'm s'prised at you, Winifred.' + +I had often seen Tom in a dignified state of liquor, but the pathetic +expression of injured virtue that again overspread his face so +changed it, that I had some difficulty myself in realising how +entirely the tears filling his eyes and the grief at his heart were +of alcoholic origin. And as to the little girl, she began to sob +piteously. + +'Oh dear, oh dear, what a wicked girl I am !' said she. + +This exclamation, however, aroused my ire against Tom; and as I +always looked upon him as my special paid henchman, who, in return +for such services as supplying me with tiny boxing-gloves, and +fishing-tackle, and bait, during my hale days, and tame rabbits now +that I was a cripple, mostly contrived to possess himself of my +pocket-money, I had no hesitation in exclaiming, + +'Why, Tom, you know you're drunk, you silly old fool!' + +At this Tom turned his mournful and reproachful gaze upon me, and +began to weep anew. Then he turned and addressed the sea, uplifting +his hand in oratorical fashion:-- + +'Here's a young gentleman as I've been more than a father to--yes, +more than a father to--for when did his own father ever give him a +ferret-eyed rabbit, a real ferret-eyed rabbit thoroughbred?' + +'Why, I gave you one of my five-shilling pieces for it,' said I; 'and +the rabbit was in a consumption and died in three weeks.' + +But Tom still addressed the sea. + +'When did his own father give him,' said he, 'the longest thigh-bone +that the sea ever washed out of Raxton churchyard?' + +'Why, I gave you _two_ of my five-shilling pieces for +_that_,' said I, 'and next day you went and borrowed the bone, +and sold it over again to Dr. Munro for a quart of beer.' + + +'When did his own father _give_ him a beautiful skull for a +money-box, and make an oak lid to it, and keep it for him because his +mother wouldn't have it in the house?' + +'Ah, but where's the money that was in it, Tom? Where's the money?' +said I, flourishing one of my crutches, for I was worked up to a +state of high excitement when I recalled my own wrongs and Tom's +frauds, and I forgot his relationship to the little girl. 'Where are +the bright new half-crowns that were _in_ the money-box when I +left it with you--the half-crowns that got changed into pennies, Tom? +Where are they? What's the use of having a skull for a money-box if +it's got no money in it? That's what _I_ want to know, Tom!' + +'Here's a young gentleman,' said Tom, 'as I've done all these things +for, and how does he treat me? He says, "Why, Tom, you know you're +drunk, you silly old fool."' + +At this pathetic appeal the little girl sprang up and turned towards +me with the ferocity of a young tigress. Her little hands were +tightly clenched, and her eyes seemed positively to be emitting blue +sparks. Many a bold boy had I encountered on the sands before my +accident, and many a fearless girl, but such an impetuous antagonist +as this was new. I leaned on my crutches, however, and looked at her +unblenchingly. + +'You wicked English boy, to make my father cry,' said she, as soon as +her anger allowed her to speak. 'If you were not lame I'd--I'd--I'd +hit you.' + +I did not move a muscle, but stood lost in a dream of wonder at her +amazing loveliness. The fiery flush upon her face and neck, the +bewitching childish frown of anger corrugating the brow, the dazzling +glitter of the teeth, the quiver of the full scarlet lips above and +below them, turned me dizzy with admiration. + +Her eyes met mine, and slowly the violet flames in them began to +soften. Then they died away entirely as she murmured, + +'You wicked English boy, if you hadn't--beautiful--beautiful eyes, +I'd kill you.' + +By this time, however, Tom had entirely forgotten his grievance +against me, and gazed upon Winifred in a state of drunken wonderment. + +'Winifred,' he said, in a tone of sorrowful reproach, 'how dare you +speak like that to Master Aylwin, your father's best friend, the only +friend your poor father's got in the world, the friend as I give +ferret-eyed rabbits to, and tame hares, and beautiful skulls? Beg his +pardon this instant, Winifred. Down on your knees and beg my friend's +pardon this instant, Winifred.' + +The poor little girl stood dazed, and was actually sinking down on +her knees on the grass before me. + +I cried out in acute distress, + +'No, no, no, no, Tom, pray don't let her--dear little girl! beautiful +little girl!' + +'Very well, Master Aylwin,' said Tom grandly, 'she sha'n't if you +don't like, but she _shall_ go and kiss you and make it up.' + +At this the child's face brightened, and she came and laid her little +red lips upon mine. Velvet lips, I feel them now, soft and warm--I +feel them while I write these lines. + +Tom looked on for a moment, and then left us, blundering away towards +Raxton, most likely to a beer-house. + +He told the child that she was to go home and mind the house until he +returned. He gave her the church key to take home. We two were left +alone in the churchyard, looking at each other in silence, each +waiting for the other to speak. At last she said, demurely, +'Good-bye; father says I must go home.' + +And she walked away with a business-like air towards the little white +gate of the churchyard, opening upon what was called 'The Wilderness +Road.' When she reached the gate she threw a look over her shoulder +as she passed through. It was that same look again--wistful, frank, +courageous. I immediately began to follow her, although I did not +know why. When she saw this she stopped for me. I got up to her, and +then we proceeded side by side in perfect silence along the dusty +narrow road, perfumed with the scent of wild rose and honeysuckle. +Suddenly she stopped and said, + +'I have left my hat on the tower,' and laughed merrily at her own +heedlessness. + +She ran back with an agility which I thought I had never seen +equalled. It made me sad to see her run so fast, though once how it +would have delighted me! I stood still; but when she reached the +church porch she again looked over her shoulder, and again I +followed her:--I did not in the least know why. That look I think +would have made me follow her through lire and water--it _has_ made +me follow her through fire and water. When I reached her she put the +great black key in the lock. She had some difficulty in turning the +key, but I did not presume to offer such services as mine to so +superior a little woman. After one or two fruitless efforts with both +her hands, each attempt accompanied with a little laugh and a little +merry glance in my face, she turned the key and pushed open the door. +We both passed into the ghastly old church, through the green glass +windows of which the sun was shining, and illuminating the broken +remains of the high-hacked pews on the opposite side. She ran along +towards the belfry, and I soon lost her, for she passed up the stone +steps, where I knew I could not follow her. + +In deep mortification I stood listening at the bottom of the +steps--listening to those little feet crunching up the broken +stones--listening to the rustle of her dress against the narrow stone +walls, until the sounds grew fainter and fainter, and then ceased. + +Presently I heard her voice a long way up, calling out, 'Little boy, +if you go outside you will see something.' I guessed at once that she +was going to exhibit herself on the tower, where, before my accident, +I and my brother Frank were so fond of going. I went outside the +church and stood in the graveyard, looking up at the tower. In a +minute I saw her on it. Her face was turned towards me, gilded by the +golden sunshine. I could, or thought I could, even at that distance, +see the flash of the bright eyes looking at me. Then a little hand +was put over the parapet, and I saw a dark hat swinging by its +strings, as she was waving it to me. Oh! that I could have climbed +those steps and done that! But that exploit of hers touched a strange +chord within me. Had she been a boy, I could have borne it in a +defiant way; or had she been any other girl than this, my heart would +not have sunk as it now did when I thought of the gulf between her +and me. Down I sat upon a grave, and looked at her with a feeling +quite new to me. + +This was a phase of cripplehood I had not contemplated. She soon left +the tower, and made her appearance at the church door again. After +locking it, which she did by thrusting a piece of stick through the +handle of the key, she came and stood over me. But I turned my eyes +away and gazed across the sea, and tried to deceive myself into +believing that the waves, and the gulls, and the sails dreaming on +the sky-line, and the curling clouds of smoke that came now and then +from a steamer passing Dullingham Point were interesting me deeply. +There was a remoteness about the little girl now, since I had seen +her unusual agility, and I was trying to harden my heart against her. +Loneliness I felt was best for me. She did not speak, but stood +looking at me. I turned my eyes round and saw that she was looking at +my crutches, which were lying beside me aslant the green hillock +where I sat. Her face had turned grave and pitiful. + +'Oh! I forgot,' she said. 'I wish I had not run away from you now.' + +'You may run where you like for what I care,' I said. But the words +were very shaky, and I had no sooner said them than I wished them +back. She made no reply for some time, and I sat plucking the +wild-flowers near my hands, and gazing again across the sea. At last +she said, + +'Would you like to come in our garden? It's such a nice garden.' + +I could resist her no longer. That voice would have drawn me had she +spoken in the language of the Toltecs or the lost Zamzummin. To +describe it would of course be impossible. The novelty of her accent, +the way in which she gave the 'h' in 'which,' 'what,' and 'when,' the +Welsh rhythm of her intonation, were as bewitching to me as the +_timbre_ of her voice. And let me say here, once for all, that when I +sat down to write this narrative, I determined to give the English +reader some idea of the way in which, whenever her emotions were +deeply touched, her talk would run into soft Welsh diminutives; but I +soon abandoned the attempt in despair. I found that to use colloquial +Welsh with effect in an English context is impossible without +wearying English readers and disappointing Welsh ones. + +Here, indeed, is one of the great disadvantages under which this book +will go out to the world. While a story-teller may reproduce, by +means of orthographical devices, something of the effect of Scottish +accent, Irish accent, or Manx accent, such devices are powerless to +represent Welsh accent. + +I got up in silence, and walked by her side out of the churchyard +towards her father's cottage, which was situated between the new +church and the old, and at a considerable distance from the town of +Raxton on one side, and the village of Graylingham on the other. Her +eager young limbs would every moment take her ahead of me, for she +was as vigorous as a fawn. But by the time she was half a yard in +advance, she would recollect herself and fall back; and every time +she did so that same look of tenderness would overspread her face. + +At last she said, 'What makes you stare at me so, little boy?' + +I blushed and turned my head another way, for I had been feasting my +eyes upon her complexion, and trying to satisfy myself as to what it +really was like. Indeed, I thought it quite peculiar then, when I had +seen so few lovely faces, as I always did afterwards, when I had seen +as many as most people. It was, I thought, as though underneath the +sunburn the delicate pink tint of the hedge-rose had become mingled +with the bloom of a ripening peach, and yet it was like neither peach +nor rose. But this tone, whatever it was, did not spread higher than +the eyebrows. The forehead was different. It had a singular kind of +pearly look, and her long slender throat was almost of the same tone: +no, not the same, for there was a transparency about her throat +unlike that of the forehead. This colour I was just now thinking +looked something like the inside of a certain mysterious shell upon +my father's library shelf. + +As she asked me her question she stopped, and looked straight at me, +opening her eyes wide and round upon me. This threw a look of +innocent trustfulness over her bright features which I soon learnt +was the chief characteristic of her expression and was altogether +peculiar to herself. I knew it was very rude to stare at people as I +had been staring at her, and I took her question as a rebuke, +although I still was unable to keep my eyes off her. But it was not +merely her beauty and her tenderness that had absorbed my attention. +I had been noticing how intensely she seemed to enjoy the delights of +that summer afternoon. As we passed along that road, where sea-scents +and land-scents were mingled, she would stop whenever the sunshine +fell full upon her face; her eyes would sparkle and widen with +pleasure, and a half-smile would play about her lips, as if some one +had kissed her. Every now and then she would stop to listen to the +birds, putting up her finger, and with a look of childish wisdom say, +'Do you know what that is? That's a blackbird--that's a +thrush--that's a goldfinch. Which eggs do you like best--a +goldfinch's or a bullfinch's? _I_ know which _I_ like best.' + + + +III + +While we were walking along the road a sound fell upon my ears which +in my hale days never produced any very unpleasant sensations, but +which did now. I mean the cackling of the field people of both sexes +returning from their day's work. These people knew me well, and they +liked me, and I am sure they had no idea that when they ran past me +on the road their looks and nods gave me no pleasure, but pain; and I +always tried to avoid them. As they passed us they somewhat modified +the noise they were making, but only to cackle, chatter, and bawl and +laugh at each other the louder after we were left behind. + +'Don't you wish,' said the little girl meditatively, 'that men and +women had voices more like the birds?' The idea had never occurred to +me before, but I understood in a moment what she meant, and +sympathised with her. Nature of course has been unkind to the lords +and ladies of creation in this one matter of voice. + +'Yes, I do.' I said. + +'I'm so glad you do,' said she. 'I've so often thought what a pity it +is that God did not let men and women talk and sing as the birds do. +I believe He did let 'em talk like that in the Garden of Eden, don't +you?' + +'I think it very likely,' I said. + +'Men's voices are so rough mostly and women's voices are so sharp +mostly, that it's sometimes a little hard to love 'em as you love the +birds.' + +'It is,' I said. + +'Don't you think the poor birds must sometimes feel very much +distressed at hearing the voices of men and women, especially when +they all talk together?' + +The idea seemed so original and yet so true that it made me laugh; we +both laughed. At that moment there came a still louder, noisier +clamour of voices from the villagers. + +'The rooks mayn't mind.' said the little girl, pointing upwards to +the large rookery close by. whence came a noise marvellously like +that made by the field-workers. 'But I'm afraid the blackbirds and +thrushes can't like it. I do so wonder what they say about it.' + +After we had left the rookery behind us and the noise of the +villagers had grown fainter, we stood and listened to the blackbirds +and thrushes. She looked so joyous that I could not help saying, +'Little girl, I think you're very happy, ain't you?' + +'Not quite,' she said, as though answering a question she had just +been putting to herself. 'There's not enough wind.' + +'Then do _you_ like wind?' I said in surprise and delight. + +'Oh, I love it!' she said rapturously. 'I can't be quite happy +without wind, can _you_? I like to run up the hills in the wind and +sing to it. That's when I am happiest. I couldn't live long without +the wind.' + +Now it had been a deep-rooted conviction of mine that none but the +gulls and I really and truly liked the wind. 'Fishermen are muffs,' I +used to say; 'they talk about the wind as though it were an enemy, +just because it drowns one or two of 'em now and then. Anybody can +like sunshine; muffs can like sunshine; it takes a gull or a man to +like the wind!' + +Such had been my egotism. But here was a girl who liked it! We +reached the gate of the garden in front of Tom's cottage, and then +we both stopped, looking over the neatly-kept flower-garden and the +white thatched cottage behind it, up the walls of which the +grape-vine leaves were absorbing the brilliance of the sunlight and +softening it. Wynne was a gardener as well as an organist, and had +gardens both in the front and at the back of his cottage, which was +surrounded by fruit-trees. Drunkard as he was, his two passions, +music and gardening, saved him from absolute degradation and ruin. +His garden was beautifully kept, and I have seen him deftly pruning +his vines when in such a state of drink that it was wonderful how he +managed to hold a priming-knife. Winifred opened the gate, and we +passed in. Wynne's little terrier, Snap, came barking to meet us. + +There was an air of delicious peacefulness about the garden. This +also tended to soften that hardness of temper which only cripples who +have once rejoiced in their strength can possibly know, I hope. + +'I like to see you look so,' said the little girl, as I melted +entirely under these sweet influences. 'You looked so cross before +that I was nearly afraid of you.' + +And she took hold of my hand, not hesitatingly, but frankly. The +little fingers clasped mine. I looked at them. They were much more +sun-tanned than her face. The little rosy nails were shaped like +filbert nuts. + +'Why were you not _quite_ afraid of me?' I asked. + +'Because,' said she, 'under the crossness I saw that you had great +love-eyes like Snap's all the while. _I_ saw it!' she said, and +laughed with delight at her great wisdom. Then she said with a sudden +gravity, 'You didn't mean to make my father cry, did you, little +boy?' + +'No,' I said. + +'And you love him?' said she. + +I hesitated, for I had never told a lie in my life. My business +relations with Tom had been of an entirely unsatisfactory character, +and the idea of any one's loving the beery scamp presented itself in +a ludicrous light. I got out of the difficulty by saying, + +'I mean to love Tom very much, if I can.' + +The answer did not appear to be entirely satisfactory to the little +girl, but it soon seemed to pass from her mind. + +That was the most delightful afternoon I had ever spent in my life. +We seemed to become old friends in a few minutes, and in an hour or +two she was the closest friend I had on earth. Not all the little +shoeless friends in Raxton, not all the beautiful sea-gulls I loved, +not all the sunshine and wind upon the sands, not all the wild bees +in Graylingham Wilderness, could give the companionship this child +could give. My flesh tingled with delight. (And yet all the while I +was not Hal the conqueror of ragamuffins, but Hal the cripple!) + +'Shall we go and get some strawberries?' she said, as we passed to +the back of the house. 'They are quite ripe.' + +But my countenance fell at this. I was obliged to tell her that I +could not stoop. + +'Ah! but I can, and I will pluck them and give them to you. I should +like to do it. Do let me, there's a good boy.' + +I consented, and hobbled by her side to the verge of the +strawberry-beds. But when I foolishly tried to follow her, I stuck +ignominiously, with my crutches sunk deep in the soft mould of rotten +leaves. Here was a trial for the conquering hero of the coast. I +looked into her face to see if there was not, at last, a laugh upon +it. That cruel human laugh was my only dread. To everything but +ridicule I had hardened myself; but against that I felt helpless. + +I looked into her face to see if she was laughing at my lameness. No: +her brows were merely knit with anxiety as to how she might best +relieve me. This surpassingly beautiful child, then, had evidently +accepted me--lameness and all--crutches and all--as a subject of +peculiar interest. + +How I loved her as I put my hand upon her firm little shoulders, +while I extricated first one crutch and then another, and at last got +upon the hard path again! + +When she had landed me safely, she returned to the strawberry-bed, +and began busily gathering the fruit, which she brought to me in her +sunburnt hands, stained to a bright pink by the ripe fruit. Such a +charm did she throw over me, that at last I actually consented to her +putting the fruit into my mouth. + +She then told me with much gravity that she knew how to 'cure +crutches.' There was, she said, a famous 'crutches-well' in Wales, +kept by St. Winifred (most likely an aunt of hers, being of the same +name), whose water could 'cure crutches.' When she came from Wales +again she would be sure to bring a bottle of 'crutches-water.' She +told me also much about Snowdon (near which she lived), and how, on +misty days, she used to 'make believe that she was the Lady of the +Mist, and that she was going to visit the Tywysog o'r Niwl, the +Prince of the Mist; it was _so_ nice!' + +I do not know how long we kept at this, but the organist returned and +caught her in the very act of feeding me. To be caught in this +ridiculous position, even by a drunken man, was more than I could +bear, however, and I turned and left. + +As I recall that walk home along Wilderness Road. I live it as +thoroughly as I did then. I can see the rim of the sinking sun +burning fiery red low down between the trees on the left, and then +suddenly dropping out of sight. I can see on the right the lustre of +the high-tide sea. I can hear the 'che-eu-chew, che-eu-chew.' of the +wood-pigeons in Graylingham Wood. I can smell the very scent of the +bean flowers drinking in the evening dews. I did not feel that I was +going home as the sharp gables of the Hall gleamed through the +chestnut-trees. My home for evermore was the breast of that lovely +child, between whom and myself such a strange delicious sympathy had +sprung up. I felt there was no other home for me. + +'Why, child, where _have_ you been?' said my mother, as she saw me +trying to slip to bed unobserved, in order that happiness such as +mine might not he brought into coarse contact with servants. 'Child, +where _have_ you been, and what has possessed you? Your face is +positively shining with joy, and your eyes, they alarm me, they are +so unnaturally bright. I hope you are not going to have an illness.' + +I did not tell her, but went to my room, which now was on the ground +floor, and sat watching the rooks sailing home in the sunset till the +last one had gone, and the voices of the blackbirds grew less +clamorous, and the trees began to look larger and larger in the dusk. + + + +IV + +The next day I was again at Wynne's cottage, and the next, and the +next. We two, Winifred and I, used to stroll out together through the +narrow green lanes, and over the happy fields, and about the +Wilderness and the wood, and along the cliffs, and then down the +gangway at Flinty Point (the only gangway that was firm enough to +support my crutches, Winifred aiding me with the skill of a woman and +the agility of a child), and then along the flints below Flinty +Point. She rapidly fell into my habits. She was an adept in finding +birds' nests and wild honey; and though she would not consent to my +taking the eggs, she had not the same compunction about the honey, +and she only regretted with me that we could not be exactly like St. +John, as Graylingham Wilderness yielded no locusts to eat with the +honey. Winifred, though the most healthy of children, had a passion +for the deserted church on the cliffs, and for the desolate +churchyard. + +It was one of those flint and freestone churches that are sprinkled +along the coast. Situated as it was at the back of a curve cut by the +water into the end of a peninsula running far into the sea, the tower +looked in the distance like a lighthouse. I observed after the first +day of our meeting that Winifred never would mount the tower steps +again. And I knew why. So delicate were her feelings, so acute did +her kind little heart make her, that she would not mount steps which +I could never mount. + +Not that Winifred looked upon me as her little lover. There was not +much of the sentimental in her. Once when I asked her on the sands if +I might be her lover, she took an entirely practical view of the +question, and promptly replied 'certumly,' adding, however, like the +wise little woman I always found her, that she 'wasn't _quite_ sure +she knew what a lover was, but if it was anything _very_ nice she +should certumly like _me_ to be it.' + +It was the child's originality of manner that people found so +captivating. One of her many little tricks and ways of an original +quaintness was her habit of speaking of herself in the third person, +like the merest baby. 'Winifred likes this,' 'Winifred doesn't like +that,' were phrases that had an irresistible fascination for me. + +Another fascinating characteristic of hers was connected with her +superstitions. Whenever on parting with her I exclaimed, as I often +did. 'Oh, what a lovely day we have had, Winifred!' she would look +expectantly in my eyes, murmuring, 'And--and--' This meant that I +was to say. 'And shall have many more such days,' as though there +were a prophetic power in words. + +She talked with entire seriousness of having seen in a place called +Fairy Glen in Wales the Tylwyth Teg. And when I told her of Oberon +and Titania, and _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, whose acquaintance I +had made through Lamb's _Tales from Shakespeare_, she said that one +bright moonlight night she, in the company of two of her Gypsy +playmates, Rhona Boswell and a girl called Sinfi, had visited this +same Fairy Glen, when they saw the Fairy Queen alone on a ledge of +rock, dressed in a green kirtle with a wreath of golden leaves about +her head. + +Another subject upon which I loved to hear her talk was that of the +'Knockers' of Snowdon, the guardians of undiscovered copper mines, +who sometimes by knocking on the rocks gave notice to individuals +they favoured of undiscovered copper, but these favoured ones were +mostly children who chanced to wander up Snowdon by themselves. She +had, she said, not only heard but seen these Knockers. They were +thick-set dwarfs, as broad as they were long. One Knocker, an elderly +female, had often played with her on the hills. Knockers' Llyn, +indeed, was very much on Winifred's mind. When a golden cloud, like +the one on which she was singing her song at the time I first saw +her, shone over a person's head at Knockers' Llyn, it was a sign of +good fortune. She was sure that it was so, because the Welsh people +believed it, and so did the Gypsies. + +Not a field or a hedgerow was unfamiliar to us. We were most learned +in the structure of birds' nests, in the various colours of birds' +eggs, and in insect architecture. In all the habits or the wild +animals of the meadows we were most profound little naturalists. + +Winifred could in the morning, after the dews were gone, tell by the +look of a buttercup or a daisy what kind of weather was at hand, when +the most cunning peasant was deceived by the hieroglyphics of the +sky, and the most knowing seaman could 'make nothing of the wind.' + +Her life, in fact, had been spent in the open air. + +There were people staying at the Hall, and they and Frank engrossed +all my mother's attention. At least, she did not appear to notice my +absence from home. + +My brother Frank, however, was not so unobservant (he was two years +older than myself). Early one morning, before breakfast, curiosity +led him to follow me, and he came upon us in Graylingham Wood as we +were sitting under a tree close to the cliff, eating the wild honey +we had found in the Wilderness. + +He stood there swinging a ground-ash cane, and looking at her in a +lordly, patronising way, the very personification no doubt of boyish +beauty. I became troubled to see him look so handsome. The contrast +between him and a cripple was not fair, I thought, as I observed an +expression of passing admiration on little Winifred's face. Yet I +thought there was not the pleased smile with which she had first +greeted me, and a weight of anxiety was partially removed, for it had +now become quite evident to me that I was as much in love as any +swain of eighteen--it had become quite evident that without Winifred +the poor little shattered sea-gull must perish altogether. She was +literally my world. + +Frank came and sat down with us, and made himself as agreeable as +possible. He tried to enter into our play, but we were too slow for +him; he soon became restless and impatient. 'Oh bother!' he said, and +got up and left us. + +I drew a sigh of relief when he was gone. + +'Do you like my brother, Winifred?' I said. + +'Yes.' she said. + +'Why?' + +'Because he is so pretty and so nimble. I believe he could run +up--' and then she stopped; but I knew what the complete sentence +would have been. She was going to say: 'I believe he could run up the +gangways without stopping to take breath.' + +Here was a stab; but she did not notice the effect of her unfinished +sentence. Then a question came from me involuntarily. + +'Winifred,' I said, 'do you like him as well as you like me?' + +'Oh no,' she said, in a tone of wonderment that such a question +should be asked. + +'But _I_ am not pretty and--' + +'Oh, but you _are_!' she said eagerly, interrupting me. + +'But,' I said, with a choking sensation in my voice, 'I am lame.' and +I looked at the crutches lying among the ferns beside me. + +'Ah, but I like you all the better for being lame,' she said, +nestling up to me. + +'But you like nimble boys,' I said, 'such as Frank.' + +She looked puzzled. The anomaly of liking nimble boys and crippled +boys at the same time seemed to strike her. Yet she felt it _was_ so, +though it was difficult to explain it. + +'Yes, I _do_ like nimble boys,' she said at last, plucking with her +fingers at a blade of grass she held between her teeth. 'But I think +I like lame boys better, that is if they are--if they are--_you_.' + +I gave an exclamation of delight. But she was two years younger than +I, and scarcely, I suppose, understood it. + +'He is very pretty,' she said meditatively, 'but he has not got +love-eyes like you and Snap, and I don't think I could love any +little boy so very, _very_ much now who wasn't lame.' + +She loved me in spite of my lameness; she loved me because I was +lame, so that if I had not fallen from the cliffs, if I had sustained +my glorious position among the boys of Raxton and Graylingham as +'Fighting Hal.' I might never have won little Winifred's love. Here +was a revelation of the mingled yarn of life, that I remember struck +me even at that childish age. + +I began to think I might, in spite of the undoubted crutches, resume +my old place as the luckiest boy along the sands. She loved me +because I was lame! Those who say that physical infirmity does not +feminise the character have not had my experience. No more talk for +me that morning. In such a mood as that there can be no talk. I sat +in a silent dream, save when a sweet sob of delight would come up +like a bubble from the heaving waters of my soul. I had passed into +that rare and high mood when life's afflictions are turned by love to +life's deepest, holiest joys. I had begun early to learn and know the +gamut of the affections. + +'When, you leave me here and go home to Wales you will never forget +me. Winnie?' + +'Never, never!' she said, as she helped me from the ferns which were +still as wet with dew as though it had been raining. 'I will think of +you every night before I go to sleep, and always end my prayers as I +did that first night after I saw you so lonely in the churchyard.' + +'And how is that, Winnie?' I said, as she adjusted my crutches for +me. + +'After I've said "Amen," I always say, "And, dear Lord Jesus, don't +forget to love dear Henry, who can't get up the gangways without me," +and I will say that every night as long as I live.' + +From that morning I considered her altogether mine. Her speaking of +me as the 'dear little English boy,' however, as she did, marred the +delight her words gave me. I had from the first observed that the +child's strongest passion was a patriotism of a somewhat fiery kind. +The word English in her mouth seemed some-times a word of reproach: +it was the name of the race that in the past had invaded her sacred +Snowdonia. + +I afterwards learnt that her aunt was answerable for this senseless +prejudice. + +'Winnie,' I said, 'don't you wish I was a Welsh boy?' + +'Oh yes,' she said.'Don't you?' I made no answer. + +She looked into my face and said, 'And yet I don't think I could love +a Welsh boy as I love you.' + +She then repeated to me a verse of a Welsh song, which of course I +did not understand a word of until she told me what it meant in +English. + +It was an address to Snowdon, and ran something like this-- + + Mountain-wild Snowdon for me! + Sweet silence there for the harp, + Where loiter the ewes and the lambs + In the moss and the rushes, + Where one's song goes sounding up! + And the rocks re-echo it higher and higher + In the height where the eagles live. + +In this manner about six weeks slid away, and Winnie's visit to her +father came to an end. I ask, how can people laugh at the sorrows of +childhood? The bitterness of my misery as I sat with that child on +the eve of her departure for Wales (which to me seemed at the extreme +end of the earth) was almost on a par with anything I have since +suffered, and that is indeed saying a great deal. It was in Wynne's +cottage, and I sat on the floor with her wet cheeks close to mine, +saying, 'She leaves me alone.' Tom tried to console me by telling me +that Winifred would soon come back. + +'But when?' I said. + +'Next year,' said Tom. + +He might as well have said next century, for any consolation it gave +me. The idea of a year without her was altogether beyond my grasp. It +seemed infinite. + +Week after week passed, and month after month, and little Winifred +was always in my thoughts. Wynne's cottage was a sacred spot to me, +and the organist the most interesting man in the world. I never tired +of asking him questions about her, though he, as I soon found, knew +scarcely anything concerning her and what she was doing, and cared +less; for love of drink had got thoroughly hold of him. + +Letters were scarce visitants to him, and I believe he never used to +hear from Wales at all. + + +V + +At the end of the year she came again, and I had about a year of +happiness. I was with her every day, and every day she grew more +necessary to my existence. + +It was at this time that I made the acquaintance of Winnie's friend +Rhona Boswell, a charming little Gypsy girl. Graylingham Wood and +Rington Wood, like the entire neighbourhood, were favourite haunts of +a superior kind of Gypsies called Griengroes, that is to say, +horse-dealers. Their business was to buy ponies in Wales and sell +them in the Eastern Counties and the East Midlands. Thus it was that +Winnie had known many of the East Midland Gypsies in Wales. Compared +with Rhona Boswell, who was more like a fairy than a child, Winnie +seemed quite a grave little person. Rhona's limbs were always on the +move, and the movement sprang always from her emotions. Her laugh +seemed to ring through the woods like silver bells, a sound that it +was impossible to mistake for any other. The laughter of most Gypsy +girls is full of music and of charm, and yet Rhona's laughter was a +sound by itself, and it was no doubt this which afterwards when she +grew up attracted my kinsman, Percy Aylwin, towards her. It seemed to +emanate not from her throat merely, but from her entire frame. If one +could imagine a strain of merriment and fun blending with the +ecstatic notes of a skylark soaring and singing, one might form some +idea of the laugh of Rhona Boswell. Ah, what days they were! Rhona +would come from Gypsy Dell, a romantic place in Rington Manor some +miles off, especially to show us some newly devised coronet of +flowers that she had been weaving for herself. This induced Winnie to +weave for herself a coronet of sea-weeds, and an entire morning was +passed in grave discussion as to which coronet excelled the other. + +A year had made a great difference in Winnie, a much greater +difference than it had made in me. Her aunt, who was no doubt a +well-informed woman, had been attending to her education. In a single +year she had taught her French so thoroughly that Winnie was in the +midst of Dumas' _Monte Cristo_. And apart from education in the +ordinary acceptation of the word, the expansion of her mind had been +rapid and great. + +Her English vocabulary was now far above mine, far above that of most +children of her age. This I discovered was owing to the fact that a +literary English lady of delicate health, Miss Dalrymple, whose +slender means obliged her to leave the Capel Curig Hotel, had been +staying at the cottage as a lodger. She had taken I the greatest +delight in educating Winnie. Of course Winnie lost as well as gained +by this change. She was a little Welsh rustic no longer, but a little +lady unusually well equipped, as far as education went, for taking +her place in the world. + +She understood fully now what I meant when I told her that we were +betrothed, and again showed that mingling of child-wisdom and poetry +which characterised her by suggesting that we should be married on +Snowdon, and that her wedding-dress should be the green kirtle and +wreath of the fairies, and that her bridesmaids should be her Gypsy +friends, Sinfi Lovell and Rhona Boswell. This I acceded to with +alacrity. + +It was now that I fully realised for the first time her extraordinary +gift of observation and her power of describing what she had observed +in the graphic language that can never be taught save by the teacher +Nature herself. In a dozen picturesque words she would flash upon my +very senses the scene that she was describing. So vividly did she +bring before my eyes the scenery of North Wales, that when at last I +went there it seemed quite familiar to me. And so in describing +individuals, her pictures of them were like photographs. + +Graylingham Wood was our favourite haunt. This place and the +adjoining piece of waste land, called the Wilderness, had for us all +the charms of a primeval forest. Here in the early spring we used to +come and watch the first violet uplifting its head from the dark green +leaves behind the mossy boles, and listen for the first note of the +blackcap, the nightingale's herald, and the first coo of the +wood-pigeons among the bare and newly-budding trees. And here, in the +summer, we used to come as soon as breakfast was over with as many +story-books as we could carry, and sit on the grass and revel in the +wonders of the _Arabian Nights_. the _Tales of the Genii_, and the +_Seven Champions of Christendom_, till all the leafy alleys of the +wood were glittering with armed knights and Sinbads and Aladdins. The +story of Camaralzaman and Badoura was, I think, Winnie's chief +favourite. She could repeat it almost word for word. The idea of the +two lovers being carried to each other by genii through the air and +over the mountain tops had an especial fascination for her. I was +Camaralzaman and she Badoura, and the genii would carry me to her as +she sat by Knockers' Llyn, or, as she called it, Llyn Coblynau, on +the lower slopes of Snowdon. + +But above all, there was the sea on the other side of the wood, of +the presence of which we were always conscious--the sea, of which we +could often catch glimpses between the trees, lending a sense of +freedom and wonder and romance such as no landscape can lend. Our +great difficulty of course was in connection with my lameness. Few +children would have tried to convey a pair of crutches and a lame leg +down the cliff to the long level brown sands that lay, farther than +the eye could reach, stretched beneath miles on miles of brown +crumbling cliffs, whose jagged points and indentations had the kind +of spectral look peculiar to that coast. For, alas! the holy water +Winifred brought did not 'cure the crutches.' Yet we used to master +the difficulty, always selecting the firmer gangway at Flinty Point, +and always waiting, before making the attempt, until there was no one +near to see us toiling down. Once down on the hard sands just below +the Point, we were happy, paddling and enjoying ourselves till the +sunset told us that we must begin our herculean labour of hoisting +the leg and crutches up the gangway back to the wood. I have +performed many athletic feats since my cure, but nothing comparable +to the feat of climbing with crutches up those paths of yielding +sand. Once we found on the sand a newly shot gull. She took it in her +lap and mourned over it. I guessed who was the poor bird's +murderer--her father! + +We knew Nature in all her moods. In every aspect we found the sea, +the wood, and the meadows happy and beautiful--in winter as in +summer, in storm as in sunshine. In the foggy days of November, in +the sharp winds of March, in the snows and sleet and rain of +February, we used to hear other people complain of the bad weather; +we used to hear them fret for change. But we despised them for their +ignorance where we were so learned. There was no bad weather for us. +In March, what so delicious as breasting together the brave wind, and +feeling it tingle our cheeks and beat our ears till we laughed at +each other with joy? In rain, what so delicious as to stand under a +tree or behind a hedge and listen to the drops pattering overhead +among the leaves, and see the fields steaming up to meet them? Then +again the soft falling of snow upon the lonely fields, while the very +sheep looked brown against the whiteness gathering round them. All +beautiful to us two, and beloved! + + + +VI + +'But where was this little boy's mother all this time?' you naturally +ask; 'where was his father? In a word, who was he? and what were his +surroundings?' + +I will answer these queries in as brief a fashion as possible. + +My father, Philip Aylwin, belonged to a branch of an ancient family +which had been satirically named by another branch of the same family +'The Proud Aylwins.' + +It is a singular thing that it was the proud Aylwins who had a +considerable strain of Gypsy blood in their veins. My great-grandfather +had married Fenella Stanley, the famous Gypsy beauty, about whom so +much was written in the newspapers and magazines of that period. She +had previously when a girl of sixteen married a Lovell who died and +left a child. Fenella's portrait in the character of the Sibyl of +Snowdon was painted by the great portrait painter of that time. + +This picture still hangs in the portrait gallery of Raxton Hall. + +As a child it had an immense attraction for me, and no wonder, for it +was original to actual eccentricity. It depicted a dark young woman +of dazzling beauty standing at break of day among mountain scenery, +holding a musical instrument of the guitar kind, but shaped like a +violin, upon the lower strings of which she was playing with the +thumb of the left hand. + +Through the misty air were seen all kinds of shadowy shapes, whose +eyes were fixed on the player. I used to stand and look at this +picture by the hour together, fascinated by the strange beauty of the +singer's face and the mysterious, prophetic expression in the eyes. + +And I used to try to imagine what tune it was that could call from +the mountain air the 'flower sprites' and 'sunshine elves' of morning +on the mountain. + +Fenella Stanley seems in her later life to have set up as a positive +seeress, and I infer from certain family papers and diaries in my +possession that she was the very embodiment of the wildest Romany +beliefs and superstitions. + +I first became conscious of the mysterious links which, bound me to +my Gypsy ancestress by reading one of her letters to my +great-grandfather, who had taught her to write: nothing apparently +could have taught her to spell. It was written during a short stay +she was making away from him in North Wales. It described in the +simplest (and often the most uncouth) words that Nature-ecstasy which +the Romanies seem to feel in the woodlands. It came upon me like a +revelation, for it was the first time I had ever seen embodied in +words the sensations which used to come to me in Graylingham Wood or +on the river that ran through it. After long basking among the +cowslips, or beneath the whispering branches of an elm, whose shade I +was robbing from the staring cows around, or lying on my hack in a +boat on the river, listening to the birds and the insect hum and all +the magic music of summer in the woodlands, I used all at once to +feel as though the hand of a great enchantress were being waved +before me and around me. The wheels of thought would stop; all the +senses would melt into one, and I would float on a tide of +unspeakable joy, a tide whose waves were waves neither of colour, nor +perfume, nor melody, but new waters born of the mixing of these; and +through a language deeper than words and deeper than thoughts, I +would seem carried at last close to an actual consciousness--a +consciousness which, to my childish dreams, seemed drawing me close +to the bosom of a mother whose face would brighten into that of +Feuella. + +My father lived upon moderate means in the little seaside town of +Raxton. My mother was his second wife, a distant cousin of the same +name. She was not one of the 'Proud Aylwins,' and yet she must have +had more pride in her heart than all the 'Proud Aylwins' put +together. Her feeling in relation to the strain of Gypsy blood in the +family into which she had married was that of positive terror. She +associated the word 'Gypsy' with everything that is wild, passionate, +and lawless. + +One great cause undoubtedly of her partiality for Frank and her +dislike of me was that Frank's blue-eyed Saxon face showed no sign +whatever of the Romany strain, while my swarthy face did. + +As I write this, she lives before me with more vividness than my +father, for the reason that her character during my childhood, before +I came to know my father thoroughly--before I came to know what a +marvellous man he was--seemed to be a thousand times more vivid than +his. With her bright grey eyes, her patrician features, I shall see +her while memory lasts. The only differences that ever arose between +my father and my other were connected with the fact that my father +had a former wife. Now and then (not often) my mother would lose her +stoical self-command, and there would come from her an explosion of +jealous anger, stormy and terrible. This was on occasions when she +perceived bat my father's memory retained too vividly the impression +left on it of his love for the wife who was dead--dead, but a rival +still. My father lived in mortal fear of this jealousy. Yet my mother +was a devoted and a fond wife. I remember in especial the flash that +would come from her eyes, the fiery flush that would overspread her +face, whenever she saw my father open certain antique silver casket +which he kept in his escritoire when at home, and carried about with +him when travelling. The casket (I soon learned) contained momentos +of his first wife, between whom and himself there seems to have been +a deep natural sympathy such did not exist between my mother and him. +This first wife he had lost under peculiarly painful circum-stances, +which it is necessary that I should briefly narrate. She had been +drowned before his very eyes that cove beneath the church which I +have already described. + +This semicircular indentation at the end of the peninsula or headland +on which the church stood was specially dangerous in two ways. It was +a fatal spot where sea and land were equally treacherous. On the +sands the tide, and on the cliffs the landslip, imperilled the lives +of the unwary. Half, at least, of the churchyard had been condemned +as 'dangerous,' and this very same spot was the only one on the coast +where the pedestrian along the sands ran any serious risk of being +entrapped by the tide; for the peninsula on which the church stood +jutted out for a considerable distance into the sea, and then was +scooped out in the form of a boot-jack, and so caught the full force +of the waves. One corner, as already mentioned, was called Flinty +Point, the other Needle Point, and between these two points there was +no gangway within the semicircle up the wall of cliff. Indeed, within +the cove the cliff was perpendicular, or rather overhanging, as far +as such crumbling earth would admit of its overhanging. To reach a +gangway, a person inside the cove would have to leave the cliff wall +for the open sands, and pass round either Needle Point or Flinty +Point. Hence the cove was sometimes called Mousetrap Cove, because +when the tide reached so high as to touch these two points, a person +on the sands within the cove was caught as in a mousetrap, and the +only means of extrication was by boat from the sea. It was the +irresistible action of the sea upon the peninsula (called Church +Headland) that had doomed church and churchyard to certain +destruction. + +Dangerous as was this cove, there was something peculiarly +fascinating about it. The black, smooth, undulating boulders that +dotted the sand here and there formed the most delightful seats upon +which to meditate or read. It was a favourite spot with my father's +first wife, who had been a Swiss governess. She was a great reader +and student, but it was not till after her death that my father +became one. The poor lady was fond of bringing her books to the cove, +and pursuing her studies or meditations with the sound of the sea's +chime in her ears. My father, at that time I believe a simple, happy +country squire, but showing strong signs of his Romany ancestry, had +often warned her of the risk she ran, and one day he had the agony of +seeing her from the cliff locked in the cove, and drowning before his +eyes ere a boat could be got, while he and the coastguard stood +powerless to reach her. + +The effect of this shock demented my father for a time. How it was +that he came to marry again I could never understand. During my +childhood he had, as far as I could see, no real sympathy with +anything save his own dreams. In after years I came to know the +truth. He was kind enough in disposition, but he looked upon us, his +children, as his second wife's property, his dreams as his own. Once +every year he used to go to Switzerland and stay there for several +weeks; and, as the object of these journeys was evidently to revisit +the old spots made sacred to him by reminiscences of his romantic +love for his first wife, it may he readily imagined that they were +not looked upon with any favour by my mother. She never accompanied +him on these occasions, nor would she let Frank do so--another proof +of the early partiality she showed for my brother. As I was of less +importance, my father (previous to my accident) used to take me, to +my intense delight and enjoyment; but during the period of my +lameness he went to Switzerland alone. + +It was during one of my childish visits to Switzerland that I learnt +an important fact in connection with my father and his first +wife--the fact that since her death he had become a mystic and had +joined a certain sect of mystics founded by Lavater. + +This is how I came to know it. My attention had been arrested by a +book lying on my father's writing-table--a large book called '_The +Veiled Queen_, by Philip Aylwin'--and I began to read it. The +statements therein were of an astounding kind, and the idea of a +beautiful woman behind a veil completely fascinated my childish mind. +And the book was full of the most amazing stories collected from all +kinds of outlandish sources. One story, called 'The Flying Donkey of +the Ruby Hills,' riveted my attention so much that it possessed me, +and even now I feel that I can repeat every word of it. It was a +story of a donkey-driver, who, having lost his wife Alawiyah, went +and lived alone in the ruby hills of Badakhshan, where the Angel of +Memory fashioned for him out of his own sorrow and tears an image of +his wife. This image was mistaken by a townsman named Hasan for his +own wife, and Ja'afar was summoned before the Ka'dee. Afterwards, +when _The Veiled Queen_ came into my possession, I noticed that this +story was quoted for motto on the title-page: + +'Then quoth the Ka'dee, laughing until his grinders appeared: +"Rather, by Allah, would I take all the punishment thou dreadest, +thou most false donkey-driver of the Ruby Hills, than believe this +story of thine--this mad, mad story, that she with whom thou wast +seen was not the living wife of Hasan here (as these four legal +witnesses have sworn), but thine own dead spouse, Alawiyah, +refashioned for thee by the Angel of Memory out of thine own sorrow +and unquenchable fountain of tears." + +'Quoth Ja'afar, bowing low his head: "Bold is the donkey-driver, +O Ka'dee! and bold the Ka'dee who dares say what he will believe, +what disbelieve--not knowing in any wise the mind of Allah--not +knowing in any wise his own heart and what it shall some day +suffer."' + +This story so absorbed me that when my father re-entered the house +I was perfectly unconscious of his presence. He took the book from +me, saying that it was not a book for children. It possessed my mind +for some days. What I had read in it threw light upon certain +conversations in French and German which I had heard between my +father and his Swiss friends, and the fact gradually dawned upon me +that he believed himself to be in direct communication with the +spirit of his dead wife. This so acted upon my imagination that I +began to feel that she was actually alive, though invisible. I told +Frank when I got home that we had another mother in Switzerland, and +that I our father went to Switzerland to see her. + +Having at that time a passionate love for my mother (a love none the +less passionate because somewhat coldly returned), I felt great anger +against this resuscitated rival; but Frank only laughed and called me +a stupid little fool. + +Luckily Frank forgot my story in a minute, and it never reached my +mother's ears. + +I Some years after this an odd incident occurred. The I idea of a +veiled lady had, as I say, fascinated me. One Raxton fair-day I +induced Winnie to be photographed on the sands, wearing a crown of +sea-flowers in imitation of Rhona Boswell's famous wild-flower +coronet, and a necklace of seaweed, with Frank and another boy +lifting from her head a long white veil of my mother's. My father +accidentally saw this photograph, and was so taken with it that he +adorned the title-page of the third edition of _The Veiled Queen_ +with a small woodcut of it. + +These vagaries of my father's had an influence upon my destiny of the +most tragic, yet of the most fantastic kind. + +He had the reputation, I believe, of being one of the most learned +mystics of his time. He was a fair Hebrew scholar, and also had a +knowledge of Sanscrit, Arabic, and Persian. His passion for philology +was deep-rooted. He was a no less ardent numismatist. Moreover, he +was deeply versed in amulet-lore. He wrote a treatise upon 'amulets' +and their inscriptions. All this was after the death of his first +wife. He had a large collection of amulets, Gnostic gems, and +abraxas stones. That he really believed in the virtue of amulets will +be pretty clearly seen as my narrative proceeds. Indeed, the subject +of amulets and love-tokens became a mania with him. After his death +it was said that his collection of amulets, Egyptian, Gnostic, and +other, was rarer, and his collection of St. Helena coins larger, +than any other collection in England. + +Though my mother did not know of the spiritualistic orgies in +Switzerland, she knew that my father was a spiritualist. And this +vexed her, not only because she conceived it to be visionary folly, +but because it was 'low.' She knew that it led him to join a +newly-formed band of Latter-Day mystics which had been organised at +Raxton, but luckily she did not know that through them he believed +himself to be holding communication with his first wife. The members +of this body were tradespeople of the town, and I quite think that in +my mother's eyes all tradespeople were low. + +As to her indifference towards me,--that is easily explained. I was +an incorrigible little bohemian by nature. She despaired of ever +changing me. During several years this indifference distressed me, +though it in no way diminished my affection for her. At last, +however, I got accustomed to it and accepted it as inevitable. But +the remarkable thing was that Frank's affection for his mother was of +the most languid kind. He was an open-hearted boy, and never took +advantage of my mother's favouritism. Thus I was left entirely to my +own resources. My little love-idyl with Winifred was for a long time +unknown to my mother, and no amount of ocular demonstration could +have made it known (in such a dream was he) to my father. + +On one occasion, however, my mother, having been struck by her beauty +at church, told Wynne to bring her to the house, little thinking what +she was doing. Accordingly, Winifred came one evening and charmed my +mother, charmed the entire household, by her grace of manner. My +mother, upon whom what she called 'style' made a far greater +impression than anything else, pronounced her to be a perfect little +lady, and I heard her remark that she wondered how the child of such +a scapegrace as Wynne could have been so reared. + +Unfortunately I was not old enough to disguise the transports of +delight that set my heart beating and my crippled limbs trembling as +I saw Winifred gliding like a fairy about the house and gardens, and +petted even by my proud and awful mother. My mother did not fail to +notice this, and before long she had got from Frank the history of +our little loves, and even of the 'cripple water' from St. Winifred's +Well. I partly heard what Frank was telling her, and I was the only +one to notice the expression of displeasure that overspread her +features. She did not, however, show it to the child, but she never +invited her there again, and from that evening was much more vigilant +over my movements, lest I should go to Wynne's cottage. I still, +however, continued to meet Winifred in Graylingham Wood during her +stay with her father; and at last, when she again left me, I felt +desolate indeed. + +I wrote her a letter, and took it to him to address. He was very fond +of showing his penmanship, which was remarkably good. He had indeed +been well educated, though from his beer-house associations he had +entirely caught the rustic accent. I saw him address it, and took it +myself to the post-office at Rington, where I was not so well known +as at Raxton, but I never got any reply. + +And who was Tom Wynne? Though the organist of the new church at +Raxton, and custodian of the old deserted church on the cliffs, he +was the local ne'er-do-well, drunkard, and scapegrace. He was, +however, a well-connected man, reduced to his present position by +drink. He had lived in Raxton until he returned to Wales, which was +his birthplace--having obtained there some appointment the nature of +which I never could understand. In Wales he had got married; and +there his wife had died shortly after the birth of Winnie. It was no +doubt through his intemperate habits that he lost his post in Wales. +It was then that he again came to Raxton, leaving the child with his +sister-in-law. + +Raxton stands on that part of the coast where the land-springs most +persistently disintegrate the hills and render them helpless against +the ravages of the sea. Perhaps even within the last few centuries +the spot called Mousetrap Cove, scooped out of the peninsula on which +the old church stands, was dry land. The old Raxton church at the end +of this peninsula had, not many years since, to be deserted for a new +one, lest it should some day carry its congregation with it when it +slides, as it soon will slide, into the sea. But as none had dared to +pull down the old church, a custodian had to be found who for a +pittance would take charge of it and of the important monuments it +contains. Such a custodian was found in Wynne, who lived in the +cottage already described on the Wilderness Road. Along this road +(which passed both the new church and the old) I was frequently +journeying, and Wynne's tall burly form and ruddy face were, even +before I knew Winnie, a certain comfort to me. + +He was said to be the last remnant of an old family that once owned +much land in the neighbourhood, and he was still the recipient of a +small pension. My father used to say that Wynne's family was even +exceptionally good, that it laid claim to being descended from a +still older Welsh family. But my mother scorned the idea, and always +treated the organist as belonging to the lower classes. It was Wynne +who had taught me swimming. It was really he, and not my groom, who +had taught me how to ride a horse along the low-tide sands so as not +to distress him or damage his feet. + +It was about this time that my uncle Aylwin of Alvanley, my mother's +brother, who had quarrelled with her, became reconciled to her, and +came to Raxton. He at once recommended that a friend of his, a famous +London surgeon, should he consulted about my lameness. I accordingly +went with him to London to be placed under the treatment of the +eminent man. Had this been done earlier, what a world of suffering +might have been spared me! The man of science pronounced my ailment +to be quite curable. + +He performed an operation upon the leg, and after a long and careful +course of treatment in town, advised that I should go to Margate for +a long stay, and avail myself of that change of air. I went, +accompanied by my mother and brother, and stayed there several +months. My father used to come to see us once a month or so, stay for +a week, and then go back. + +I now wrote another letter to Winifred, and after a long delay, got a +reply, but it consisted mainly of descriptions of the way in which +she paddled in the Welsh brooks and of lessons in the shawl-dance +which she was taking from Shuri Lovell, the mother of her Gypsy +friend. So vividly did she describe these lessons that her pictures +haunted me. I wrote in reply to this a letter burning with my +ever-growing love, but to this I got no reply. + +As the surgeon had prophesied, I made such advance that I was after a +while able to walk with tolerable ease without my crutches, by the +aid of a walking-stick; and as time went on, the tonic effect of +Margate air, aiding the remedies prescribed by the surgeon, worked +such a change in me that I was pronounced well, and the doctor said I +might return home. I returned to Raxton a cripple no longer. + +I returned cured. I say. But how entangled is this web of our life! +How almost impossible is it that good should come unmixed with evil, +or evil unmixed with good! At Margate, where the bracing air did +more, I doubt not, towards my restoration to health than all the +medicines,--at Margate my brother drank in his death-poison. + +During the very last days of our stay he caught scarlet fever. In a +fortnight he was dead. The shock to me was very severe. It laid my +mother prostrate for months. + +I was now by the death of Frank the representative of our branch of +the family, and a little fellow of uncomfortable importance. My uncle +Aylwin of Alvanley. being childless, was certain to leave me his +large estates, for he had dropped entirely away from the Aylwins of +Rington Manor, and also from the branch of the Aylwin family +represented by my kinsman Cyril. + + + +II + +THE MOONLIGHT CROSS OF THE GNOSTICS + + +I + +My mother had some prejudice against a public school, and I was sent +to a large and important private one at Cambridge. + +And go, with Winifred on my mind, I went one damp winter's morning to +Dullingham, our nearest railway station, on my way to Cambridge. + +As concerns my school-days, I feel that all that will interest the +reader is this: as I rode through mile upon mile of the flat, +wide-stretching country, I made to myself a vow in connection with +Winifred,--a vow that when I left school I would do a certain thing +in relation to her, though Fate itself should say, 'This thing shall +not be done.' I did not know then, as I know now, how weak is human +will enmeshed in that web of Circumstance that has been a-weaving +since the beginning of the world. + +I left school without the slightest notion as to what my future +course in life was to be. I was to take my rich uncle's property. +That was understood now. And although my mother never talked of the +matter, I could see in the pensive gaze she bent on me an +ever-present consciousness of a future for me more golden still. + +But now I formed a new intimacy, and one of a very singular kind--an +intimacy with my father, who suddenly woke up to the fact that I was +no longer a child. It occurred on my making some pertinent inquiries +about a certain Gnostic amulet representing the Gorgon's head, a +prize of which he had lately become the happy possessor. On his +telling me that the Arabic word for amulet was _hamalet_, and that +the word meant 'that which is suspended,' I said in a perfectly +thoughtless way that very likely one of the learned societies to +which he belonged might be able to trace some connection between +'hamalet' and the 'Hamlet' of Shakespeare. These idle and ignorant +words of mine fell, as I found, upon a mind ripe to receive them. He +looked straight before him at the bust of Shakespeare on the +bookshelves as he always looked when his rudderless imagination was +once well launched, and I heard him mutter, 'Hamlet--the Amleth of +Saxo-Grammaticus,--hamalet, "that which is suspended." The world, to +Hamlet's metaphysical mind, _was_ "suspended" in the wide region of +Nowhere--in an infinite ocean of Nothing. Why did I not think of this +before? Strange that this child should hit upon it.' Then looking at +me as though he had just seen me for the first time in his life, he +said. 'How old are you, child?' 'Eighteen, father, I said. 'Eighteen +_years_?' he asked. 'Yes, father,' I said with some pique. 'Did you +suppose I meant eighteen months?' 'Only eighteen years,' he muttered, +'a mere baby, in short; and yet he has hit upon what we +Shakespearians have been boggling over for many year?--the symbolical +meaning involved in Hamlet's name. Henry, I prophesy great things for +you.' + +An intimacy was cemented between us at once. One of the results of +this conversation was my father's elaborate paper, read before one of +his societies, in which he maintained that Shakespeare's _Hamlet_ was +a metaphysical poem, the great central idea of which was involved in +the name Hamlet, Amleth, or Hamalet--the idea that the universe, +suspended in the wide region of Nowhere, lies, an amulet, upon the +breast of the Great Latona,--a paper that was the basis of his +reputation in 'the higher criticism.' + +Shortly after this my father and I spent the autumn in various parts +of Switzerland. One night, when we were sitting outside the chalet in +the full light of the moon, I was the witness of a display of passion +on the part of one whom I had always considered to be a dreamy +book-worm--a passionless, eccentric mystic--that simply amazed me. A +flickering tongue from the central fires suddenly breaking up through +the soil of an English vegetable garden could hardly have been a more +unexpected phenomenon to me than what occurred on that memorable +night. + +The incident I am going to relate showed me how rash it is to suppose +that you have really fathomed the personality of any human creature. +The mementos of his first wife, which accompanied him whithersoever +he went, absorbed his attention in Switzerland, and especially in the +little place where she was born, far more than they had done at home. +He was for ever peeping furtively into his escritoire to enjoy the +sight of them, and then looking over his shoulder to see if he was +being watched by my mother, though she was far away in Raxton Hall. +On the night in question he showed me the silver casket containing +certain of these mementos--mementos which I felt to be almost too +intimate to be shown even to his son. + +'And now, Henry,' said he, 'I am going to show you something that no +one else has ever seen since she died--the most sacred possession I +have upon this earth.' He then opened his shirt and his vest, and +showed me lying upon his naked bosom a beautiful jewelled cross of a +considerable size. 'This,' said he, lifting it up, 'is an ancient +Gnostic amulet. It is called the "Moonlight Cross" of the Gnostics. I +gave it to her on the night of our betrothal. She was a Roman +Catholic. It is made of precious stones cut in facets, with rubies +and diamonds and beryls so cunningly set that, when the moonlight +falls on them, the cross flashes almost as brilliantly as when the +sunlight falls on them and is kindled into living fire. These +deep-coloured crimson rubies--almost as clear as diamonds--are not of +the ordinary kind. They are true "Oriental rubies," and the jewellers +would tell you that the mine which produced them has been lost during +several centuries. But look here when I lift it up; the most +wonderful feature of the jewel is the skill with which the diamonds +are cut. The only shapes generally known are what are called the +"brilliant" and the "rose," but here the facets are arranged in an +entirely different way, and evidently with the view of throwing light +into the very hearts of the rubies, and producing this peculiar +radiance.' + +He lifted the amulet again (which was suspended from his neck by a +beautifully worked cord made of soft brown hair) into the rays from +the moon. The light the jewel emitted was certainly of a strange and +fascinating kind. The cross had been worn with the jewelled front +upon his bosom instead of the smooth back, and the sharp facets of +the cross had lacerated the scarred flesh underneath in a most cruel +manner. He saw me shudder and understood why. + +'Oh, I like that!' he said, with an ecstatic smile. 'I like to feel +it constantly on my bosom. It cannot cut deep enough for me. This is +her hair,' he said, taking the hair-cord between his fingers and +kissing it. + +'How do you manage to exist, father,' I said, 'with that heavy +sharp-edged jewel on your breast? you who cannot bear the gout with +patience?' + +'Exist? I could not exist _without_ it. The gout is pain--this is not +pain; it is joy, bliss, heaven! When I am dead it must lie for ever +on my breast as it lies now, or I shall never rest in my grave.' He +had been talking about amulets in the most quiet and matter-of-fact +way during that morning; but the I moment he produced this cross a +strange change came over his face, something like the change that +will come over a dull wood-fire when blown by the wind into a bright +light of flame. + +'Ha!' he muttered to himself, as his eyes widened and sparkled with a +look of intense eagerness and his hand shook, sending the light of +the beautiful jewel all about the room, 'it is a sad pity he was not +her son. How I should have loved him then! I like him now very much; +but how I should have loved him then, for he is a brave boy. Oh, if I +had only been born brave like him!' Then, suddenly recollecting +himself, he closed his vest, and said: 'Don't tell your mother, Hal; +don't tell your mother that I have shown you this.' Then he took it +out again. 'She who is dead cherished it,' he continued, half to +himself--'she cherished it above all things. She died, boy, and I +couldn't help her. She used to wear the cross in the bosom of her +dress; and there she was in the cove kissing it when the tide swept +over her. I ought to have jumped down and died with her. _You_ would +have done it, Hal; your eyes say so. Oh, to be an Aylwin without the +Aylwin courage!' + +After a little time he said: 'This has lain on her bosom, Hal, her +bosom! It has been kissed by her, Hal, oh, a thousand thousand times! +It had her last kiss. When I took it from the cold body which had +been recovered, this cross seemed to be warm with her life and love.' + +And then he wept, and his tears fell thick upon his bosom and upon +the amulet. The truth was clear enough now. The appalling death of +his first wife, his love for her, and his remorse for not having +jumped down the cliff and died with her, had affected his brain. He +was a monomaniac, and all his thoughts were in some way clustered +round the dominant one. He had studied amulets because the 'Moonlight +Cross' had been cherished by her; he came to Switzerland every year +because it was associated with her; he had joined the spiritualist +body in the mad hope that perhaps there might be something in it, +perhaps there might be a power that could call her back to earth. +Even the favourite occupation of his life, visiting cathedrals and +churches and taking rubbings from monumental brasses, had begun +after her death; it had come from the fact (as I soon learned) that +she had taken interest in monumental brasses, and had begun the +collection of rubbings. + +And yet this martyr to a mighty passion bore the character of a +dreamy student; and his calm, un-furrowed face, on common occasions, +expressed nothing but a rather dull kind of content! Here was a +revelation of what, afterwards, was often revealed to me, that human +personality is the crowning wonder of this wonderful universe, and +that the forces which turn fire-mist into stars are not more +inscrutable than is human character. He lifted up his head and gazed +at me through his tears. + +'Hal,' he said, 'do you know why I have shown you this? It _must_, +MUST be buried with me at my death; and there is no one upon whose +energy, truth, courage, and strength of will I can rely as I can upon +yours. You must give me your word, Hal, that you will see it and this +casket containing her letters buried with me.' + +I hesitated to become a party to such an undertaking as this. It +savoured of superstition, I thought. Now, having at that very time +abandoned all the superstitions and all the mystical readings of the +universe which as a child I had inherited from ancestors, Romany and +English, having at that very time begun to take a delight in the +wonderful revelations of modern science, my attitude towards +superstition--towards all super-naturalism--oscillated between anger +and simple contempt. + +'But,' I said, 'you surely will not have this beautiful old cross +buried?' And as I looked at it, and the light fell upon it, there +came from it strange flashes of fire, showing with what extraordinary +skill the rubies and diamonds had been adjusted so that their facets +should catch and concentrate the rays of the moon. + +'Yes,' he said, taking the cross again in his hand and fondling it +passionately, 'it must never be possessed by any one after me.' + +'But it might be stolen, father--stolen from your coffin.' + +'That would indeed he a disaster,' he said with a shudder. Then a +look of deadly vengeance overspread his face and brought out all its +Romany characteristics as he said: 'But with it there will be buried +a curse written in Hebrew and English--a curse upon the despoiler, +which will frighten off any thief who is in his senses.' + +And he showed me a large parchment scroll, folded exactly like a +title-deed, with the following curse and two verses from the 109th +Psalm written upon it in Hebrew and English. The English version +was carefully printed by himself in large letters:-- + + + 'He who shall violate this tomb.--he who shall steal this amulet, + hallowed as a love-token between me and my dead wife,--he who shall + dare to lay a sacrilegious hand upon this cross, stands cursed by + God. cursed by love, and cursed by me. Philip Aylwin, lying here. + + "Let there be no man to pity him, nor to have compassion upon his + fatherless children.... Let his children be vagabonds, and beg + their bread; let them seek it also out of desolate places." Psalm + cix. So saith the Lord. Amen.' + + +'I have printed the English version in large letters,' he said, 'so +that any would-be despoiler must see it and read it at once by the +dimmest lantern light.' + +'But, father,' I said, 'is it possible that you, an educated man, +really believe in the efficacy of a curse?' + +'If the curse comes straight from the heart's core of a man, as this +curse comes from mine, Hal, how can it fail to operate by the mere +force of will? The curse of a man who loved as I love upon the wretch +who should violate a love-token so sacred as this--why, the +disembodied spirits of all who have loved and suffered would combine +to execute it!' + +'Spirits!' I said. 'Really, father, in times like these to talk of +spirits!' + +'Ah, Henry!' he replied, 'I was like you once. I could once be +content with Materialism--I could find it supportable once; but, +should you ever come to love as I have loved (and, for your own +happiness, child, I hope you never may), you will And that +Materialism is intolerable, is hell itself, to the heart that has +known a passion like mine. You will And that it is madness, Hal, +madness, to believe in the word "never"! you will And that you +_dare_ not leave untried any creed, howsoever wild, that offers +the heart a ray of hope. Every object she cherished has become +spiritualised, sublimated, has become alive--alive as this amulet +is alive. See, the lights are no natural lights.' And again he held +it up. + +'If on my death-bed,' he continued, 'I thought that this beloved +cross and these sacred relics would ever get into other hands--would +ever touch other flesh--than mine, I should die a maniac, Hal, and my +spirit would never be released from the chains of earth.' It was the +superstitious tone of his talk that irritated and hardened me. He saw +it, and a piteous expression overspread his features. + +'Don't desert your poor father,' he said. 'What I want is the word +of an Aylwin that those beloved relics shall be buried with me. If I +had _that_, I should be content to live, and content to die. Oh, +Hal!' + +He threw such an imploring gaze into my face as he said 'Oh, Hal!' +that, reluctant as I was to be mixed up with superstition, I promised +to execute his wishes; I promised also to keep the secret from all +the world during his life, and after his death to share it with those +two only from whom, for family reasons, it could not be kept--my +uncle Aylwin of Alvanley and my mother. He then put away the amulet, +and his face resumed the look of placid content it usually wore. He +was feeling the facets of the mysterious 'Moonlight Cross'! + +The most marvellous thing is this, however: his old relations towards +me were at once resumed. He never alluded to the subject of his first +wife again, and I soon found it difficult to believe that the +conversation just recorded ever took place at all. Evidently his +monomania only rose up to a passionate expression when fanned into +sudden flame by talking about the cross. It was as though the shock +of his first wife's death had severed his consciousness and his life +in twain. + + + +II + +Naturally this visit to Switzerland cemented our intimacy, and it +was on our return home that he suggested my accompanying him on one +of his 'rubbing expeditions.' + +'Henry,' he said, 'your mother has of late frequently discussed with +me the question of your future calling in life. She suggests a +Parliamentary career. I confess that I find questions about careers +exceedingly disturbing.' + +'There is only one profession I should like, father,' I said, 'and +that is a painter's.' In fact, the passion for painting had come on +me very strongly of late. My dreams had from the first been of +wandering with Winnie in a paradise of colour, and these dreams had +of late been more frequent: the paradise of colour had been growing +richer and rarer. + +He shook his head gravely and said, 'No, my dear; your mother would +never allow it.' + +'Why not?' I said; 'is painting low too?' + +'Cyril Aylwin is low, at least so your mother and aunt say, especially +your aunt. I have not perceived it myself, but then your mother's +perceptive faculties are extraordinary--quite extraordinary.' + +'Did the lowness come from his being a painter, father?' I asked. + +'Really, child, you are puzzling me. But I have observed you now for +some weeks, and I quite believe that you would make one of the best +rubbers who ever held a ball. I am going to Salisbury next week, and +you shall then make your _début_.' + +This was in the midst of a very severe winter we had some years ago, +when all Europe was under a coating of ice. + +'But, father,' I said, 'shan't we find it rather cold?' + +'Well,' said my father, with a bland smile, 'I will not pretend that +Salisbury Cathedral is particularly warm in this weather, but in +winter I always rub in knee-caps and mittens. I will tell Hodder to +knit you a full set at once.' + +'But, father,' I said, 'Tom Wynne tells me that rubbing is the most +painful of all occupations. He even goes so far sometimes as to say +that it was the exhaustion of rubbing for you which turned him to +drink.' + +'Nothing of the kind,' said my father. 'All that Tom needed to make +him a good rubber was enthusiasm. I am strongly of opinion that +without enthusiasm rubbing is of all occupations the most irksome, +except perhaps for the quadrumana (who seem more adapted for this +exercise), the most painful for the spine, the most cramping for the +thighs, the most numbing for the fingers. It is a profession, Henry, +demanding, above every other, enthusiasm in the operator. Now Tom's +enthusiasm for rubbing as an art was from the first exceedingly +feeble.' + +I was on the eve of revolting, but I remembered what there was +lacerating his poor breast, and consented. And when I heard hints of +our 'working the Welsh churches' my sudden enthusiasm for the +rubber's art astonished even my father. + +'My dear,' he said to my mother at dinner one day, 'what do you +think? Henry has developed quite a sudden passion for rubbing.' + +I saw an expression of perplexity and mystification overspread my +mother's sagacious face. + +'And in the spring,' continued my father, 'we are going into Wales +to rub.' + +'Into Wales, are you?' said my mother, in a tone of that soft voice +whose meaning I knew so well. + +My thoughts were continually upon Winifred, now that I was alone in +the familiar spots. I had never seen her nor heard from her since we +parted as children. She had only known me as a cripple. What would +she think of me now? Did she ever think of me? She had not answered +my childish letter, and this had caused me much sorrow and +perplexity. + +We did not go into Wales after all. But the result of this +conversation took a shape that amazed me. I was sent to stay with my +Aunt Prue in London in order that I might attend one of the Schools +of Art. Yes, my mother thought it was better for me even to run the +risk of becoming bohemianised like Cyril Aylwin, than to brood over +Winnie or the scenes that were associated with our happy childhood. + +In London I was an absolute stranger. We had no town house. On the +few occasions when the family had gone to London, it was to stay in +Belgrave Square with my Aunt Prue, who was an unmarried sister of my +mother's. + +'Since the death of the Prince Consort, to go no further back,' she +used to say, 'a dreadful change has come over the tone of society; +the love of bohemianism, the desire to take up any kind of people, if +they are amusing, and still more if they are rich, is levelling +everything. However, I'm nobody now; I say nothing.' + +What wonder that from my very childhood my aunt took a prejudice +against me, and predicted for me a career 'as deplorable as Cyril +Aylwin's,' and sympathised with my mother in her terror of the Gypsy +strain in my father's branch of the family? + +Her tastes and instincts being intensely aristocratic, she suffered a +martyrdom from her ever present consciousness of this disgrace. She +had seen very much more of what is called Society than my mother had +ever an opportunity of seeing. It was not, however, aristocracy, but +Royalty that won the true worship of her soul. + +Although she was immeasurably inferior to my mother in everything, +her influence over her was great, and it was always for ill. I +believe that even my mother's prejudice against Tom Wynne was largely +owing to my aunt, who disliked my relations towards Wynne simply +because he did not represent one of the great Wynne families. But the +remarkable thing was that, although my mother thus yielded to my +aunt's influence, she in her heart despised her sister's ignorance +and her narrowness of mind. She often took a humorous pleasure in +seeing my aunt's aristocratic proclivities baffled by some vexing +_contretemps_ or by some slight passed upon her by people of superior +rank, especially by those in the Royal circle. + +There have been so many descriptions of art schools, from the famous +'Gandish's' down to the very moment at which I write, that I do not +intend to describe mine. + +It would be very far from my taste to use a narrative like this, a +narrative made sacred by the spiritual love it records, as a means of +advertising efforts of such modest pretensions as mine when placed in +comparison with the work of the illustrious painters my friendship +with whom has been the great honour of my life. And if I allude here +to the fact of my being a painter, it is in order that I may not be +mistaken for another Aylwin. my cousin Percy, who in some unpublished +poems of his which I have seen has told how a sailor was turned into +a poet by love--love of Rhona Boswell. In the same way, these pages +are written to tell how I was made a painter by love of her whom I +first saw in Raxton churchyard, her who filled my being as Beatrice +filled the being of Dante when 'the spirit of life, which hath its +dwelling in the secretest chamber of the heart, began to tremble so +violently that the least pulses of his body shook therewith.' + + + +III + +Time went by, and I returned to Raxton. Just when I had determined +that, come what would, I would go into Wales, Wynne one day told me +that Winnie was coming to live with him at Raxton, her aunt having +lately died. 'The English lady,' said he, 'who lived with them so +long and eddicated Winifred, has gone to live at Carnarvon to get the +sea air.' + +This news was at once a joy and a perplexity. + +Wynne, though still the handsomest and finest man in Raxton, had sunk +much lower in intemperance of late. He now generally wound up a +conversation with me by a certain stereotyped allusion to the dryness +of the weather, which I perfectly understood to mean that he felt +thirsty, and that an offer of half-a-crown for beer would not be +unacceptable. He was a proud man in everything except in reference to +beer. But he seemed to think there was no degradation in asking for +money to get drunk with, though to have asked for it to buy bread +would, I suppose, have wounded his pride. I did not then see so +clearly as I now do the wrong of giving him those half-crowns. His +annuity he had long since sold. + +Spite of all his delinquencies, however, my father liked him; so did +my uncle Aylwin of Alvanley. But my mother seemed positively to hate +him. It was the knowledge of this that caused my anxiety about +Winifred's return. I felt that complications must arise. + +At this time I used to go to Dullingham every day. The clergyman +there was preparing me for college. + +On the Sunday following the day when I got such momentous news from +Wynne, I was met suddenly, as my mother and I were leaving the church +after the service, by the gaze of a pair of blue eyes that arrested +my steps as by magic, and caused the church and the churchgoers to +vanish from my sight. + +The picture of Winifred that had dwelt in my mind so long was that of +a beautiful child. The radiant vision of the girl before me came on +me by surprise and dazzled me. Tall and slim she was now, but the +complexion had not altered at all; the eyes seemed young and +childlike as ever. + +When our eyes met she blushed, then turned pale, and took hold of the +top of a seat near which she was standing. She came along the aisle +close to us, gliding and slipping through the crowd, and passed out +of the porch. My mother had seen my agitation, and had moved on in a +state of haughty indignation. I had no room, however, at that moment +for considerations of any person but one. I hurried out of the +church, and, following Winifred, grasped her gloved hand. + +'Winifred, you are come,' I said; 'I have been longing to see you.' + +She again turned pale and then blushed scarlet. Next she looked down +me as if she had expected to see something which she did not see, and +when her eyes were upraised again something in them gave me a strange +fancy that she was disappointed to miss my crutches. + +'Why didn't you write to me from Wales, Winifred? Why didn't you +answer my letter years ago?' + +She hesitated, then said, + +'My aunt wouldn't let me, sir.' + +'Wouldn't let you answer it! and why?' + +Again she hesitated-- + +'I--I don't know, sir.' + +'You _do_ know, Winifred. I see that you know, and you shall tell me. +Why didn't your aunt let you answer my letter?' + +Winifred's eyes looked into mine beseechingly. Then that light of +playful humour, which I remembered so well, shot like a sunbeam +across and through them as she replied-- + +'My aunt said we must both forget our pretty dream.' + +Almost before the words were out, however, the sunbeam fled from her +eyes and was replaced by a look of terror. I now perceived that my +mother, in passing to the carriage, had lingered on the gravel-path +close to us, and had, of course, overheard the dialogue. She passed +on with a look of hate. I thought it wise to bid Winifred good-bye +and join my mother. + +As I stepped into the carriage I turned round and saw that Winifred +was again looking wistfully at some particular part of me--looking +with exactly that simple, frank, 'objective' expression with which I +was familiar. + +'I knew it was the crutches she missed,' I said to myself as I sat +down by my mother's side; 'she'll have to love me now because I am +_not_ lame.' + +I also knew something else: I must prepare for a conflict with my +mother. My father, at this time in Switzerland, had written to say +that he had been suffering acutely from an attack of what he called +'spasms.' He had 'been much subject to them of late, but no one +considered them to be really dangerous.' + +During luncheon I felt that my mother's eyes were on me. After it was +over she went to her room to write in answer to my father's letter, +and then later on she returned to me. + +'Henry,' she said, 'my overhearing the dialogue in the churchyard +between you and Wynne's daughter was, I need not pay, quite +accidental, but it is perhaps fortunate that I did overhear it.' + +'Why fortunate, mother? You simply heard her say that her aunt in +Wales had forbidden her to answer a childish letter of mine written +years ago.' + +'In telling you which, the girl, I must say, proclaimed her aunt to +be an exceedingly sensible and well-conducted woman,' said my mother. + +'On that point, mother,' I said, 'you must allow me to hold a +different opinion. I, for my part, should have said that Winifred's +story proclaimed her aunt to be a worthy member of a flunkey society +like this of ours--a society whose structure, political and moral and +religious, is based on an adamantine rock of paltry snobbery.' + +It was impossible to restrain my indignation. + +'I am aware, Henry,' replied my mother calmly, 'that it is one of the +fashions of the hour for young men of family to adopt the language of +Radical newspapers. In a country like this the affectation does no +great harm, I grant, and my only serious objection to it is that it +implies in young men of one's own class a lack of originality which +is a little humiliating. I am aware that your cousin, Percy Aylwin, +of Rington Manor, used to talk in the same strain as this, and ended +by joining the Gypsies. But I came to warn you, Henry, I came to urge +you not to injure this poor girl's reputation by such scenes as that +I witnessed this morning.' + +I remained silent. The method of my mother's attack had taken me by +surprise. Her sagacity was so much greater than mine, her power of +fence was so much greater, her stroke was so much deadlier, that in +all our encounters I had been conquered. + +'It is for the girl's own sake that I speak to you,' continued my +mother. 'She was deeply embarrassed at your method of address, and +well she might be, seeing that it will be, for a long time to come, +the subject of discussion in all the beer-houses which her father +frequents.' + +'You speak as though she were answerable for her father's faults,' I +said, with heat. + +'No,' said my mother; 'but _your_ father is the owner of Raxton Hall, +which to her and her class is a kind of Palace of the Cæsars. You +belong to a family famous all along the coast; you are well known to +be the probable heir of one of the largest landowners in England; you +may be something more important still; while she, poor girl, what is +she that you should rush up to her before all the churchgoers of the +parish and address her as Winifred? The daughter of a penniless, +drunken reprobate. Every attention you pay her is but a slur upon her +good name.' + +'There is not a lady in the county worthy to unlace her shoes,' I +cried, unguardedly. Then I could have bitten off my tongue for saying +so. + +'That may be,' said my mother, with the quiet irony peculiar to her; +'but so monstrous are the customs of England, Henry, so barbaric is +this society you despise, that she, whose shoes no lady in the county +is worthy to unlace, is in an anomalous position. Should she once +again be seen talking familiarly with you, her character will have +fled, and fled for ever. It is for you to choose whether you are set +upon ruining her reputation.' + +I felt that what she said was true. I felt also that Winifred herself +had recognised the net of conventions that kept us apart in spite of +that close and tender intimacy which had been the one great fact of +our lives. In a certain sense I was far more of a child of Nature +than Winifred herself, inasmuch as, owing to my remarkable childish +experience of isolation, I had imbibed a scepticism about the +sanctity of conventions such as is foreign to the nature of woman, be +she ever so unsophisticated, as Winifred's shyness towards me had +testified. + +As a child I had been neglected for the firstborn, I had enjoyed +through this neglect an absolute freedom with regard to associating +with fisher-boys and all the shoeless, hatless 'sea-pups' of the +sands, and now, when the time had come to civilise me, my mother had +found that it was too late. I was bohemian to the core. My childish +intercourse with Winifred had been one of absolute equality, and I +could not now divest myself of this relation. These were my thoughts +as I listened to my mother's words. + +My great fear now, however, was lest I should say something to +compromise myself, and so make matter worse. Before another word upon +the subject should pass between my mother and me I must see +Winifred--and then I had something to say to her which no power on +earth should prevent me from saying. So I merely told my mother that +there was much truth in what she had said, and proceeded to ask +particulars about my father's recent illness. After giving me these +particulars she left the room, perplexed, I thought, as to what had +been the result of her mission. + + +IV + +I remained alone for some time. Then I told the servants that I was +going to walk along the cliffs to Dullingham Church, where there was +an evening service, and left the house. I hastened towards the +cliffs, and descended to the sands, in the hope that Winifred might +be roaming about there, but I walked all the way to Dullingham +without getting a glimpse of her. The church service did not interest +me that evening. I heard nothing and saw nothing. When the service +was over I returned along the sands, sauntering and lingering in the +hope that, late as it was now growing, the balmy evening might have +enticed her out. + +The evening grew to night, and still I lingered. The moon was nearly +at the full, and exceedingly bright. The tide was down. The scene was +magical; I could not leave it. I said to myself, 'I will go and stand +on the very spot where Winifred stood when she lisped "certumly" to +the proposal of her little lover.' + +It was not, after all, till this evening that I really knew how +entirely she was a portion of my life. + +I went and stood by the black boulder where I had received the little +child's prompt reply. There was not a grain left, I knew, of that +same sand which had been hallowed by the little feet of Winifred, but +it served my mood just as well as though every grain had felt the +beloved pressure. For that the very sands had loved the child, I half +believed. + +I said to myself, as I sat down upon the boulder, 'At this very +moment she is here, she is in Raxton. In a certain little cottage +there is a certain little room.' And then I longed to leave the +sands, to go and stand in front of Wynne's cottage and dream there. +But that would be too foolish. 'I must get home,' I thought. 'The +night will pass somehow, and in the morning I shall, as sure as fate, +see her flitting about the sands she loves, and then what I have +sworn to say to her I will say, and what I have sworn to do I will +do, come what will.' + +Then came the puzzling question, how was I to greet her when we met? +Was I to run up and kiss her, and hear her say, 'Oh, I'm so pleased!' +as she would sometimes say when I kissed her of yore? No: her +deportment in the morning forbade _that_. Or was I to raise my hat +and walk up to her saying, 'How do you do, Miss Wynne? I'm glad to +see you back, Miss Wynne,' for she was now neither child nor young +woman, she was a 'girl.' Perhaps I had better rush up to her in a +bluff, hearty way, and say: 'How do you do, Miss Winifred? Delighted +to see you back to Raxton.' Finally, I decided that circumstance must +guide me entirely, and I sat upon the boulder meditating. + +After a while I saw, or thought I saw, in the far distance, close to +the waves, a moving figure among the patches of rocks and stones +(some black and some white) that break the continuity of the sand on +that shore at low water. + +When the figure got nearer I perceived it to be a woman, a girl, who, +every now and then, was stooping as if to pick up something from the +pools of water left by the ebbing tide imprisoned amid the encircling +rocks. At first I watched the figure, wondering in a lazy and dreamy +way what girl could be out there so late. + +But all at once I began to catch my breath and gasp The sea-smells +had become laden with a kind of paradisal perfume, ineffably sweet, +but difficult to breathe all of a sudden. My heart too--what was +amiss with that? And why did the muscles of my body seem to melt like +wax?' The lonely wanderer by the sea could be none other than +Winifred. + +'It is she!' I said. 'There is no beach-woman or shore-prowling girl +who, without raising an arm to balance her body, without a totter or +a slip, could step in that way upon stones some of which are as +slippery as ice with gelatinous weed and slime, while others are as +sharp as razors. To walk like that the eye must be my darling's, that +is to say, an eye as sure as a bird's the ball of the foot must be +the ball of a certain little foot I have often had in my hand wet +with sea-water and gritty with sand. For such work a mountaineer or a +cragsman, or Winifred, is needed.' Then I recalled her love of marine +creatures, her delight in seaweed, of which she would weave the most +astonishing chaplets and necklaces coloured like the rainbow. +'seawood boas' and seaweed turbans, calling herself the princess of +the sea (as indeed she was), and calling me her prince. 'Yes,' said +I, 'it is certainly she'; and when at last I espied a little dog by +her side, Tom Wynne's little dog Snap (a descendant of the original +Snap of our never-to-be-forgotten seaside adventures)--when I espied +all these things I said, 'Then the hour is come.' + +By this time my heart had settled down to a calmer throb, the +paradisal scent had become more supportable, and I grew master of +myself again. I was going towards her, when I stayed my steps, for +she was already making her way, entirely unconscious of my presence, +towards the boulder where I sat. + +'I know what I will do.' I said; 'I will fling myself flat on the +sands behind the boulder and watch her. I will observe her without +being myself observed.' + +I was in the mood when one tries sportfully to deceive one's self as +to the depth and intensity of the emotion within. Perhaps I would and +perhaps I would not speak to her at all that night; but if I did +speak, I would say and do what (on that day when I set out for +school) I had sworn to say and do. + +So there I lay hidden by the boulder and watched her. She made the +circuit of each pool that lay across her path towards the +cliffs,--made it apparently for the childish enjoyment of balancing +herself on the stones and snapping her fingers at the dog, who looked +on with philosophic indifference at such a frivolous waste of force. +Yes, though a tall girl of seventeen, she was the same incomparable +child who had coloured my life and stirred the entire air of my +imagination with the breezes of a new heaven. The voice of the +tumbling sea in the distance, the caresses of the tender breeze, the +wistful gaze of the great moon overhead, were companionship enough +for her--for her whose loveliness would have enchanted a world. She +had no idea that there was at this moment stepping round those black +stones the loveliest woman then upon the earth. If she had had that +idea she would still have been the star of all womanhood, but she +would not have been Winifred. A charm superior to all other women's +charm she still would have had; but she would not have been Winifred. + +When she left the rocks and came upon the clear sand, she stopped +and looked at her sweet shadow in the moonlight. Then, with the +self-pleasing playfulness of a kitten, she stood and put herself +into all kinds of postures to see what varying silhouettes they would +make on the hard and polished sand (that shone with a soft lustre +like satin); now throwing up one arm, now another, and at last making +a pirouette, twirling her shawl round, trying to keep it in a +horizontal position by the rapidity of her movements. + +The interest of the philosophic Snap was aroused at last. He began +wheeling and barking round her, tearing up the sand as he went like a +little whirlwind. This induced Winifred to redouble her gymnastic +exertions. She twirled round with the velocity of an engine wheel. At +last, finding the enjoyment it gave to Snap, she changed the +performance by taking off her hat, flinging it high in the air, +catching it, flinging it up again and again, while the moving shadow +it made was hunted along the sand by Snap with a volley of deafening +barks. By this time she had got close to me, but she was too busy to +see me. Then she began to dance--the very same dance with which she +used to entertain me in those happy days. I advanced from my stone, +dodging and slipping behind her, unobserved even by Snap, so intent +were these two friends upon this entertainment, got up, one would +think, for whatsoever sylphs or gnomes or water sprites might be +looking on. + +How could I address in the language of passion which alone would have +expressed my true feelings, a dancing fairy such as this? + +'Bravo!' I said, as she stopped, panting and breathless. 'Why, +Winifred, you dance better than ever!' + +She leaped away in alarm and confusion; while Snap, on the contrary, +welcomed me with much joy. + +'Oh, I beg your pardon, sir,' she said, not looking at me with the +blunt frankness of childhood, as the little woman of the old days +used to do, but drooping her eyes. 'I didn't see you.' + +'But _I_ saw _you_, Winifred; I have been watching you for the last +quarter of an hour.' + +'Oh, you never have!' said she, in distress; 'what could you have +thought? I was only trying to cheer up poor Snap, who is out of +sorts. What a mad romp you must have thought me, sir!' + +'Why, what's the matter with Snap?' + +'I don't know. Poor Snap' (stooping down to fondle him, and at the +same time to hide her face from me, for she was talking against time +to conceal her great confusion and agitation at seeing me. _That_ was +perceptible enough.) + +Then she remembered she was hatless. + +'Oh dear, where's my hat?' said she, looking round. I had picked up +the hat before accosting her, and it was now dangling behind me. I, +too, began talking against time, for the beating of my heart began +again at the thought of what I was going to say and do. 'Hat!' I +said; 'do _you_ wear hats, Winifred? I should as soon have thought of +hearing the Queen of the Tylwyth Teg ask for her hat as you, after +such goings-on as those I have just been witnessing. You see I have +not forgotten the Welsh you taught me.' + +'Oh, but my hat--where is it?' cried she, vexed and sorely ashamed. +So different from the unblenching child who loved to stand hatless +and feel the rain-drops on her bare head! + +'Well, Winifred, I've found a hat on the sand,' I said; 'here it is.' + +'Thank you, sir,' said she, and stretched out her hand for it. + +'No,' said I, 'I don't for one moment believe in its belonging to +you, any more than it belongs to the Queen of the "Fair People." But +if you'll let me put it on your head I'll give you the hat I've +found,' and with a rapid movement I advanced and put it on her head. +I had meant to seize that moment for saying what I had to say, but +was obliged to wait. + +An expression of such genuine distress overspread her face, that I +regretted having taken the liberty with her. Her bearing altogether +was puzzling me. She seemed instinctively to feel as I felt, that +raillery was the only possible attitude to take up in a situation so +extremely romantic--a meeting on the sands at night between me and +her who was neither child nor woman--and yet she seemed distressed at +the raillery. + +Embarrassment was rapidly coming between us. + +There was a brief silence, during which Winifred seemed trying to +move away from me. + +'Did you--did you see me from the cliffs, sir, am; come down?' said +Winifred. + +'Winifred,' said I, 'the polite thing to say would be "Yes"; but you +know "Fighting Hal" never was remarkable for politeness, so I will +say frankly that did not come down from the cliff's on seeing you. +But when I did see you, I wasn't very likely to return without +speaking to you.' + +'I am locked out,' said Winifred, in explanation of her moonlight +ramble. 'My father went off to Dullingham with the key in his pocket +while I and Snap were in the garden, so we have to wait till his +return. Good-night, sir,' and she gave me her hand. I seemed to feel +the fingers around my heart, and knew that I was turning very pale. +'The same little sunburnt fingers.' I said, as I retained them in +mine 'just the same, Winifred! But it's not "good-night" yet. No, no, +it's not good-night yet; and, Winifred if you dare to call me "sir" +again, I declare I'll kiss you where you stand. I will, Winifred. +I'll put my arms right round that slender waist and kiss you under +that moon, as sure as you stand on these sands.' + +'Then I will not call you "sir."' said Winifred laughingly. +'Certainly I will not call you "sir," if that is to be the penalty.' + +'Winifred,' said I, 'the last time that I remember to have heard you +say "certainly" was on this very spot. You then pronounced it +"certumly," and that was when I asked you if I might be your lover. +You said "certumly" on that occasion without the least hesitation.' + +Winifred, as I could see, even by the moonlight, was blushing. 'Ah, +those childish days!' she said. 'How delightful they were, sir!' + +'"Sir" again!' said I. 'Now, Winifred, I am going to execute my +threat--I am indeed.' + +She put up her hands before her face and said, + +'Oh, don't! please don't.' + +The action no doubt might seem coquettish, but the tone of her voice +was so genuine, so serious--so agitated even--that I paused:--I +paused in bewilderment and perplexity concerning us both. I observed +that her fingers shook as she held them before her face. That she +should be agitated at seeing me after so long a separation did not +surprise me, I being deeply agitated myself. It was the _nature_ of +her emotion that puzzled me, until suddenly I remembered my mother's +words. + +I perceived then that, child of Nature as she still was, some one had +given her a careful training which had transfigured my little Welsh +rustic into a lady. She had not failed to apprehend the anomaly of +her present position--on the moonlit sands with me. Though could not +break free from the old equal relations between us. Winifred had been +able to do so. + +'To her,' I thought with shame, 'my offering to kiss her at such a +place and time must have seemed an insult. The very fact of my +attempting to do so must have seemed to indicate an offensive +consciousness of the difference of our social positions. It must +have, seemed to show that I recognised a distinction between the +drunken organist's daughter and a lady.' + +I saw now, indeed, that she felt this keenly; and I knew that it was +nothing but the sweetness of her nature, coupled with the fond +recollection of the old happy days, that restrained that high spirit +of hers, and prevented her from giving expression to her indignation +and disgust. + +All this was shown by the appealing look on her sweet, fond face, and +I was touched to the heart. + +'Winifred--Miss Wynne,' I said, 'I beg your pardon most sincerely. +The shadow-dance has been mainly answerable for my folly. You did +look so exactly the little Winifred, my heart's sister, that I felt +it impossible to treat you otherwise than as that dear child-friend +of years ago.' + +A look of delight broke over her face. + +'I felt sure it was so,' she said. 'But it is a relief that you have +said it.' And the tears came to her eyes. + +'Thank you, Winifred, for having pardoned me. I feel that you would +have forgiven no one else as you have forgiven me. I feel that you +would not have forgiven any one else than your old child-companion, +whom on a memorable occasion you threatened to hit, and then had not +the heart to do so.' + +'I don't think I _could_ hit _you_,' said she, in a meditative tone +of perfect unconsciousness as to the bewitching import of her speech. + +'Don't you think you could?' I said, drawing nearer, but governing my +passion. + +'No,' said she, looking now for the first time with those wide-open +confiding eyes which, as a child, were the chief characteristic of +her face. 'I don't think I could hit you, whatever you did.' + +'Couldn't you, Winifred?' I said, coming still nearer, in order to +drink to the full the wonder of her beauty, the thrill at my heart +bringing, as I felt, a pallor to my cheek. 'Don't you think you could +hit your old playfellow, Winifred?' + +'No,' she said, still gazing in the same dreamy, reminiscent way +straight into my eyes as of yore. 'As a child you were so delightful. +And then you were so kind to me!' + +At that word 'kind' from _her_ to _me_ I could restrain myself no +longer; I shouted with a wild laughter of uncontrollable passion as I +gazed at her through tears of love and admiration and deep +gratitude--gazed till I was blind. My throat throbbed till it ached: +I Could get out no more words; I could only gaze. At my shout +Winifred stood bewildered and confused. She did not understand a mood +like that. Having got myself under control, I said, + +'Winifred, it is not my doing; it is Fate's doing that we meet here +on this night, and that I am driven to say here what I had as a +schoolboy sworn should be said whenever we should meet again.' + +'I think,' said Winifred, pulling herself up with the dignity of a +queen, 'that if you have anything important to say to me it had +better be at a more seasonable time than at this hour of night, and +at a more seasonable place than on these sands.' + +'No, Winifred,' said I, 'the time is _now_, and the place is +here--here on this very spot where, once on a time, you said +"certumly" when a little lover asked your hand. It is now and here, +Winifred, that I will say what I have to say.' + +'And what is that, sir?' said Winifred, much perplexed and disturbed. + +'I have to say, Winifred, that the man does not live and never _has_ +lived,' said I, with suppressed vehemence, who loved a woman as I +love you.' + +Oh, sir! oh, Henry!' returned Winifred, trembling, then standing +still and whiter than the moon. 'And the reason why no man has ever +loved a woman as I love you, Winifred, is because your match, or +anything like your match, has never trod the earth before.' + +'Oh, Henry, my dear Henry! you _must_ not say such things to me, your +poor Winifred.' + +'But that isn't all that I swore I'd say to you, Winifred.' + +'Don't say any more--not to-night, not to-night.' + +'What I swore I would ask you, Winifred, is this: Will you be Henry's +wife?' + +She gave one hysterical sob, and swayed till she nearly fell on the +sand, and said, while her face shone like a pearl, + +'Henry's wife!' + +She recovered herself and stood and looked at me; her lips moved, but +I waited in vain--waited in a fever of expectation--for her answer. +None came. I gazed into her eyes, but they now seemed rilled with +visions--visions of the great race to which she belonged--visions in +which her English lover had no place. Suddenly, and for the first +time, I felt that she who had inspired within me this all-conquering +passion, though the penniless child of a drunken organist, was a +daughter of Snowdon--a representative of the Cymric race that was +once so mighty, and is still more romantic in its associations than +all others. Already in the little talk I had had with her I began to +guess what I realised before the evening was over, that owing to the +influence of the English lady, Miss Dalrymple, who had lodged at the +cottage with her, she was more than my own equal in culture, and +could have held her own with almost any girl of her own age in +England. It was only in her subjection to Cymric superstitions that +she was benighted. + +'Winnie,' I murmured, 'what have you to say?' + +After a while her eyes seemed to clear of the visions, and she said, + +'What changes have come upon us both, Henry. since that childish +betrothal on the sands!' + +'Happy changes for one of the child-lovers,' I said--'happy changes +for the one who was then a lonely cripple shut out from all sympathy +save that which the other child-lover could give.' + +'And yet you then seemed happy, Henry--happy with Winnie to help you +up the gangways. And how happy Winnie was! But now the child-lover is +a cripple no longer: he is very, very strong--he is so strong that he +could carry Winnie up the gangways in his arms, I think.' + +The thrill of natural pride which such recognition of my physical +powers would otherwise have given me was quelled by a something in +the tone in which she spoke. + +'And he is powerful in every way,' she went on, as if talking to +herself. 'He is a great rich Englishman to whom (as auntie was never +tired of saying) that childish betrothal must needs seem a dream--a +quaint and pretty dream.' + +'And so your aunt said that, Winnie. How far from the truth she was +you see to-night.' + +'Yes, she thought you would forget all about me; and yet she could +not have felt quite confident about it, for she made me promise that +if you should not forget me--if you should ever ask me what you have +just asked--she made me promise--' + +'What, Winnie? what? She did not make promise that you would refuse +me?' + +'That is what she asked me to promise.' + +'But you did not.' + +'I did not.' + +'No, no! you did not, Winnie. My darling refused to make any such +cruel, monstrous promise as that.' + +'But I promised her that I would in such an event wait a year--at +least a year--before betrothing myself to you.' + +'Shame! shame! What made her do this cruel thing? A year! wait for a +year!' + +'She brought forward many reasons, Henry, but upon two of them she +was constantly dwelling.' + +'And what were these?' + +'Well, the news of the death of your brother Frank of course reached +us in Shire-Carnarvon, and how well I remember hearing my aunt say, +"Henry Aylwin will be one of the wealthiest landowners in England." +And I remember how my heart sank at her words, for I was always +thinking of the dear little lame boy with the language of suffering +in his eyes and the deep music of sorrow in his voice.' + +'Your heart sank, Winnie, and why?' + +'I felt as if a breath of icy air had blown between us, dividing us +for ever. And then my aunt began to talk about you and your future.' + +After some trouble I persuaded Winnie to tell me what was the homily +that this aunt of hers preached _à propos_ of Frank's death. And as +she talked I could not help observing what, as a child, I had only +observed in a dim, semi-conscious way--a strange kind of double +personality in Winnie. At one moment she seemed to me nothing but the +dancing fairy of the sands, objective and unconscious as a young +animal playing to itself, at another she seemed the mouthpiece of the +narrow world-wisdom of this Welsh aunt. No sooner had she spoken of +herself as a friendless, homeless girl, than her brow began to shine +with the pride of the Cymry. + +'My aunt,' said she, 'used to tell me that until disaster came upon +my uncle, and they were reduced to living upon a very narrow income, +he and she never really knew what love was--they never really knew +how rich their hearts were in the capacity of loving.' + +'Ah, I thought so,' I said bitterly. 'I thought the text was, + + Love in a hut, with water and a crust.' + +'No,' said Winifred firmly, 'that was not the text. She believed that +the wolf must not be very close to the door behind which love is +nestling.' + +'Then what did she believe? In the name of common-sense, Winnie, what +did she believe?' + +'She believed,' said Winnie, her cheek flushing and her eyes +brightening as she went on, 'that of all the schemes devised by man's +evil genius to spoil his nature, to make him self-indulgent, and +luxurious, and tyrannical, and incapable of understanding what the +word "love" means, the scheme of showering great wealth upon him is +the most perfect.' + +'Ah, yes, yes; the old nonsense. Easier for a camel to pass through +the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of love. +And in what way did she enlarge upon this most charitable theme?' + +'She told me dreadful things about the demoralising power of riches +in our time.' + +'Dreadful things! What were they, Winnie?' + +'She told me how insatiable is the greed for pleasure at this time. +She told me that the passion of vanity--"the greatest of all the +human passions," as she used to say--has taken the form of +money-worship in our time, sapping all the noblest instincts of men +and women, and in rich people poisoning even parental affection, +making the mother thirst for the pleasures which in old days she +would only have tried to win for her child. She told me +stories--dreadful stories--about children with expectations of great +wealth who watched the poor grey hairs of those who gave them birth, +and counted the years and months and days that kept them from the +gold which modern society finds to be more precious than honour, +family, heroism, genius, and all that was held precious in less +materialised times. She told me a thousand other things of this kind, +and when I grew older she put into my hand what has been written on +the subject.' + +'Good God! Has the narrow-minded tomfoolery got a literature?' + +Winnie went on with her eloquent account of her aunt's doctrines, and +to my surprise I found that there actually _was_ a literature of the +subject. + +Winnie's bright eyes had actually pored over old and long Chartist +tracts translated into Welsh, and books on the Christian Socialism of +Charles Kingsley, and pamphlets on more' recent kinds of Socialism. + +As she went on I could not help murmuring now and then, 'What +surroundings for my Winnie!' + +'And the result of all this was, Winnie, that your aunt asked you to +promise not to marry a man demoralised by privileges and made +contemptible by wealth.' + +'That is what she wanted me to promise; but as I have said, I did +not. But I did promise to wait for a year and see what effect wealth +would have upon you.' + +'Did your aunt not tell you also that the man who marries you can +never be unmanned by wealth, because he will know that everything he +can give is as dross when set against Winnie's love and Winnie's +beauty: Did she not also tell you that?' + +'Love and beauty!' said Winnie. 'Even if a woman's beauty did not +depend for its existence upon the eyes that look upon it, I should +want to give more to my hero than love and beauty. I should want to +give him help in the battle of life, Henry. I should want to buckle +on his armour, and sharpen the point of his lance, and whet the edge +of his sword; a rich man's armour is bank-notes, and Winnie knows +nothing of such paper. His spear, I am told, is a bullion bar, and +Winnie's fingers scarcely know the touch of gold.' + +'Then you agree, Winnie, with these strange views of your aunt?' + +'I do partly agree with them now. Ever since I saw you to-day in the +churchyard I have partly agreed with them.' + +'And why?' + +'Because already prosperity or bodily vigour or something has changed +your eyes and changed the tone of your voice.' + +'You mean that my eyes are no longer so full of trouble; and as to my +voice--how should my voice not change, seeing that it was the voice +of a child when you last listened to it?' + +'It is impossible for me even now, after I have thought about it so +much, to put into words that expression in your eyes which won me as +a child. All I knew at the time was that it fascinated me. And as I +now recall it, all I know is that your gaze then seemed full of +something which I can give a name to now, though I did not understand +it then--the pathos and tenderness and yearning, which come, as I +have been told, from suffering, and that your voice seemed to have +the same message. That expression and that tone are gone--they will, +of course, never return to you now. Your life is, and will be, too +prosperous for that. But still I hope and believe that in a year's +time prosperity will not have worked in you any of the mischief that +my aunt feared. For you have a noble nature, Henry, and to spoil you +will not be easy. You will never be the dear little Henry I loved, +but you will still be nobler and greater than other men, I think.' + +'Do you really mean that my lameness was a positive attraction to +you? Do you really mean that the very change in me which I thought +would strengthen the bond between us--my restoration to +health--weakens it? That is impossible, Winnie.' + +She remained silent for a time, as though lost in thought, and then +said, 'I do not believe that any woman can understand the movements +of her own heart where love is concerned. My aunt used to say I was a +strange girl, and I am afraid I am strange and perverse. She used to +say that in my affections I was like no other creature in the world.' + +'How should Winifred be like any other creature in the world?' I +said. 'She would not be Winifred if she were. But what did your aunt +mean?' + +'When I was quite a little child she noticed that I was neglecting a +favourite mavis which I used to delight to listen to as he warbled +from his wicker cage. She watched me, and found that my attention was +all given to a wounded bird that I had picked up on the Capel Curig +road. "Winnie," she said, "nothing can ever win your love until it +has first won your pity. A bird with a broken wing would be always +more to you than a sound one!"' + +'Your aunt was right,' I said, 'as no one should know better than I. +For was it not the new kind of pity shining in those eyes of yours +that revealed to me a new heaven in my loneliness? And when my +brother Frank on that day in the wood stood over us in all the pride +of his boyish strength, do I not remember the words you spoke?' + +'What were they? I have quite forgotten them.' + +'You said, "I don't think I could love any one very much who was not +lame."' + + + +V + +I wonder what words could render that love-dream on the dear silvered +sands, with the moon overhead, the dark shadowy cliffs and the old +church on one side, and the North Sea murmuring a love-chime on the +other! + +Suffice it to record that Winifred, with a throb in her throat (a +throb that prevented her from pronouncing her n's with the clarity +that some might have desired), said 'certumly' again to Henry's +suit,--'Certumly, if in a year's time you seek me out in the +mountains, and your eyes and voice show that prosperity has not +spoiled you, but that you are indeed my Henry.' And this being +settled in strict accordance with her aunt's injunctions, she never +tried to disguise how happy she was, but told Henry again and again +in answer to his importunate questions--told him with her frank +courage how she had loved him from the first in the old churchyard as +a child--loved him for what she called his love-eyes; told him--ah! +what did she not tell him? I must not go on. These things should not +be written about at all but for the demands of my story. + +And how soon she forgot that the betrothal was all on one side! I +could write out every word of that talk. I remember every accent of +her voice, every variation of light that came and went in her eyes, +every ripple of love-laughter, every movement of her body, lissome as +a greyhound's, graceful as a bird's. For fully an hour it lasted. And +remember, reader, that it was on the silvered sands, every inch of +which was associated with some reminiscence of childhood; it was +beneath a moon smiling as fondly and brightly as she ever smiled on +the domes of Venice or between the trees of Fiesole; it was by the +margin of waves whose murmurs were soft and perfumed as Winifred's +own breathing's when she slept; and remember that the girl was +Winifred herself, and that the boy--the happy boy--had Winifred's +love. Ah! but that last element of that hour's bliss is just what +the reader cannot realise, because he can only know Winifred through +these poor words. That is the distressing side of a task like mine. +The beloved woman here called Winifred (no phantom of an idle +imagination, but more real to me and dear to me than this soul and +body I call my own)--this Winifred can only live for you, reader, +through my feeble, faltering words; and yet I ask you to listen to +the story of such a love as mine. + +'Winnie,' I said, 'you have often as a child sung songs of Snowdon to +me and told me of others you used to sing. I should love to hear one +of these now, with the chime of the North Sea for an accompaniment +instead of the instrument you tell me your Gypsy friend used to play. +Before we go up the gangway, do sing me a verse of one of those +songs.' + +After some little persuasion she yielded and sang in a soft undertone +the following verse:-- + + 'I met in a glade a lone little maid, + At the foot of y Wyddfa the white; + Oh, lissom her feet as the mountain hind, + And darker her hair than the night; + Her cheek was like the mountain rose, + But fairer far to see, + As driving along her sheep with a song, + Down from the hills came she.' + +[Welsh translation] + + 'Mi gwrddais gynt a morwynig, + Wrth odreu y Wyddfa wen, + Un ysgafn ei throed fel yr ewig + A gwallt fel y nos ar ei phen; + Ei grudd oedd fel y rhosyn, + Un hardd a gwen ei gwawr; + Yn canu cân, a'i defaid mân, + O'r Wyddfa'n d'od i lawr.' + +'What a beautiful world it is!' said she, in a half-whisper, as we +were about to part at the cottage door, for I had refused to leave +her on the sands or even at the garden-gate. 'I should like to live +for ever,' she whispered; 'shouldn't you, Henry?' + +'Well, that all depends upon the person I lived with. For instance, I +shouldn't care to live for ever with Widow Shales, the pale-faced +tailoress, nor yet with her humpbacked son, whose hump was such a +constant source of wistful wonder and solicitude to you as a child.' + +She gave a merry little laugh of reminiscence. Then she said, 'But you +could live with _me_ for ever, couldn't you, Henry?' plucking a leaf +from the grape-vine on the wall and putting it between her teeth. + +'For ever and ever, Winifred.' + +'It fills me with wonder,' said she, after a while, 'the thought of +being Henry's wife. It is so delightful and yet so fearful.' + +By this I knew she had not forgotten that look of hate on my mother's +face. + +She put her hand on the latch and found that the door was now +unlocked. + +'But where is the fearful part of it, Winifred?' I said. 'I am not a +cannibal.' + +'You ought to marry a great English lady, dear, and I'm only a poor +girl; you seem to forget all about that, you silly fond boy. You +forget I'm only a poor girl--just Winifred,' she continued. + +'Just Winifred,' I said, taking her hand and preventing her from +lifting the latch. + +'I've lived,' said she, 'in a little cottage like this with my aunt +and Miss Dalrymple and done everything.' + +'Everything's a big word, Winifred. What may everything include in +your case?' + +'Include!' said Winifred; 'oh, everything, housekeeping and--' + +'Housekeeping!' said I. 'Racing the winds with Rhona Boswell and +other Gypsy children up and down Snowdon--that's been _your_ +housekeeping.' + +'Cooking,' said Winifred, maintaining her point. + +'Oh, what a fib, Winifred! These sunburnt fingers may have picked +wild fruits, but they never made a pie in their lives.' + +'Never made a pie! I make beautiful pies and things; and when we're +married I'll make your pies--may I, instead of a conceited man-cook?' + +'No, Winifred. Never make a pie or do a bit of cooking in _my_ house, +I charge you.' + +'Oh, why not?' said Winifred, a shade of disappointment overspreading +her face. 'I suppose it's unladylike to cook.' + +'Because,' said I,'once let me taste something made by these tanned +fingers, and how could I ever afterwards eat anything made by a +man-cook, conceited or modest? I should say to that poor cook, "Where +is the Winifred flavour, cook? I don't taste those tanned fingers +here." And then, suppose you were to die first, Winifred, why I +should have to starve, just for want of a little Winifred flavour in +the pie-crust. Now I don't want to starve, and you sha'n't cook.' + +'Oh, Hal, you dear, dear fellow!' shrieked Winifred, in an ecstasy of +delight at this nonsense. Then her deep love overpowered her quite, +and she said, her eyes suffused with tears, 'Henry, you can't think +how I love you. I'm sure I couldn't live even in heaven without you.' + +Then came the shadow of a lich-owl, as it whisked past us towards the +apple-trees. + +'Why, you'd be obliged to live without me, Winifred, if I were still +at Raxton.' + +'No,' said she, 'I'm quite sure I couldn't. I should have to come in +the winds and play round you on the sands. I should have to peep over +the clouds and watch you. I should have to follow you about wherever +you went. I should have to beset you till you said, "Bother Winnie! I +wish she'd keep in heaven."' + +I saw, however, that the owl's shadow had disturbed her, and I lifted +the latch of the cottage door for her. We were met by a noise so loud +that it might have come from a trombone. + +'Why, what on earth is that?' I said. I could see the look of shame +break over Winifred's features as she said, 'Father.' Yes, it was the +snoring of Wynne in a drunken sleep: it filled the entire cottage. + +The poor girl seemed to feel that that brutal noise had, somehow, +coarsened _her_, and she actually half shrank from me as I gave her +a kiss and left her. + +Wondering how I should at such an hour get into the house without +disturbing my mother and the servants, I passed along that same road +where, as a crippled child, I had hobbled on that, bright afternoon +when love was first revealed to me. Ah, what a different love was +this which was firing my blood, and making dizzy my brain! That +child-love had softened my heart in its deep distress, and widened +my soul. This new and mighty passion in whose grasp I was, this +irresistible power that had seized and possessed my entire being, +wrought my soul in quite a different sort, concentrating and +narrowing my horizon till the human life outside the circle of our +love seemed far, far away, as though I were gazing through the wrong +end of a telescope. I had learned that he who truly loves is indeed +born again, becomes a new and a different man. Was it only a few +short hours ago, I asked myself, that I was listening to my mother's +attack upon Winifred? Was it this very evening that I was sitting in +Dullingham Church? + +How far away in the past seemed those events! And as to my mother's +anger against Winifred, that anger and cruel scorn of class which had +concerned me so much, how insignificant now seemed this and every +other obstacle in love's path! I looked up at the moonlit sky; I +leaned upon a gate and looked across the silent fields where Winifred +and I used to gather violets in spring, hedge-roses in summer, +mushrooms in autumn, and I said, '_I_ will marry her; she shall be +mine; she _shall_ be mine, though all the powers on earth, all the +powers in the universe, should say nay.' + +As I spoke I saw that lights were flashing to and fro in the windows +of the Hall. 'My poor father is dead,' I said. I turned and ran up +the road. 'Oh, that I could have seen him once again!' At the hall +door I was met by a servant, and learnt that, while I had been +love-making on the sands, a message had come from the Continent with +news of my father's death. + + + +VI + +There was no meeting Winifred on the next night. + +It was decided that my uncle's private secretary should go to +Switzerland to bring the body to England. I (remembering my promise +about the mementos) insisted on accompanying him. We started on the +morrow, preceded by a message to my father's Swiss friends ordering +an embalmment. Before starting I tried to see Winifred; but she had +gone to Dullingham. + +On our arrival at the little Swiss town, we found that the embalmment +had been begun. The body was still in the hands of a famous +embalmer--an Italian Jew settled at Geneva, the only successful rival +there of Professor Laskowski. He was celebrated for having revived +the old Hebraic method of embalmment in spices, and improving it by +the aid of the modern discoveries in antiseptics of Laskowski, Signer +Franchina of Naples, and Dr. Dupré of Paris. This physician told me +that by his process the body would, without the peculiarly-sealed +coffin used by the Swiss embalmers, last 'firm and white as Carrara +marble for a thousand years.' + +The people at the chalet had naturally been much astonished to find +upon my father's breast a jewelled cross lying. As soon as I entered +the house they handed it to me. + +For some reason or another this amulet and the curse had haunted my +imagination as much as if I believed in amulets and curses, though my +reason told me that everything of the kind was sheer nonsense. I +could not sleep for thinking about it, and in the night I rose from +my bed, and, opening the window, held up the cross in the moonlight. +The facets caught the silvery rays and focussed them. The amulet +seemed to shudder with some prophecy of woe. It was now that, for the +first time, I began to feel the signs of that great struggle between +reason and the inherited instinct of superstition which afterwards +played so important a part in my life. I then took up the parchment +scroll, and opened it and re-read the curse. The great letters in +which the English version was printed seemed to me larger by the +light of the moon than they had seemed by daylight. + +We had to wait for some time in Switzerland. In a locked drawer I +found the casket and a copy of _The Veiled Queen_. I read much in the +book. Every word I found there was in flat contradiction to my own +mode of thought. + +Did the shock of this dreadful catastrophe drive Winifred from my +mind? No, nothing could have done that. My soul seemed, as I have +said, to be new-born, and all emotions, passions, and sentiments that +were not connected with her seemed to be shadowy and distant, like +ante-natal dreams. It would be hypocrisy not to confess this frankly, +regardless of the impression against me it may make on the reader's +mind. Yet I had a real affection for my father. In spite of his +extraordinary obliviousness of my very existence till the last year +of his life, I was strongly attached to him, and his death made me +see nothing but his virtues; yet my soul was so filled with my +passion for Winifred as to have but little room for sorrow. As to my +mother, her attachment to my father knew no bounds, and her grief at +her bereavement knew none. + +A day or two before the funeral my uncle Aylwin of Alvanley arrived, +and his presence was a great comfort to her. Owing to my father's +position in the county a great deal of funereal state was considered +necessary, and there was much hurry and bustle. + +My uncle having known Wynne when quite a young man, before +intemperance had degraded him, took an interest in him still. He had +called at the cottage as he passed along Wilderness Road towards +Raxton, and the result of this was that the organist came to speak to +him at our house upon some matter in connection with the funeral +service. My mother was greatly vexed at this. Her conduct on the +occasion alarmed me. Ever since Frank's death had made it evident not +only that I should succeed to all the property of my uncle Aylwin of +Alvanley, but that I might even succeed to something greater, to the +earldom which was the glory and pride of the Aylwins, my mother had +kept a jealous and watchful eye upon me, being, as I afterwards +learned, not unmindful of the early child-loves of Winifred and +myself; and the advent to Raxton of Winifred, as a beautiful tall +girl, had aroused her fears as well as her wrath. + +The day of the funeral came, and the question of the casket and the +amulet was on my mind. The important thing, of course, was that the +matter should be kept absolutely secret. The valuables must be placed +in secrecy with the embalmed corpse at the last moment, before the +screwing down of the coffin, when servants and undertakers were out +of sight and hearing. + +My mother knew what had been my father's instructions to me, and was +desirous that they should be fulfilled, though she scorned the +superstition. She and I placed the casket and the scroll hearing the +written curse upon it beneath my father's head, and hung the chain of +the amulet around his neck, so that the cross lay with the jewels +uppermost upon his breast. Then the undertakers were called in to +screw down the coffin in my presence. My mother afterwards called me +to her room, and told me that she was much troubled about the cross. +The amulet being of great value, my uncle Aylwin of Alvanley had +tried to dissuade her from carrying into execution what he called +'the absurd whim of a mystic'; but my mother urged my promise, and +there had been warm words between them, as my mother told me--adding, +however, 'and the worst of it is, that scamp Wynne, whom your uncle +introduced into this house without my knowledge or sanction, was +passing the door while your uncle was talking, and if he did not hear +every word about the jewelled cross, drink must have stupefied him +indeed. _He_ is my only fear in connection with the jewels.' Her +dislike of Wynne had made her forget for the moment the effect her +words must have upon me. + +'Mother,' I said, 'your persistent prejudice and injustice towards +this man astonish me. Wynne, though poor and degraded now, is a +gentleman born, and is no more likely to violate a tomb than the best +Aylwin that ever lived.' + +I will not dwell upon the scene at the funeral. I saw my father's +coffin placed in the crypt that spread beneath the deserted church. +It was by the earnest wish of my father that he was buried in a +church already deserted because the grip of the resistless sea was +upon it. At this very time a very large slice of the cliff behind the +church was pronounced dangerous, and I perceived that new rails were +lying on the grass ready to be fixed up, further inland than ever. + + + +VII + +My mother retired to her room immediately on our return to the house. +My uncle stayed till just before dinner, and then left. I seemed to +be alone in a deserted house, so still were the servants, so quiet +seemed everything. But now what was this sense of undefined dread +that came upon me and would not let me rest? Why did I move from room +to room? and what was goading me? Something was stirring like a blind +creature across my brain, and it was too hideous to confront. Why +_should_ I confront it? Why scare one's soul and lacerate one's heart +at every dark fear that peeps through the door of imagination, when +experience teaches us that out of every hundred such dark fears +ninety-nine are sure to turn out mere magic-lantern bogies? + +The evening wore on, and yet I _would_ not face this phantom fear, +though it refused to quit me. + +The servants went to bed quite early that night, and when the butler +came to ask me if I should 'want anything more,' I said 'only a +candle,' and went up to my bedroom. + +'I will turn into bed,' I said, 'and sleep over it. The idea is a +figment of an over-wrought brain. Destiny would never play any man a +trick like that which I have dared to dream of. Among human +calamities it would be at once the most shocking and the most +whimsical--this imaginary woe that scares me. Destiny is merciless, +but who ever heard of Destiny playing mere cruel practical jokes upon +man? Up to now the Fates have never set up as humorists. Now, for a +man to love, to dote upon, a girl whose father is the violator of his +own father's tomb--a wretch who has called down upon himself the most +terrible curse of a dead man that has ever been uttered--_that_ would +be a fate too fantastically cruel to be permitted by Heaven--by any +governing power whose sanctions were not those of a whimsical +cruelty.' + +Yet those words of my mother's about Wynne, and her suspicions of +him, were flitting about the air of the room like fiery-eyed bats. + +The air of the room--ah! it was stifling me. I opened the window and +leant out. But that made matters a thousand times worse, for the moon +was now at the very full, and staring across--staring at +what?--staring across the sea at the tall tower of the old church on +the cliff, where perhaps the sin--the 'unpardonable sin,' according +to Cymric ideas--of sacrilege--sacrilege committed by _her_ father +upon the grave of mine--might at this moment be going on. The body of +the church was hidden from me by the intervening trees, and nothing +but the tall tower shone in the silver light. So intently did the +moon stare at it, that it seemed to me that the inside of the church, +with its silent aisles, arches, and tombs, was reflected on her disc. +The moon oppressed me, and when I turned my eyes away I seemed to see +hanging in the air the silent aisles of a church, through whose +windows the moonlight was pouring, flooding them with a radiance more +ghastly than darkness, concentrating all its light on the chancel, +beneath which I knew that my father was lying in the dark crypt with +a cross on his breast. I turned for relief to look in the room, and +there, in the darkness made by the shadow of the bed, I seemed to +read, written in pale, trembling flame, the words: + + 'LET THERE BE NO MAN TO PITY HIM, NOR TO HAVE COMPASSION UPON HIS + FATHERLESS CHILDREN....LET HIS CHILDREN BE VAGABONDS, AND BEG THEIR + BREAD: LET THEM SEEK IT ALSO OUT OF DESOLATE PLACES.' + + +I returned to the window for relief from the bedroom. + +'Now, let me calmly consider the case in all its bearings, I said to +myself, drawing a chair to the window and sitting down with my elbows +resting on the sill. 'Suppose Wynne really did overhear the +altercation between my mother and my uncle, which seems scarcely +probable, has drink really so demoralised him, so brutalised him, +that for drink he would commit the crime of sacrilege? There are no +signs of his having sunk so low as that. But suppose the crime were +committed, what then? Do I really believe that the curse of my father +and of the Psalmist would fall upon Winifred's pure and innocent +head? Certainly not. I do not believe in the effect of curses at all. +I do not belief in any supernatural interference with the natural +laws of the universe.' + +Ah! but this thought about the futility of the curse, about the folly +of my father's superstitions, brought me no comfort. I knew that, +brave as Winifred was as a child, she was, when confronting the +material world, very superstitious. I remembered that as a child, +whenever I said, 'What a happy day it has been!' she would not rest +until she had made me add, 'and shall have many more,' because of her +feeling of the prophetic power of words. I knew that the +superstitions of the Welsh hills awed her. I knew that it had been +her lot to imbibe, not only Celtic, but Romany superstitions. I knew +that the tribe of Gypsies with whom she had been thrown into contact, +the Lovells and the Boswells, though superior to the rest, of the +Romany race, are the most superstitious of all, and that Winifred had +become an object of strong affection to the most superstitious even +among that tribe, one Sinfi Lovell. I knew from something that had +once fallen from her as a child on the sands, when prattling about +Sinfi Lovell and Rhona Boswell, that especially powerful with her was +the idea (both Romany and Celtic) about the effect of a dead man's +curse. I knew that this idea had a dreadful fascination for her--the +fascination of repulsion. I knew also that reason may strive with +superstition as with the other instincts, but it will strive in vain. +I knew that it would have been worse than idle for me to say to +Winifred, 'There is no curse in the matter. The dreaming mystic who +begot and forgot me, what curse could he call down on a soul like my +Winifred's?' Her reason might partly accept my arguments; but +straightway they would be spurned by her instincts and her +traditional habits of thought. The terrible voice of the Psalmist +would hush every other sound. Her sweet soul would pine under the +blazing fire of a curse, real or imaginary; her life would be +henceforth but a bitter penance. Like the girl in Coleridge's poem of +'The Three Graves,' her very flesh would waste before the fires of +her imagination. 'No,' said I, 'such a calamity as this which I dread +Heaven would not permit. So cruel a joke as this Hell itself would +not have the heart to play.' + +My meditations were interrupted by a sound, and then by a sensation +such as I cannot describe. Whence came that shriek? It was like a +coming from a distance--loud _there_, faint _here_, and yet it seemed +to come from _me_! It was as though I were witnessing some dreadful +sight unutterable and intolerable. And then it seemed the voice of +Winifred, and then it seemed her father's voice, and finally it +seemed the voice of my own father struggling in his tomb. My horror +stopped the pulses of my heart for a moment, and then it passed. + +'It comes from the church or from behind the church,' I said, as the +shriek was followed by an angry murmur as of muffled thunder. All had +occurred within the space of half a second. I quickly but cautiously +opened my bedroom door, extinguishing my light before doing so, and +began to creep downstairs, fearing to wake my mother. My shoes +creaked, so I took them off and carried them. Crossing the hall, I +softly drew the bolts of the front door; then I passed into the +moonlight. The gravel of the carriage-drive cut through my stockings, +and a pebble bruised one of my heels so that I nearly fell. When I +got safely under the shadow of the large cedar of Lebanon in the +middle of the lawn, I stopped and looked up at my mother's window to +see if she were a watcher. The blinds were down, there was no +movement, no noise. Evidently she was asleep. I put on my shoes and +hurried across the lawn towards the high road. I walked at a sharp +pace towards the old church. The bark of a distant dog or the baa of +a waking sheep was the only sound. When I reached the churchyard, I +peered in dread over the lich-gate before I opened it. Neither Wynne +nor any living creature was to be seen in the churchyard. + +The soothing smell of the sea came from the cliffs, making me wonder +at my fears. On the loneliest coast, in the dunnest night, a sense of +companionship comes with the smell of seaweed. At my feet spread the +great churchyard, with its hundreds of little green hillocks and +white gravestones, sprinkled here and there with square, box-like +tombs. All quietly asleep in the moonlight! Here and there an aged +headstone seemed to nod to its neighbour, as though muttering in its +dreams. The old church, bathed in the radiance, seemed larger than it +had ever done in daylight, and incomparably more grand and lonely. + +On the left were the tall poplar trees, rustling and whispering among +themselves. Still, there might be at the back of the church mischief +working. I walked round thither. The ghostly shadows on the long +grass might have been shadows thrown by the ruins of Tadmor, so +quietly did they lie and dream. A weight was uplifted from my soul. +A balm of sweet peace fell upon my heart. The noises I had heard had +been imaginary, conjured up by love and fear; or they might have been +an echo of distant thunder. The windows of the church no doubt looked +ghastly, as I peered in to see whether Wynne's lantern was moving +about. But all was still. I lingered in the churchyard close by the +spot where I had first seen the child Winifred and heard the Welsh +song. + +I went to look at the sea from the cliff. Here, however, there was +something sensational at last. The spot where years ago I had sat +when Winifred's song had struck upon my ear and awoke me to a new +life--_was gone_! 'This then was the noise I heard,' I said; 'the +rumbling was the falling of the earth; the shriek was the tearing +down of trees.' + +Another slice, a slice weighing thousands of tons, had slipped since +the afternoon from the churchyard on to the sands below. 'Perhaps the +tread of the townspeople who came to witness the funeral may have +given the last shake to the soil,' I said. + +I stood and looked over the newly-made gap at the great hungry water. +Considering the little wind, the swell on the North Sea was +tremendous. Far away there had been a storm somewhere. The moon was +laying a band of living light across the vast bosom of the sea, like +a girdle. Only a month had elapsed since that never-to-be-forgotten +moonlight walk with Winifred. But what a world of emotion since then! + + + +VIII + +I walked along the cliff to the gangway behind Flinty Point, and +descended in order to see what havoc the landslip had made with the +graves. + +I looked across the same moonlit sands where I had seen Winifred so +short a time before, when I had a father. To my delight and surprise, +there she was again. There was Winifred, walking thoughtfully towards +Church Cove with Snap by her side, who seemed equally thoughtful and +sedate. The relief of finding that my fears about her father were +groundless added to my joy at seeing her. With my own dead father +lying within a few roods of me, I ran towards her in a state of high +exhilaration, forgetting everything but her. With sympathetic looks +for my bereavement she met me, and we walked hand-in-hand in silence. + +After a little while she said: 'My father told me he was very busy +to-night, and wished me to come on the sands for a walk, but I little +hoped to meet you; I am very pleased we have met, for to-morrow I am +going to London.' + +'To London?' I said, in dismay at the thought of losing her so soon. +'Why are you going to London. Winnie?' + +'Oh,' said she, with the same innocent look of business-like +importance which, at our first meeting as children, had so impressed +me when she pulled out the key to open the church door, 'I'm going on +business.' + +'On business! And how long do you stay?' + +'I don't stay at all; I'm coming back immediately.' + +'Come,' I exclaimed, 'there's a little comfort in that, at least. +Snap and I can wait for one day.' + +'Good-night,' said Winifred. + +'Have you not seen the great landslip at the churchyard?' I asked, +taking her hand and pointing to the new promontory which the _débris_ +of the fall had made. + +'Another landslip?' said she. 'Poor dear old churchyard, it will soon +all be gone! Snap and I must have been far away when that fell. But I +remember saying to him, 'Hark at the thunder. Snap!' and then I heard +a sound like a shriek that appalled me. It recalled a sound I once +heard in Shire-Carnarvon.' + +'What was it, Winnie?' + +'You've heard me when I was a little girl talk of my Gypsy sister +Sinfi?' + +'Often,' I said. + +'She loves me more than anybody else in the whole world,' said +Winifred simply. 'She says she would lay down her life for me, and I +really believe she would. Well, there is not far from where I used to +live a famous cascade called the Swallow Falls, where the water drops +down a chasm of great depth. If you listen to the noise of the +cataract, you may hear mingled with it a peculiar kind of wail as +from a man in great agony. It is said to be the wail of a Sir John +Wynn, of Gwydir, whose spirit is under a curse, and is imprisoned at +the bottom of the falls on account of his cruelty and misdeeds on +earth. On those rare nights when the full moon shines down the +chasm, the wail becomes an agonised shriek. Once on a bright +moonlight night Sinfi and I went to see these falls. The moonlight on +the cascade had exactly the same supernatural appearance that it has +now falling upon these billows. Sinfi sings some of our Welsh songs, +and accompanies herself on a peculiar obsolete Welsh instrument +called a crwth, which she always carries with her. While we were +listening to the cataract and what she called the Wynn wail, she +began to sing the wild old air. Then at once the wail sprang into a +loud shriek; Sinfi said the shriek of a cursed spirit; and the +shriek was exactly like the sound I heard from the cliffs a little +while ago.' + +'I heard the same noise, Winnie. It was simply the rending and +cracking of the poor churchyard trees as they fell.' + +She turned back with me to the water-mark to see the waves come +tumbling in beneath the moon. We sauntered along the sea-margin +again, heedless of the passage of time. + +And again (as on that betrothal night) Winifred prattled on, +while I listened to the prattle, craftily throwing in a word or two, +now and then, to direct the course of the sweet music into such +channels as best pleased my lordly whim,--when suddenly, against my +will and reason, there came into my mind that idea of the sea's +prophecy which was so familiar to my childhood, but which my studies +had now made me despise. + +The sea then threw up to Winifred's feet a piece of seaweed. It was a +long band of common weed, that would in the sunlight have shone a +bright red. And at that very moment--right across the sparkling bar +the moon had laid over the sea--there passed, without any cloud to +cast it, a shadow. And my father's description of his love-tragedy +haunted me, I knew not why. And right across my life, dividing it in +twain like a burn-scar, came and lay for ever that strip of red +seaweed. Why did my father's description of his own love-tragedy +haunt me? + +Before recalling the words that had fallen from my father in +Switzerland, I was a boy: in a few minutes afterwards, I was a man +with an awful knowledge of Destiny in my eyes--a man struggling with +calamity, and fainting in the grip of dread. My manhood, I say, dates +from the throwing up of that strip of seaweed. Winifred picked up the +weed and made a necklace of it, in the old childish way, knowing how +much it would please me. + +'Isn't it a lovely colour?' she said, as it glistened in the +moonlight. 'Isn't it just as beautiful and just as precious as if it +were really made of the jewels it seems to rival?' + +'It is as red as the reddest ruby,' I replied, putting out my hand +and grasping the slippery substance. + +'Would you believe,' said Winnie, 'that I never saw a ruby in my +life? And now I particularly want to know all about rubies.' + +'Why do you want particularly to know?' + +'Because,' said Winifred, 'my father, when he wished me to come out +for a walk, had been talking a great deal about rubies.' + +'Your father had been talking about rubies, Winifred--how very odd!' + +'Yes,' said Winifred, 'and he talked about diamonds too.' + +'THE CURSE!' I murmured, and clasped her to my breast. 'Kiss me, +Winifred!' + +There had come a bite of sudden fire at my heart, and I shuddered +with a dreadful knowledge, like the captain of an unarmed ship, who, +while the unconscious landsmen on board are gaily scrutinising a sail +that like a speck has appeared on the horizon, shudders with the +knowledge of what the speck is, and hears in imagination the yells, +and sees the knives, of the Lascar pirates just starting in pursuit. +As I took in the import of those innocent words, falling from +Winifred's bright lips, falling as unconsciously as water-drops over +a coral reef in tropical seas alive with the eyes of a thousand +sharks, my skin seemed to roughen with dread, and my hair began to +stir. + +At first she resisted my movement, but looking in my eyes and seeing +that something had deeply disturbed me, she let me kiss her. 'What +did you say, Henry?' + +'That I love you so, Winnie, and cannot let you go just yet.' + +'What a dear fellow it is!' she said; 'and all this ado about a poor +girl with scarcely shoes to her feet.' Then, after an instant's +pause, she said: 'But I thought you said something very different. I +thought you said something about a curse, and _that_ scared me.' + +'Scared Winifred!' I said. 'Fancy anything scaring Winnie, who +threatens to hit people when they offend her.' + +'Ah! but I am scared,' said she, 'at things from the other world, and +especially at a curse.' + +'Why, what do you know about curses, Winifred?' + +'Oh, a good deal. I have never forgotten that shriek of a cursed +spirit which I heard at the Swallow Falls. And only a short time ago +Sinfi Lovell nearly frightened me to death by a story of a whole +Gypsy tribe having withered, one after the other--grandfathers, +fathers, and children--through a dead man's curse. But what is the +matter with you, Henry? You surely have turned very pale!' + +'Well, Winnie,' said I, 'I _am_ a little, just a little faint. After +the funeral I could take no dinner. But it will he over in a minute. +Let us go back a few yards and sit down upon the dry sand, and have +a little more chat.' + +We went and sat down, and my heart slowly resumed its function. + +'Let me see, Winnie, what were we talking about? About rubies and +diamonds, I think, were we not? You said that when your father bade +you come out for a walk to-night, he had just been talking about +rubies and diamonds. What was he saying about them, Winnie? But come +and lay your head here while you tell me; lay it on my breast, +Winnie, as you used to do in Graylingham Wood, and on these same +sands.' + +Evidently the earnestness of my manner and the suppressed passion in +my voice drove out of her mind all her wise saws about the perils of +wealth and all her wise determinations about the postponed betrothal, +for she came and sat by my side and laid her head upon my breast. + +'Yes. like _that_,' I said; 'and now tell me what your father was +saying about precious stones; for I, too, take an interest in jewels, +and have a great knowledge of them.' + +'My father,' said Winifred, 'is going to have some diamonds and +rubies given to him to-night by a friend of his, a sailor, who has +come from India, and I am to go to London to-morrow to sell some of +them; for you know, dear, we are very poor. That is why I am +determined to go back to Shire-Carnarvon and see if I can get a +situation as governess. Miss Dalrymple's recommendation will be of +great aid. Poverty afflicts father more than it afflicts most people, +and the rubies and diamonds and things will be of no use to us, you +know.' + +I could make her no answer. + +'It seems a very strange kind of present from my father's friend,' +she continued, meditatively; 'but it is a very kind one for all that. +But, Henry, you surely are still very unwell; your heart is thumping +underneath my ear like a fire-engine.' + +'They are all love-thumps for Winifred,' I said, with pretended +jocosity; 'they are all love-thumps for my Winnie.' + +'But of course,' said she, 'this is quite a secret about the precious +stones. My father enjoined me to tell no one, because the temptation +to people is so great, and the cottage might be robbed, or I might be +waylaid going to London. But of course I may tell you; he never +thought of _you_.' + +'No, Winnie, he never thought of me. You are very fond of him; very +fond of your father, are you not?' + +'Oh yes,' said she, 'I love him more than all the world--next to +you.' + +'Then he is kind to you, Winnie?' 'Ye--yes, as kind as he can +be--considering--' + +'Considering what, Winnie?' + +'Considering that he's often--unwell, you know.' + +'Winnie.' I said, as I gazed in the innocent eyes, 'whom are you +considered to be the most like, your father or your mother?' + +'I never knew my mother, but I am said to be partly like her. Why do +you ask?' + +'Only an idle question. You love me, Winnie?' + +'What a question!' + +'And you will do what I ask you to do, if I ask you very earnestly, +Winnie?' + +'Certumly,' said Winifred, giving, with a forced laugh, the lisp with +which that word had been given on a now famous occasion. + +'Well, Winifred, I told you that I feel an interest in precious +stones, and have some knowledge of them. There are certain stones to +which I have the greatest antipathy: diamonds and rubies are the +chief of these. + +Now I want you to promise that diamonds and rubies and beryls shall +never touch these fingers, these dear fingers, Winnie, which are +mine, you know; they are mine now,' and I drew the smooth nails +slowly along my lips. 'You are mine now, every bit.' + +'Every bit,' said Winifred, but she looked perplexed. + +She saw, however, by my face that, for some reason or other, I was +deeply in earnest. She gave the promise. And I knew at least that +those fingers would not be polluted, come what would. As to her going +to London with the spoil, I knew how to prevent that. + +But what course of action was I now to take? At this very moment +perhaps Winifred's father was violating my father's tomb, unless +indeed the crime might even yet he prevented. There was one hope, +however. The drunken scoundrel whose daughter was my world I knew to +be a procrastinator in everything. His crime might, even yet, be only +a crime in intent; and, if so, I could prevent it easily enough. My +first business was to hurry to the church, and, if not yet too late, +keep guard over the tomb. But to achieve this I must get quit of +Winifred without a moment's delay. Now Winifred's most direct path to +the cottage was the path I myself must take to the church, the +gangway behind Flinty Point. Yet _she_ must not pass the church with +me, lest an encounter with her father should take place. There was +thus but one course open. I must induce her to take the gangway +behind the other point of the cove; and how was this to be compassed? +That was what I was racking my brain about. + +'Winifred,' I said at last, as we sat and looked at the sea, 'I begin +to fear we must be moving.' + +She started up, vexed that the hint to move had come from me. + +'The fact is,' I said, 'I particularly want to go into the old +church.' + +'Into the old church to-night?' said Winifred, with a look of +astonishment and alarm that I could not understand. + +'Yes; something was left undone there this afternoon at the funeral, +and I must go at once. But why do you look so alarmed?' + +'Oh, don't go into the old church to-night,' said Winifred. + +I stood and looked at her, puzzled and strangely disturbed. + +'Henry,' said she, 'I know you will think me very foolish, but I have +not yet got over the fright that shriek gave me, the shriek we both +heard the moment before the landslip. That shriek was not a noise +made by the rending of trees, Henry. No, no; we both know better than +that, Henry.' + +I gave a start; for, try as I would, I had not really succeeded in +persuading myself that what I had heard was anything but a human +voice in terror or in pain. + +'What do you think the noise was, then?' said I. + +'I don't know; but I know what I felt as it came shuddering along the +sand, and then went wailing over the sea.' + +'What did you feel, Winnie?' + +'My heart stood still, for it seemed to me to be the call from the +grave.' + +'The call from the grave! and pray what is that? I feel how sadly my +education has been neglected.' + +'Don't scoff, Henry. It is said that when the fate of an old family +is at stake, there will sometimes come to him who represents it a +call from the grave, and when I saw Snap standing stock still, his +hair bristling with terror, I knew that it was no earthly shriek. I +felt sure it was a call from the grave, and I knelt on the sands and +prayed. Henry, Henry, don't go in the church to-night.' + +That Winifred's words affected me profoundly I need not say. The +shriek, whatever it was, had been responded to by her soul and by +mine in the same mysterious way. But the important thing to do was to +prevent her from imagining that her superstitious terrors had +affected me. + +'Really, Winnie,' I said, 'this double-voiced shriek of yours, which +is at once the shriek of the Welshman at the bottom of the swollen +falls and the Celtic call from the grave, is the most dramatic shriek +I ever heard of. It would make its fortune on the stage. But with all +its power of being the shriek of two different people at once, it +must not prevent my going into the church to do my duty; so we had +better part here at this very spot. You go up the cliffs by Needle +Point, and _I_ will take Flinty Point gangway.' + +'But why not ascend the cliffs together?' said Winifred. + +'Why, the prying coastguard might be passing, and might wonder to +see us in the churchyard on the night of my father's funeral (he +might take us for two ghosts in love, you know). However, we need not +part just yet. We can walk on a little farther into the cove before +our paths diverge.' + +Winifred made no demur, though she looked puzzled, as we were then +much nearer to the gangway I had selected for myself than to the +gangway I had allotted to her. + + +IX + +Winifred and I were in the little horseshoe curve called 'Church +Cove,' but also called sometimes 'Mousetrap Cove,' because, as I have +already mentioned, a person imprisoned in it by the tide could only +escape by means of a boat from the sea. + +Needle Point was at one extremity of the cove and Flinty Point at the +other. In front of us, therefore, at the very centre of the cliff +that surrounded the cove, was the old church, which I was to reach as +soon as possible. To reach a gangway up the cliff it was necessary to +pass quite out of the cove, round either Flinty Point or Needle +Point; for the cliff _within_ the cove was perpendicular, and in some +parts actually overhanging. + +When we reached the softer sands near the back of the cove, where the +walking was difficult, I bade Winifred good-night, and she turned +somewhat demurely to the left on her way to Needle Point, between +which and the spot where we now parted she would have to pass below +the church on the cliff, and close by the great masses of debris from +the new landslip that had fallen from the churchyard. This landslip +(which had taken place since she had left home for her moonlight +walk) had changed the shape of the cove into a figure something like +the Greek epsilon. + +I walked rapidly towards Flinty Point, which I should have to double +before I could reach the gangway I was to take. So feverishly +possessed had I become by the desire to prevent the sacrilege, if +possible, that I had walked some distance away from Winifred before I +observed how high the returning tide had risen in the cove. + +When I now looked at Flinty Point, round which I was to turn, I saw +that it was already in deep water, and that I could not reach the +gangway outside the cove. It was necessary, therefore, to turn back +and ascend by the gangway Winifred was making for, behind Needle +Point, which did not project so far into the sea. So I turned back. +As I did so, I perceived that she had reached the projecting mass of +debris in the middle of the semicircle below the churchyard, and was +looking at it. Then I saw her stoop, pick up what seemed a paper +parcel, open it, and hold it near her face to trace out the letters +by the moonlight. Then I saw her give a start as she read it. I +walked towards her, and soon reached the landslip. Evidently what she +read agitated her much. She seemed to read it and re-read it. When +she saw me she put it behind her back, trying to conceal it from me. + +'What have you picked up, Winifred?' I said, in much alarm; for my +heart told me that it was in some way connected with her father and +the shriek. + +'Oh, Henry!' said she, 'I was in hopes you had not seen it. I am so +grieved for you. This parchment contains a curse written in large +letters. Some sacrilegious wretch has broken into the church and +stolen a cross placed in your father's tomb.' + +God!--It was the very same parchment scroll from my father's tomb on +which was written the curse! I was struck dumb with astonishment and +dismay. The whole terrible truth of the situation broke in upon me at +one flash. The mysterious shriek was explained now. Wynne had +evidently broken open the tomb as soon as his daughter was out of the +way. He had then, in order to reach the cottage without running the +risk of being seen by a chance passenger on the Wilderness Road, +blundered about the edge of the cliff at the very moment when it was +giving way, and had fallen with it. It was his yell of despair amid +the noise of the landslip that Winifred and I had both heard. My sole +thought was for Winifred. She had read the curse; but where was the +dead body of her father that would proclaim upon whose head the curse +had fallen? I stared around me in dismay. She saw how deeply I was +disturbed, but little dreamed the true cause. + +'Oh, Henry,' said she, 'to think that you should have such a grief as +this; your dear father's tomb violated!' and she sat down and sobbed. +'But there is a God in heaven,' she added, rising with great +solemnity. 'Whoever has committed this dreadful crime against God and +man will rue the day he was born:--the curse of a dead man who has +been really wronged no penance or prayer can cure,--so my aunt in +Wales used to say, and so Sinfi says;--it clings to the wrongdoer and +to his children. That cry I heard was the voice of vengeance, and it +came from your father's tomb.' + +'It is a most infamous robbery,' I said; 'but as to the curse, that +is of course as powerless to work mischief as the breath of a baby.' +And again I anxiously looked around to see where was the dead body of +Wynne, which I knew must be close by. + +'Oh, Henry!' said she, 'listen to these words, these awful words of +your dead father, and the words of the Bible too.' + +And she held up to her eyes, as though fascinated by it, the +parchment scroll, and read aloud in a voice so awe-struck that it did +not seem to be her voice at all: + + '_He who shall violate this tomb,--he who shall steal this amulet, + hallowed as a love-token between me and my dead wife,--he who shall + dare to lay a sacrilegious hand upon this cross, stands cursed by + God, cursed by love, and cursed by me, Philip Aylwin, lying here. + "Let there be no man to pity him, nor to have compassion upon his + fatherless children....Let his children be vagabonds, and beg their + bread: let them seek it also out of desolate places."--Psalm cix. + So saith the Lord_. Amen.' + +'I am in the toils,' I murmured, with grinding teeth. + +'What a frightful curse!' she said, shuddering. 'It terrifies me to +think of it. How hard it seems,' she continued, 'that the children +should be cursed for the father's crimes.' + +'But, Winifred, they are NOT so cursed,' I cried. 'It is all a +hideous superstition: one of Man's idiotic lies!' + +'Henry,' said she, shocked at my irreverence, 'it _is_ so; the Bible +says it, and all life shows it. Ah! I wonder what wretch committed +the sacrilege, and why he had no pity on his poor innocent children!' + +While she was talking, I stooped and picked up the casket from which +the letters had been forced by the fall. She had not seen it. I put +it in my pocket. + +'Henry, I am so grieved for you,' said Winifred again, and she came +and wound her fingers in mine. + +Grieved for _me_! But where was her father's dead body? That was the +thought that appalled me. Should we come upon it in the _débris_? +What was to be done? Owing to the tide, there was no turning back now +to Flinty Point. The projecting debris must be passed. There was no +dallying for a moment. If we lingered we should be caught by the tide +in Mousetrap Cove, and then nothing could save us. Suppose in passing +the _débris_ we should come upon her father's corpse. The idea was +insupportable. 'Thank God, however, I murmured, 'she will not even +_then_ know the very worst; she will see the corpse of her father who +has fallen with the cliff, but she need not and will not associate +him with the sacrilege and the curse.' + +As I picked up the letters that had been scattered from the casket, +she said, + +'I cannot get that dreadful curse out of my head; to think that the +children of the despoiler should be cursed by God, and cursed by your +father, and yet they are as innocent as I am.' + +'Best to forget it,' said I, standing still, for I dared not move +towards the _débris_. + +'We must get on, Henry,' said she, 'for look, the tide is unusually +high to-night. You have turned back, I see, because Flinty Point is +already deep in the water.' + +'Yes,' I said, 'I must turn Needle Point with you. But as to the +sacrilege, let us dismiss it from our minds; what cannot be helped +had better be forgotten.' + +I then cautiously turned the corner of the _débris_, leading her +after me in such a way that my body acted as a screen. Then my eyes +encountered a spectacle whose horror chilled my blood, and haunts me +to this day in my dreams. About twelve feet above the general level +of the sand, buried to the breast behind a mass of green sward fallen +from the graveyard, stood the dead body of Wynne, amid a confused +heap of earth, gravestones, trees, shrubs, bones, and shattered +coffins. Bolt upright it stood, staring with horribly distorted +features, as in terror, the crown of the head smashed by a fallen +gravestone. Upon his breast glittered the rubies and diamonds and +beryls of the cross, sparkling in the light of the moon, and seeming +to be endowed with conscious life. It was evident that he had, while +groping his way out of the crypt, slung the cross around his neck, in +order to free his hands. I shudder as I recall the spectacle. The +sight would have struck Winifred dead, or sent her raving mad, on the +spot; but she had not turned the corner, and I had just time to wheel +sharply round, and thrust my body between her and the spectacle. The +dog saw it, and, foaming with terror, pointed at it. + +'I beg your pardon, Winifred,' I said, falling upon her and pushing +her back. + +Then I stood paralysed as the full sinister meaning of the situation +broke in upon my mind. Had the _débris_ fallen in any other way I +might have saved Winifred from seeing the most cruel feature of the +hideous spectacle, the cross, the evidence of her father's sacrilege. +I might, perhaps, on some pretence, have left her on this side the +_débris_, and turning the corner, have mounted the heap and removed +the cross gleaming in hideous mockery on the dead man's breast, and +giving back the moonbeams in a cross of angry fire. One glance, +however, had shown me that before this could be done, there was a +wall of slippery sward to climb, for the largest portion of the +churchyard soil had broken off in one lump. In falling, it had turned +but _half_ over, and then had slid down sideways, presenting to the +climber a facet or sward nearly perpendicular and a dozen feet high. +Wedged in between the jaggy top of this block and the wall of the +cliff was the corpse, showing that Wynne had been standing by the +fissure of the cliff at the moment when it widened into a landslip. + +Nor was that all; between that part of the _débris_ where the corpse +was perched and the sand below was one of those long pools of +sea-water edged by shingles, which are common features of that coast. +It seemed that Destiny or Circumstance, more pitiless than Fate and +Hell, determined on our ruin, had forgotten nothing. + +The contour of the cove; the way in which the debris had been thrown +across the path we now must follow in order to reach the only place +of egress; the way in which the hideous spectacle of Wynne and the +proof of his guilt had been placed, so that to pass it without seeing +it the passenger must go blindfold; the brilliance of the moon, +intensified by being reflected from the sea; the fulness of the high +tide, and the swell--all was complete! As I stood there with clenched +teeth, like a rat in a trap, a wind seemed to come blowing through my +soul, freezing and burning. I cursed Superstition that was slaying us +both. And I should have cursed Heaven but for the touch of Winnie's +clasping fingers, silky and soft as when I first felt them as a child +in the churchyard. + +'What has happened?' asked she, looking into my face. + +'Only a slip of my foot,' I said, recovering my presence of mind. + +'But why do you turn back?' + +'I cannot bring myself to part from you under this delicious moon, +Winnie, if you will stay a few minutes longer. Let us go and sit on +that very boulder where little Hal proposed to you.' + +'But you want to go into the church,' said Winifred, as we moved back +towards the boulder. + +'No, I will leave that till the morning. I would leave _anything_ +till the morning, to have a few minutes longer with you on the sands. +Try to imagine that we are children again, and that I am not the +despised rich man but little Hal the cripple.' + +Winifred's eyes, which had begun to look very troubled, sparkled with +delight. + +'But,' said she with a sigh, as we sat down on the boulder, 'I'm +afraid we sha'n't be able to stay long. See how the tide is rising, +and the sea is wild. The tides just now, father says, come right up +to the cliff in the cove, and once locked in between Flinty Point and +Needle Point there is no escape.' + +'Yes, darling,' I muttered to myself, drawing her to me and burying +my face in her bosom, 'there is one escape, only one.' + +For death seemed to me the only escape from a tragedy far, far worse +than death. + +If she made me any answer I heard it not; for, as I sat there with +closed eyes, schemes of escape fluttered before me and were dismissed +at the rate of a thousand a second. A fiery photograph of the cove +was burning within my brain, my mind was absorbed in examining every +cranny and every protuberance in the semicircular wall of the cliff +there depicted; over and over again I was examining that +brain-picture, though I knew every inch of it, and knew there was not +in the cliff-wall foothold for a squirrel. + + +X + +The moon mocked me, and seemed to say: + +'The blasting spectacle shining there on the other side of that heap +of earth must be passed, or Needle Point can never be reached; and +unless it is reached instantly you and she can never leave the cove.' + +'Then we will never leave it,' I whispered to myself, jumping up. + +As I did so I found for the first time that her forehead had been +resting against my head; for the furious rate at which the wheels of +thought were moving left no vital current for the sense of touch, and +my flesh was numbed. + +'Something has happened,' she said. 'And why did you keep whispering +"yes, yes"? Whom were you whispering to?' + +The truth was that, in that dreadful trance, my conscience had been +saying to me, 'Have you a right to exercise your power over this girl +by leading her like a lamb to death?' and my love had replied, 'Yes, +ten thousand times yes.' + +'Winifred,' I said, 'I would die for you.' + +'Yes, Henry,' said she, 'I know it; but what have we to do with death +now?' + +'To save you from harm this flesh of mine would rejoice at +crucifixion; to save you from death this soul and body of mine would +rejoice to endure a thousand years of hell-fire.' + +She turned pale, amazed at the delirium into which I had passed. + +'To save you from harm, dear, I would,' said I, with a quiet +fierceness that scared her, 'immolate the whole human race--mothers, +and fathers, and children; I would make a hecatomb of them all to +save this body of yours, this sweet body, alive.' + +But I could not proceed. What I had meant to say was this,-- + +'And yet, Winnie, I have brought you here to this boulder to die!' + +But I could not say it--my tongue rebelled and would not say it. + +Winifred was so full of health and enjoyment of life that, courageous +as she was. I felt that the prospect of certain and imminent death +must appal her; and to see the look of terror break over her face +confronting death was what I could not bear. And yet the thing must +be said. But at this very moment, when my perplexity seemed direst, a +blessed thought came to me--a subterfuge holier than truth. I knew +the Cymric superstition about 'the call from the grave,' for had not +she herself just told me of it? + +'I will turn Superstition, accursed Superstition itself, to account,' +I muttered. 'I will pretend that I am enmeshed in a web of Fate, and +doomed to die here myself. Then, if I know my Winifred, she will, of +her own free mind, die with me.' + +'Winnie,' I said, 'I have to tell you something that I know must +distress you sorely on my account--something that must wring your +heart, dear, and yet it must be told.' + +She turned her head sharply round with a look of alarm that almost +silenced me, so pathetic was it. On that courageous face I had not +seen alarm before, and this was alarm for evil coming to me. It shook +my heart--it shook my heart so that I could not speak. + +'I felt,' said she, 'that something awful had happened. And it +affects yourself, Henry?' + +'It affects myself.' + +'And very deeply?' + +'Very deeply, Winnie.' + +Then, pulling from my pocket the silver casket and the parchment +scroll, I said, 'It has relation to these.' + +'_That_ I felt,' said she; 'how could it be otherwise? Oh, the +miscreant! I curse him; I curse him!' + +'Winifred,' I said, 'between me and this casket, and the cross +mentioned in this scroll, there is a mysterious link. The cross is an +amulet, an heirloom of dreadful potency for good and ill. It has been +disturbed; it has been stolen from my father's grave, and there is +but one way of setting right that disturbance. To avert unspeakable +calamity from falling upon two entire families (the family of Aylwin +and that of her to whom this amulet was given) a sacrifice is +demanded.' + +'Henry, you terrify me to death. What is the sacrifice? Oh God! Oh +God!' + +'My father's son must die, Winnie.' + +She turned ashen pale, but struggling to be playful, she said, 'I +fear that the family of Aylwin and the family of somebody else must +even take the calamity and bear it; for I don't mean my Henry to die, +let me assure both families of _that_.' + +'Ah! but, Winnie, I am under a solemn oath and pledge to bear this +penalty; and we part to-night, That shriek which so appalled you--' + +'Well, well, the shriek?' said she, in a frenzy of impatience. + +I made no answer, but she answered herself. + +'That shriek was a call to you,' she cried, and then burst into a +passion of tears. 'It _cannot_ be,' she said. 'It cannot and shall +not be; God is too good to suffer it,' Then she fixed her eyes upon +me, and sobbed: 'Ah, it is _true_! I feel it is all true! Yes, they +are calling you, and that is why my soul answered the call. Ah, when +I saw you just now lift your head from my breast with a face grey and +wizened as an old man's--when I saw you look at me, I knew that +something dreadful had happened. Oh, I knew, I knew! but I thought it +had happened to _me_. The love and pity in your eyes when you opened +them upon me made me think it was my trouble, and not yours, that +disturbed you. And now I know it is yours, and you are going to die! +They are calling you. Yes, you are going to let the tide drown you! +Oh, my love my love!' and her grief was so acute that I knew not at +first whether in this I had done well after all. + +'Winifred,' I said, 'you must bear this. I have always been ready to +take death when it should come. I have at least had one blessed time +with Winifred on the sands--Winifred the beloved and beautiful +girl--one night, as the crown to the happy days that have been mine +with Winifred the beloved and beautiful child. And that night, as we +were walking by the sea, it seemed to me that such happiness as was +ours can come but once--that never again could there be a night equal +to that.' + +Smiles broke through her tears as she listened to me. I had struck +the right chord. + +'And _I_ thought so too,' she said. 'It was indeed a night of bliss. +Indeed, indeed God has been good to us, Henry,' and she fell into my +arms again. + +'And now, Winnie,' I said, 'we must kiss and part--part for ever.' + +Yes, I had struck the right chord. As she lay in my arms I felt her +soft bosom moving with a little hysterical laugh of derision when I +said we must part. And then she rose and sat beside me upon the +boulder, looking calm and fearless at the tide as it got nearer and +nearer to Needle Point. + +'Yes, dear,' I said, looking in the same direction, 'you must be +going; see how the waves are surrounding the Point. You must run, +Winnie--you must run, and leave me.' + +'Yes,' said she, still gazing across to the Point, 'as you say, I +must run, but not yet, dear; plenty of time yet,' and she smiled to +herself as she used to do in the old days, when as a child she had +made up her mind to do something. + +Then without another word she took her shawl from her shoulders, and +pulled it out to see its length. And soon I felt her fingers stealing +my penknife from my waistcoat-pocket, and saw her deftly cut up the +shawl, strip after strip, and weave it and knot it into a rope, and +tie the rope around her waist, and then she stooped to tie it around +me. + +It was when I felt her warm breath about my neck as she stooped over +me to tie that rope, that love was really revealed to me; it was +then, and not till then, that all my previous love for Winifred +seemed as the flicker of a rushlight to Sálamán's cloak of fire; and +a feeling of bliss unutterable came upon me, and the night air seemed +full of music, and the sky above seemed opening, as she whispered, +'Henry, Henry, Henry, in a few minutes you will be mine.' But the +very confidence with which she spoke these simple words startled me +as from a dream. 'Suppose,' I thought, 'suppose my last drop of bliss +with Winnie were being tasted now!' In a moment I felt like a coward. +But then there came a loud crash and a thunder from behind the +landslip. + +'The settlement!' I cried. 'The coming in of the tide has made the +landslip settle!' + +When I sat with closed eyes examining my fiery photograph, I had +calculated the 'settlement' at the return of the tide as being among +the chances of escape. But feeling myself to be engaged in a duel +with Circumstance (more cruel than the fiends), I believed that the +settlement would come too late for us, or even if it did not come too +late, it might not hide away the spectacle. The settlement had come; +what had it done for us? This I must know at once. + +'Untie the rope,' I said; 'quick, untie the rope, there is a +settlement of the landslip.' + +'But what has the settlement to do with us?' said Winnie. + +'It _has_ to do with us, dear; untie the rope. It has much to do with +us, Winnie,' I said; for now the determination to save her life came +on me stronger than ever. + +When the rope was untied, I said, 'Wait till I call,' and I ran round +the corner of the _débris_. The great upright wall of earth and +sward, from which had stared the body of Wynne, had fallen, hiding +him and his crime together! + +To return round the corner of the landslip and call Winifred was the +work of an instant, and, quick as she was in answering my call, by +the time she had reached me I had thrown off my coat and boots. + +'Now for a run and a tussle with the waves, Winnie,' I said. + +'Then we are not going to die?' + +'We are going to live. Run; in six more returns of a wave like that +there will he four feet of water at the Point.' + +'Come along, Snap,' said Winifred, and she flew along the sands +without another word. + +Ah, she could run!--faster than I could, with my bruised heel! She +was there first. + +'Leap in, Winnie,' I cried, 'and struggle towards the Point; it will +save time. I shall he with you in a second.' + +Winifred plunged into the tide (Snap following with a bark), and +fought her way so bravely that my fear now was lest she should be out +of her depth before I could reach her, and then, clad as she was, she +would certainly drown. But never tor a moment did her good sense +leave her. When she was nearly waist-high she stopped and turned +round, gazing at me as I tore through the shallow water--gazing with +a wistful, curious look that her face would have worn had we been +playing. + +To get round the Point and pull Winifred round was no slight task, +for the water was nearly up to my breast, and a woman's clothing +seems designed for drowning her. Any other woman than Winifred +_would_ have been drowned, and would have drowned me with her. But in +straits of this kind the only safety lies in courage. + +'What a night's adventures!' said Winifred, after we had turned the +Point, and were walking through the shallow water towards the +gangway. + +We hurried towards the cottage as fast as our wet clothes would +permit. On reaching it we found the door unlocked, and entered. + +'Father has again gone to bed,' said Winifred, 'and left no candle +burning for me.' + +And without seeing her face, I knew by the tremor of the hand I +clasped that she was listening with shame for the drunken snore that +she would never hear again. + +I lighted a match, which with a candle I found on a chair. + +'Your father is no doubt sound asleep,' I said; 'you will scarcely +awake him to-night?' + +'Oh dear, no,' said Winifred. 'Good-night. You look quite ill. Ever +since you lifted up your head from my breast, when you were thinking +so hard, you have looked quite ill.' + +Suddenly I remembered that I must be up and on the sands betimes in +the morning, to see whether the tide had washed away the fallen earth +so as to expose Wynne's body. To prevent Winifred from seeing the +stolen cross was now the one important thing in the world. + +I bade her good-night and walked towards home. + + +XI + +She was right: those few minutes of concentrated agony had in truth +made me ill. My wet clothes clinging round my body began to chill me +now, and as I crept into the house and upstairs to my room, my teeth +were chattering like castanets. + +As I threw off my wet clothes and turned into bed, I was partially +forewarned by the throbbing at my temples, the rolling fire at the +back of my eyeballs, the thirst in my parched throat, that some kind +of illness, some kind of fever, was upon me. And no wonder, after +such a night! + +In that awful trance, when I had sat with my face buried on +Winifred's breast, not only had the physiognomy of the cove, but +every circumstance of our lives together, been photographed in my +brain in one picture of fire. When, after the concentrated agony of +those first moments of tension, I looked up into Winifred's face, as +though awakening from a dream, my flesh had 'appeared,' she told me, +'grey and wizened, like the flesh of an old man.' The mental and +physical effects of this were now gathering around me and upon me. + +From a painful slumber I awoke in about an hour with red-heat at my +brain and with a sickening dread at my heart. 'It is fever,' thought +I; 'I am going to be ill; and what is there to do in the morning at +the ebb of the tide before Winifred can go upon the sands? I ought +not to have come home at all,' I said. 'Suppose illness were to +seize me and prevent my getting there?' The dreadful thought alone +paralysed me quite. Under it I lay as under a nightmare. I scarcely +dared try to get out of bed, lest I should find my fears +well-grounded. At last, cautiously and timorously, I put one leg out +of bed and then the other, till at length I felt the little ridges of +the carpet; but my knees gave way, my head swam, my stomach heaved +with a deadly nausea, and I fell like a log on the floor. + +As I lay there I knew that I was indeed in the grasp of fever. I +nearly went crazed from terror at the thought that in a few minutes I +should perhaps lapse into unconsciousness and be unable to +rise--unable to reach the sands in the morning and seek for Wynne's +body--unable even to send some one there as a substitute to perform +that task. But then whom was I to send? whom could I entrust with +such a commission? I was under a pledge to my dead father never to +divulge the secret of the amulet save to my mother and uncle. And +besides, if I would effectually save Winifred from the harm I +dreaded, the hideous sacrilege committed by her father must be kept a +secret from servants and townspeople. Whom then could I send on this +errand? At the present moment, there were but four people in the +world who knew that the cross and casket had been placed in the +coffin--my mother, my uncle, myself, and now, alas! Winifred. My +mother was the one person who could do what I wanted done. Her +sagacity I knew; her courage I knew. But how could I--how dare I, +broach such a matter to her? I felt it would be sheer madness to do +so, and yet, in my dire strait, in my terror at the illness I was +fighting with, I did it, as I am going to tell. + +By this time the noise of my fall had brought up the servants. They +lifted me into bed and proposed fetching our medical man. But I +forbade them to do so, and said, 'I want to speak to my mother.' + +'She is herself unwell, sir,' said the man to whom I spoke. + +'I know,' I replied. 'Call her maid and tell her that my business +with my mother is very important, or I would not have dreamed of +disturbing her; but see her I must.' + +The man looked dubious, but observing my wet clothes on a chair he +seemed to think that something had happened, and went to do my +bidding. + +In a very short time my mother entered the room. I felt that my +moments of consciousness were brief, and began my story as soon as we +were alone. I told her how the sudden dread that Wynne would steal +the amulet had come upon me; I told her how I had run down to the +churchyard and discovered the landslip; I told her how, on seeing the +landslip, I had descended the gangway and found the body of Wynne, +the amulet, the casket, and the written curse. But I did not tell her +that I had met Winifred on the sands. Excited as I was, I had the +presence of mind not to tell her that. + +As I proceeded with my narrative, with my mother sitting by my +bedside, a look of horror, then a look of loathing, then a look of +scorn, swept over her face. I knew that the horror was of the +sacrilege. I knew that the loathing and the haughty scorn expressed +her feeling towards the despoiler--the father of her whose cause I +might have to plead; and I began to wish from the bottom of my heart +that I had not taken her into my confidence. When I got to the +finding of Tom's body, and the look of terror stamped upon his face, +a new expression broke over hers--an expression of triumphant hate +that was fearful. + +'Thank God at least for that!' she said. Then she murmured, 'But that +does not atone.' + +Ah! how I regretted now that I had consulted her on a subject where +her proud imperious nature must be so deeply disturbed. But it was +too late to retreat. + +'Henry,' she said, 'this is a shocking story you tell me. After +losing my husband this is the worst that could have happened to +me--the violation of his sacred tomb. Had I only hearkened to my own +misgiving about the miscreant! Yet I wonder you did not wait till the +morning before telling me.' + +'Wait till the morning?' I said, forgetting that she did not know +what was at my heart. + +'Doubtless the matter is important, Henry,' said she. 'Still, the +mischief is done, the hideous crime has been committed, and the news +of it could have waited till morning.' + +'But, mother, unless my father's words are idle breath, it is +important, most important, that the amulet should again be buried +with him. I meant to go to the sands in the morning and wait for the +ebbing tide--I meant to take the cross from the breast of the dead +man, and to replace it in my father's coffin. That, mother, was what +I meant to do. But I am too ill to move; I feel that in an hour or +so, or in a few minutes, I shall be delirious. And then, mother! Oh, +_then_!--'My mother looked astonished at my vehemence upon the +subject. + +'Henry,' she said, 'I had no idea that you felt such an interest in +the matter; I have certainly misjudged your character entirely. And +now, what do you want me to do?' + +'Nobody,' I said, 'must know of the cross but ourselves. I want you, +mother, to do what I cannot do: I want you to go on the sands and +wait for the turn of the tide; I want you to take the cross from +Wynne's breast, if the body should be exposed, and secure it in +secret till it can be replaced in the coffin.' + +'_I_ do this, Henry?' said my mother, with a look of bewilderment at +my earnestness. 'Yet there is reason in what you say, and grievous as +the task would be for me, I must consider it.' + +'But will you engage to do it, mother?' + +'Really, Henry, you forget yourself,--you forget your mother too. For +me to go down to the sands and watch the ebbing of the tide, and then +defile myself by touching the body of this wretch, is a task I +naturally shrink from. Still if, on thinking it over, I find it my +duty to do it, it will not be needful for me to enter into a compact +with my son that my duty to my dead husband shall be performed. +Good-night. I quite think you will be better in the morning. I see no +signs myself of the fever you seem to dread, and, alas! I am not, as +you know, ignorant of the way in which a fever begins.' + +She was going out of the room when I exclaimed, in sheer desperation, +'Mother, I have something else to say to you. You remember the little +girl, the little blue-eyed girl, Wynne's daughter, who came here +once, and you were so kind to her, so gracious and so kind'; and I +seized her hand and covered it with kisses, for I was beside myself +with alarm lest my one hope should go.' + +The sudden little laugh of bitter scorn that came from my mother's +lips, the sudden spasm that shook her frame, the sudden shadow as of +night that swept across her features, should at once have hushed my +confession. But I went on: my tongue would not stop now: I felt that +my eloquence, the eloquence of Winifred's danger, must conquer, must +soften even the hard pride of her race. + +'And she has never forgotten your graciousness to her, mother.' + +'Well?' said my mother, in a tone whose velvet softness withered me. + +'Well, mother, she is in all things the very opposite of her father. +This very night she told me'--and I was actually on the verge of +repeating poor Winifred's prattle about her resembling her mother, +and not her father (for already my brain had succumbed to the force +of the oncoming fever, and the catastrophe I was dreading made of me +a frank and confiding child). + +'Well?' said my mother, in a voice softer and more velvety still. +'What did she tell you?' + +That tone ought to have convinced me of the folly, the worse than +folly, of saying another word to her. + +'But I can conquer her,' I thought; 'I can conquer her yet. When she +comes to know all the piteousness of Winifred's case, she _must_ +yield.' + +'Yes, mother,' I cried, 'she is in all things the very opposite of +Tom. She has such a horror of sacrilege; she has such a dread of a +crime and a curse like this; she has such a superstitious belief in +the power of a dead man's curse to cling to the delinquent's +offspring, that, if she knew of what her father had done, she would +go mad--raving mad, mother--she would indeed!' And I fell hack on the +pillow exhausted. + +'Well, Henry, and is this what you summoned me from my bed to tell +me--that Wynne's daughter will most likely object to share the +consequences of her father's crime? A very natural objection, and I +am really sorry for her; but further than that I have certainly no +affair with her.' + +'But, mother, the body of her father lies beneath the _débris_ on the +shore; the ebbing tide may leave it exposed, and the poor girl, +missing her father in the morning, will seek him perhaps on the shore +and find him--find him with the proof of his crime on his breast, and +know that she inherits the curse--my father's curse! Oh, think of +_that_, mother--think of it. And you only can prevent it.' + +For a few moments there was intense silence in the room. I saw that +my mother was reflecting. At last she said: + +'You say that Wynne's daughter told you something to-night. Where did +you see her?' + +'On the sands.' + +'At what hour?' + +'At--at--at--about eleven, or twelve, or one o'clock.' + +I felt that I was getting into a net, but was too ill to know what I +was doing. My mother paused for awhile; I waited as the prisoner +tried for his life waits when the jury have retired to consult. I +clutched the bedclothes to stay the trembling of my limbs. On a chair +by my bedside was my watch, which had been stopped by the sea-water. +I saw her take it up mechanically, look at it, and lay it down again. +In the agony of my suspense I yet observed her smallest movement. + +'And in what capacity am I to undertake this expedition?' said she at +length, in the same quiet tone, that soul-quelling tone she always +adopted when her passion was at white-heat. 'Is it in the capacity of +your father's wife executing his wishes about the amulet? Or is it as +the friend, protectress, and guardian of Miss Wynne?' + +She sat down again by my bedside, and communed with +herself--sometimes fixing an abstracted gaze upon me, sometimes +looking across me at the very spot where in the shadow beside my bed +I bad seemed to see the words of the Psalmist's curse written in +letters of fire. At last she said quietly, 'Henry, I will undertake +this commission of yours.' + +'Dear mother!' I exclaimed in my delight. 'I will undertake it,' +pursued my mother in the same quiet tone, 'on one condition.' + +'Any condition in the world, mother. There is nothing I will not do, +nothing I will not sacrifice or suffer, if you will only aid me in +saving this poor girl. Name your condition, mother; you can name +nothing I will not comply with.' + +'I am not so sure of that, Henry. Let me be quite frank with you. I +do not wish to entrap you into making an engagement you cannot keep. +You have corroborated to-night what I half suspected when I saw you +talking to the girl in the churchyard; there is a very vigorous +flirtation going on between you and this wretched man's daughter.' + +'Flirtation? 'I said, and the incongruity of the word as applied to +such a passion as mine did not vex or wound me; it made me smile. + +'Well, for her sake, I hope it is nothing more,' said my mother. 'In +view of the impassable gulf between her and you, I do for her sake +sincerely hope that it is nothing more than a flirtation.' + +'Pardon me, mother,' I said, 'it was the word "flirtation" that made +me smile.' + +'We will not haggle about words, Henry; give it what name may please +you, it is all the same to me. But flirtations of this kind will +sometimes grow serious, as the case of Percy Aylwin and the Gypsy +girl shows. Now, Henry, I do not accuse you of entertaining the mad +idea of really marrying this girl, though such things, as you know, +have been in our family. But you are my only son, and I do love you, +Henry, whatever may be your opinion on that point; and, because I +love you, I would rather, far rather, be a lonely, childless woman in +the world, I would far rather see you dead on this floor, than see +you marry Winifred Wynne.' + +'Ah! mother, the cruelty of this family pride has always been the +curse of the Aylwins.' + +'It seems cruel to you now, because you are a boy, a generous boy. +You think it the romantic, poetic thing to elevate a low girl to your +own station--perhaps even to show your superiority to conventions by +marrying the daughter of the miscreant who has desecrated your own +father's tomb. But, Henry, I know the race to which you and I belong. +In five years' time--in three years, or perhaps in two--you will +thank me for this; you will say: "My mother's love was not cruel, but +wise."' + +'Oh, mother!' I said, '_any_ condition but that.' + +'I see that you know what my condition is before I utter it. If you +will give me your word--and the word of an Aylwin is an oath--if you +will give me your word that you will never marry Winifred Wynne, I +will do as you desire. I will myself go upon the sands in the +morning, and if the body has been exposed by the tide I will secure +the evidence of her father's guilt, in order to save the girl from +the suffering which the knowledge of that guilt would cause her, as +you suppose.' + +'As I suppose!' + +'Again I say, Henry, we will not quarrel about words.' + +I turned sick with despair. + +'And on no other terms, mother?' + +'On no other terms,' said she. + +'Oh, mercy, mother! mercy! you know not what you do. I could not live +without her; I should die without her.' + +'Better die then!' exclaimed my mother, with an expression of +ineffable scorn, and losing for the first time her self-possession; +'better die than marry like that.' + +'She is my very life now, mother.' + +'Have I not said you had better die then? On no other terms will I go +on those sands. But I tell you frankly what I think about this +matter. I think that you absurdly exaggerate the effect the knowledge +of her father's crime will have upon the girl.' + +'No, no; I do not. Mercy, dear mother, mercy! I am your only child.' + +'That is the very reason why you, who may some day be the heir of one +of the first houses in England, must never marry Winifred Wynne.' + +'But I don't want to be heir of the Aylwins; I don't want my uncle's +property,' I retorted. 'Nor do I want the other bauble prizes of the +Aylwins.' + +'Providence has taken Frank, and says you must stand where you +stand,' replied my mother solemnly. 'You may even some day, should +Cyril be childless, succeed to the earldom, and then what an alliance +would this be!' + +'Earldom! I'd not have it. I'd trample on the coronet. Gingerbread! +I'd trample it in the mud, if it were to sever me from Winifred.' + +'You must succeed to it should Cyril Aylwin, who seems disinclined to +marry, die childless,' said my mother quietly; 'and by that time you +may perhaps have reached man's estate.' + +'Pity, mother, pity!' I cried in despair, as I looked at the strong +woman who bore me. + +'Pity upon whom? Have pity upon me, and upon the family you now +represent. As to all the fearful effects that the knowledge of this +sacrilege will have upon the girl, _that_ is a subject upon which you +must allow me to have my own opinion. God tempers the wind to the +shorn lamb, and provides thick skins for the _canaille_. What will +concern her chiefly, perhaps entirely, will be the loss of her +father, and she will soon know of that, whether she finds the body on +the sands or not. This kind of person is not nearly so sensitive as +my romantic Henry supposes. However, my condition will not be +departed from. If you consent to give up this girl I will go on the +sands; I will defile my fingers; I will secure the stolen amulet at +the ebb of the tide, should the corpse become exposed. If you will +_not_ consent to give her up, there is an end of the matter, and +words are being wasted between us.' + +'Give up Winifred, mother? That is not possible.' + +'Then there is no more to be said. We will not waste our time in +discussing impossibilities. And I am really so depressed and unwell +that I must return to my room. I hope to hear you are better in the +morning, and I think you will be. The excitement of this night and +your anxiety about the girl have unstrung your nerves, and you have +lost that courage and endurance which are yours by birthright.' + +And she left the room. + +But she had no sooner gone than there came before my eyes the +insupportable picture of a slim figure walking along the sands +stooping to look at some object among the _débris_, standing aghast +at the sight of her dead father with the evidence of his hideous +crime on his own breast; there came the sound of a cry to 'Henry' for +help! I beat my head against the bedstead till I was nearly stunned. +I yelled and bellowed like a maniac: 'Mother, come back!' + +When she returned to my bedside my eyes were glaring so that my +mother stood appalled, and (as she afterwards owned to me) was nearly +yielding her point. + +'Mother,' I said,'I consent to your condition: I will give her +up--but oh, save her! Let there be no dallying, let there be no risk, +mother. Let nothing prevent your going upon the sands in the +morning--early, quite early--and every morning at the ebbing of the +tide.' + +'I will keep my word,' she said. + +'You will use the fullest and best means to save her?' + +'I will keep my word,' she said, and left the room. + +'I have saved her!' I cried over and over again, as I sank back on my +pillow. Then the delirium of fever came upon me, and I lay tossing as +upon a sea of fire. + + +XII + +Weak in body and in mind as an infant, I woke again to consciousness. +Through the open window the sunlight, with that tender golden-yellow +tone which comes with morning in England, was pouring between the +curtains, and illuminating the white counterpane. Then a soft breeze +came and slightly moved the curtains, and sent the light and shadows +about the bed and the opposite wall--a breeze laden with the scent I +always associated with Wynne's cottage, the scent of geraniums. I +raised myself on my elbows, and gazed over the geraniums on the +window-sill at the blue sky, which was as free of clouds as though it +were an Italian one, save that a little feathery cloud of a palish +gold was slowly moving towards the west. + +'It is shaped like a hand,' I said dreamily, and then came the +picture of Winifred in the churchyard singing, and pointing to just +such a golden cloud, and then came the picture of Tom Wynne reeling +towards us from the church porch, and then came everything in +connection with him and with her; everything down to the very +last words which I had spoken about her to my mother before +unconsciousness had come upon me. But what I did _not_ know--what I +was now burning to know without delay--was what time had passed since +then. + +I called out 'Mother!' A nurse, who was sitting in the room, but +hidden from me by a large carved and corniced oak wardrobe, sprang up +and told me that she would go and fetch my mother. + +'Mother,' I said, when she entered the room, 'you've been?' + +'Yes,' said she, taking a seat by my bedside, and motioning the nurse +to leave us. + +'And you were in time, mother!' + +'More than in time,' said she. 'There was nothing to do. I have +realised, however, that your extraordinary and horrible story was +true. It was not a fever-dream. The tomb has been desecrated.' + +'But, mother, you went as you promised to the sands in Church Cove, +and you waited for the ebb of the tide?' + +'I did.' + +'And you found--' + +'Nothing; no corpse exposed.' + +'And you went again the next day?' + +'I did.' + +'And you found--' + +'Nothing.' + +'But how many days have passed, mother? How many days have I been +lying here?' + +'Seven.' + +'And no sign of--of the body was to be seen?' + +'None. The wretch must have been buried for ever beneath the great +mass of the fallen cliff. I went no more.' + +'Oh, mother, you should have gone every day. Think of the frightful +risk, mother. On the very day after you ceased your visits the body +might have been turned up by the tide, and she might have gone and +seen it.' + +The picture was too terrible. I fell back exhausted. I revived, +however, in a somewhat calmer mood. When my mother came into the room +again, I returned at once to the subject. I reproached her bitterly +for not having gone every day. She listened to my reproaches in +entire calmness. + +'It was idle to keep repeating these visits every day,' said she, +'and I consider that I have fully performed my part of the compact. I +expect you to fulfil yours.' + +I remained silent, preparing for a deadly struggle with the only +being on earth I had ever really feared. + +'I have fully kept my word, Henry,' said she, 'and have done for you +more than my duty to your father's memory warranted me in doing.' + +'But, mother, you did not do all that you promised to do; you did not +prevent all risk of Winifred's finding it. She may find it even yet.' + +'That is not likely now. I have performed my part of the compact, and +I expect you to perform yours.' + +'You did not use all means to save my Winifred from worse than +death--from madness; you did not use all means to save me from dying +of self-murder or of a broken heart; and the compact is broken. +Whether or not I could have kept my faith with you by breaking troth +with her, it is you who have set me free. Mother,' I said, fiercely, +'in such a compact it must be the letter of the bond.' + +'Mean subterfuge, unworthy of your descent,' said my mother quietly, +but with one of those looks of hers that used to frighten me once. + +'No, no, mother; you have not kept the letter of the bond, and I am +free. You did _not_ take the fullest and best means to save Winifred. +Your compact was to save her from the risk I told you of. And, +mother, mother, listen to me!' I cried, in a state of crazy +excitement now: 'in the darkest moment of my life, when I was +prostrate and helpless, you were pitiless as Pride. Listen, mother: +Winifred Wynne shall be mine. Not all the Aylwins that have ever +eaten of wheat and fattened the worms shall prevent that. She shall +be mine. I say, she shall be mine!' + +'The daughter of the man who desecrated my husband's tomb!' + +'And my father's! That man's daughter shall be my wife,' I said, +sitting up in bed and looking into those eyes, bright and proud, +which had been wont to make all other eyes blink and quail. + +'Cursed by your father, and cursed by God--' + +'That curse--for what it may be worth--I take upon my own head; the +curse shall be mine. Even if I believed the threat about the +"desolate places," I would be there; if bare-footed she had to beg +from door to door, rest assured, mother, that an Aylwin would hold +the wallet--would leave the whole Aylwin brood, their rank, their +money, and their stupid, vulgar British pride, to walk beside the +beggar.' + +The look on my mother's face would have terrified most people. It +would have terrified me once, but in the frenzy into which I had then +passed, nothing would have made me quail. + +'Your services, mother, are no longer needed,' I said. 'Wynne's +corpse might have been washed up by the tide, and your compact was to +be there to see; but now, most likely, it is hidden, not under the +loose fragments as I had feared, but under the great mass of +earth,--hidden for ever.' + +'But you forget,' said my mother, 'that the amulet has to be +recovered.' + +'Mother,' I said, in the state of wild suspiciousness concerning her +and her motives into which I had now passed, 'I know what your words +imply,--that Winifred is not yet out of danger; the evidence of the +curse and the crime can be dug up.' + +'I have no wish to harm the girl, Henry. You mistake me.' + +'Then, mother, we must _not_ mistake each other in this matter,' I +said. 'You have alluded to the word of an Aylwin. With me, as with +the best of us, the word of an Aylwin is an oath. Wynne's corpse is +now hidden; the cross is now hidden; I give you the word of an Aylwin +that the man who digs up that corpse I will kill. I will not consider +that he is an irresponsible agent of yours; I will kill him, and his +blood shall be upon the head of her who sends him, knowing, to his +death.' + +'And be hanged,' said my mother. + +'Perhaps. But after her father's crime has been exposed, the first +thing for me is--to kill!' + +'Why, boy, there's murder in your eyes!' said my mother, taken off +her guard. + +'Oh, mother, mother, can you not see that no wolf with a stolen lamb +in its mouth was ever more pitilessly shot down by the owner of that +lamb than any hireling wolf of yours would be shot down by me?' + +'Boy, are you quite demented?' + +'Listen, mother. To prevent Winifred from knowing that her father had +stolen that amulet, and so brought down upon her the curse, I would +have drowned her with myself in the tide. We sat waiting for the tide +to drown us, when the settlement came at the last moment and buried +it away from her. Is it likely that I should hesitate to kill a +clodhopper, or a score, if only to take my vengeance on you and Fate? +The homicide now will be yours.' + +She left, giving me a glance of defiance; but before our eyes ended +that conflict, I saw which of us had conquered. + +'Hate is strong,' I murmured, as I sank down on my pillow, 'and +destiny is strong; but oh, Winnie, Winnie--stronger than hate, and +stronger than destiny and death, is love. She knows, Winnie, that the +life of the man who should dig up that corpse would not be worth an +hour's purchase; she knows, Winnie, that in the court of conscience +she alone is answerable now for what may befall; and you are safe! +But poor mother! My poor dear mother, whom once I loved so dearly, +was it indeed you I struggled with just now? Mother, mother, was it +you?' + +This interview retarded my recovery, and I had a serious relapse. + +The fever was a severe one. The symptoms were aggravated by these +most painful and trying interviews with my mother, and by my +increasing anxiety about the fate of Winifred. Yet my vigorous +constitution began to show signs of conquering. Of Winifred I could +learn nothing, save what could be gleaned from the servants in +attendance, who seemed merely to have heard that Tom Wynne was +missing, that he had probably fallen drunk over the cliff and been +washed out to sea, and that his daughter was seeking him everywhere. +As the days passed by, however, and no hint reached me that the +corpse had been found on the sands, I concluded that, when the larger +mass finally settled on the night of the landslip, the corpse had +fallen immediately beneath it, and was buried under the main mass. +Yet, from what I had seen of the corpse's position, in the rapid view +I had of it, perched on the upright mass of sward, I did not +understand how this could be. + +And so anxiety after anxiety delayed my progress. Still, on the +whole, I felt that the body would not now be dislodged by the tides, +and that Winifred would at least be spared a misery compared with +which even her uncertainty about her father's fate would be bearable. +But how I longed to be up and with her! + +Dr. Mivart, who attended me, a young medical man of much ability who +had finished his medical education in Paris, and had lately settled +at Raxton, came every day with great punctuality. + +One day, however, he arrived three hours behind his usual time, and +seemed to think that some explanation was necessary. + +'I must apologise,' said he, 'for my unpunctuality to-day, but the +fact is that, at the very moment of starting, I was delayed by one of +the most interesting--one of the most extraordinary cases that ever +came within my experience, even at the Salpêtrière Hospital, where we +were familiar with the most marvellous cases of hysteria--a seizure +brought on by terror in which the subject's countenance mimics the +appearance of the terrible object that has caused it. A truly +wonderful case! I have just written to Marini about it.' + +He seemed so much interested in his case, that he aroused a certain +interest in me, though at that time the word 'hysteria' conveyed an +impression to me of a very uncertain and misty kind. + +'Where did it occur?' I asked. + +'Here, in your own town,' said Mivart. 'A most extraordinary case. My +report will delight Marini, our great authority, as you no doubt are +aware, on catalepsy and cataleptic ecstasy.' + +'Strange that I have heard nothing of it!' I said. + +'Oh!' replied Mivart, 'it occurred only this morning. Some fishermen +passing below the old church were attracted, first by a shriek of a +peculiarly frightful and unearthly kind, and then by some unusual +appearance on the sands, at the spot where the last landslip took +place.' + +My pulses stopped in a moment, and I clung to the back of my chair. + +'What--did--the fishermen see?' I gasped. + +'The men landed,' continued Mivart,--too much interested in the case +to observe my emotion,--'and there they found a dead body--the body +of the missing organist here, who had apparently fallen with the +landslip. The face was horribly distorted by terror, the skull +shattered, and around the neck was slung a valuable cross made of +precious stones. But the most interesting feature of the case is +this, that in front of the body, in a fit of a remarkable kind, +squatted his daughter--you may have seen her, an exceedingly pretty +girl lately come from Wales or somewhere--and on her face was +reflected and mimicked, in the most astonishing way, the horrible +expression on the face of the corpse, while the fingers of her right +hand were so closely locked around the cross--' + +I felt that from my mouth there issued a voice not mine--a long +smothered shriek like that which had seemed to issue from my mouth on +that awful night when, looking out of the window, I had heard the +noise of the landslip. Then I felt myself whispering 'The Curse!' +Then I knew no more. + + +XIII + +I had another dangerous relapse, and was delirious for two days, I +think. When I came to myself, the first words I uttered to Mivart, +whom I found with me, were inquiries about Winifred. He was loth at +first to revive the subject, though he supposed that the effect of +his narrative upon me had arisen partly from my weakness and partly +from what he called his 'sensational way' of telling the story. (My +mother had been very careful to drop no hint of the true state of the +case.) At last, however, Mivart told me all he knew about Winifred, +while I hid my face in my pillow and listened. + +'In the seizures (which are recurrent) the girl,' he said, 'mimics +the expression of terror on her father's face. Between the paroxysms +she lapses into a strange kind of dementia. It is as though her own +mind had fled and the body had been entered by the soul of a child. +She will then sing snatches of songs, sometimes in Welsh and +sometimes in English, but with the strange, weird intonation of a +person in a dream. I have known something like this to take place +before, but it has been in seizures of an epileptic kind, very unlike +this case in their general characteristics. The mental processes seem +to have been completely arrested by the shock, as the wheels of a +watch or a musical box are stopped if it falls.' + +He could tell me nothing about her, he said, nor what had become of +her since she had left his hands. + +'The parish officer is taking his holiday,' he added. 'I mean to +inquire about her. I wish I could take her to Paris to the +Salpêtrière, where Marini is treating such cases by transmitting +through magnetism the patient's seizure to a healthy subject.' + +'Will she recover?' + +'Without the Salpêtrière treatment?' + +'Will she recover?' I asked, maddened beyond endurance by all this +cold-blooded professional enthusiasm about a case which was simply a +case of life and death to Winnie and me. + +'She may, unless the seizures become too frequent for the strength of +the constitution. In that event, of course, she would succumb. She is +entirely harmless, let me tell you.' + +He told me that she was at the cottage, where some good soul was +seeing after her. + +'I'll get up,' I said, trying to rise. + +'Get up!' said the doctor, astonished; 'why do you want to get up? +You are not strong enough to sit in a chair yet.' + +This was, alas! but too true, and my great object now was to conceal +my weakness; for I determined to get out as soon as my legs could +carry me, though I should drop down dead on the road. + +I gathered from the doctor and the servants that the sacrilege had +now become publicly known, and had caused much excitement. Wynne had +evidently been slightly intoxicated when he committed it, and had +taken no care to conceal the proofs that the grave had been tampered +with. At the inquest the amulet had been identified and claimed by my +mother. + +It was some days before I got out, and then I went at once to the +cottage. It was a lovely evening as I walked down Wilderness Road. It +was not till I reached the little garden-gate that I began fully to +feel how weak my illness had left me. The gate was half open, and I +looked over into the garden, which was already forlorn and deserted. +Some instinct told me she was not there. The little flower-beds +looked shaggy, grass-grown, and uncared for. In the centre, among the +geraniums, phlox-beds, and French marigolds, sat a dirty-white hen, +clucking and calling a brood of dirty-white chickens. The +box-bordered gravelled paths, which Wynne, in spite of his +drunkenness, used to keep always so neat, were covered with leaves, +shaken by the wind from the trees surrounding the garden. One of the +dark green shutters was unfastened, and stood out at right-angles +from the wall--a token of desertion. On the diamond panes of the +upper windows, round which the long tendrils of grape-vines were +drooping, the gorgeous sunset was reflected, making the glass gleam +as though a hundred little fires were playing behind it. When I +reached the door, the paint of which seemed far more cracked with the +sun than it had looked a few weeks before, I found on knocking that +the cottage was empty. I did not linger, but went at once into the +town to inquire about her. + +In place of giving me the information I was panting for, the whole +town came cackling round me with comments on the organist and the +sacrilege. I turned into the 'Fishing Smack' inn, a likely place to +get what news was to be had, and found the asthmatical old landlord +haranguing some fishermen who were drinking their ale on a settle. + +'It's my b'lief,' said the old man, 'that Tom was arter somethink +else besides that air jewelled cross. I'm eighty-five year old come +next Dullingham fair, and I regleck as well as if it wur yisterdy +when resur-rectionin' o' carpuses wur carried on in the old +churchyard jes' like one o'clock, and the carpuses sent up to Lunnon +reg'lar, and it's my 'pinion as that wur part o' Tom's game, dang +'im; and if I'd a 'ad _my_ way arter the crouner's quest, he'd never +a' bin buried in the very churchyard as he went and blast-phemed.' + +'Where would you 'a buried 'im, then, Muster Lantoff?' asked a +fisher-boy in a blue worsted jerkin. + +'Buried 'im? why, at the cross-ruds, with a hedge-stake through his +guts, to be sure. If there's a penny agin' 'im on that air slate' +(pointing to a slate hung up on the door) 'there must be ten +shillins, dang 'im.' + +'You blear-eyed, ignorant old donkey,' I cried, coming suddenly +upon him, 'what do you suppose he could have done with a dead body in +these days? Here's your wretched ten shillings,--for which you'd sell +all the corpses in Raxton churchyard.' + +And I gave him half-a-sovereign, feeling, somehow, that I was doing +honour to Winifred. + +'Thankee for the money, Mister Hal, anyhow,' said the old creature. +'You was allus a liberal 'un, you was. But as to what Tom could 'a +dun with the carpus, I'm allus heer'd that you may dew anythink +_with_ any-think, if you on'y send it carriage-paid to Lunnon,' + +I left the house in anger and disgust. No tidings could I get of +Winifred in Raxton or Graylingham. + +By this time I was thoroughly worn out, and obliged to go home. My +anxiety had become nearly insupportable. All night I walked up and +down my bedroom, like a caged animal, cursing Superstition, cursing +Convention, and all the other follies that had combined to destroy +her. It was not till the next day that the true state of the case was +made known to me in the following manner: At the end of the town +lived the widow of Shales, the tailor. Winifred and I had often, in +our childish days, stood and watched old Shales, sitting cross-legged +on a board in the window, at his work, when Winifred would whisper to +me, 'How nice it must be to be a tailor!' + +As I passed this shop I now saw that on the same board was sitting a +person in whom Winifred had taken still stronger interest. This was a +diminutive imitation of the deceased, in the person of his +hump-backed son, a little man of about twenty-four, who might, as far +as appearance went, have been any age from twenty to eighty, with a +pale anxious face like his mother's. He was stitching at a coat with, +apparently, the same pair of scissors by his side that used to +delight us two children. Standing by the side of the board, and +looking on with a skilled intelligence shining from her pale eyes, +was Mrs. Shales, with an infant in her arms--a wasted little +grandchild wrapt in a plaid shawl, apparently smoking a chibouque, +but in reality sucking vigorously at the mouthpiece of a baby's +bottle, which it was clasping deftly with its pink little fingers. + +Mrs. Shales beckoned me mysteriously into her shop, and then into the +little parlour behind it, where she used to sit and watch the +customers through the green muslin blind of the glass door, like a +spider in its web. Young Shales, who left his board, followed us, and +they then gave me some news that at once decided my course of action. +They told me that one morning, after her frightful shock, Winifred +had encountered Shales, who was taking, a holiday, and employing it +in catching young crabs among the stones. Winifred, who had a great +liking for the hump-backed tailor, had come up to him and talked in a +dazed way. Shales, pitying her condition, had induced her to go home +with him; and then it had occurred to him to go and inquire at the +Hall what suggestion could be made concerning her at a house where +her father had been so well known. He could not see me; I was ill in +bed. He saw my mother, who at once suggested that Winifred should be +taken to Wales, to an aunt with whom, according to Wynne, she had +been living. (No one but myself knew anything of Wynne's affairs, and +my mother, though she had heard of the aunt, had not, as I then +believed, heard of her death.) She proposed that Shales himself +should contrive to take Winifred to Wales. 'She had reasons,' she +said, 'for wishing that Winifred should not be handed over to the +local parish officer.' She offered to pay Shales liberally for going. +_I_, however, was to know nothing of this. Her object, of course, +was to get Winifred out of my way. The aunt's address was furnished +by a Mr. Lacon of Dullingham, an old friend of Wynne's, who also, it +seems, was ignorant of the aunt's death. This aunt, a sister of +Winifred's mother, named Davies, the widow of a sea captain who had +once known better days, resided in an old cottage between Bettws y +Coed and Capel Curig. Shales had found no difficulty in persuading +Winifred to go with him, for she had now sunk into a condition of +dazed stupor, and was very docile. + +They started on their long journey across England by rail, and +everything went well till they got into Wales, when Winifred's stupor +seemed to be broken into by the familiar scenery; her wits became +alive again. Then an idea seemed to seize her that she was pursued by +me, as the messenger bearing my dead father's curse. The appearance +of any young man bearing the remotest resemblance to me frightened +her. At last, before they reached Bettws y Coed, she had escaped, and +was lost among the woods. Shales had made every effort to find her, +but without avail, and was compelled at last, by the demands of his +business, to give up the quest. He had returned on the previous +evening, and my mother had enjoined him not to tell me what had been +done, though she seemed much distressed at hearing that Winnie was +lost, and was about to send others into Wales in order to find her, +if possible. Shales, however, had determined to tell me, as the +matter, he said, lay upon his conscience. + +On getting this news I went straight home, ordered a portmanteau to +be packed, and placed in it all my ready cash. Before starting I sat +down to write a letter to my uncle. On hearing of my movements, my +mother came to me in great agitation. In her eyes there was that +haggard expression which I thought I understood. Already she had +begun to feel that she and she alone was responsible for whatsoever +calamities might fall upon the helpless deserted girl she had sent +away. Already she had begun to feel the pangs of that remorse which +afterwards stung her so cruelly that not all Winnie's woes, nor all +mine, were so dire as hers. There are some natures that feel +themselves responsible for all the unforeseen, as well as for all the +foreseen, consequences of their acts. My mother was one of these. I +rose as she entered, offered her a seat, and then sat down again. + +She inquired whither I was going. + +'To North Wales,' I said. + +She stood aghast. But she now understood that grief had made me a +man. + +'You are going,' said she, 'after the daughter of the scoundrel who +desecrated your father's tomb?' + +'I am going after the young lady whom I intend to marry.' + +'Wynne's daughter marry my only son! Never!' + +I proceeded with my letter. + +'I will write to your uncle Aylwin at once. I will tell him you are +going to marry that miscreant's daughter, and he will disinherit +you.' + +'In that case, mother,' I said, rising from the table, 'I need not +trouble myself to finish my letter; for I was writing to him, telling +him the same thing. Still, perhaps I had better send mine too,' I +continued. 'I should like at least to remain on friendly terms with +him, he is so good to me'; and I resumed my seat at the +writing-table. + +'Henry,' said my mother, after a second or two, 'I think you had +better _not_ write to your uncle; it might only make matters worse. +You had better leave it to me.' + +'Thank you, mother, the letter is finished,' I replied as I sealed it +up, 'and will be sent. Good-bye, dear,' I said, taking her hand and +kissing it. 'You knew not what you did, and I know you did it for the +best.' + +'When do you return, Henry?' asked she, in a conquered and sad tone, +that caused me many a pang to remember afterwards. + +'That is altogether uncertain,' I answered. 'I go to follow Winifred. +If I find her alive I shall marry her, if she will marry me, unless +permanent insanity prove a barrier. If she is dead'--(I restrained +myself from saying aloud what I said to myself)--'I shall still +follow her.' + +'The daughter of the scoundrel!' she murmured, her lips grey with +suppressed passion. + +'Mother,' I said, 'let us not part in anger. The sword of Fate is +between us. When I was at school I made a certain vow. The vow was +that I would woo and win but one woman upon earth--the daughter of +the man who has since violated my father's tomb. I have lately made a +second vow, that, until she is found, I shall devote my life to the +quest of Winifred Wynne. If you think that I am likely to be deterred +by fears of being disinherited by your family, open and read my +letter to my uncle. I have there told him whom I intend to marry.' + +'Mad, mad boy!' said my mother. 'Society will--' + +'You have once or twice before mentioned society, mother. If I find +Winifred Wynne, I shall assuredly marry her, unless prevented by the +one obstacle I have mentioned. If I marry her I shall, if it so +please me and her, take her into society.' + +'Into society!' she replied, with ineffable scorn. + +'And I shall say to society, "Here is my wife.'" + +'And when society asks, "Who _is_ your wife?'" + +'I shall reply, "She is the daughter of the drunken organist who +desecrated my father's tomb, though that concerns you not:--her own +speciality, as you see, is that she is the flower of all girlhood."' + +'And when society rejects this earthly paragon?' + +'Then I shall reject society.' + +'Reject society, boy!' said my mother. 'Why, Cyril Aylwin himself, +the bohemian painter who has done his best to cheapen and vulgarise +our name, is not a more reckless, lawless leveller than you. And, +good heavens! to him, and perhaps afterwards to you, will come--the +coronet.' + +And she left the room. + + + +III + +WINIFRED'S DUKKERIPEN + + +I + +I need not describe my journey to North Wales. On reaching Bettws y +Coed I turned into the hotel there--'The Royal Oak'--famished; for, +as fast as trains could carry me, I had travelled right across +England, leaving rest and meals to chance. I found the hotel full of +English painters, whom the fine summer had attracted thither as +usual. The landlord got me a bed in the village. A six-o'clock _table +d'hôte_ was going on when I arrived, and I joined it. Save myself, +the guests were, I think, landscape painters to a man. They had been +sketching in the neighbourhood. I thought I had never met so genial +and good-natured a set of men, and I have since often wondered what +they thought of me, who met such courteous and friendly advances as +they made towards me in a temper that must have seemed to them morose +or churlish and stupid. Before the dinner was over another tourist +entered--a fresh-complexioned young Englishman in spectacles, who, +sitting next to me, did at length, by force of sheer good-humour, +contrive to get into a desultory kind of conversation with me, and, +as far as I remember, he talked well. He was not an artist, I found, +but an amateur geologist and antiquary. His hobby was not like that +fatal antiquarianism of my father's, which had worked so much +mischief, but the harmless quest of flint implements. His talk about +his collection of flints, however, sent my mind off to Flinty Point +and the never-to-be-forgotten flint-built walls of Raxton church. +After dinner, coffee, liquors, and tobacco being introduced into the +dining-room, I got up, intending to roam about outside the hotel till +bedtime; but the rain, I found, was falling in torrents. I was +compelled to return to my friend of the 'flints.' At that moment one +of the artists plunged into a comic song, and by the ecstatic look of +the company I knew that a purgatorial time was before me. I resigned +myself to my fate. Song followed song, until at last even my friend +of the flints struck up the ballad of _Little Billee_, whose +lugubrious refrain seemed to 'set the table in a roar'; but to me it +will always be associated with sickening heartache. + +As soon as the rain ceased I left the hotel and went to the room in +the little town the landlord had engaged for me. There, with the roar +in my ears of the mountain streams (swollen by the rains), I went to +bed and, strange to say, slept. + +Next morning I rose early, breakfasted at 'The Royal Oak' as soon as +I could get attended to, and proceeded in the direction in which, +according to what I had gathered from various sources, Mrs. Davies +had lived. This led me through a valley and by the side of a stream, +whose cascades I succeeded, after many efforts, in crossing. After a +while, however, I found that I had taken a wrong track, and was soon +walking in the contrary direction. I will not describe that long +dreary walk in a drenching rain, with nothing but the base of the +mountain visible, all else being lost in clouds and mist. + +After blundering through marshy and boggy hillocks for miles, I found +myself at last in the locality indicated to me. Arriving at a +roadside public-house, I entered it, and on inquiry was vexed to find +that I had again been misdirected. I slept there, and in the morning +started again on my quest. I was now a long way off my destination, +but had at least the satisfaction of knowing that I was on the right +road at last. In the afternoon I reached another wayside inn, very +similar to that in which I had slept. I walked up at once to the +landlord (a fat little Englishman who looked like a Welshman, with +black eyes and a head of hair like a black door-mat), and asked him +if he had known Mrs. Davies. He said he had, but seemed anxious to +assure me that he was a Chester man and 'not a Taffy.' She had died, +he told me, not long since. But he had known more of her niece, +Winifred Wynne (or, as most people called her, Winifred Davies); for, +said he, 'she was a queer kind of outdoor creature that everybody +knew.--as fond of the rain and mist as sensible folk are fond of +sunshine.' + +'Where did she live?' I inquired. + +'You must have passed the very door,' said the man. And then he +indicated a pretty little cottage by the roadside which I had passed, +not far from the lake. Mrs. Davies (he told me) had lived there with +her niece till the aunt died. + +'Then you knew Winifred Wynne?' I said. There was to me a romantic +kind of interest about a man who had seen Winifred in Wales. + +'Knew her well,' said he. 'She was a Carnarvon gal--tremenjus fond o' +the sea--and a rare pretty gal she was.' + +'Pretty gal she _is_, you might ha' said, Mr. Blyth,' a woman's voice +exclaimed from the settle beneath the window. 'She's about in these +parts at this very moment, though Jim Burton there says it's her +ghose. But do ghoses eat and drink? that's what _I_ want to know. +Besides, if anybody's like to know the difference between Winnie +Wynne and Winnie Wynne's ghose, I should say it's most likely me.' + +I turned round. A Gypsy girl, dressed in fine Gypsy costume, very +dark but very handsome, was sitting on a settle drinking from a pot +of ale, and nursing an instrument of the violin kind, which she was +fondling as though it were a baby. She was quite young, not above +eighteen years of age, slender, graceful--remarkably so, even for a +Gypsy girl. Her hair, which was not so much coal-black as blue-black, +was plaited in the old-fashioned Gypsy way, in little plaits that +looked almost as close as plaited straw, and as it was of an +unusually soft and fine texture for a Gypsy, the plaits gave it a +lustre quite unlike that which unguents can give. As she sat there, +one leg thrown over the over, displaying a foot which, even in the +heavy nailed boots, would have put to shame the finest foot of the +finest English lady I have ever seen, I could discern that she was +powerful and tall; her bosom, gently rising and falling beneath the +layers of scarlet and yellow and blue handkerchiefs, which filled up +the space the loose-fitting gown of bright merino left open, was of a +breadth fully worthy of her height. A silk handkerchief of deep +blood-red colour was bound round her head, not in the modern Gypsy +fashion, but more like an Oriental turban. From each ear was +suspended a massive ring of red gold. Round her beautiful, towering, +tanned neck was a thrice-twisted necklace of half-sovereigns and +amber and red coral. She looked me full in the face. Then came a +something in the girl's eyes the like of which I had seen in no +other Gypsy's eyes, though I had known well the Gypsies who used +to camp near Rington Manor, not far from Raxton, for my kinsman +Percy Aylwin, the poet, had lately fallen in love with Winnie's early +friend, Rhona Boswell. It was not exactly an 'uncanny' expression, +yet it suggested a world quite other than this. It was an expression +such as one might expect to see in a 'budding spae-wife,' or in a +Roman Sibyl. And whose expression was it that it now reminded me of? +But the remarkable thing was that this expression was intermittent; +it came and went like the shadows the fleeting clouds cast along the +sunlit grass. Then it was followed by a look of steady self-reliance +and daring. This last variation of expression was what now suddenly +came into her eyes as she said, scrutinising me from head to foot: + +'Reia, you make a good git-up for a Romany-chal. Can you rokkra +Romanes? No, I see you can't. I should ha' took you for the right +sort. I should ha' begun the Romany rokkerpen with you, only you +ain't got the Romany glime in your eyes. It's a pity he ain't got the +Romany glime, ain't it, Jim?' + +She turned to a young Gypsy fellow who was sitting at the other end +of the settle, drinking also from a pot of ale, and smoking a cutty +pipe. + +'Don't ax me about no mumply Gorgio's eyes,' muttered the man, +striking the leather legging of his right leg with a silver-headed +whip he carried. 'You're allus a-takin' intrust in the Gorgios, and +yet you're allus a-makin' believe as you hate 'em.' + +'You say Winifred Wynne is back again?' I cried in an eager voice. + +'That's jist what I _did_ say, and I ain't deaf, my rei. How she +managed to get back here puzzles me, poor thing, for she's jist for +all the world like Rhona's daddy's daddy, Opi Bozzell, what buried +his wits in his dead wife's coffin. She's even skeared at _me_.' + +'Why, you don't mean to say Winnie's back!' cried the landlord. 'To +think that I shouldn't have heard about Winnie Wynne bein' back. When +did you see her, Sinfi?' + +'I see her fust ever so many nights ago. I was comin' down this road, +when what do I see but a gal a-kicking at the door of Mrs. Davies's +emp'y house, and a-sobbin' she was jist fit to break her heart, and I +sez to myself, as I looked at her--"Now, if it was possible for that +'ere gal to be Winifred Wynne, she'd be Winifred Wynne, but as it +ain't possible for her to be Winifred Wynne, it _ain't_ Winifred +Wynne, and any mumply Gorgie [Footnote] as _ain't_ Winifred Wynne may +kick and sob for a blue moon for all me."' + +[Footnote: Gorgio, a man who is not a Gypsy. Gorgie, a woman who is +not a Gypsy.] + +'But it was Winnie Wynne, I s'pose?' said the landlord, in a state +now of great curiosity. + +'It was Winnie Wynne,' replied the Gypsy, handing her companion her +empty beer-pot, and pointing to the landlord as a sign that the man +was to pass it on to him to be refilled. 'Up I goes to her, and I +says, "Why, sister, who's bin a-meddlin' with you? I'll tear the +windpipe out o' anybody wot's been a-meddlin' with you."' + +When the girl used the word 'sister' a light broke in upon me. + +'Are you Sinfi Lovell?' I cried. + +'That jist my name, my rei; but as I said afore, I ain't deaf. Jist +let Jim pass my beer across and don't interrup' me, please.' + +'Don't rile her, sir,' whispered the landlord to me; 'she's got the +real witch's eye, and can do you a mischief in a twink, if she likes. +She's a good sort, though, for all that.' + +'What are you two a-whisperin' about me?' said the girl in a menacing +tone that seemed to alarm the landlord. + +'I was only tellin' the gentleman not to rile you, because you was a +fightin' woman,' said the man. + +The Gypsy looked appeased and even gratified at the landlord's +explanation. + +'But what did Winnie Wynne do then, Sinfi?' asked the landlord. + +'She turns round sharp,' said the Gypsy; 'she looks at me as skeared +as the eyes of a hotchiwitchi [Footnote] as knows he's a-bein' +uncurled for the knife. "_Father!_" she cries, and away she bolts +like a greyhound; and I know'd at oust as she wur under a cuss. Now, +you see, Mr. Blyth, that upset me, _that_ did, for Winnie Wynne was +the only one on 'em, Gorgio or Gorgie, ever I liked. No offence, Mr. +Blyth, it isn't your fault you was born one; but,' continued the +girl, holding up the foaming tankard and admiring the froth as it +dropped from the rim upon her slender brown hand on its way to the +floor, 'Winnie Wynne was the only one on 'em, Gorgio or Gorgie, ever +I liked, and that upset me, _that_ did, to see that 'ere beautiful +cretur a-grinnin' and jabberin' under a cuss. The Romanies is gittin' +too fond by half o' the Gorgios, and will soon be jist like mumply +Gorgios themselves, speckable and silly; but Gorgio or Gorgie, she +was the only one on 'em ever I liked, was Winnie Wynne; and when she +turned round on me like _that_, with them kind eyes o' hern (such +kind eyes _I_ never seed afore) lookin' like _that_ at me (and I +know'd she was under a cuss)--I tell you,' she said, still addressing +the beer, 'that it's made me fret ever since--that's what it's done!' + +[Footnote: Hedgehog.] + +About the truth of this last statement there could be no doubt, for +her face was twitching violently in her efforts to keep down her +emotion. + +'And did you follow her?' said the landlord. + +'Not I; what was the good?' + +'But what did you do, Sinfi?' + +'What did I do? Well, don't you mind me comin' here one night and +buyin' a couple of blankets off you, and some bread and meat and +things?' + +'In course I do, Sinfi, and you said you wanted them for the vans.' + +The Gypsy smiled and said, 'I knowed she was bound to come back, so +I pulls up the window and in I gets, and then opens the door and off +I comes to you, as bein' the nearest neighbour, for the blankets and +things, and I puts 'em in the house, and I leaves the door uncatched, +and I hides myself behind the house, and, sure enough, back she +comes, poor thing! I hears her kick, kick, kickin' at the door, and +then I hears her go in when she finds it give way. So I waits a good +while, till I thinks she's eat some o' the vittles and gone to sleep +maybe, and then round the house I creeps, and in the door I peeps, +and soon I hears her breathin' soft, and then I shuts the door and +goes away to the place.' [Footnote] + +[Footnote: Camping-place.] + +'But why didn't you tell _us_ all this, Sinfi?' asked the landlord. +'My wife would ha' went and seen arter her, and we wouldn't ha' +touched a farthin' for they blankets and things, not we, Sinfi, not +we.' + +'Ah, you _would_, though,' said the girl, ''cause I'd ha' _made_ you +take it. Winnie Wynne was the only one on 'em, Gorgio or Gorgie, ever +I liked, and nobody's got no right to see arter her only me, and +that's why I'm about here _now_, if you _must_ know; but nobody's +got no right to see arter her only me, and nobody sha'n't nuther. +They might go and skear her to run up the hills, and she might dash +herself all to flactions in no time.' + +'Don't take on so, Sinfi,' said the landlord. 'When they are in that +way they allus turns agin them as they was fond on.' + +'Then you noticed as she was fond o' me, Mr. Blyth,' said the girl +with great earnestness. + +'Of course she was fond on you, Sinfi; everybody knows that.' + +'Yes,' said the girl, now much affected, '_every_ body knowed it, +_every_ body knowed as she was fond o' me. And to see her look at me +like _that_--it was a cruel sight, Mr. Blyth, I can tell you. Such a +look you never see'd in all your life, Mr. Blyth.' + +'Then I take it she's in the house now?' said the landlord. + +'She goes prowlin' about all day among the hills, as if she was +a-lookin' for somebody; and she talks to somebody as she calls the +Tywysog o'r Niwl, an' I know that's Welsh for the "Prince o' the +Mist"; but back she comes at night. She talks to herself a good deal; +and she sings to herself the Welsh gillies what Mrs. Davies larnt her +in a v'ice as seems as if she wur a-singin' in her sleep, but it's +very sweet to hear it. Yesterday I crep' near her when she was +a-sittin' down lookin' at herself in that 'ere llyn where the water's +so clear, "Knockers' Llyn," as they calls it, where her and me and +Rhona Boswell used to go. And I heard her say she was "cussed by +Henry's feyther." And then I heard her talk to somebody agin, as she +called the Prince of the Mist; but it's herself as she's a-talkin' +to all the while.' + +'Cursed by Henry's father! What curse could any superstitious mystic +call down upon the head of Winifred? The heaven that would answer a +call of that kind would be a heaven for zanies and tomfools!' I +shouted, in a paroxysm of rage against the entire besotted human +race. '_That_ for the curse!' I cried, snapping my fingers. '_I_ am +Henry, and I am come to share the curse, if there is one.' + +'Young man,' interposed the landlord, 'such blas-pheémous langige as +that must not be spoke here; I ain't a-goin' to have _my_ good beer +turned to vinegar by blasphemin' them as owns the thunder, I can tell +you.' + +But the effect of my words upon the Gypsy was that of a spark in a +powder-mine. + +'Henry?' she said, 'Henry? are _you_ the fine rei as she used to talk +about? Are you the fine cripple as she was so fond on? Yes, Beng te +tassa mandi if you ain't Henry his very self.' + +'Don't,' remonstrated the landlord, 'don't meddle with the gentleman, +Sinfi. He ain't a cripple, as you can see.' + +'Well, cripple or no cripple, he's _Henry_. I half thought it as soon +as he began askin' about her. Now, my fine Gorgio, what do you and +your fine feyther mean by cussin' Winnie Wynne? You've jist about +broke her heart among ye. If you want to cuss you'd better cuss me;' +and she sprang up in an attitude that showed me at once that she was +a skilled boxer. + +The male Gypsy rose and buttoned his coat over his waistcoat. I +thought he was going to attack me. Instead of this, he said to the +landlord: + +'_She's_ in for a set-to agin. She's sure to quarrel with me if I +interferes, so I'll just go on to the place and not spile sport. +Don't let her kill the chap, though, Mr. Blyth, if you can anyways +help it. Anyhows, _I_ ain't a-goin' to be called in for witness.' + +With that he left the house. + +The Gypsy girl looked at me from head to foot, and exclaimed, + +'Lucky for you, my fine fellow, that I'm a duke's chavi, an' mustn't +fight, else I'd pretty soon ask you outside and settle this off in no +time. But you'd better keep clear of Mrs. Davies's cottage, I can +tell you. Every stick in that house is mine.' + +And, forgetting in her rage to pay her score, she picked up her +strange-looking musical instrument, put it into a bag, and stalked +out. + +'She's got a queer temper of her own,' said the landlord; 'but she +ain't a bad sort for all that. She's clever, too: she's the only +woman in Wales, they say, as can play on the crwth now since Mrs. +Davies is dead, what larnt her to do it.' + +'The crwth?' + +'The old ancient Welsh fiddle what can draw the Sperrits o' Snowdon +when it's played by a vargin. I dessay you've often heard the sayin' +"The sperrits follow the crwth." She makes a sight o' money by +playin' on that fiddle in the houses o' the gentlefolk, and she's as +proud as the very deuce. Ain't a bad sort, though, for all that.' + + +II + +That I determined to cultivate the acquaintance of Sinfi Lovell I +need scarcely say. But my first purpose was to see the cottage. The +landlord showed me the way to it. He warned me that a storm was +coming on, but I did not let that stay me. Masses of dark clouds were +gathering, and there was every sign of a heavy rainstorm as I went +out along the road in the direction indicated. + +There was a damp boisterous wind, that seemed blowing from all points +of the compass at once, and in a minute I was caught in a swirl of +blinding rain. I took no heed of it, however, but hurried along the +lonely road till I reached the cottage, which I knew at once was the +one I sought. It was picturesque, but had a deserted look. + +It was not till I stood in front or the door that I began to consider +what I really intended to do in case I found her there. A heedless, +impetuous desire to see her--to get possession of her--had brought me +to Wales. But what was to be my course of action if I found her I had +never given myself time to think. + +If I could only clasp her in my arms and tell her I was Henry, I felt +that she must, even in madness, know me and cling to me. I could not +realise that any insanity could estrange her from me if I could only +get near her. + +I put my thumb upon the old-fashioned latch, and found that the door +was not locked. It yielded to my touch, and with a throbbing of every +pulse, I pushed it open and looked in. + +In front of me rose a staircase, steep and narrow. There was +sufficient evening light to enable me to see up the staircase, and to +distinguish two black bedroom doors, now closed, on the landing. I +stood on the wet threshold till my nerves grew calmer. On my right +and on my left the doors of the two rooms on the ground floor were +open. I could see that the one on my left was stripped of furniture. + +I entered the room on my right--a low room of some considerable +length, with heavy beams across the ceiling, which in that light +seemed black. Two or three chairs and a table were in it. There was a +brisk fire, and over it a tea-kettle of the kind much favoured by +Gypsies, as I afterwards learnt. There was no grate, but an open +hearth, exactly like the one in Wynne's cottage, where Winifred and I +used to stand in summer evenings to see the sky, and the stars +twinkling above the great sooty throat of the open chimney. I now +perceived the crwth and bow upon the table. Sinfi Lovell had +evidently been here since we parted. On the walls hung a few of those +highly coloured prints of Scriptural subjects which, at one time, +used to be seen in English farm-houses, and are still the only works +of art with the Welsh peasants and a few well-to-do Welsh Gypsies who +would emulate Gorgio tastes. + +On the left-hand side of the room was an arched recess, in which, no +doubt, had stood at one time a sideboard, or some such piece of +furniture. There was no occupant of the room, however, and I grew +calmer as I stood before the fire, which drew from my wet clothes a +cloud of steam. The ruddy fingers of the fire-gleam playing upon the +walls made the colours of the pictures seem bright as the tints of +stained glass. The pathetic message of those flickering rays flowed +into my soul. The red mantle of the Prodigal Son, in which he was +feeding the swine, shone as though it had been soaked in sorrow and +blood-red sin. The house was apparently empty; the tension of my +passion became for the first time relaxed, and I passed into a +strange mood of pathos, dreamy, but yet acute, in which Winifred's +fate, and my mother's harshness, and my father's scarred breast, +seemed all a mingled mystery of reminiscent pain. + +I had not stood more than a minute, however, when I was startled into +a very different mood. I thought I heard a sobbing noise, which +seemed to me to come from some one overhead, some one lying upon the +boards of the room above me. I was rooted to the spot where I stood, +for the sob seemed scarcely human, and yet it seemed to be hers. A +new feeling about Winifred's madness came upon me. I recalled +Mivart's horrible description of the mimicry. My God! what was I +about to see? I dared not turn and go upstairs: the fire and the +singing tea-kettle were, at least, companions. But something impelled +me to take the bow and draw it across the crwth-strings. Presently I +thought I heard a door overhead softly open, and this was followed by +the almost inaudible creak of a light footstep descending the stairs. +With paralysed pulses I kept my eyes fixed on the half-open door, in +the certainty of seeing her pass along the little passage leading +from the staircase to the front door. But as I heard the dear +footsteps descend stair after stair my horror left me, and I nearly +began to sob myself. My thoughts now were all for her safety. I +slipped into the recess, fearing to take her by surprise. + +Soon the slim girlish figure passed into the room. And as I saw her +glide along I was stunned, as though I had not expected to see her, +as though I had not known the footstep coming down the stairs. + +With her eyes fixed on the fireplace, she brushed past me without +perceiving me, took a chair, and sat down in front of the fire, her +elbows resting on her knees, and her face meditatively sunk between +her hands. Her sobbing bad ceased, and unless my ears deceived me, +had given place to an occasional soft happy gurgle of childish +laughter. + +I stepped out from the shelter of my archway into the middle of the +room, dubious as to what course to pursue. I thought that, on the +whole, the movement that would startle her least would be to slip +quietly out of the room and out of the house while she was in the +reverie, then knock at the door. She would arouse herself then, +expecting to see some one, and would not be so entirely taken by +surprise at the sight of my face as she would have been at finding +me, without the slightest warning, standing behind her in the room. +I did this: I slipped out at the door and knocked, gently at first, +but got no answer; then a little louder--no answer; then louder and +louder, till at last I thundered at the door in a state of growing +alarm; still no answer. + +'She is stone deaf,' I thought; and now I remembered having noticed, +as she brushed past me, a far-off gaze in her eyes, such as some +stone-deaf people show. + +I re-entered the house. There she was, sitting immovably before the +fire, in the same reverie. I coughed and hemmed, softly at first, +then more loudly, finally with such vigour that I ran the risk of +damaging my throat, and still there was no movement of that head bent +over the fire and resting in the palms of the hands. At last I made a +step forward, then another, finally finding myself on the knitted +cloth hearthrug beside her. I now had the full view of her profile. +That she should be still unconscious of my presence was +unaccountable, for I stood at the end of the rug gazing at her. Again +I coughed and hemmed, but without producing the smallest effect. Then +I determined to address her; but I thought it would be safer to do so +as a stranger than to announce myself at once as Henry. + +'I beg pardon,' I said, 'but is there any one at home?' + +No answer. + +'Is this the way to Capel Curig? + +No answer. + +'Will you give me shelter?' I said; and finally I gave a desperate +'halloo.' + +My efforts had not produced the slightest effect. I was now in a +state of great agitation. That she was stone deaf seemed evident. But +was she not in some kind of fit, though without the contortions of +face Mivart had described to me--contortions which haunted me as much +as though I had seen them? I stooped down and gazed into her face. +There was now no terror there, nor even sorrow. I could see in her +eyes sparks of pleasure, as in the eyes of an infant when it seems to +see in the air pictures or colours to which our eyes are blind. Round +about her cheek and mouth a little dimple was playing, exactly like +the dimple that plays around the mouth of a pleased child. This +marvellous expression on her face recalled to me what Mivart had said +as to the form her dementia assumed between one paroxysm and another. + +'Thank God,' thought I, 'she's not in a fit: she's only deaf.' + +Driven to desperation, however, I seized her shoulder and shook it. +This aroused her. She started up with violence, at the same time +overturning the chair upon which she had been sitting. She stared at +me wildly. The danger of what I had done struck me now. A fortunate +inspiration caused me to say, 'Tywysog o'r Niwl.' Then there broke +over her face a sweet smile of childish pleasure. She made a graceful +curtsey, and said, 'You've come at last; I was thinking about you all +the while.' + +Shall I ever forget her expression? Her eyes were alive with light +and pleasure. It was as though Winifred's soul had fled or the soul +of her childhood had re-entered and taken possession of her body. But +the witchery of her expression no words can describe. Never had I +seen her so lovely as now. Often when a child I had seen the boatmen +on the sands look at us as we passed--seen them stay in the midst of +their toil, their dull faces brightening with admiration, as though a +bar of unexpected sunlight had fallen across them. In the fields I +had seen labourers, sitting at their simple dinner under the hedges, +stay their meal to look after the child--so winning, dazzling, and +strange was her beauty. And when I had first met her again, a child +no longer, in the churchyard, my memory had accepted her at once as +fulfilling, and more than fulfilling, all her childhood's promise. +But never had she looked so bewitching as now--a poor mad girl who +had lost her wits from terror. + +For some time I could only keep murmuring: 'More lovely mad than +sane!' + +'As if I didn't _know_ the Prince!' said she. 'You who, in fine +weather or cloudy, wet or dry, are there on the hills to meet me! As +if I don't know the Prince of the Mist when I see him! But how kind +of you to come down here and see poor Winnie, poor lonely Winnie, at +home!' + +She fetched a chair, placed it in front of the fire, pointed to it +with the same ravishingly childlike smile, indicating that it was for +me, and then, when she saw me mechanically sit down, picked up her +chair and came and sat close beside me. + +In a second she was lost in a reverie as profound as that from which +I had aroused her; and the only sound I heard was the rain on the +window and the fitful gusts of wind playing around the cottage. + +The wind having blown open the door, I got up to shut it. Winifred +rose too, and again taking hold of my hand, she looked up into my +face with a smile, and said, 'Don't go; I'm so lonely--poor Winnie's +so lonely.' + +As I held her hand in mine, and closed my other hand over it, I +murmured to myself, 'If God will only give her to me like this--mad +like this--I will be content.' + +'Dearest,' I said, longing to put my arm round her waist--to kiss her +own passionless lips--but I dared not, lest I might frighten her +away, 'I will not leave you. I will never leave you. You shall never +be lonely any more.' + +I closed the door, and we resumed our seats. + +Can I put into words what passed within my soul as we two sat by the +fire, she holding my hand in her own--holding it as innocently as a +child holds the hand of its mother? Can I put into words my mingled +feelings of love and pity and wild grief, as I sat looking at her and +murmuring, 'Yes; if God will only give her to me like _this_, I will +be content'? + +'Prince,' said she, 'your eyes look very kind!--Sweet, sweet eyes,' +she continued, looking at me. 'The Prince of the Mist has love-eyes,' +she repeated, as she placed the seats before the fire again. + +Then I heard her murmur, 'Love-eyes! love-eyes! Henry's love-eyes!' +Then a terrible change came over her. She sprang up and came and +peered in my face. An indescribable expression of terror overspread +her features, her nostrils expanded, her lips were drawn tightly over +her teeth, her eyes seemed starting from their sockets; her throat +suddenly became fluted like the throat of an aged woman, then veined +with knotted, cruel cords. Then she stood as transfixed, and her face +was mimicking that appalling look on her father's face which I had +seen in the moonlight. With a yell of 'Father!' she leapt from me. +Then she rushed from the house, and I could hear her run by the +window, crying, 'Cursed, cursed, cursed by Henry's father!' + +For an instant the movement took away my breath; but I soon recovered +and sprang after her to the door. + +There, in the distance, I saw her in the rain, running along the +road. My first impulse was to follow her and run her down. But +luckily I considered the effect this might have in increasing her +terror, and stopped. She was soon out of sight. I wandered about the +road calling her name, and calling on Heaven to have a little pity--a +little mercy. + + +III + +I decided to return to the house, but found that I had lost my way in +the obscurity and pelting rain. For hours I wandered about, without +the slightest clue as to where I was. I was literally soaked to the +skin. Several times I fell into holes in a morass, and was up to my +hips in moss and mud and water. Then I began to call out for +assistance till I was hoarse. I might as well have called out on an +uninhabited island. + +The night wore on, and the darkness grew so intense that I could +scarcely see my hand when I held it up. Every star in the heavens was +hid away as by a thick-pall. The darkness was positively benumbing to +the faculties, and added, if possible, to the misery I was in on +account of Winifred. Suddenly my progress was arrested. I had fallen +violently against something. A human body, a woman! I thrust out my +hand and seized a woman's damp arm. + +'Winifred,' I cried, 'it's Henry.' + +'I thought as much.' said the voice of the Gypsy girl I had met at +the wayside inn, and she seized me by the throat with a fearful grip. +'You've been to the cottage and skeared her away, and now she's seed +you there she'll never come back; she'll wander about the hills till +she drops down dead, or falls over the brinks.' + +'O God!' I cried, as I struggled away from her. 'Winifred! Winifred! + +There was silence between us then. + +'You seem mighty fond on her, young man,' said the Gypsy at length, +in a softened voice, 'and you don't strike out at me for grabbin' +your throat.' + +'Winifred! Winifred!' I said, as I thought of her on the hills on a +night like this. + +'You seem mighty fond on her, young man,' repeated the girl's voice +in the darkness. + +But I could afford no words for her, so cruelly was misery lacerating +me. + +'Reia,' said the Gypsy, 'did I hurt your throat just now? I hope I +didn't; but you see she was the only one of 'em ever I liked, Gorgio +or Gorgie, 'cept Mrs. Davies, lad or wench. I know'd her as a child, +and arterwards, when a fine English lady, as poor as a church-mouse, +tried to spile her, a-makin' _her_ a fine lady too, I thought she'd +forget all about me. But not she. I never once called at Mrs. +Davies's house with my crwth, as she taught me to play on, but out +Winnie would come with her bright eyes an' say, "Oh, I'm so glad!" +She meant she was glad to see me, bless the kind heart on her. An' +when I used to see her on the hills, she'd come runnin' up to me, and +she'd put her little hand in mine, she would, an' chatter away, she +would, as we went up an' up. An' one day, when she heard me callin' +one o' the Romany chies sister, she says, "Is that your sister?" an' +when I says, "No; but the Romany chies call each other sister," then +says she, pretending not to know all about our Romany ways, "Sinfi, +I'm very fond on you, may _I_ call you sister?" An' she had sich +ways; an' she's the only Gorgio or Gorgie, 'cept Mrs. Davies, as I +ever liked, lad or wench.' + +The Gypsy's simple words came like a new message of comfort and hope, +but I could not speak. + +'Young man,' she continued, 'are you there?' and she put out her hand +to feel for me. + +I took hold of the hand. No words passed; none were needed. Never had +I known friendship before. After a short time I said, + +'What shall we do, Sinfi?' + +'I shall wait a bit, till the stars are out,' said she. 'I know +they're a-comin' out by the feel o' the wind. Then I shall walk up a +path as Winnie knows. The sun'll be up ready for me by the time I get +to the part I wants to go to. You know, young man, I _must_ find her. +She'll never come back to the cottage no more, now she's been skeared +away from it.' + +'But I must accompany you,' I said. + +'No, no, you mustn't do that,' said the Gypsy; 'she might take fright +and fall and be killed. Besides,' said she, 'Winifred Wynne's under +a cuss; it's bad luck to follow up anybody under a cuss.' + +'But you are following her,' I said. + +'Ah, but that's different. "Gorgio cuss never touched Romany," as my +mammy, as had the seein' eye, used to say.' + +'But,' I exclaimed vehemently, 'I _want_ to be cursed with her. I +have followed her to be cursed with her. I mean to go with you.' + +'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. + +'Well,' said she, when I had stopped to look round, 'it's my belief +as the cuss is a-workin' now, and'll have to spend itself. If it +could ha' spent itself on the feyther as did the mischief, why all +well an' good, but, you see, he's gone, an' left it to spend itself +on his chavi; jist the way with 'em Gorgio feythers an' Romany +daddies. It'll have to spend itself, though, that cuss will, I'm +afeard.' + +'But,' I said, 'you don't mean that you think for her father's crime +she'll have to beg her bread in desolate places.' + +'I do though, wusser luck,' said the Gypsy solemnly, stopping +suddenly, and standing still as a statue. + +'And this,' I ejaculated, 'is the hideous belief of all races in all +times! Monstrous if a lie--more monstrous if true! Anyhow I'll find +her. I'll traverse the earth till I find her. I'll share her lot with +her, whatever it may be, and wherever it may be in the world. If +she's a beggar, I'll beg by her side.' + +'Right you are, brother,' said the Gypsy, breaking in +enthusiastically. 'I likes to hear a man say that. You're liker a +Romany chi nor a Romany chal, the more I see of you. What I says to +our people is:--"If the Romany chals would only stick by the Romany +chies as the Romany chies sticks by the Romany chals, where 'ud the +Gorgios be then? Why, the Romanies would be the strongest people on +the arth." But you see, reia, about this cuss--a cuss has to work +itself out, jist for all the world like the bite of a sap.' +[Footnote] + +[Footnote: _Sap_, a snake.] + +Then she continued, with great earnestness, looking across the +kindling expanse of hill and valley before us: 'You know, the very +dead things round us,--these here peaks, an' rocks, an' lakes, an' +mountains--ay, an' the woods an' the sun an' the sky above our +heads,--cusses us when we do anythink wrong. You may see it by the +way they looks at you. Of course I mean when you do anythink wrong +accordin' to us Romanies. I don't mean wrong accordin' to the +Gorgios: they're two very different kinds o' wrongs.' + +'I don't see the difference,' said I; 'but tell me more about +Winifred.' + +'You don't see the difference?' said Sinfi. 'Well then, I do. It's +wrong to tell a lie to a Romany, ain't it? But is it wrong to tell a +lie to a Gorgio? Not a bit of it. And why? 'Cause most Gorgios is +fools and wants lies, an' that gives the poor Romanies a chance. But +this here cuss is a very bad kind 'o cuss. It's a dead man's cuss, +and what's wuss, him as is cussed is dead and out of the way, and so +it has to be worked out in the blood of his child. But when she's +done that, when she's worked it out of her blood, things'll come +right agin if the cross is put back agin on your father's buzzum.' + +'When she has done what?' I said. + +'Begged her bread in desolate places,' said the Gypsy girl solemnly. +'Then if the cross is put back agin on your feyther's buzzum, I +believe things'll all come right. It's bad the cusser was your +feyther though.' + +'But why?' I asked. + +'There's nobody can't hurt you and them you're fond on as your own +breed can. As my poor mammy used to say, "For good or for ill you +must dig deep to bury your daddy." But you know, brother, the wust o' +this job is that it's a trúshul as has been stole.' + +'A trúshul?' + +'What you call a cross. There's nothin' in the world so strong for +cussin' and blessin' as a trúshul, unless the stars shinin' in the +river or the hand in the clouds is as strong. Why, I tell you there's +nothin' a trúshul can't do, whether it's curin' a man as is bit by a +sap, or wipin' the very rainbow out o' the sky by jist layin' two +sticks crossways, or even curin' the cramp in your legs by jist +settin' your shoes crossways; there's nothin' for good or bad a +trúshul _can't_ do if it likes. Hav'n't you never heer'd o' the +dukkeripen o' the trúshul shinin' in the sunset sky when the light +o' the sinkin' sun shoots up behind a bar o' clouds an' makes a kind +o fiery cross? But to go and steal a trushul out of a dead man's +tomb--why, it's no wonder as the Wynnes is cussed, feyther and +child.' + +I could not have tolerated this prattle about Gypsy superstitions had +I not observed that through it all the Gypsy was on the _qui vive_, +looking for the traces of her path that Winifred had unconsciously +left behind her. Had the Gypsy been following the trail with the +silence of an American Indian, she could not have worked more +carefully than she was now working while her tongue went rattling on. +I afterwards found this to be a characteristic of her race, as I +afterwards found that what is called the long sight of the Gypsies +(as displayed in the following of the _patrin_ [Footnote: Trail]) is +not long sight at all, but is the result of a peculiar faculty the +Gypsies have of observing more closely than Gorgios do everything +that meets their eyes in the woods and on the hills and along the +roads. When we reached the spot indicated by the Gypsy as being +Winifred's haunt, the ledge where she was in the habit of coming for +her imaginary interviews with the 'Prince of the Mist,' we did not +stay there, but for a time still followed the path, which from this +point became rougher and rougher, alongside deep precipices and +chasms. Every now and then she would stop on a ledge of rock, and, +without staying her prattle for a moment, stoop down and examine the +earth with eyes that would not have missed the footprint of a rat. +When I saw her pause, as she sometimes would in the midst of her +scrutiny, to gaze inquiringly down some gulf, which then seemed awful +to my inexperienced eyes, but which later on in the day, when I came +to see the tremendous chasms of that side of Snowdon, seemed +insignificant enough, the circulation of my blood would seem to stop, +and then rush again through my body more violently than before. And +while the 'patrin-chase' went on, and the morning grew brighter and +brighter, the Gypsy's lithe, catlike tread never faltered. The rise +and fall of her bosom were as regular and as calm as in the +public-house. Such agility and such staying power in a woman +astonished me. Finding no trace of Winnie, we returned to the little +plateau by Knockers' Llyn. + +'This is the place,' said the Gypsy; 'it used to be called in old +times the haunted llyn, because when you sings the Welsh dukkerin +gillie here or plays it on a crwth, the Knockers answers it. I dare +say you've heard o' what the Gorgios call the triple echo o' Llyn +Ddu'r Arddu. Well, it's somethin' like that, only bein' done by the +knocking sperrits, it's grander and don't come 'cept when they hears +the Welsh dukkerin gillie. Now, you must hide yourself somewheres +while I go and touch the crwth in her favourite place. I think she'll +come to that. I wish though I hadn't brought ye,' she continued, +looking at me meditatively; 'you're a little winded a-ready, and we +ain't begun the rough climbing at all. Up to this 'ere pool Winnie +and me and Rhona Boswell used to climb when we was children; it +needed longer legs nor ourn to get farther up, and you're winded +a-ready. If she should come on you suddent, she's liker than not to +run for a mile or more up that path where we've just been and then to +jump down one of them chasms you've just seed. But if she does pop +on ye, don't you try to grab her, whatever you do; leave me alone for +that. You ain't got strength enough to grab a hare; you ought to be +in bed. Besides, she won't be skeared at me. But,' she continued, +turning round to look at the vast circuit of peaks stretching away as +far as the eye could reach, 'we shall have to ketch her to-day +somehow. She'll never go back to the cottage where you went and +skeared her; and if she don't have a fall, she'll run about these +here hills till she drops. We shall have to ketch her to-day somehow. +I'm in hopes she'll come to the sound of my crwth, she's so uncommon +fond on it; and if she don't come in the flesh, p'rhaps her livin' +mullo will come, and that'll show she's alive.' + +She placed me in a crevice overlooking the small lake, or pool, which +on the opposite side was enclosed in a gorge, opening only by a cleft +to the east. Then she unburdened herself of a wallet containing the +breakfast, saying, 'When I come back we'll fall to and breakfiss.' +She then, as though she were following the trail, made a circuit of +the pool and disappeared through the gorge. All round the pool there +was a narrow ragged ledge leading to this eastern opening. I stood +concealed in my crevice and looked at the peaks, or rather at the +vast masses of billowy vapours enveloping them, as they sometimes +boiled and sometimes blazed, shaking--when the sun struck one and +then another--from brilliant amethyst to vermilion, shot occasionally +with purple, or gold, or blue. + +A radiance now came pouring through the eastern opening down the +gorge or cwm itself, and soon the light vapours floating about the +pool were turned to sailing gauzes, all quivering with different +dyes, as though a rainbow had become torn from the sky and woven into +gossamer hangings and set adrift. + +Fatigue was beginning to numb my senses and to conquer my brain. The +acuteness of my mental anguish had consumed itself in its own intense +fires. The idea of Winifred's danger became more remote. The +mist-pageants of the morning seemed somehow to emanate from Winnie. + +'No one is worthy to haunt such a scene as this,' I murmured, sinking +against the rock, 'but Winifred--so beautiful of body and pure of +soul. Would that I were indeed her "Prince of the Mist," and that we +could die here together with Sinfi's strains in our ears.' + +Then I felt coming over me strange influences which afterwards became +familiar to me--influences which I can only call the spells of +Snowdon. They were far more intense than those strange, sweet, wild, +mesmeric throbs which I used to feel in Graylingham Wood, and which +my ancestress, Fenella Stanley, seems also to have known, but they +were akin to them. Then came the sound of Sinfi's crwth and song, and +in the distance repetitions of it, as though the spirits of Snowdon +were, in very truth, joining in a chorus. + +At once a marvellous change came over me. I seemed to be listening to +my ancestress, Fenella Stanley, and not to Sinfi Lovell. I was +hearing that strain which in my childhood I had so often tried to +imagine, and it was conjuring up the morning sylphs of the mountain +air and all the 'flower-sprites' and 'sunshine elves' of Snowdon. + + +V + +I shook off the spell when the music ceased; then I began to wonder +why the Gypsy did not return. I was now faint and almost famished for +want of food. I opened the Gypsy's wallet. There was the substantial +and tempting breakfast she had brought from the cottage +cupboard--cold beef and bread, and ale. I spread the breakfast on the +ground. + +Scarcely had I done so when a figure appeared at the opening of the +gorge and caught the ruddy flood of light. It was Winifred, +bare-headed. I knew it was she, and I waited in breathless suspense, +crouching close up into the crevice, dreading lest she should see me +and be frightened away. She stood in the eastern cleft of the gorge +against the sun for fully half a minute, looking around as a stag +might look that was trying to give the hunters the slip. + +'She has seen the Gypsy,' I thought, 'and been scared by her.' Then +she came down and glided along the side of the pool. At first she did +not see me, though she stood opposite and stopped, while the +opalescent vapours from the pool steamed around her, and she shone as +through a glittering veil, her eyes flashing like sapphires. The +palpitation of my heart choked me; I dared not stir, I dared not +speak; the slightest movement or the slightest sound might cause her +to start away. There was she whom I had travelled and toiled to +find--there was she, so close to me, and yet must I let her pass and +perhaps lose her after all--for ever? + +Where was the Gypsy girl? I was in an agony of desire to see her or +hear her crwth, and yet her approach might frighten Winifred to her +destruction. + +But Winifred, who had now seen me, did not bound away with that +heart-quelling yell of hers which I had dreaded. No, I perceived to +my astonishment that the flash of the eyes was not of alarm, but of +greeting to me--pleasure at seeing me! She came close to the water, +and then I saw a smile on her face through the misty film--a flash of +shining teeth. + +'May I come?' she said. + +'Yes, Winifred,' I gasped, scarcely knowing what I said in my +surprise and joy. + +She came slipping round the pool, and in a few seconds was by my +side. Her clothes were saturated with last night's rain, but though +she looked very cold, she did not shiver, a proof that she had not +lain down on the hills, but had walked about during the whole night. +There was no wildness of the maniac--there was no idiotic stare. But +oh the witchery of the gaze! + +If one could imagine the look on the face of a wanderer from the +cloud-palaces of the sylphs, or the gaze in the eyes of a statue +newly animated by the passion of the sculptor who had fashioned it, +or the smile on the face of a wondering Eve just created upon the +earth--any one of these expressions would, perhaps, give the idea +of that on Winifred's face as she stood there. + +'May I sit down, Prince?' said she. + +'Yes, Winnie,' I replied; 'I've been waiting for you.' + +'Been waiting for poor Winnie?' she said, her eyes sparkling anew +with pleasure; and she sat down close by my side, gazing hungrily at +the food--her hands resting on her lap. + +I laid my hand upon one of hers; it was so damp and cold that it made +me shudder. + +'Why, Winifred,' I said, 'how cold you are!' 'The hills are _so_ +cold!' said she, '_so_ cold when the stars go out, and the red +streaks begin to come.' + +'May I warm your hands in mine, Winnie?' I said, longing to clasp the +dear fingers, but trembling lest anything I might say or do should +bring about a repetition of last night's catastrophe. + +'_Will_ you, Prince?' said she. 'How very, very kind!' and in a +moment the hand was between mine. + +Remembering that it was through looking into my eyes that she +recognised me in the cottage, I now avoided looking straight into +hers. All this time she kept gazing wistfully at the food spread out +on the ground. + +'Are you hungry, Winifred?' I said. + +'Oh yes; _so_ hungry!' said she, shaking her head in a sad meditative +way. 'Poor Winifred is so hungry and cold and lonely!' + +'Will you breakfast with the Prince of the Mist, Winifred?' + +'Oh, may I, Prince?' she asked, her face beaming with delight. + +'To be sure you may, Winnie. You may always breakfast with the Prince +of the Mist if you like.' + +'Always? Always?' she repeated. + +'Yes, Winnie,' I said, as I handed her some bread and meat, which she +devoured ravenously. + +'Yes, dear Winnie,' I continued, handing her a foaming horn of +Sinfi's ale, to which she did as full justice as she was doing to the +bread and meat. 'Yes, I want you to breakfast with me and dine with +me always.' + +'Do you mean _live_ with you, Prince?' she asked, looking me dreamily +in the face--'live with you behind the white mist? Is this our +wedding breakfast, Prince?' + +'Yes, Winnie.' + +Then her eyes wandered down over her dress, and she said, 'Ah! how +strange I did not notice my green fairy kirtle before. And I declare +I never felt till this moment the wreath of gold leaves round my +forehead. Do they shine much in the sun?' + +'They quite dazzle me, Winnie,' I said, arching my hand above my +eyes, as if to protect them from the glare. + +'Do you have a nice fire there when it's very cold?' she said. + +'Yes, Winifred,' I said. + +She then sank into silence, while I kept plying her with food. + +After she had appeased her hunger she sat looking into the pool, +quite unconscious, apparently, of my presence by her side, and lost +in a reverie similar to that which I had seen at the cottage. + +The form her dementia had taken was unlike anything that I had ever +conceived. Madness seemed too coarse a word to denote so wonderful +and fascinating a mental derangement. Mivart's comparison to a +musical-box recurred to me, and seemed most apt. She was in a waking +dream. The peril lay in breaking through that dream and bringing her +real life before her. There was a certain cogency of dreamland in all +she said and did. And I found that she sank into silent reverie +simply because she waited, like a person in sleep, for the current of +her thoughts to be directed and dictated by external phenomena. As +she sat there gazing in the pool, her hand gradually warming between +my two hands, I felt that never when sane, never in her most +bewitching moments, had she been so lovable as she was now. This new +kind of spell she exercised over me it would be impossible to +describe. But it sprang from the expression on her face of that +absolute freedom from all self-consciousness which is the great charm +in children, combined with the grace and beauty of her own matchless +girlhood. A desire to embrace her, to crush her to my breast, seized +me like a frenzy. + +'Winifred,' I said, 'you are very cold.' + +But she was now insensible to sound. I knew from experience now that +I must shake her to bring her back to consciousness, for evidently, +in her fits of reverie, the sounds falling upon her ear were not +conveyed to the brain at all. + +I shook her gently, and said, 'The Prince of the Mist.' + +She started back to life. My idea had been a happy one. My words had +at once sent her thoughts into the right direction for me. + +'Pardon me, Prince,' said she, smiling; 'I had forgotten that you +were here.' + +'Winifred, I've warmed this hand, now give me the other.' + +She stretched her other hand across her breast and gave it to me. +This brought her entire body close to me, and I said, 'Winnie, you +are cold all over. Won't you let the Prince of the Mist put his arms +round you and warm you?' + +'Oh, I should like it so much,' she said. 'But are you warm, Prince? +are you really warm?--your mist is mostly very cold.' + +'Quite warm, Winifred,' I said, as with my heart swelling in my +breast, and with eyelids closing over my eyes from very joy, I drew +her softly upon my breast once more. + +'Yes--yes,' I murmured, as the tears gushed from my eyes and dropped +upon the soft hair that I was kissing. 'If God will but let me have +her _thus_! I ask for nothing better than to possess a maniac.' + +As we sat locked in each other's arms the head of Sinfi appeared +round the eastern cliff of the gorge where I had first seen Winifred. +The Gypsy had evidently been watching us from there. I perceived +that she was signalling to me that I was not to grasp Winifred. Then +I saw Sinfi suddenly and excitedly point to the sky over the rock +beneath which we sat. I looked up. The upper sky above us was now +clear of morning mist, and right over our heads, Winifred's and mine, +there hung a little morning cloud like a feather of flickering rosy +gold. I looked again towards the corner of jutting rock, but Sinfi's +head had disappeared. + +'Dear Prince,' said Winifred, 'how delightfully warm you are! How +kind of you! But are not your arms a little too tight, dear Prince? +Poor Winnie cannot breathe. And this thump, thump, thump, like +a--like a--fire-engine--_ah_!' + +Too late I knew what my folly had done. The turbulent action of my +heart had had a sympathetic effect upon hers. It seemed as if her +senses, if not her mind, had remembered another occasion, when, as +she was lying in my arms, the beating of my heart had disturbed her. +In one lightning-flash her real life and all its tragedy broke +mercilessly in upon her. The idea of the 'Prince of the Mist' fled. +She started up and away from me. The awful mimicry of her father's +expression spread over her face. With a yell of 'Fy Nhad,' and then a +yell of 'Father!' she darted round the pool, and then, bounding up +the rugged path like a chamois, disappeared behind a corner of +jutting rock. + +At the same moment the head of the Gypsy girl reappeared round the +eastern cleft of the gorge. Sinfi came quickly up to me and +whispered, 'Don't follow.' + +'I will,' I said. + +'No, you won't,' said she, seizing my wrist with a grip of iron. 'If +you do she's done for. Do you know where she is running to? A couple +of furlongs up that path there's another that branches off on the +right; it ain't more nor a futt-an'-a-half wide along a precipuss +more nor a hundred futt deep. She knows it well. She'll make for +that. The cuss is on her wuss nor ever, judgin' from the gurn and the +flash of her teeth.' + +I waited for two or three seconds in the wildest impatience. + +'Let's follow her now,' I said. + +'No, no,' she whispered, 'not yet, 'less you want to see her tumble +down the cliff.' After a few minutes Sinfi and I went up the main +pathway. Winnie seemed to have slackened her pace when she was out of +sight, for we saw her just turning away on the right at the point +indicated by Sinfi. 'Give her time to get along that path,' said she, +'and then she'll be all right.' + +In a state of agonised suspense I stood there waiting. At last I +said: + +'I must go after her. We shall lose her--I know we shall lose her.' + +Sinfi demurred a moment, then acceded to my wish, and we went up the +main pathway and peered round the corner of the jutting rock where +Winifred had last been visible. There, along a ragged shelf +bordering a yawning chasm--a shelf that seemed to me scarce wide +enough for a human foot--Winifred was running and balancing herself +as surely as a bird over the abyss. + +'Mind she doesn't turn round sharp and see you,' said the Gypsy. 'If +she does she'll lose her head and over she'll fall!' + +I crouched and gazed at Winifred as she glided along towards a vast +mountain of vapour that was rolling over the chasm close to her. She +stood and looked into the floating mass for a moment, and then passed +into it and was lost from view. + + +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.] + + +VII + +After losing Sinfi I hired some men to assist 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 shaggy 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 Principality. 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! superstition 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 association 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.' + +Holywell grew to have a fascination for me, and in the following +spring I left the fishing-inn beneath Snowdon, and took rooms in this +interesting old town. + + +VIII + +One day, near the rivulet that runs from St. Winifred's Well, I +suddenly encountered Sinfi Lovell. + +'Sinfi,' I said, 'she's dead, she's surely dead.' + +'I tell ye, brother, she ain't got to die!' said Sinfi, as she came +and stood beside me. 'Winnie Wynne's on'y got to beg her bread. She's +alive.' + +'Where is she?' I cried. 'Oh, Sinfi, I shall go mad!' + +'There you're too fast for me, brother,' said she, 'when you ask me +_where_ she is; but she's alive, and I ain't come quite emp'y-handed +of news about her, brother.' + +'Oh, tell me!' said I. + +'Well,' said Sinfi, 'I've just met one of our people, Euri Lovell, as +says that, the very mornin' after we seed her on the hills, he met +her close to Carnarvon at break of day.' + +'Then she _did_ go to Carnarvon,' I said. 'What a distance for those +dear feet!' + +'Euri knowed her by sight,' said Sinfi, 'but didn't know about her +bein' under the cuss, so he jist let her pass, sayin' to hisself, +"She looks jist like a crazy wench this mornin', does Winnie Wynne." +Euri was a-goin' through Carnarvon to Bangor, on to Conway and +Chester, and never heerd a word about her bein' lost till he got +back, six weeks ago.' + +'I must go to Carnarvon at once,' said I. + +'No use, brother,' said Sinfi. 'If _I_ han't pretty well worked +Carnarvon, it's a pity. I've bin there the last three weeks on the +patrin-chase, and not a patrin could I find. It's my belief as she +never went into Carnarvon town at all, but turned off and went into +Llanbeblig churchyard.' + +'Why do you think so, Sinfi?' + +''Cause her aunt, bein' a Carnarvon woman, was buried among her own +kin in Llanbeblig churchyard. + +Leastwise, you won't find a ghose of a trace on her at Carnarvon, and +it'll be a long kind of a wild-goose chase from here; but if you +will go, go you must.' + +She could not dissuade me from starting for Carnarvon at once; and, +as I would go, she seemed to take it as a matter of course that she +must accompany me. Our journey was partly by coach and partly afoot. + +My first impulse on nearing Carnarvon was to go--I could not have +said why--to Llanbeblig churchyard. + +Among a group of graves of the Davieses we easily found that of +Winifred's aunt, beneath a newly-planted arbutus tree. After looking +at the modest mound for some time, and wondering where Winifred had +stood when the coffin was lowered--as I had wondered where she had +stood at St. Winifred's Well--I roamed about the churchyard with +Sinfi in silence for a time. + +At last she said, 'I mind comin' here wonst with Winnie, and I mind +her sayin': "There's no place I should so much like to be buried in +as Llanbeblig churchyard. The graves of them as die unmarried do look +so beautiful."' + +'How did she know the graves of those who die unmarried?' + +Sinfi looked over the churchyard and waved her hand. + +'Wherever you see them beautiful primroses, and them shinin' +snowdrops, and them sweet-smellin' vi'lets, that's allus the grave of +a child or else of a young Gorgie as died a maid; and wherever you +see them laurel trees, and box trees, and 'butus trees, that's the +grave of a pusson as ain't nuther child nor maid, an' the Welsh folk +think nobody else on'y child'n an' maids ain't quite good enough to +be turned into the blessed flowers o' spring.' + +'Next to the sea,' I said, 'she loved the flowers of spring.' + +'And _I_ should like to be buried here too, brother,' said Sinfi, as +we left the churchyard. + +'But a fine strong girl like you, Sinfi, is not very likely to die +unmarried while there are Romany bachelors about.' + +'There ain't a-many Romany chals,' she said, 'as du'st marry Sinfi +Lovell, even supposing as Sinfi Lovell 'ud marry _them_, an' a Gorgio +she'll never marry--an' never can marry. And to lay here aneath the +flowers o 'spring, wi' the Welsh sun a-shinin' on 'em as it's +a-shinin' now, that must be a sweet kind of bed, brother, and for +anythink as I knows on, a Romany chi 'ud make as sweet a bed o' +vi'lets as the beautifullest Gorgie-wench as wur ever bred in +Carnarvon, an' as shinin' a bunch o' snowdrops as ever the Welsh +spring knows how to grow.' + +At any other time this extraordinary girl's talk would have +interested me greatly; now, nothing had any interest for me that did +not bear directly upon the fate of Winifred. + +Little dreaming how this quiet churchyard had lately been one of the +battle-grounds of that all-conquering power (Destiny, or +Circumstance?) which had governed Winnie's life and mine, I went with +Sinfi into Carnarvon, and made inquiry everywhere, but without the +slightest result. This occupied several days, during which time Sinfi +stayed with some acquaintances encamped near Carnarvon, while I +lodged at a little hotel. + +'You don't ask me how you happened to meet me at Holywell, brother,' +said she to me, as we stood looking across the water at Carnarvon +Castle, over whose mighty battlements the moon was fighting with an +army of black, angry clouds, which a wild wind was leading furiously +against her--'you don't ask me how you happened to meet me at +Holywell, nor how long I've been back agin in dear old Wales, nor +what I've been a-doin' on since we parted; but that's nuther here nor +there. I'll tell you what I think about Winnie an' the chances o' +findin' her, brother, and that'll intrust you more.' + +'What is it, Sinfi?' I cried, waking up from the reminiscences, +bitter and sweet, the bright moon had conjured up in my mind. + +'Well, brother, Winnie, you see, was very fond o' me.' + +'She was, and good reason for being fond of you she had.' + +'Well, brother, bein' very fond o' me, _that_ made her very fond o' +_all_ Romanies; and though she took agin me at fust, arter the cuss, +as she took agin you because we was her closest friends (that's what +Mr. Blyth said, you know, they allus do), she wouldn't take agin +Romanies in general. No, she'd take to Romanies in general, and she'd +go hangin' about the different camps, and she'd soon be snapped up, +being so comely, and they'd make a lot o' money out on her jist +havin' her with 'em for the "dukkerin'."' + +'I don't understand you,' I said. + +'Well, you know,' said Sinfi, 'anybody as is under the cuss is half +with the sperrits and half with us, and so can tell the _real_ +"dukkerin'." Only it's bad for a Romany to have another Romany in the +"place" as is under the cuss; but it don't matter a bit about having +a Gorgio among your breed as is under a cuss; for Gorgio cuss can't +never touch Romany.' + +'Then you feel quite sure she's not dead, Sinfi?' + +'She's jist as live as you an' me somewheres, brother. There's two +things as keeps _her_ alive: there's the cuss, as says she's got to +beg her bread, and there's the dukkeripen o' the Golden Hand on +Snowdon, as says she's got to marry you.' + +'But, Sinfi, I mean that, apart from all this superstition of yours, +you have reason to think she's alive? and you think she's with the +Romanies?' + +'I know she's alive, and I think she's with the Romanies. She _must_ +be, brother, with the Shaws, or the Lees, or the Stanleys, or the +Boswells, or some on 'em.' + +'Then,' said I, 'I'll turn Gypsy; I'll be the second Aylwin to own +allegiance to the blood of Fenella Stanley. I'll scour Great Britain +till I find her.' + +'You can jine _us_ if you like, brother. We're goin' all through the +West of England with the gries. You're fond o' fishin' an' shootin', +brother, an' though you're a Gorgio, you can't help bein' a Gorgio, +and you ain't a mumply 'un, as I've said to Jim Burton many's the +time; and if you can't give the left-hand body-blow like me, there +ain't a-many Gorgios nor yit a-many Romanies as knows better nor you +what their fistes wur made for, an' altogether, brother, Beng te +tassa mandi if I shouldn't be right-on proud to see ye jine our +breed. There's a coachmaker down in Chester, and he's got for sale +the beautifullest livin'-waggin in all England. It's shiny +orange-yellow with red window-blinds, an' if there's a colour in any +rainbow as _can't_ be seed in the panels o' the front door, it's a +kind o' rainbow I ain't never seed nowheres. He made it for Jericho +Bozzell, the rich Griengro as so often stays at Raxton and at Gypsy +Dell; but Rhona Bozzell hates a waggin and allus will sleep in a +tent. They do say as the Prince o' Wales wants to buy that +livin'-waggin, only he can't spare the balansers just now--his family +bein' so big an' times bein' so bad. How much money ha' you got? Can +you stan' a hundud an' fifty gold balansers for the waggin besides +the fixins? + +'Shift,' I said. 'I'm prepared to spend more than that in seeking +Winnie.' + +'Dordi, brother, you must be as rich as my dad, an' lie's the richest +Griengro arter Jericho Bozzell. You an' me'll jist go down to +Chester,' she continued, her eyes sparkling with delight at the +prospect of bargaining for the waggon, 'an' we'll fix up sich a +livin'-waggin as no Romany rei never had afore.' + +'Agreed!' I said, wringing her hand. + +'An' now you an' me's right pals,' said Sinfi. + +We went to Chester, and I became owner of the famous 'livin'-waggin' +coveted (according to Sinfi) by the great personage whom, on account +of his name, she always spoke of as a rich, powerful, but mysterious +and invisible Welshman. One of the monthly cheese-fairs was going on +in the Linen Hall. Among the rows of Welsh carts standing in front of +the 'Old Yacht Inn,' Sinfi introduced me to a 'Griengro' (one of the +Gypsy Locks of Gloucestershire), of whom I bought a bay mare of +extraordinary strength and endurance. + + +IX + +It was, then, to find Winifred that I joined the Gypsies. And yet I +will not deny that affinity with the kinsfolk of my ancestress +Fenella Stanley must have had something to do with this passage in my +eccentric life. That strain of Romany blood which, according to my +mother's theory, had much to do with drawing Percy Aylwin and Rhona +Boswell together, was alive and potent in my own veins. + +But I must pause here to say a few words about Sinfi Lovell. Some of +my readers must have already recognised her as a famous character in +bohemian circles. Sinfi's father was a 'Griengro,' that is to say, a +horse-dealer. She was, indeed, none other than that 'Fiddling Sinfi' +who became famous in many parts of England and Wales as a violinist, +and also as the only performer on the old Welsh stringed instrument +called the 'crwth,' or cruth. Most Gypsies are musical, but Sinfi was +a genuine musical genius. Having become, through the good-nature of +Winifred's aunt Mrs. Davies, the possessor of a crwth, and having +been taught by her the unique capabilities of that rarely seen +instrument, she soon learnt the art of fascinating her Welsh patrons +by the strange, wild strains she could draw from it. This obsolete +six-stringed instrument (with two of the strings reaching beyond the +key-board, used as drones and struck by the thumb, the bow only being +used on the other four, and a bridge placed, not at right angles to +the sides of the instrument, but in an oblique direction), though in +some important respects inferior to the violin, is in other respects +superior to it. Heard among the peaks of Snowdon, as I heard them +during our search for Winifred, the notes of the crwth have a +wonderful wildness and pathos. It is supposed to have the power of +drawing the spirits when a maiden sings to its accompaniment a +mysterious old Cymric song or incantation. + +Among her own people it was as a seeress, as an adept in the real +dukkering--the dukkering for the Romanies, as distinguished from the +false dukkering, the dukkering for the Gorgios--that Sinfi's fame was +great. She had travelled over nearly all England--wherever, in short, +there were horse-fairs--and was familiar with London, where in the +studios of artists she was in request as a face model of +extraordinary value. Nor were these all the characteristics that +distinguished her from the common herd of Romany chies: she was one +of the few Gypsies of either sex who could speak with equal fluency +both the English and Welsh Romanes, and she was in the habit +sometimes of mixing the two dialects in a most singular way. Though +she had lived much in Wales, and had a passionate love of Snowdon, +she belonged to a famous branch of the Lovells whose haunt had for +ages been in Wales and also the East Midlands, and she had caught +entirely the accent of that district. + +Among artists in London, as I afterwards learnt, she often went by +the playful name of 'Lady Sinfi Lovell,' for the following reason: + +She was extremely proud, and believed the 'Kaulo Camloes' to +represent the aristocracy not only of the Gypsies, but of the world. +Moreover, she had of late been brought into close contact with a +certain travelling band of Hungarian Gypsy-musicians, who visited +England some time ago. Intercourse with these had fostered her pride +in a curious manner. The musicians are the most intelligent and most +widely-travelled not only of the Hungarian Gypsies, but of all the +Romany race. They are darker than the sátoros czijányok, or tented +Gypsies. The Lovells being the darkest of all the Gypsies of Great +Britain (and the most handsome, hence called Kaulo Camloes), it was +easy to make out an affinity closer than common between the Lovells +and the Hungarian musicians. Sinfi heard much talk among the +Hungarians of the splendours of the early leaders of the continental +Romanies. She was told of Romany kings, dukes, and counts. She +accepted, with that entire faith which characterised her, the stories +of the exploits of Duke Michael, Duke Andreas, Duke Panuel, and the +rest. It only needed a hint from one of her continental friends, that +her father, Panuel Lovell, was probably a descendant of Duke Panuel, +for Sinfi to consider him a Duke. From that moment she felt as +strongly as any Gorgie ever felt the fine sentiment expressed in the +phrase, _noblesse oblige_; and to hear her say, 'I'm a duke's chavi +[daughter], and mustn't do so and so,' was a delightful and +refreshing experience to me. Poor Panuel groaned under these honours, +for Sinfi insisted now on his dressing in a brown velveteen coat, +scarlet waistcoat with gold coins for buttons, and the high-crowned, +ribbon-bedizened hat which prosperous Gypsies once used to wear. She +seemed to consider that her sister Videy (whose tastes were low for a +Welsh Gypsy) did not belong to the high aristocracy, though born of +the same father and mother. Moreover, 'dook' in Romanes means spirit, +ghost, and very likely Sinfi found some power of association in this +fact; for Videy was a born sceptic. + +One of the special charms of Gypsy life is that a man fully admitted +into the Romany brotherhood can be on terms of close intimacy with a +Gypsy girl without awaking the smallest suspicion of love-making or +flirtation; at least it was so in my time. + +Under my father's will, a considerable legacy had come to me, and, +after going to London to receive this, I made the circuit of the West +of England with Sinfi's people. No sign whatever of Winifred did I +find in any of the camps. I was for returning to Wales, where my +thoughts always were; but I could not expect Sinfi to leave her +family, so I started thither alone, leaving my waggon in their +charge. Before I reached Wales, however, I met in the eastern part of +Cheshire, not far from Moreton Hall, some English Lees, with whom I +got into talk about the Hungarian musicians, who were here then on +another flying visit to England. Something that dropped from one of +the Lees as to the traditions and superstitions of the Hungarian +Gypsies with regard to people suffering from dementia set me +thinking; and at last I came to the conclusion that if I really +believed Winifred to have taken shelter among the Romanies, it would +be absurd not to follow up a band like these Hungarians. Accordingly +I changed my course, and followed them up. On coming upon them in a +famous English camping-place I found the Lovells and the Boswells. +Rhona, dressed in gorgeous attire, evidently purchased at some +second-hand shop, was rehearsing the shawl-dance for a great occasion +at a neighbouring fair. But no Winifred. + +My health was now much impaired by sleeplessness (the inevitable +result of my anxiety), and by a narcotic, which from the commencement +of my troubles I had been in the habit of taking in ever-increasing +doses--a terrible narcotic, one of whose multitudinous effects is +that of sending all the patient's thoughts circling around one +central idea like planets round the sun. Painful and agonising as had +been my suspense,--my oscillation between hope and dread,--during my +wanderings with the Lovells, these wanderings had not been without +their moments of comfort, for all of which I had been indebted to +Sinfi. She would sit with me in an English lane, under a hedge or +tree, on a balmy summer evening, or among the primroses, wild +hyacinths, buttercups and daisies of the sweet meadows, chattering +her reminiscences of Winifred. She would mostly end by saying: +'Winnie was very fond on ye, brother, and we shall find her yit. The +Golden Hand on Snowdon wasn't there for nothink. The dukkeripen says +you'll marry her yit; a love like yourn can follow the tryenest +patrin as ever wur laid.' Then she would play on her crwth and say, +'Ah, brother, I shall be able to make this crwth bring ye a sight o' +Winnie's livin' mullo if she's alive, and there ain't a sperrit of +the hills as wouldn't answer to it.' + +Of Gorgios generally, however, Sinfi had at heart a feeling somewhat +akin to dread. I could not understand it. + +'Why do you dislike the Gorgios, Sinfi?' I said to her one day on +Lake Ogwen, after the return of the Lovells to Wales. We were +trout-fishing from a boat anchored to a heavy block of granite which +she had fastened to a rope and heaved overboard with a strength that +would have surpassed that of most Englishwomen. + +'That's nuther here nor there, brother,' she replied mysteriously. So +months and months dragged by, and brought no trace of Winifred. + + + +IV + +THE LEADER OF THE AYLWINIANS + + +I + +One day as Sinfi and I were strolling through the lovely glades +between Capel Curig and Bettws y Coed, on our way to a fishing-place, +we sat down by a stream to eat some bread and cheese we had brought +with us. + +The sunlight, as it broke here and there between the thick foliage, +was playing upon the little cascades in such magical fashion--turning +the water into a torrent that seemed as though molten rubies and +sapphires and opals were ablaze in one dancing faery stream,--that +even the dark tragedy of human life seemed enveloped for a moment in +an atmosphere of poetry and beauty. Sinfi gazed at it silently, then +she said: + +'This is the very place where Winnie wonst tried to save a hernshaw +as wur wounded. She wur tryin' to ketch hold on it, as the water wur +carryin' it along, and he pretty nigh beat her to death wi' his wings +for her pains. It wur then as she come an' stayed along o' us for a +bit, an' she got to be as fond o' my crwth as you be's, an' she used +to say that if there wur any music as 'ud draw her sperrit hack to +the airth arter she wur dead it 'ud be the sound o' my crwth; but +there she wur wrong as wrong could be: Romany music couldn't never +touch Gorgio sperrit; 'tain't a bit likely. But it can draw her +livin' mullo [wraith].' And as she spoke she began to play her crwth +_pizzicato_ and to sing the opening bars of the old Welsh incantation +which I had heard on Snowdon on that never-to-be-forgotten morning. + +This, as usual, sent my mind at once back to the picture of Fenella +Stanley calling round her by the aid of her music the spirits of +Snowdon. And then a strange hallucination came upon me, that made me +clutch at Sinfi's arm. Close by her, reflected in a little glassy +pool divided off from the current by a ring of stones, two blue eyes +seemed gazing. Then the face and the entire figure of Winifred +appeared, but Winifred dressed as a beggar girl in rags, Winifred +standing at a street corner holding out matches for sale. + +'Winifred!' I exclaimed; and then the hallucination passed, and +Sinfi's features were reflected in the water. My exclamation had the +strangest effect upon Sinfi. Her lips, which usually wore a +peculiarly proud and fearless curve, quivered, and were losing the +brilliant rosebud redness which mostly characterised them. The little +blue tattoo rosettes at the corners of her mouth seemed to be growing +more distinct as she gazed in the water through eyes dark and +mysterious as Night's, but, like Night's own eyes, ready, I thought, +to call up the throbbing fires of a million stars. + +'What made you cry out "Winifred"?' she said, as the music ceased. + +'What you told me about the spirits following the crwth was causing +the strangest dream,' I answered. 'I thought I saw Winnie's face +reflected in the water, and I thought she was in awful distress. And +all the time it was your face.' + +'That wur her livin' mullo,' said Sinfi solemnly. + +Convinced though I was that the hallucination was the natural result +of Sinfi's harping upon the literal fulfilment of the curse, it +depressed me greatly. + +Close to this beautiful spot we came suddenly upon two tourists +sketching. And now occurred one of those surprises of which I have +found that real life is far more full than any fiction dares to be. +As we passed the artists, I heard one call out to the other, with a +'burr' which I will not attempt to render, having never lived in the +'Black Country': + +'You have a true eye for composition; what do you think of this +tree?' + +The speaker's remarkable appearance attracted my attention. + +'Well,' said I to Sinfi, 'that's the first time I ever saw a painter +shaven and dressed in a coat like a Quaker's.' + +Sinfi looked across at the speaker through the curling smoke from my +pipe, gave a start of surprise, and then said: 'So you've never seed +_him_? That's because you're a country Johnny, brother, and don't +know nothink about Londra life. That's a friend o' mine from Londra +as has painted me many's the time.' + +'Painted you?' I said; 'the man in black, with the goggle eyes, +squatting there under the white umbrella? What's his name?' + +'That's the cel'erated Mr. Wilderspin, an' he's painted me many's the +time, an' a rare rum 'un he is too. Dordi! it makes me laugh to think +on him. Most Gorgios is mad, more or less, but he's the maddest 'un I +ever know'd.' + +We had by this time got close to the painter's companion, who, +sitting upright on his camp-stool, was busy with his brush. Without +shifting his head to look at us, or removing his eyes from his work, +he said, in a voice of striking power and volume: 'Nothing but an +imperfect experience of life, Lady Sinfi, could have made you +pronounce our friend there to be the maddest Gorgio living.' + +'Dordi!' exclaimed Sinfi, turning sharply round in great +astonishment. 'Fancy seein' both on 'em here!' + +'Mad our friend is, no doubt, Lady Sinfi,' said the painter, without +looking round, 'but not so mad as certain illustrious Gorgios I could +name, some of them born legislators and some of them (apparently) +born. R.A.'s.' + +'Who should ha' thought of seein' 'em both here?' said Sinfi again. + +'That,' said the painter, without even yet turning to look at us or +staying the movement of his brush, 'is a remark I never make in a +little dot of a world like this, Lady Sinfi, where I expect to see +everybody everywhere. But, my dear Romany chi,' he continued, now +turning slowly round, 'in passing your strictures upon the Gorgio +world, you should remember that you belong to a very limited +aristocracy, and that your remarks may probably fall upon ears of an +entirely inferior and Gorgio convolution.' + +'No offence, I hope.' said Sinfi. + +'Offence in calling the Gorgios mad? Not the smallest, save that you +have distinctly plagiarised from me in your classification of the +Gorgio race.' + +His companion called out again. 'Just one moment! Do come and look at +the position of this tree.' + +'In a second, Wilderspin, in a second,' said the other. 'An old +friend and myself are in the midst of a discussion.' + +'A discussion!' said the person addressed as Wilderspin. 'And with +whom, pray?' + +'With Lady Sinfi Lovell,--a discussion as to the exact value of your +own special kind of madness in relation to the tomfooleries of the +Gorgio mind in general.' + +'Kekka! kekka!' said Sinfi, 'you shouldn't have said that.' + +'And I was on the point of proving to her ladyship that in these +days, when Art has become genteel, and even New Grub Street +"decorates" her walls--when success means not so much painting fine +pictures as building fine houses to paint in--the greatest compliment +you can pay to a man of genius is surely to call him either a beggar +or a madman.' + +The peculiarity of this 'chaff' was that it was uttered in a simple +and serious tone, in which not the faintest tinge of ironical intent +was apparent. The other artist looked across and said: 'Dear me! +Sinfi Lovell! I am pleased to see you, Sinfi. I will ask you for a +sitting to-morrow. A study of your head would be very suggestive +among the Welsh hills.' + +The man who had been 'chaffing' Sinfi then rose and walked towards +his Quaker-like companion, and I had an opportunity of observing him +fully. I saw that he was a spare man, wearing a brown velvet coat and +a dark felt hat. The collar of the coat seemed to have been made +carefully larger than usual, in order to increase the apparent width +of his chest. His hair was brown and curly, but close cut. His +features were regular, perhaps handsome. His complexion was +bright,--fair almost,--rosy in hue, and his eyes were brown. + +He shook hands with Sinfi as he passed us, and gave me a glance of +that rapid and all-comprehending kind which seems to take in, at +once, a picture in its every detail. + +'What do you think of him?' said Sinfi to me, as he passed on and we +two sat down on the grass by the side of the stream. + +'I am puzzled,' I replied, 'to know whether he is a young man who +looks like a middle-aged one, or a middle-aged man who looks like a +young one. How's his hair under the hat?' + +'Thinnish atop,' said Sinfi laconically. 'And I'm puzzled,' I added, +still looking at him as he walked over the grass, 'as to whether he's +a little man who looks middle-sized, or a middle-sized man who looks +little.' + +'He's a little big 'un,' said Sinfi; 'about the height o' Rhona +Bozzell's Tarno Rye.' + +'Altogether he puzzles me, Sinfi!' + +'He puzzled me same way at fust.' + +What was it that made me take an interest so strange, strong, and +sudden in this man? Without a hint of hair upon his face, while +juvenile curls clustered thick and short beneath his wide-awake, he +had at first struck me as being not much more than a lad, till, as he +gave me that rapid, searching glance in passing, I perceived the +little crow's-feet round his eyes, and he then struck me immediately +as being probably on the verge of thirty-five. His figure was slim +and thin, his waist almost girlish in its fall. I should have +considered him small had not the unusually deep, loud, manly, and +sonorous voice with which he had accosted Sinfi conveyed an +impression of size and weight such as even big men do not often +produce. This deep voice, coupled with that gaunt kind of cheek which +we associate with the most demure people, produced an effect of +sedateness such as I should have expected to find (and did not find) +in the other man--the man of the shaven cheek and Quaker costume; +but, in the one glance I had got from those watchful, sagacious, +twinkling eyes, there was an expression quite peculiar to them, +quite inscrutable, quite indescribable. + + +II + +'Can you reckon him up, brother?' said Sinfi, taking my meerschaum +from my lips to refill it for me, as she was fond of doing. + +'No.' + +'Nor I nuther,' said Sinfi. 'Nor I can't pen his dukkerin' nuther, +though often's the time I've tried it.' + +During this time the two friends seemed to have finished their +colloquy upon 'composition'; for they both came up to us. Sinfi rose; +I sat still on the grass, smoking my pipe, listening to the chatter +of the water as it rushed over the rocks. By this time my curiosity +in the younger man had died away. My mind was occupied with the +dream-picture of a little blue-eyed girl struggling with a wounded +heron. I had noticed, however, that he of the piercing eyes did not +look at me again, having entirely exhausted at a glance such interest +as I had momentarily afforded him; while his companion seemed quite +unconscious of my presence as he stood there, his large, full, deep, +brown eyes gazing apparently at something over my head, a long way +off. Also I had noticed that 'Visionary' was stamped upon this man's +every feature--that he seemed an inspired baby of forty, talking +there to his companion and to Sinfi, the sun falling upon his long, +brown, curly hair, mixed with grey, which fell from beneath his hat, +and floated around his collar like a mane. + +When my reverie had passed, I found the artists trying to arrange +with Sinfi to give an open-air sitting to one of them, the man +addressed as Wilderspin. Sinfi seemed willing enough to come to +terms; but I saw her look round at me as if saying to herself, 'What +am I to do with you?' + +'I should like for my brother to sit too,' I heard her say. + +'Surely!' said Wilderspin. 'Your brother would be a great gain to my +picture.' + +Sinfi then came to me, and said that the painter wanted me to sit to +him. + +'But,' said I in an undertone, 'the Gorgios will certainly find out +that I am no Romany.' + +'Not they,' said Sinfi, 'the Gorgios is sich fools. Why, bless you, a +Gorgio ain't got eves and ears like a Romany. You don't suppose as a +Gorgio can hear or see or smell like a Romany can?' + +'But you forget, Sinfi, that I am a Gorgio, and there are not many +Romanies can boast of better senses than your brother Hal.' + +'Dordi!' said Sinfi, 'that's jist like your mock-modesty. Your +great-grandmother wur a Romany, and it's my belief that if you only +went back fur enough, you'd find you had jist as good Romany blood in +your veins as I have, and my daddy is a duke, you know, a real, +reg'lar, out-an'-out Romany duke.' + +'I'm afraid you flatter me, sister,' I replied. 'However, let's try +the Gorgios;' and I got up and walked with her close to the two +sketchers. + +Wilderspin was on the point of engaging me, when the other man, +without troubling to look at me again, said: + +'He's no more a Romany than I am.' + +'Ain't a Romany?' said Sinfi. 'Who says my brother ain't a Romany? +Where did you ever see a Gorgio with a skin like that?' she said, +triumphantly pulling up my sleeve and exposing one of my wrists. +'That ain't sunburn, that's the real Romany brown, an' we's twinses, +only I'm the biggest, an' we's the child'n of a duke, a real, +reg'lar, out-an'-out Romany duke.' + +He gave a glance at the exposed wrist. + +'As to the Romany brown,' said he, 'a little soap would often make a +change in the best Romany brown--ducal or other.' + +'Why, look at his neck,' said Sinfi, turning down my neckerchief; 'is +that sunburn, or is it Romany brown, I should like to know?' + +'I assure you,' said the speaker, still addressing her in the same +grave, measured voice, 'that the Romanies have no idea what a little +soap can do with the Romany brown.' + +'Do you mean to say,' cried Sinfi, now entirely losing her temper +(for on the subject of Romany cleanliness she, the most cleanly of +women, was keenly sensitive)--'do you mean to say as the Romany dials +an' the Romany dries don't wash theirselves? I know what you fine +Gorgios _do_ say,--you're allus a-tellin' lies about us Romanies. +Brother,' she cried, turning now to me in a great fury, 'I'm a duke's +chavi, an' mustn't fight no mumply Gorgios; why don't _you_ take an' +make his bed for him?' + +And certainly the man's supercilious impertinence was beginning to +irritate me. + +'I should advise you to withdraw that about the soap,' I said +quietly, looking at him. + +'Oh! and if I don't?' + +'Why, then I suppose I must do as my sister bids,' said I. 'I must +make your bed,' pointing to the grass beneath his feet. 'But I think +it only fair to tell you that I am somewhat of a fighting man, which +you probably are not.' + +'You mean...?' said he (turning round menacingly, but with no more +notion of how to use his fists than a lobster). + +'I mean that we should not be fighting on equal terms,' I said. + +'In other words,' said he, 'you mean...?' and he came nearer. + +'In other words, I mean that, judging from the way in which you are +advancing towards me now, the result of such an encounter might not +tend to the honour and glory of the British artist in Wales.' + +'But,' said he, 'you are no Gypsy. Who are you?' + +'My name is Henry Aylwin,' said I; 'and I must ask you to withdraw +your words about the virtues of soap, as my sister objects to them.' + +'What?' cried he, losing for the first time his matchless +_sang-froid_. 'Henry Aylwin?' Then he looked at me in silent +amazement, while an expression of the deepest humorous enjoyment +overspread his features, making them positively shine as though +oiled. Finally, he burst into a loud laugh, that was all the more +irritating from the manifest effort he made to restrain it. + +'Did I hear His Majesty of Gypsydom aright?' he said, as soon as his +hilarity allowed him to speak. 'Is the humble bed of a mere painter +to be made for him by the representative of the proud Aylwins, the +genteel Aylwins, the heir-presumptive Aylwins--the most respectable +branch of a most respectable family, which, alas! has its ungenteel, +its bohemian, its vulgar offshoots? Did I hear His Majesty of +Gypsydom aright?' + +He leant against a tree, and gave utterance to peal after peal of +laughter. + +I advanced with rapidly rising anger, but his hilarity had so +overmastered him that he did not heed it. + +'Wilderspin,' cried he, 'come here! Pray come here. Have I not often +told you the reason why I threw up my engagement with my theatrical +manager, and missed my high vocation in ungenteel comedy? Have I not +often told you that it sprang from no disrespect to my friends, the +comic actors, but from the feeling that no comedian can hope to be +comic enough to compete with the real thing--the true harlequinade of +everyday life, roaring and screaming around me wherever I go?' + +Then, without waiting for his companion's reply, he turned to me, and +giving an added volume to his sonorous voice, said: + +'And you, Sir King, do you know whose bed Your Majesty was going to +make at the bidding of--well, of a duke's chavi?' + +I advanced with still growing anger. 'Stay, King Bamfylde, stay,' +said he; 'shall the beds of the mere ungenteel Aylwins, "the outside +Aylwins," be made by the high Gypsy-gentility of Raxton?' + +A light began to break in upon me. 'Surely,' I said, 'surely you are +not Cyril Aylwin, the------?' + +'Pray finish your sentence, sir, and say the low bohemian painter, +the representative of the great ungenteel--the successor to the +Aylwin peerage.' + +The other painter, looking in blank amazement at my newly-found +kinsman's extraordinary merriment, exclaimed, 'Bless me! Then you +really can laugh aloud, Mr. Cyril. What has happened? What can have +happened to make my dear friend laugh aloud?' + +'Well he may ask,' said Cyril, turning to me. 'He knows that ever +since I was a boy in jackets I have despised the man who, in a world +where all is so comic, could select any particular point of the farce +for his empty guffaw. But I am conquered at last. Let me introduce +you, Wilderspin, to my kinsman, Henry Aylwin of Raxton Hall, alias +Lord Henry Lovell of Little Egypt--one of Duke Panuel's interesting +twinses.' + +But Wilderspin's astonishment, apparently, was not at the +_rencontre_: it was at the spectacle of his companion's hilarity. +'Wonderful!' he murmured, with his eyes still fastened upon Cyril. +'My dear friend can laugh aloud. Most wonderful! What can have +happened?' + +This is what had happened. By one of those strange coincidences which +make the drama of real life far more wonderful than the drama of any +stage, I, in my character of wandering Gypsy, had been thrown across +the path of the _bête noire_ of my mother and aunt, Cyril Aylwin, a +painter of bohemian proclivities, who (under the name of 'Cyril') had +obtained some considerable reputation. This kinsman of mine had been +held up to me as a warning from my very childhood, though wherein lay +his delinquencies I never did clearly understand, save that he had +once been an actor--before acting had become genteel. Often as I had +heard of this eccentric painter as the representative of the branch +of the family which preceded mine in the succession to the coveted +earldom, I had never seen him before. + +He stood and looked at me in a state of intense amusement, but did +not speak. + +'So you are Cyril Aylwin?' I said. 'Still you must withdraw what you +said to my sister about the soap.' + +'Delicious!' said he, grasping my hand. 'I had no idea that high +gentility numbered chivalry among its virtues. Lady Sinfi,' he +continued, turning to her, 'they say this brother of yours is a +character, and, by Jove! he is. And as to you, dear lady, I am proud +of the family connection. The man who has two Romany Rye kinsmen may +be excused for showing a little pride. I withdraw every word about +the virtues of soap, and am convinced that it can do nothing with the +true Romany-Aylwin brown.' + +On that we shook hands all round. 'But, Sinfi,' said I, 'why did you +not tell me that this was my kinsman?' + +''Cause I didn't know,' said she. 'I han't never seed him since I've +know'd you. I always heerd his friends call him Cyril, and so I used +to call him Mr. Cyril.' + +'But, Lady Sinfi, my Helen of Little Egypt,' said Cyril, 'suppose +that in my encounter with my patrician cousin--an encounter which +would have been entirely got up in honour of you--suppose it had +happened that I had made your brother's bed for him?' + +'You make _his_ bed!' exclaimed Sinfi, laughing. + +'Dordi! how you would ha' went down afore the Swimmin' Rei!' +[Footnote] + +[Footnote: By the Welsh Gypsies, but few of whom can swim, I was +called 'the Swimmin' Rei,' a name which would have been far more +appropriately given to Percy Aylwin (Rhona Boswell's lover), one of +the strongest swimmers in England; but he was simply called the +Tarno Rye (the young gentleman).] + +'But suppose that, on the contrary, he had gone down before me,' said +Cyril; 'suppose I had been the death of your Swimming Rei, I should +have been tried for the wilful murder of a prince of Little Egypt, +the son of a Romany duke. Why, Helen of Troy was not half so +mischievous a beauty as you.' + +'You was safe enough, no fear,' said Sinfi. 'It 'ud take six o' you +to settle the Swimmin' Rei.' + +I found that Cyril and his strange companion were staying at 'The +Royal Oak,' at Bettws y Coed. They asked me to join them, but when I +told them I 'could not leave my people, who were encamped about two +miles off,' Cyril again looked at me with an expression of deepest +enjoyment, and exclaimed 'delightful creature.' + +Turning to Sinfi, he said: 'Then we'll go with you and call upon the +noble father of the twins, my old friend King Panuel.' + +'He ain't a king,' said Sinfi modestly; 'he's only a duke.' + +'You'll give us some tea, Lady Sinfi?' said Cyril. + +'No tea equal to Gypsy tea.' + +'Romany tea, Mr. Cyril,' replied Sinfi, with perfect dignity and +grace. 'My daddy, the duke, will be pleased to welcome you.' + +We all strolled towards the tents. I offered to carry an umbrella and +a camp-stool. Cyril walked briskly away with Sinfi, leaving me to get +on with Wilderspin as best I could. Before the other two were out of +earshot, however, I heard Cyril say, + +'You shouldn't have taken so seriously my chaff about the soap, +Sinfi. You ought to know me better by this time than to think that I +would really insult you.' + +'How you would ha' went down afore the Swimmin' Rei!' replied Sinfi +regretfully. + + +III + +Between my new companion, Wilderspin, and myself there was an awkward +silence for some time. He was evidently in a brown study. I had ample +opportunity for examining his face. Deeply impressed upon his forehead +there was, as I now perceived, an ancient scar of a peculiar shape. At +last, a lovely bit of scenery broke the spell, and conversation began +to flow freely. + +We had nearly got within sight of the encampment when he said, + +'I am in some perplexity, sir, about the various branches of your +family. Aylwin, I need not tell you, was the name of the greatest man +of this age, and I am anxious to know what is exactly your connection +with him.' + +'You surprise me,' I said. 'Out of our own family, in its various +branches, there is, I have been told, no very large number of +Aylwins, and I had no idea that one of them had become famous.' + +'I did not say famous, sir, but great; two very different words. Yet, +in a certain deep sense, it may be said of Philip Aylwin's name that +since his lamented death it has even become famous. The Aylwinians +(of which body I am, as you are no doubt aware, founder and +president) are, I may say, becoming--' + +'Philip Aylwin!' I said. 'Why, that was my father. He famous!' + +The recollection of the essay upon 'Hamalet and Hamlet,' the thought +of the brass-rubbings, the kneecaps and mittens, came before me in an +irresistibly humorous light, and I could not repress a smile. Then +arose upon me the remembrance of the misery that had fallen upon +Winnie and myself from his monomania and what seemed to me his +superstitious folly, and I could not withhold an angry scowl. Then +came the picture of the poor scarred breast, the love-token, and the +martyrdom that came to him who had too deeply loved, and smile and +frown both passed from my face as I murmured,--'Poor father! he +famous! + +'Philip Aylwin's son!' said Wilderspin, staring at me. Then, raising +his hat as reverentially to me as if I had been the son of +Shakespeare himself, he said, 'Mr. Aylwin, since Mary Wilderspin went +home to heaven, the one great event of my life has been the reading +of _The Veiled Queen_, your father's book of inspired wisdom upon the +modern Renascence of Wonder in the mind of Man. To apply his +principles to Art, sir--to give artistic rendering to the profound +idea hinted at in the marvellous vignette on the title-page of his +third edition--has been, for some time past, the proud task of my +life. And you are the great man's son! Astonishing! Although his +great learning overwhelms my mind and appals my soul (whom, indeed, +should it not overwhelm and appal?) there is not a pamphlet of his +that I do not know intimately, almost by heart.' + +'Including the paper on "Hamlet and Hamalet, and the wide region of +Nowhere"?' + +'Including that and everything.' + +'Did you know him, Mr. Wilderspin?' + +'Not in the flesh; in the spirit, who knows him so well? Your mother +I have had the pleasure of meeting at the house of Lord Sleaford, and +indeed I have had the distinguished honour of painting her portrait; +but the great author of _The Veiled Queen_--the inspired designer of +the vignette symbolical of the Renascence of Wonder in Art--I never +had the rapture of seeing. This very day, the anniversary of his +birth,' he continued, 'is a great day in the Aylwinian calendar.' + +'My father's birthday? Why, so it is!' + +'Mr. Aylwin, is it possible that the anniversary of a day so +momentous for the world is forgotten--forgotten by the very issue of +the great man's loins?' + +'The fact is,' said I, in some confusion, 'I have been living with +the Gypsies, and, you see, Mr. Wilderspin, the passage of time--' + +'The son of Philip Aylwin a Gypsy!' murmured Wilderspin meditatively, +and unconscious evidently that he was speaking aloud--'a Gypsy! Still +it would surely be a mistake to suppose,' he continued, perfectly +oblivious now of my presence, 'that the vagaries of his son can +really bring shame upon the head of the father.' + +'But, by God!' I cried, 'it is no mistake that the vagaries of the +father can bring shame and sorrow and misery upon the child. I could +name a couple of fathers--sleeping very close to each other +now--whose vagaries--' + +My sudden anger was carrying me away; but I stopped, recollecting +myself. + +'Doubtless,' said Wilderspin, 'there are fathers and fathers. The son +of Philip Aylwin has assuredly a right to be critical in regard to +all other fathers than his own.' + +I looked in his face; the expression of solemn earnestness was quite +unmistakable. + +'It is not you,' I said, 'it is Heaven, or else it is the blind +jester Circumstance, that is playing this joke upon me!' + +'To your honoured father,' he continued, taking not the slightest +notice of my interjection, 'I owe everything. From his grave he +supports my soul; from his grave he gives me ideas; from his grave +he makes my fame. How should I fail to honour his son, even though +he--' + +Of course he was going to add--'even though he be a vagabond +associating with vagabonds,'--but he left the sentence unfinished. + +'I confess, Mr. Wilderspin,' said I, 'that you speak in such enigmas +that it would be folly for me to attempt to answer you.' + +'I wish,' said Wilderspin, 'that all enigmas were as soluble as this. +Let me ask you a question, sir. When you stood before my picture, +"Faith and Love," in Bond Street, did you not perceive that both it +and the predella were inspired entirely by your father's great work, +_The Veiled Queen_, or rather that they are mere pictorial +renderings and illustrations of that grand effort of man's soul in +its loftiest development?' + +I had never heard of the picture in question. As for the book, my +father, perceiving my great dislike of mysticism, had always shrunk +from showing me any effusion of his that was not of a simply +antiquarian kind. In Switzerland, however, after his death, while +waiting for the embalmer to finish his work, I had become, during a +few days' reading, acquainted with _The Veiled Queen_. It was a new +edition containing an 'added chapter,' full of subtle spiritualistic +symbols. Amid what had seemed to me mere mystical jargon about the +veil of Isis being uplifted, not by Man's reason, not by such +researches as those of Darwin, Huxley, Spencer, and the continental +evolutionists, but by Faith and Love, I had come across passages of +burning eloquence. + +'I am sorry to say,' I replied, 'that my Gypsy wanderings are again +answerable for my shortcomings. I have not yet seen your picture. +When I do see it I--' + +'Not seen "Faith and Love" and the equally wonderful predella at the +foot of it!' he exclaimed incredulously. 'Ah, but you have been +living among the Gypsies. It is the greatest picture of the modern +world; for, Mr. Aylwin, it renders in Art the inevitable attitude of +its own time and country towards the unseen world, and renders it as +completely as did the masterpiece of Polygnotus in the Lesche of the +'Not in the flesh; in the spirit, who knows him so well? Your mother +I have had the pleasure of meeting at the house of Lord Sleaford, and +indeed I have had the distinguished honour of painting her portrait; +but the great author of _The Veiled Queen_--the inspired designer of +the vignette symbolical of the Renascence of Wonder in Art--I never +had the rapture of seeing. This very day, the anniversary of his +birth,' he continued, 'is a great day in the Aylwinian calendar.' + +'My father's birthday? Why, so it is!' + +'Mr. Aylwin, is it possible that the anniversary of a day so +momentous for the world is forgotten--forgotten by the very issue of +the great man's loins?' + +'The fact is,' said I, in some confusion, 'I have been living with +the Gypsies, and, you see, Mr. Wilderspin, the passage of time--' + +'The son of Philip Aylwin a Gypsy!' murmured Wilderspin meditatively, +and unconscious evidently that he was speaking aloud--'a Gypsy! Still +it would surely be a mistake to suppose,' he continued, perfectly +oblivious now of my presence, 'that the vagaries of his son can +really bring shame upon the head of the father.' + +'But, by God!' I cried, 'it is no mistake that the vagaries of the +father can bring shame and sorrow and misery upon the child. I could +name a couple of fathers--sleeping very close to each other +now--whose vagaries--' + +My sudden anger was carrying me away; but I stopped, recollecting +myself. + +'Doubtless,' said Wilderspin, 'there are fathers and fathers. The son +of Philip Aylwin has assuredly a right to be critical in regard to +all other fathers than his own.' + +I looked in his face; the expression of solemn earnestness was quite +unmistakable. + +'It is not you,' I said, 'it is Heaven, or else it is the blind +jester Circumstance, that is playing this joke upon me!' + +'To your honoured father,' he continued, taking not the slightest +notice of my interjection, 'I owe everything. From his grave he +supports my soul; from his grave he gives me ideas; from his grave +he makes my fame. How should I fail to honour his son, even though +he--' + +Of course he was going to add--'even though he be a vagabond +associating with vagabonds,'--but he left the sentence unfinished. + +'I confess, Mr. Wilderspin,' said I, 'that you speak in such enigmas +that it would be folly for me to attempt to answer you.' + +'I wish,' said Wilderspin, 'that all enigmas were as soluble as this. +Let me ask you a question, sir. When you stood before my picture, +"Faith and Love," in Bond Street, did you not perceive that both it +and the predella were inspired entirely by your father's great work, +_The Veiled Queen_, or rather that they are mere pictorial +renderings and illustrations of that grand effort of man's soul in +its loftiest development?' + +I had never heard of the picture in question. As for the book, my +father, perceiving my great dislike of mysticism, had always shrunk +from showing me any effusion of his that was not of a simply +antiquarian kind. In Switzerland, however, after his death, while +waiting for the embalmer to finish his work, I had become, during a +few days' reading, acquainted with _The Veiled Queen_. It was a new +edition containing an 'added chapter,' full of subtle spiritualistic +symbols. Amid what had seemed to me mere mystical jargon about the +veil of Isis being uplifted, not by Man's reason, not by such +researches as those of Darwin, Huxley, Spencer, and the continental +evolutionists, but by Faith and Love, I had come across passages of +burning eloquence. + +'I am sorry to say,' I replied, 'that my Gypsy wanderings are again +answerable for my shortcomings. I have not yet seen your picture. +When I do see it I--' + +'Not seen "Faith and Love" and the equally wonderful predella at the +foot of it!' he exclaimed incredulously. 'Ah, but you have been +living among the Gypsies. It is the greatest picture of the modern +world; for, Mr. Aylwin, it renders in Art the inevitable attitude of +its own time and country towards the unseen world, and renders it as +completely as did the masterpiece of Polygnotus in the Lesche of the +Cnidians at Delphi--as completely as did the wonderful frescoes of +Andrea Orcagna on the walls of the Campo Santo at Pisa.' + +'And you attribute your success to the inspiration you derived from +my father's hook?' + +'To that and to the spirit of Mary Wilderspin in heaven.' + +'Then you are a Spiritualist?' + +'I am an Aylwinian, the opposite (need I say?) of a Darwinian.' + +'Of the school of Blake, perhaps?' I asked. + +'Of the school of Blake? No. He was on the right road; but he was a +writer of verses! Art is a jealous mistress, Mr. Aylwin: the painter +who rhymes is lost. Even the master himself is so much the weaker by +every verse he has written. I never could make a rhyme in my life, +and have faithfully shunned printer's ink, the black blight of the +painter. I am my own school; the school of the spirit world.' + +'I am very curious,' I said, 'to know in what way my father and the +spirits can have inspired a great painter. Of the vignette I may +claim to know something. Of the spirits as artists I have of course +no knowledge, but as regards my father, he, I am certain, could +hardly have told a Raphael from a chromolithograph copy. He was, in +spite of that same vignette, most ignorant of art. Raxton Hall +possesses nothing but family portraits.' + + +IV + +By this time we had reached the encampment, which was close by a +waterfall among ferns and wild-flowers. Little Jerry Lovell, a child +of about four years of age, came running to meet me with a dead +water-wagtail in his hand which he had knocked down. + +'Me kill de Romany Chiriklo,' said he, and then proceeded to tell me +very gravely that, having killed the 'Gypsy magpie,' he was bound to +have a great lady for his sweetheart. + +'Jerry,' said I bitterly, 'you begin with love and superstition +early; you are an incipient "Aylwinian": take care.' + +When I explained to Wilderspin that this was one of the Romany +beliefs, he said that he did not at present see the connection +between a dead water-wagtail and a live lady, but that such a +connection might doubtless exist. Panuel Lovell now came forward to +greet and welcome Wilderspin. Sinfi and Cyril had evidently walked at +a brisk rate, for already tea was spread out on a cloth. The fire was +blazing beneath a kettle slung from the 'kettle-prop.' The party were +waiting for us. Sinfi, however, never idle, was filling up the time +by giving lessons in riding to Euri and Sylvester Lovell, two dusky +urchins in their early teens, while her favourite bantam-cock +Pharaoh, standing on a donkey's back, his wattles gleaming like coral +in the sun, was crowing lustily. Cyril, who lay stretched among the +ferns, his chin resting in his hands and a cigarette in his mouth, +was looking on with the deepest interest. As I passed behind him to +introduce Wilderspin to Videy Lovell (who was making tea), I heard +Cyril say, 'Lady Sinfi, you must and shall teach me how to make an +adversary's bed--the only really essential part of a liberal +education.' + +'Brother,' said Sinfi, turning to me, 'your thoughts are a-flyin' off +agin; keep your spirits up afore all these.' + +The leafy dingle was recalling Graylingham Wilderness and 'Fairy +Dell,' where little Winifred used to play Titania to my childish +Oberon, and dance the Gypsy 'shawl-dance' Sinfi's mother had taught +her! + +So much was I occupied with these reminiscences that I had not +observed that during our absence our camp had been honoured by +visitors. These were Jericho Boswell, christened, I believe, Jasper, +his daughter Rhona, and James Herne, called on account of his +accomplishments as a penman the Scollard. Although Jasper Boswell and +Panuel Lovell were rival Griengroes, there was no jealousy between +them--indeed, they were excellent friends. + +There were many points of similarity between their characters. Each +had risen from comparative poverty to what might be called wealth, +and risen in the same way, that is to say, by straightforward dealing +with the Gorgios, although as regarded Jericho, Rhona was generally +credited with having acted as a great auxiliary in amassing his +wealth. All over the country the farmers and horse-dealers knew that +neither Jasper nor Panuel ever bishoped a gry, or indulged in any +other horse-dealing tricks. Their very simplicity of character had +done what all the crafty tricks of certain compeers of theirs had +failed to do. They were also very much alike in their good-natured +and humorous, way of taking all the ups and downs of life. + +A very different kind of Romany was the Scollard--so different, +indeed, that it was hard to think that he was of the same race: +Romany guile incarnate was the Scollard. He suggested even in his +personal appearance the typical Gypsy of the novel and the stage, +rather than the true Gypsy as he lives and moves. The Scollard was +well known to be half-crazed with a passion for Rhona Boswell, who +was _the fiancée_ of that cousin of mine, Percy Aylwin, before +mentioned. Percy was considered to be a hopelessly erratic character. +Much against the wish of his parents, he had been brought up as a +sailor; but on seeing Rhona Boswell he promptly fell in love with +her, and quitted the sea in order to be near her. And no man who ever +heard Rhona's laugh professed to wonder at Percy's infatuation. As a +Griengro her father, Jericho Boswell, who had no son, was said to +have owed his prosperity to Rhona's instinctive knowledge of +horseflesh. + +While our guests, Romany and Gorgio, were doing justice to the trout, +Welsh brown bread and butter and jam which Videy had spread before +them, Sinfi went to the back of the camp to look at the ponies, and I +got into conversation with Rhona Boswell, whom I remembered so well +as a child. At first she was shy and embarrassed, doubtful, as I +perceived, whether or not she ought to talk about Winnie. She waited +to see whether I introduced the subject, and finding that I did not, +she began to talk about Sinfi and plied me with questions as to what +we two had been doing and where we had been during our wanderings +through Wales. + +When tea was over and Cyril was in lively talk with Sinfi, Wilderspin +grew restless, and I perceived that he wanted to resume his +conversation with me about his picture. I said to him: 'This idea o +f my father's which has inspired you, and resulted in such great +work, what is its nature?' + +'I am a painter, Mr. Aylwin, and nothing more,' he replied. 'I could +only express Philip Aylwin's ideas by describing my picture and the +predella beneath it. Will you permit me to do so?' + +'May I ask you,' I said, 'as a favour to do so?' + +Immediately his face became very bright, and into his eyes returned +the far-off look already described. + +'I will first take the predella, which represents Isis behind the +Veil,' said he. 'Imagine yourself thousands of years away from this +time. Imagine yourself thousands of miles away, among real +Egyptians.' + +'Real 'Gyptians!' cried Sinfi. 'Who says the Romanies ain't real +'Gyptians? Anybody as says my daddy ain't a real 'Gyptian duke'll ha' +to set to with Sinfi Lovell.' + +'Nonsense,' said Cyril, smiling, and playing idly with a coral amulet +dangling from Sinfi's neck; 'he's talking about the ancient +Egyptians: Egyptian mummies, you silly Lady Sinfi. You're not a +mummy, are you?' + +'Well, no, I ain't a mummy as fur as I knows on,' said Sinfi, only +half-appeased; 'but my daddy's a 'Gyptian duke for all that,--ain't +you, dad?' + +'So it seems, Sin,' said Panuel, 'but I ommust begin to wish I +worn't; it makes you feel so blazin' shy bein' a duke all of a +suddent.' + +'Dabla!' said the guest Jericho Boswell. 'What, Pan, has she made a +dook on ye?' + +The Scollard began to grin. + +'Pull that ugly mug o' yourn straight, Jim Herne,' said Sinfi, 'else +I'll come and pull it straight for you.' + +Wilderspin took no notice of the interruption, but addressed me as +though no one else were within earshot. + +'Imagine yourself standing in an Egyptian city, where innumerable +lamps of every hue are shining. It is one of the great lamp-fêtes of +Sais, which all Egypt has come to see. There, in honour of the feast, +sits a tall woman, covered by a veil. But the painting is so +wonderful, Mr. Aylwin, that, though you see a woman's face expressed +behind the veil--though you see the warm flesh-tints and the light of +the eyes through the aerial film--you cannot judge of the character +of the face--you cannot see whether it is that of woman in her noblest, +or woman in her basest, type. The eyes sparkle, but you cannot say +whether they sparkle with malignity or benevolence--whether they are +fired with what Philip Aylwin calls "the love-light of the seventh +heaven," or are threatening with "the hungry flames of the seventh +hell"! There she sits in front of a portico, while, asleep, with +folded wings, is crouched on one side of her the figure of Love, with +rosy feathers, and on the other the figure of Faith, with plumage +of a deep azure. Over her head, on the portico, are written the +words:--"I am all that hath been, is, and shall be, and no mortal +hath uncovered my veil." The tinted lights falling on the group are +shed, you see, from the rainbow-coloured lamps of Sais, which are +countless. But in spite of all these lamps, Mr. Aylwin, no mortal can +see the face behind that veil. And why? Those who alone could uplift +it, the figures with folded wings--Faith and Love--are fast asleep at +the great Queen's feet. When Faith and Love are sleeping there, what +are the many-coloured lamps of science?--of what use are they to the +famished soul of man?' + +'A striking idea!' I exclaimed. + +'Your father's,' replied Wilderspin, in a tone of such reverence that +one might have imagined my father's spectre stood before him. 'It +symbolises that base Darwinian cosmogony which Carlyle spits at, and +the great and good John Ruskin scorns. But this design is only the +predella beneath the picture "Faith and Love." Now look at the +picture itself, Mr. Aylwin,' he continued, as though it were upon an +easel before me. 'You are at Sais no longer: you are now, as the +architecture around you shows, in a Greek city by the sea. In the +light of innumerable lamps, torches, and wax tapers, a procession is +moving through the streets. You see Isis, as Pelagia, advancing +between two ranks, one of joyous maidens in snow-white garments, +adorned with wreaths, and scattering from their bosoms all kinds of +dewy flowers; the other of youths, playing upon pipes and flutes, +mixed with men with shaven shining crowns, playing upon sistra of +brass, silver, and gold. Isis wears a Dorian tunic, fastened on her +breast by a tasselled knot,--an azure-coloured tunic bordered with +silver stars,--and an upper garment of the colour of the moon at +moonrise. Her head is crowned with a chaplet of sea-flowers, and +round her throat is a necklace of seaweeds, wet still with sea-water, +and shimmering with all the shifting hues of the sea. On either side +of her stand the awakened angels, uplifting from her face a veil +whose folds flow soft as water over her shoulders and over the wings +of Faith and Love. A symbol of the true cosmogony which Philip Aylwin +gave to the world!' + +'Why, that's esackly like the wreath o' seaweeds as poor Winnie Wynne +used to make,' said Rhona Boswell. + +'The photograph of Raxton Fair!' I cried. 'Frank and Winnie, and +little Bob Milford, and the seaweeds!' The terrible past came upon my +soul like an avalanche, and I leapt up and walked frantically towards +my own waggon. The picture, which was nothing but an idealisation of +the vignette upon the title-page of my father's book--the vignette +taken from the photograph of Winnie, my brother Frank, and one of my +fisher-boy playmates--brought back upon me--all! + +Sinfi came to me. + +'What is it, brother?' said she. + +'Sinfi,' I cried, 'what was that saying of your mother's about +fathers and children?' + +'My poor mammy's daddy, when she wur a little chavi, beat her so +cruel that she was a ailin' woman all her life, and she used to say, +"For good or for ill, you must dig deep to bury your daddy."' + +I went back and resumed my seat by Wilderspin's side, while Sinfi +returned to Cyril. + +Wilderspin evidently thought that I had been overcome by the +marvellous power of his description, and went on as though there had +been no interruption. + +'Isis,' said he,' stands before you; Isis, not matronly and stern as +the mother of Horus, nor as the Isis of the licentious orgies; but +(as Philip Aylwin says) "Isis, the maiden, gazing around her, with +pure but mystic eyes."' + +'And you got from my father's book,--_The Veiled Queen_, all this'--I +was going to add--'jumble of classic story and mediæval +mysticism,'--but I stopped short in time. + +'All this and more--a thousand times more than could be rendered by +the art of any painter. For the age that Carlyle spits at and the +great and good John Ruskin scorns is gross, Mr. Aylwin; the age is +grovelling and gross. No wonder, then, that Art in our time has +nothing but technical excellence; that it despises conscience, +despises aspiration, despises soul, despises even ideas--that it is +worthless, all worthless.' + +'Except as practised in a certain temple of art in a certain part of +London that shall be nameless, whence Calliope, Euterpe, and all the +rhythmic sisters are banished,' interposed Cyril. + +'But how did you attain to this superlative excellence, Mr. +Wilderspin?' I asked. + +'That would indeed be a long story to tell,' said he. 'Yet Philip +Aylwin's son has a right to know all that I can tell. My dear friend +here knows that, though famous now, I climbed the ladder of Art from +the bottom rung; nay, before I could even reach the bottom rung, what +a toilsome journey was mine to get within sight of the ladder at all! +The future biographer of the painter of "Faith and Love" will have to +record that he was born in a hovel; that he was nursed in a smithy; +that his cradle was a piece of board suspended from the smithy +ceiling by a chain, which his mother--his widowed mother--kept +swinging by an occasional touch in the intervals of her labours at +the forge.' + +I did not even smile at this speech, so entirely was the effect of +its egotism killed by the wonderful way of pronouncing the word +'mother.' + +'You have heard,' he continued in a voice whose intense earnestness +had an irresistible fascination for the ear, like that of a Hindoo +charmer--'you have heard of the mother-bird who feeds her young from +the blood of her own breast; that bird but feebly typifies her whom +God, in His abundant love of me, gave me for a mother. There were ten +of us--ten little children. My mother was a female blacksmith of Old +Hill, who for four shillings and sixpence a week worked sixteen hours +a day for the fogger, hammering hot iron into nails. The scar upon my +forehead--look! it is shaped like the red-hot nail that one day leapt +upon me from her anvil, as I lay asleep in my swing above her head. I +would not lose it for all the diadems of all the monarchs of this +world. She was much too poor to educate us. When the wolf is at the +door, Mr. Aylwin, and the very flesh and blood of the babes in danger +of perishing, what mother can find time to think of education, to +think even of the salvation of the soul,--to think of anything but +food--food? Have you ever wanted food, Mr. Aylwin?' he suddenly said, +in a voice so magnetic from its very earnestness that I seemed for +the moment to feel the faintness of hunger. + +'No, no,' I said, a tide of grief rushing upon me; 'but there is one +who perhaps--there is one I love more dearly than your mother loved +her babes--' + +Sinfi rose, and came and placed her hand upon my shoulder and +whispered, + +'She ain't a-starvin', brother; she never starved on the hills. She's +only jest a-beggin' her bread for a little while, that's all.' + +And then, after laying her hand upon my forehead, soft and soothing, +she returned to Cyril's side. + +'No one who has never wanted food knows what life is,' said +Wilderspin, taking but little heed of even so violent an interruption +as this.'No one has been entirely educated, Mr. Aylwin--no one knows +the real primal meaning of that pathetic word Man--no one knows the +true meaning of Man's position here among the other living creatures +of this world, if he has never wanted food. Hunger gives a new seeing +to the eyes.' + +'That's as true as the blessed stars,' muttered old Mrs. Boswell, +Rhona's beloved granny, who was squatting on a rug next to her son +Jericho, with a pipe in her mouth, weaving fancy baskets, and +listening intently. 'The very airth under your feet seems to be +a-sinkin' away, and the sweet sunshine itself seems as if it all +belonged to the Gorgios, when you're a-follerin' the patrin with the +emp'y belly.' + +'I thank God,' continued Wilderspin, 'that I once wanted food.' + +'More nor I do,' muttered old Mrs. Boswell, as she went on weaving; +'no mammy as ever felt a little chavo [Footnote 1] a-suckin' at her +burk [Footnote 2] never thanked God for wantin' food: it dries the +milk, or else it sp'iles it.' + +[Footnote 1: Child.] + +[Footnote 2: Bosom.] + + +'In no way,' said Wilderspin, 'has the spirit-world neglected the +education of the apostle of spiritual beauty. I became a "blower" in +the smithy. As a child, from early sunrise till nearly midnight, I +blew the bellows for eighteen pence a week. But long before I could +read or write my mother knew that I was set apart for great things. +She knew, from the profiles I used to trace with the point of a nail +on the smithy walls, that, unless the heavy world pressed too heavily +upon me, I should become a great painter. Except anxiety about my +mother and my little brothers and sisters, I, for my part, had no +thought besides this of being some day a painter. Except love for her +and for them, I had no other passion. By assiduous attendance at +night-schools I learnt to read and write. This enabled me to take a +better berth in Black Waggon Street, where I earned enough to take +lessons in drawing from the reduced widow of a once prosperous +fogger. But ah! so eager was I to learn, that I did not notice how my +mother was fading, wasting, dying slowly. It was not till too late +that I learnt the appalling truth, that while the babes had been +nourished, the mother had starved--starved! On a few ounces of bread +a day no woman can work the Oliver and prod the fire. Her last +whispers to me were, "I shall see you, dear, a great painter yet; +Jesus will let me look down and watch my boy." Ah, Sinfi Lovell! that +makes you weep. It is long, long since I ceased to weep at that. +"Whatsoever is not of faith is sin."' + +Rhona Boswell, down whose face also the tears were streaming, nodded +in a patronising way to Wilderspin, and said, 'Reia, my mammy lives +in the clouds, and I'll tell her to show you the Golden Hand, I +will.' + +'From the moment when I left my mother in the grave,' said +Wilderspin, 'I had but one hope, that she who was watching my +endeavours might not watch in vain. Art became now my religion: +success in it my soul's goal. I went to London; I soon began to +develop a great power of design, in illustrating penny periodicals. +For years I worked at this, improving in execution with every design, +but still unable to find an opening for a better class of work. What +I yearned for was the opportunity to exercise the gift of colour. +That I did possess this in a rare degree I knew. At last I got a +commission. Oh! the joy of painting that first picture! My progress +was now rapid. But I had few purchasers till Providence sent me a +good man and great gentleman, my dear friend--' + +'This is a long-winded speech of yours, _mon cher_,' yawned Cyril. +'Lady Sinfi is going to strike up with the Welsh riddle unless you +get along faster.' + +'Don't stop him,' I heard Sinfi mutter, as she shook Cyril angrily; +'he's mighty fond o' that mother o' his'n, an', if he's ever sich a +horn nataral, I likes him.' + +'I never exhibited in the Academy,' continued Wilderspin, without +heeding the interruption, 'I never tried to exhibit; but, thanks to +the dear friend I have mentioned, I got to know the Master himself. +People came to my poor studio, and my pictures were bought from my +easel as fast as I could paint them. I could please my buyers, I +could please my dear friend, I could please the Master himself; I +could please every person in the world but one--myself. For years I +had been struggling with what cripples so many artists--with +ignorance--ignorance, Mr. Aylwin, of the million points of detail +which must be understood and mastered before ever the sweetness, the +apparent lawlessness and abandonment of Nature can be expressed by +Art. But it was now, when I had conquered these,--it was now that I +was dissatisfied, and no man living was so miserable as I. I dare say +you are an artist yourself, Mr. Aylwin, and will understand me when I +say that artists--figure-painters, I mean,--are divided into two +classes--those whose natural impulse is to paint men, and those who +are sent into the world expressly to paint women. My mother's death +taught me that my mission was to paint women, women whom I--being the +son of Mary Wilderspin--love and understand better than other men, +because my soul (once folded in her womb) is purer than other men's +souls.' + +'Is not modesty a Gorgio virtue, Lady Sinfi?' murmured Cyril. + +'Nothin' like a painter for thinkin' strong beer of hisself,' she +replied; 'but I likes him--oh, I likes him.' + +'No man whose soul is stained by fleshly desire shall render in art +all that there is in a truly beautiful woman's face,' said +Wilderspin. 'I worked hard at imaginative painting; I worked for +years and years, Mr. Aylwin, but with scant success. It shames me to +say that I was at last discouraged. Hut, after a time, I began to +feel that the spirit-world was giving me a strength of vision second +only to the Master's own, and a cunning of hand greater than any +vouchsafed to man since the death of Raphael. This was once +stigmatised as egotism; but "Faith and Love," and the predella "Isis +behind the Veil," have told another story. I did not despair, I say; +for I knew the cause of my failure. Two sources of inspiration were +wanting to me--that of a superlative subject and that of a +superlative model. For the first I am indebted to Philip Aylwin; for +the second I am indebted to--' + +'A greater still, Miss Gudgeon, of Primrose Court,' interjected +Cyril. + +'For the second I'm indebted to my mother. And yet something else was +wanting,' continued Wilderspin, 'to enable me for many months to +concentrate my life upon one work--the self-sacrificing generosity of +such a friend as I think no man ever had before. + +'Wilderspin,' said Cyril, rising, 'the Duke of Little Egypt sleeps, +as you see. His Grace of the Pyramids snores, as you hear. The +autobiography of a man of genius is interesting; but I fear that +yours will have to be continued in our next.' + +'But Mr. Aylwin wants to hear--' + +'He and our other idyllic friends are early to bed and early to rise; +they have, in the morning, trout to catch for breakfast, and we have +a good way to walk to-night.' + +'That's just like my friend,' said Wilderspin. 'That's my friend all +over.' + +With this they left us, and we betook ourselves to our usual evening +occupations. + +Next morning the two painters called upon us. Wilderspin sketched +alone, while Sinfi, Rhona, Cyril, and I went trout-fishing in one of +the numerous brooks. + +'What do you think of my friend by this time?' said Cyril to me. + +'He is my fifth mystic,' I replied; 'I wonder what the sixth will be +like. Is he really as great a painter as he takes himself to he, or +does his art begin and end with flowery words?' + +'I believe,' said Cyril, pointing across to where Wilderspin sat at +work, 'that the strange creature under that white umbrella is the +greatest artistic genius now living. The death of his mother by +starvation has turned his head, poor fellow, but turned it to good +purpose: "Faith and Love" is the greatest modern picture in Europe. +To be sure, he has the advantage of painting from the finest model +ever seen, the lovely, if rather stupid, Miss Gudgeon, of Primrose +Court, whom he monopolises.' + +Cyril had already, during the morning, told me that my mother, who +was much out of health, was now staying in London, where he had for +the first time in his life met her at Lord Sleaford's house. +Notwithstanding their differences of opinion, my mother and he +seemed to have formed a mutual liking. He also told me that my uncle +Cecil Aylwin of Alvanley (who in this narrative must not, of course, +be confounded with another important relative, Henry Aylwin, Earl of +Aylwin) having just died and left me the bulk of his property, I had +been in much request. I consequently determined to start for London +on the following day, leaving my waggon in charge of Sinfi, who was +to sit to Wilderspin in the open air. + +During this conversation Sinfi was absorbed in her fishing, and +wandered away up the brook, and I could see that Cyril's eyes were +following her with great admiration. + +Turning to me and looking at me, he said, 'Lucky dog!' and then, +looking again across at Sinfi, he said, 'The finest girl in England.' + + + +V + +HAROUN-AL-RASCHID THE PAINTER + + +I + +On reaching London and finding that it was necessary I should remain +there for some little time, I wrote to Cyril to say so, sending some +messages to Sinfi and her father about my own living-waggon. + +My mother was now staying at my aunt's house, whither I went to call +upon her shortly after my arrival in town. + +Our meeting was a constrained and painful one. It was my mother's +cruelty to Winifred that had, in my view, completely ruined two +lives. I did not know then what an awful struggle was going on in her +own breast between her pride and her remorse for having driven Winnie +away, to be lost in Wales. Afterwards her sad case taught me that +among all the agents of soul-torture that have ever stung mankind to +madness the scorpion Remorse is by far the most appalling. But other +events had to take place before she reached the state when the +scorpion stings to death all other passions, even Pride and even +Vanity, and reigns in the bosom supreme. We could hardly meet without +softening towards each other. She was most anxious to know what had +occurred to me since I left Raxton to search for Winnie. I gave her +the entire story from my first seeing Winnie in the cottage, to my +_rencontre_ with her at Knockers' Llyn. At this time she had +accidentally been brought into contact with Miss Dalrymple, who had +lately received a legacy and was now in better circumstances. Miss +Dalrymple had spoken in high terms of Winnie's intelligence and +culture, little thinking how she was making my mother feel more +acutely than ever her own wrongdoing. Knowing that I was very fond of +music, my mother persuaded me to take her on several occasions to the +opera and the theatre. She with more difficulty persuaded me to +consult a medical man upon the subject of my insomnia; and at last I +agreed, though very reluctantly, to consult Dr. Mivart, late of +Raxton, who was now living in London. Mivart attributed my ailment +(as I, of course, knew he would) to hypochondria, and I saw that he +was fully aware of the cause. I therefore opened my mind to him upon +the subject. I told him everything in connection with Winifred in +Wales. + +He pondered the subject carefully and then said: + +'What you need is to escape from these terrible oscillations between +hope and despair. Therefore I think it best to tell you frankly that +Miss Wynne is certainly dead. Even suppose that she did not fall down +a precipice in Wales, she is, I repeat, certainly dead. So severe a +form of hysteria as hers must have worn her out by this time. It is +difficult for me to think that any nervous system could withstand a +strain so severe and so prolonged.' + +I felt the terrible truth of his words, but I made no answer. + +'But let this be your consolation,' said he. 'Her death is a blessing +to herself, and the knowledge that she is dead will be a blessing to +you.' + +'A blessing to me?' I said. + +'I mean that it will save you from the mischief of these alternations +between hope and despair. You will remember that it was I who saw her +in her first seizure and told you of it. Such a seizure having lasted +so long, nothing could have given her relief but death or magnetic +transmission of the seizure. It is a grievous case, but what concerns +me now is the condition into which you yourself have passed. Nothing +but a successful effort on your part to relieve your mind from the +dominant idea that has disturbed it can save you from--from--' + +'From what?' + +'That drug of yours is the most dangerous narcotic of all. Increase +your doses by a few more grains and you will lose all command over +your nervous system--all presence of mind. Give it up, give it up and +enter Parliament.' + +I left Mivart in anger, and took a stroll through the streets, trying +to amuse myself by looking at the shop windows and recalling the few +salient incidents that were connected with my brief experiences as an +art student. + +Hours passed in this way, until one by one the shops were closed and +only the theatres, public bars, and supper-rooms seemed to be open. + +I turned into a restaurant in the Haymarket, for I had taken no +dinner. I went upstairs into a supper-room, and after I had finished +my meal, taking a seat near the window, I gazed abstractedly over +the bustling, flashing streets, which to me seemed far more lonely, +far more remote, than the most secluded paths of Snowdon. In a +trouble such as mine it is not Man but Nature that can give +companionship. + +I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I did not observe whether +I was or was not now alone in the room, till the name of Wilderspin +fell on my ear and recalled me to myself. I started and looked round. +At a table near me sat two men whom I had not noticed before. The +face of the man who sat on the opposite side of the table confronted +me. + +If I had one tithe of that objective power and that instinct for +description which used to amaze me in Winifred as a child, I could +give here a picture of a face which the reader could never forget. + +If it was not beautiful in detail it was illuminated by an expression +that gave a unity of beauty to the whole. And what was the +expression? I can only describe it by saying that it was the +expression of genius; and it had that imperious magnetism which I had +never before seen in any face save that of Sinfi Lovell. But striking +as was the face of this man, I soon found that his voice was more +striking still. In whatever assembly that voice was heard, its +indescribable resonance would have marked it off from all other +voices, and have made the ear of the listener eager to catch the +sound. This voice, however, was not the one that had uttered the name +of Wilderspin. It was from his companion, who sat opposite to him, +with his great broad back, covered with a smart velvet coat, towards +me, that the talk was now coming. This man was smoking cigarettes in +that kind of furious sucking way which is characteristic of great +smokers. Much smoking, however, had not dried up his skin to the +consistence of blotting paper and to the colour of tobacco ash as it +does in some cases, but tobacco juice, which seemed to ooze from his +face like perspiration, or rather like oil, had made his complexion +of a yellow green colour, something like a vegetable marrow. Although +his face was as hairless as a woman's, there was not a feature in it +that was not masculine. Although his cheek-bones were high and his +jaw was of the mould which we so often associate with the +prizefighter, he looked as if he might somehow be a gentleman. And +when I got for a moment a full view of his face as he turned round, I +thought it showed power and intelligence, although his forehead +receded a good deal, a recession which was owing mainly to the bone +above the eyes. Power and intelligence too were seen in every glance +of his dark bright eyes. In a few minutes Wilderspin's name was again +uttered by this man, and I found he was telling anecdotes of the +eccentric painter--telling them with great gusto and humour, in a +loud voice, quite careless of being overheard by me. Then followed +other anecdotes of other people--artists for the most part--in which +the names of Millais, Ruskin, Watts, Leighton, and others came up in +quick succession. + +That he was a professional anecdote-monger of extraordinary +brilliancy, a _raconteur_ of the very first order, was evident +enough. I found also that as a story-teller he was reckless and +without conscience. He was, I thought, inventing anecdotes to amuse +his companion, whose manifest enjoyment of them rather weakened the +impression that his own personality had been making upon me. + +After a while the name of Cyril Aylwin came up, and I soon found the +man telling a story of Cyril and a recent escapade of his which I +knew must be false. He then went rattling on about other people, +mentioning names which, as I soon gathered, were those of female +models known in the art world. The anecdotes he told of these were +mostly to their disadvantage. I was about to move to another table, +in order to get out of earshot of this gossip, when the name 'Lady +Sinfi' fell upon my ears. + +And then I heard the other man--the man of the musical voice--talk +about Lady Sinfi with the greatest admiration and regard. He wound up +by saying, 'By the bye, where is she now? I should like to use her in +painting my new picture.' + +'She's in Wales; so Kiomi told me.' + +'Ah yes! I remember she has an extraordinary passion for Snowdon.' + +'Her passion is now for something else, though.' + +'What's that?' + +'A man.' + +'I never saw a girl so indifferent to men as Lady Sinfi.' + +'She is living at this moment as the mistress of a cousin of Cyril +Aylwin.' + +My blood boiled with rage. I lost all control of myself. I longed to +feel his face against my knuckles. + +'That's not true,' I said in a rather loud voice. + +He started up, and turned round, saying in a hectoring voice, 'What +was that you said to me? Will you repeat your words?' + +'To repeat one's words,' I said quietly, 'shows a limited +vocabulary, so I will put it thus,--what you said just now about +Sinfi Lovell being the mistress of Cyril Aylwin's cousin is a lie.' + +'You dare to give me the lie, sir? And what the devil do you mean by +listening to our conversation?' + +The threatening look that he managed to put into his face was so +entirely histrionic that it made me laugh outright. This seemed to +damp his courage more than if I had sprung up and shown fight. The +man had a somewhat formidable appearance, however, as regards build, +which showed that he possessed more than average strength. It was the +manifest genuineness of my laugh that gave him pause. And when I sat +with my elbows on the table and my face between my palms, taking +stock of him quietly, he looked extremely puzzled. The man of the +musical voice sat and looked at me as though under a spell. + +'I am a young man from the country,' I said to him. 'To what theatre +is your histrionic friend attached? I should like to see him in a +better farce than this.' + +'Do you hear that, De Castro?' said the other. 'What is your +theatre?' + +'If he is really excited,' I said, 'tell him that people at a public +supper-room should speak in a moderate tone or their conversation is +likely to be overheard.' + +'Do you hear this young man from the country, De Castro?' said he. +'You seem to be the Oraculum of the hay-fields, sir,' he continued, +turning to me with a delightfully humorous expression on his face. +'Have you any other Delphic utterance?' + +'Only this,' I said, 'that people who do not like being given the lie +should tell the truth.' + +'May I be permitted to guess your Christian name, sir? Is it Martin, +perchance?' + +'Yes,' I replied, 'and my surname is Tupper.' He then got up and laid +his hand on the _raconteur's_ shoulder, and said, 'Don't be a fool, +De Castro. When a man looks at another as the author of the +_Proverbial Philosophy_ is looking at you, he knows that he can use +his fists as well as his pen.' + +'He gave me the lie. Didn't you hear?' + +'I did, and I thought the gift as entirely gratuitous, _mon cher_, +as giving a scuttleful of coals to Newcastle.' + +The anecdote-monger stood silent, quelled by this man's voice. + +Then turning to me, the man of the musical voice said, 'I suppose you +know something about my friend Lady Sinfi?' + +'I do,' I said, 'and I am Cyril Aylwin's kinsman, whom you call his +cousin, so perhaps, as every word your friend has said about Sinfi +Lovell and me is false, you will allow me to call him a liar.' + +A look of the greatest glee at the discomfiture of his companion +overspread his face. + +'Certainly,' he said with a loud laugh. 'You may call him that, you +may even qualify the noun you have used with an adjective if the +author of the _Proverbial Philosophy_ can think of one that is +properly descriptive and yet not too unparliamentary. So you are +Cyril Aylwin's kinsman. I have heard him,' he said, with a smile that +he tried in vain to suppress, 'I have heard Cyril expatiate on the +various branches of the Aylwin family.' + +'I belong to the proud Aylwins,' I said. + +The twinkle in his eye made me adore him as he said--'The proud +Aylwins. A man who, in a world like this, is proud and knows it, and +is proud of confessing his pride, always interests me, but I will not +ask you what makes the proud Aylwins proud, sir.' + +'I will tell you what makes me proud,' I said: 'my great-grandmother +was a full-blooded Gypsy, and I am proud of the descent.' + +He came forward and held out his hand and said, 'It is long since I +met a man who interested me'--he gave a sigh--'very long; and I hope +that you and I may become friends.' + +I grasped his hand and shook it warmly. + +The anecdote-monger began talking at once about Sinfi, Wilderspin, +and Cyril Aylwin, speaking of them in the most genial and +affectionate terms. In a few minutes, without withdrawing a word he +had said about either of them, he had entirely changed the spirit of +every word. At first I tried to resist his sophistry, but it was not +to be resisted. I ended by apologising to him for my stupidity in +misunderstanding him. + +'My dear fellow,' said he, 'not a word, not a word. I admired the way +in which you stood up for absent friends. Didn't you, D'Arcy?' + +At this the other broke out into another mellow laugh. 'I did. How's +your kinsman, and how's Wilderspin?' he said, turning to me. 'Did you +leave them well?' + +We soon began, all three of us, to talk freely together. Of course I +was filled with curiosity about my new friends, especially about the +liar. His extraordinary command of facial expression, coupled with +the fact that he wore no hair on his face, made me at first think he +was a great actor; but being at that time comparatively ignorant of +the stage, I did not attempt to guess what actor it was. After a +while his prodigious acuteness struck me more than even his +histrionic powers, and I began to ask myself what Old Bailey +barrister it was. + +Turning at last to the one called D'Arcy, I said. 'You are an artist; +you are a painter?' + +'I have been trying for many years to paint,' he said. + +'And you?' I said, turning to his companion. + +'He is an artist too,' D'Arcy said, 'but his line is not painting--he +is an artist in words.' + +'A poet?' I said in amazement. + +'A romancer, the greatest one of his time unless it be old Dumas.' + +'A novelist?' + +'Yes, but he does not write his novels, he speaks them.' + +De Castro, evidently with a desire to turn the conversation from +himself and his profession, said, pointing to D'Arcy, 'You see before +you the famous painter Haroun-al-Raschid, who has never been known to +perambulate the streets of London except by night, and in me you see +his faithful vizier.' + +It soon became evident that D'Arcy, for some reason or other, had +thoroughly taken to me--more thoroughly, I thought, than De Castro +seemed to like, for whenever D'Arcy seemed to be on the verge of +asking me to call at his studio, De Castro would suddenly lead the +conversation off into another channel by means of some amusing +anecdote. However, the painter was not to be defeated in his +intention; indeed I noticed during the conversation that although +D'Arcy yielded to the sophistries of his companion, he did so +wilfully. While he forced his mind, as it were, to accept these +sophistries there seemed to be all the while in his consciousness a +perception that sophistries they were. He ended by giving me his +address and inviting me to call upon him. + +'I am only making a brief stay in London,' he said; 'I am working +hard at a picture in the country, but business just now calls me to +London for a short time.' + +With this we parted at the door of the restaurant. + + +II + +It was through the merest accident that I saw these two men again. + +One evening I had been dining with my mother and aunt. I think I may +say that I had now become entirely reconciled to my mother. I used to +call upon her often, and at every call I could not but observe how +dire was the struggle going on within her breast between pride and +remorse. She felt, and rightly felt, that the loss of Winifred among +the Welsh hills had been due to her harshness in sending the stricken +girl away from Raxton, to say nothing of her breaking her word with +me after having promised to take my place and watch for the exposure +of the cross by the wash of the tides until the danger was certainly +past. + +But against my aunt I cherished a stronger resentment every day. She +it was, with her inferior intellect and insect soul, who had in my +childhood prejudiced my mother against me and in favour of Frank, +because I showed signs of my descent from Fenella Stanley while Frank +did not. She it was who first planted in my mother's mind the seeds +of prejudice against Winnie as being the daughter of Tom Wynne. + +The influence of such a paltry nature upon a woman of my mother's +strength and endowments had always astonished as much as it had +irritated me. + +I had not learnt then what I fully learnt afterwards, that in this +life it is mostly the dull and stupid people who dominate the clever +ones--that it is, in short, the fools who govern the world. + +I should, of course, never have gone to Belgrave Square at all had it +not been to see my mother. Such a commonplace slave of convention was +my aunt, that, on the evening I am now mentioning, she had scarcely +spoken to me during dinner, because, having been detained at the +solicitor's, I had found it quite impossible to go to my hotel to +dress for her ridiculous seven o'clock dinner. + +When I found that my mother had actually taken this inferior woman +into her confidence in regard to my affairs and told her all about +Winnie and the cross, my dislike of her became intensified, and on +this evening my mother very much vexed me in the drawing-room by +taking the cross from a cabinet and saying to me, + +'What is now to be done with this? All along the coast there are such +notions about its value that to replace it in the tomb would be +simple madness.' I made no reply. 'Indeed,' she continued, looking at +the amulet as she might have looked at a cobra uprearing its head to +spring at her, 'it must really be priceless. And to think that all +this was to be buried in the coffin of--! It is your charge, +however, and not mine.' + +'Yes, mother,' I said, 'it is my charge;' and taking up the cross I +wrapped it in my handkerchief. + +'Take the amulet and guard it well,' she said, as I placed it +carefully in the breast pocket of my coat. + +'And remember,' said my aunt, breaking into the conversation, 'that +the true curses of the Aylwins are and always have been superstition +and love-madness.' + +'I should have added a third curse,--pride, aunt,' I could not help +replying. + +'Henry,' said she, pursing her thin lips, 'you have the obstinacy and +the courage of your race, that is to say, you have the obstinacy and +the courage of ten ordinary men, and yet a man you are not--a man you +will never be, if strength of character, and self-mastery and power +to withstand the inevitable trials of life, go to the making of a +man.' + +'Pardon me, aunt; but such trials as mine are beyond your +comprehension.' + +'Are they, boy?' said she. 'This fancy of yours for an insignificant +girl--this boyish infatuation which with any other young man of your +rank would have long ago exhausted itself and been forgotten--is a +passion that absorbs your life. And I tremble for you: I tremble for +the house you represent.' + +But I saw by the expression on my mother's face that my aunt had now +gone too far. 'Prue,' she said, 'your tremblings concerning my son +and my family are, I assure you, gratuitous. Such trembling as the +case demands you had better leave to me. My heart tells me I have +been very wrong to that poor child, and I would give much to know +that she was found and that she was well.' + +I set out to walk to my hotel, wondering how I was to while away the +long night until sleep should come to relieve me. Suddenly I +remembered D'Arcy, and my promise to call upon him. I changed my +course, and hailing a hansom drove to the address he had given me. + +When I reached the door I found, upon looking at my watch, that it +was late--so late that I was dubious whether I should ring the bell. +I remembered, however, that he told me how very late his hours were, +and I rang. + +On sending in my card I was shown at once into the studio, and after +threading my way between some pieces of massive furniture and +pictures upon easels, I found D'Arcy lolling lazily upon a huge sofa. +Seeing that he was not alone, I was about to withdraw, for I was in +no mood to meet strangers. However, he sprang up and introduced me to +his guest, whom he called Symonds, an elegant-looking man in a +peculiar kind of evening dress, who, as I afterwards learned, was one +of Mr. D'Arcy's chief buyers. This gentleman bowed stiffly to me. + +He did not stay long; indeed, it was evident that the appearance of a +stranger somewhat disconcerted him. + +After he was gone D'Arcy said, 'A good fellow! One of my most +important buyers. I should like you to know him, for you and I are +going to be friends. I hope.' + +He seems very fond of pictures,' I said. A man of great taste, with a +real love of art and music.' + +In a little while after this gentleman's departure in came De Castro, +who had driven up in a hansom. I certainly saw a flash of anger in +his eyes as he recognised me, but it vanished like lightning, and his +manner became cordiality itself. Late as it was (it was nearly +twelve), he pulled out his cigarette case, and evidently intended to +begin the evening. As soon as he was told that Mr. Symonds had been, +he began to talk about him in a disparaging manner. Evidently his +metier was, as I had surmised, that of a professional talker. Talk +was his stock-in-trade. + +The night wore on, and De Castro in the intervals of his talk kept +pulling out his watch. It was evident that he wanted to be going, but +was reluctant to leave me there. For my part, I frequently rose to +go, but on getting a sign from D'Arcy that he wished me to stay I sat +down again. At last D'Arcy said, + +'You had better go now, De Castro, you have kept that hansom outside +for more than an hour and a half; and besides, if you stay till +daylight our friend here will stay longer, for I want to talk with +him alone.' + +De Castro got up with a laugh that seemed genuine enough, and left +us. + +D'Arcy, who was still on the sofa, then lapsed into a silence that +became after a while rather awkward. He lay there, gazing +abstractedly at the fireplace. + +'Some of my friends call me, as you heard De Castro say the other +night, Haroun-al-Raschid, and I suppose I am like him in some things. +I am a bad sleeper, and to be amused by De Castro when I can't sleep +is the chief of blessings. De Castro, however, is not so bad as he +seems. A man may be a scandal-monger without being really malignant. +I have known him go out of his way to do a struggling man a service.' + +'You are a bad sleeper?' I said, in a tone that proclaimed at once +that I was a bad sleeper also. + +'Yes,' said he, 'and so are you, as I noticed the other night. I can +always tell. There is something in the eyes when a man is a bad +sleeper that proclaims it to me.' + +Then springing up from the divan and laying his hand upon my +shoulder, he said, 'And you have a great trouble at the heart. You +have had some great loss the effect of which is sapping the very +fountains of your life. We should be friends. We must be friends. I +asked you to call upon me because we must be friends.' + +His voice was so tender that I was almost unmanned. + +I will not dwell upon this part of my narrative; I will only say that +I told him something of my story, and he told me his. + +I told him that a terrible trouble had unhinged the mind of a young +lady whom I deeply loved, and that she had been lost on the Welsh +hills. I felt that it was only right that I should know more of him +before giving him the more intimate details connected with Winnie, +myself, and the secrets of my family. He listened to every word with +the deepest attention and sympathy. After a while he said, + +'You must not go to your hotel to-night. A friend of mine who +occupies two rooms is not sleeping here to-night, and I particularly +wish for you to take his bed, so that I can see you in the morning. +We shall not breakfast together. My breakfast is a peculiarly +irregular meal. But when you wake ring your bedroom bell and order +your own breakfast; afterwards we shall meet in the studio.' + +I did not in the least object to this arrangement, for I found his +society a great relief. + + +Next morning, after I had finished my solitary breakfast, I asked the +servant if Mr. D'Arcy had yet risen. On being told that he had not, I +went downstairs into the studio where I had spent the previous +evening. After examining the pictures on the walls and the easels, I +walked to the window and looked out at the garden. It was large, and +so neglected and untrimmed as to be a veritable wilderness. While I +was marvelling why it should have been left in this state, I saw the +eyes of some animal staring at me from the distance, and was soon +astonished to see that they belonged to a little Indian bull. My +curiosity induced me to go into the garden and look at the creature. +He seemed rather threatening at first, but after a while allowed me +to go up to him and stroke him. Then I left the Indian bull and +explored this extraordinary domain. It was full of unkempt trees, +including two fine mulberries, and surrounded by a very high wall. +Soon I came across an object which, at first, seemed a little mass of +black and white oats moving along, but I presently discovered it to +be a hedgehog. It was so tame that it did not curl up as I approached +it, but allowed me, though with some show of nervousness, to stroke +its pretty little black snout. As I walked about the garden, I found +it was populated with several kinds of animals such as are never seen +except in menageries or in the Zoological Gardens. Wombats, +kangaroos, and the like, formed a kind of happy family. + +My love of animals led me to linger in the garden. When I returned to +the house I found D'Arcy in the green dining-room, where we talked, +and he read aloud some verses to me. We then went to the studio. He +said, + +'No doubt you are surprised at my menagerie. Every man has one side +of his character where the child remains. I have a love of animals +which, I suppose, I may call a passion. The kind of amusement they +can afford me is like none other. It is the self-consciousness of men +and women that makes them, in a general way, intensely unamusing. I +turn from them to the unconscious brutes, and often get a world of +enjoyment. To watch a kitten or a puppy play, or the funny antics of +a parrot or a cockatoo, or the wise movements of a wombat, will keep +me for hours from being bored.' + +'And children,' I said--'do you like children?' + +'Yes, so long as they remain like the young animals--until they +become self-conscious, I mean, and that is very soon. Then their +charm goes. Has it ever occurred to you how fascinating a beautiful +young girl would be if she were as unconscious as a young animal? +What makes you sigh?' + +My thoughts had flown to Winifred breakfasting with her 'Prince of +the Mist' on Snowdon. And I said to myself, 'How he would have been +fascinated by a sight like that!' + +My experience of men at that time was so slight that the opinion I +then formed of D'Arcy as a talker was not of much account. But since +then I have seen very much of men, and I find that I was right in the +view I then took of his conversational powers. When his spirits were +at their highest he was without an equal as a wit, without an equal +as a humourist. He had more than even Cyril Aylwin's quickness of +repartee, and it was of an incomparably rarer quality. To define it +would be, of course, impossible, but I might perhaps call it poetic +fancy suddenly stimulated at moments by animal spirits into rapid +movements--so rapid, indeed, that what in slower movement would be +merely fancy, in him became wit. Beneath the coruscations of this wit +a rare and deep intellect was always perceptible. + +His humour was also so fanciful that it seemed poetry at play, but +here was the remarkable thing: although he was not unconscious of his +other gifts, he did not seem to be in the least aware that he was a +humourist of the first order; every _jeu d'esprit_ seemed to leap +from him involuntarily, like the spray from a fountain. A dull man +like myself must not attempt to reproduce these qualities here. + +While he was talking he kept on painting, and I said to him, 'I can't +understand how you can keep up a conversation while you are at work.' + +I took care not to tell him that I was an amateur painter. + +'It is only when the work that I am on is in some degree mechanical +that I can talk while at work. These flowers, which were brought to +me this morning for my use in painting this picture, will very soon +wither, and I can put them into the picture without being disturbed +by talk; but if I were at work upon this face, if I were putting +dramatic expression into these eyes, I should have to be silent.' + +He then went on talking upon art and poetry, letting fall at every +moment gems of criticism that would have made the fortune of a critic. + +After a while, however, he threw down the brush and said, + +'Sometimes I can paint with another man in the studio; sometimes I +can't.' + +I rose to go. + +'No, no,' he said; 'I don't want you to go, yet I don't like keeping +you in this musty studio on such a morning. Suppose we take a stroll +together.' + +'But you never walk out in the daytime.' + +'Not often; indeed, I may say never, unless it is to go to the Zoo, +or to Jamrach's, which I do about once in three months.' + +'Jamrach's!' I said. 'Why, he's the importer of animals, isn't he? Of +all places in London that is the one I should most like to see.' He +then took me into a long panelled room with bay windows looking over +the Thames, furnished with remarkable Chinese chairs and tables. And +then we left the house. + +In Maud Street a hansom passed us; D'Arcy hailed it. + +'We will take this to the Bank,' said he, 'and then walk through the +East End to Jamrach's. Jump in.' + +As we drove off, the sun was shining brilliantly, and London seemed +very animated--seemed to be enjoying itself. Until we reached the +Bank our drive was through all the most cheerful-looking and +prosperous streets of London. It acted like a tonic on me, and for +the first time since my trouble I felt really exhilarated. As to +D'Arcy, after we had left behind us what he called the 'stucco world' +of the West End, his spirits seemed to rise every minute, and by the +time we reached the Strand he was as boisterous as a boy on a +holiday. + +On reaching the Bank we dismissed the hansom and proceeded to walk to +Ratcliffe Highway. Before reaching it I was appalled at the +forbidding aspect of the neighbourhood. It was not merely that the +unsavoury character of the streets offended and disgusted me, but the +locality wore a sinister aspect which acted upon my imagination in +the strangest, wildest way. Why was it that this aspect fairly cowed +me, scared me? I felt that I was not frightened on my own account, +and yet when I asked myself why I was frightened I could not find a +rational answer. + +As I saw the sailors come noisily from their boarding-houses; as I +saw the loafers standing at the street corners, smoking their dirty +pipes and gazing at us; as I saw the tawdry girls, bare-headed or in +flaunting hats covered with garish flowers, my thoughts, for no +conceivable reason, ran upon Winnie more persistently than they had +run upon her since I had abandoned all hope of seeing her in Wales. + +The thought came to me that, grievous as was her fate and mine, the +tragedy of our lives might have been still worse. + +'Suppose,' I said, 'that instead of being lost in the Welsh hills she +had been lost here!' I shuddered at the thought. + +Again that picture in the Welsh pool came to me, the picture of +Winnie standing at a street corner, offering matches for sale. D'Arcy +then got talking about Sinfi Lovell and her strange superiority in +every respect to the few Gypsy women he had seen. + +'She has,' said he, 'mesmeric power; it is only semiconscious, but it +is mesmeric. She exercises it partly through her gaze and partly +through her voice.' + +He was still talking about Sinfi when a river-boy, who was whistling +with extraordinary brilliancy and gusto, met and passed us. Not a +word more of D'Arcy's talk did I hear, for the boy was whistling the +very air to which Winnie used to sing the Snowdon song + + I met in a glade a lone little maid + At the foot of y Wyddfa the white. + +I ran after the boy and asked him what tune he was whistling. + +'What tune?' he said, 'blowed if I know.' + +'Where did you hear it?' I asked. + +'Well, there used to be a gal, a kind of a beggar gal, as lived not +far from 'ere for a little while, but she's gone away now, and she +used to sing that tune. I allas remember tunes, but I never could +make out anything of the words.' + +D'Arcy laughed at my eccentricity in running after the boy to learn +where he had got a tune. But I did not tell him why. + +After we had passed some way down Ratcliffe Highway, D'Arcy said, +'Here we are then,' and pointed to a shop, or rather two shops, on +the opposite side of the street. One window was filled with caged +birds; the other with specimens of beautiful Oriental pottery and +grotesque curiosities in the shape of Chinese and Japanese statues +and carvings. + +My brain still rang with the air I had heard the river-boy whistling, +but I felt that I must talk about something. + +'It is here that you buy your wonderful curiosities and porcelain!' I +said. + +'Partly; but there is not a curiosity shop in London that I have not +ransacked in my time.' + +The shop we now entered reminded me of that Raxton Fair which was so +much associated with Winnie. Its chief attraction was the advent of +Wombwell's menagerie. From the first moment that the couriers of that +august establishment came to paste their enormous placards on the +walls, down to the sad morning when the caravans left the +market-place, Winnie and I and Rhona Boswell had talked 'Wombwell.' +It was not merely that the large pictures of the wild animals in +action, the more than brassy sound of the cracked brass band, +delighted our eyes and ears. Our olfactories also were charmed. The +mousy scent of the animals mixed with the scent of sawdust, which to +adults was so objectionable, was characterised by us as delicious. +All these Wombwell delights came back to me as we entered Jamrach's, +and for a time the picture of Winifred prevented my seeing the famous +shop. When this passed I saw that the walls of the large room were +covered from top to bottom with cages, some of them full of wonderful +or beautiful birds, and others full of evil-faced, screeching +monkeys. + +While D'Arcy was amusing himself with a blue-faced rib-nosed baboon, +I asked Mr. Jamrach, an extremely intelligent man, about the singing +girl and the Welsh air. But he could tell me nothing, and evidently +thought I had been hoaxed. + +In a small case by itself was a beautiful jewelled cross, which +attracted D'Arcy's attention very much. + +'This is not much in your line,' he said to Jamrach.'This is +European.' + +'It came to me from Morocco,' said Jamrach, 'and it was no doubt +taken by a Morocco pirate from some Venetian captive.' + +'It is a diamond and ruby cross,' said D'Arcy, 'but mixed with the +rubies there are beryls. I am at this moment describing a beryl in +some verses. The setting of the stones is surely quite peculiar.' + +'Yes,' said Jamrach. 'It is the curiosity of the setting more than +the value of the gems which caused it to be sent to me. I have +offered it to the London jewellers, but they will only give me the +market-price of the stones and the gold.' + +While he was talking I pulled out of my breast pocket the cross, +which had remained there since I received it from my mother the +evening before. + +'They are very much alike,' said Jamrach; 'but the setting of these +stones is more extraordinary than in mine. And of course they are +more than fifty times as valuable.' + +D'Arcy turned round to see what we were talking about, when he saw +the cross in my hand, and an expression of something like awe came +over his face. + +'The Moonlight Cross of the Gnostics!' he exclaimed. 'You carry this +about in your breast pocket? Put it away, put it away! The thing +seems to be alive.' + +In a second, however, and before I could answer him, the expression +passed from his face, and he took the cross from my hands and +examined it. + +'This is the most beautiful piece of jewel work I ever saw in my +life. I have heard of such things. The Gnostic art of arranging +jewels so that they will catch the moon-rays and answer them as +though the light were that of the sun, is quite lost.' + +We then went and examined Jamrach's menagerie. I found that one +source of the interest D'Arcy took in animals was that he was a +believer in Baptista Porta's whimsical theory that every human +creature resembles one of the lower animals, and he found a perennial +amusement in seeing in the faces of animals caricatures of his +friends. + +With a fund of humour that was exhaustless, he went from cage to +cage, giving to each animal the name of some member of the Royal +Academy, or of one of his own intimate friends. + +On leaving Jamrach's he said to me, 'Suppose we make a day of it and +go to the Zoo?' + +I agreed, and we took a hansom as soon as we could get one and drove +across London towards Regent's Park. + +Here the pleasure that he took in watching the movements of the +animals was so great that it seemed impossible but that he was +visiting the Zoo for the first time. I remembered, however, that he +had told me in the morning how frequently he went to these gardens. + +But his interest in the animals was unlike my own, and I should +suppose unlike the interest of any other man. He had no knowledge +whatever of zoology, and appeared to wish for none. His pleasure +consisted in watching the curious expressions and movements of the +animals and in dramatising them. + +On leaving the Zoo, I said, 'The cross you were just now looking at +is as remarkable for its history as for its beauty. It was stolen +from the tomb of a near relative of mine. I was under a solemn +promise to the person upon whose breast it lay to see that it should +never be disturbed. But, now that it has been disturbed, to replace +it in the tomb would, I fear, be to insure another sacrilege. I +wonder what you would do in such a case?' + +He looked at me and said, 'As it is evident that we are going to be +intimate friends, I may as well confess to you at once that I am a +mystic.' + +'When did you become so?' + +'When? Ask any man who has passionately loved a woman and lost her; +ask him at what moment mysticism was forced upon him--at what moment +he felt that he must either accept a spiritualistic theory of the +universe or go mad; ask him this, and he will tell you that it was at +that moment when he first looked upon her as she lay dead, with +Corruption's foul fingers waiting to soil and stain. What are you +going to do with the cross?' + +'Lock it up as safely as I can,' I said; 'what else is there to do +with it?' + +He looked into my face and said, 'You are a rationalist.' + +'I am.' + +'You do not believe in a supernatural world?' + +'My disbelief of it,' I said, 'is something more than an exercise of +the reason. It is a passion, an angry passion. But what should you do +with the cross if you were in my place?' + +'Put it back in the tomb.' + +I had great difficulty in suppressing my ridicule, but I merely said, +'That would be, as I have told you, to insure its being stolen +again.' + +'There is the promise to the dead man or woman on whose breast it +lay.' + +'This I intend to keep in the spirit like a reasonable man--not in +the letter like--' + +'Promises to the dead must be kept to the letter, or no peace can +come to the bereaved heart. You are talking to a man who _knows_!' + +'I will commit no such outrage upon reason as to place a priceless +jewel in a place where I know it will be stolen.' + +'You _will_ replace the cross in that tomb.' + +As he spoke he shook my hands warmly, and said, '_Au revoir_. +Remember, I shall always be delighted to see you.' + +It was not till I saw him disappear amongst the crowd that I could +give way to the laughter which I had so much difficulty in +suppressing. What a relief it was to be able to do this! + + + +VI + +THE SONG OF Y WYDDFA + + +I + +After this I had one or two interviews with our solicitor in +Lincoln's Inn Fields, upon important family matters connected with my +late uncle's property. + +I had been one night to the theatre with my mother and my aunt. The +house had been unusually crowded. When the performance was over, we +found that the streets were deluged with rain. Our carriage had been +called some time before it drew up, and we were standing under the +portico amid a crowd of impatient ladies when a sound fell or seemed +to fall on my ears which stopped for the moment the very movements of +life. Amid the rattle of wheels and horses' feet and cries of +messengers about carriages and cabs, I seemed to distinguish a female +voice singing: + + 'I met in a glade a lone little maid. + At the foot of y Wyddfa the white; + Oh, lissom her feet as the mountain hind, + And darker her hair than the night!' + +It was the voice of Winifred singing as in a dream. + +I heard my aunt say, + +'Do look at that poor girl singing and holding out her little +baskets! She must be crazed to be offering baskets for sale in this +rain and at this time of night.' + +I turned my eyes in the direction in which my aunt was looking, but +the crowd before me prevented my seeing the singer. + +'She is gone, vanished,' said my aunt sharply, for my eagerness to +see made me rude. + +'What was she like?' I asked. + +'She was a young slender girl, holding out a bunch of small fancy +baskets of woven colours, through which the rain was dripping. She +was dressed in rags, and through the rags shone, here and there, +patches of her shoulders; and she wore a dingy red handkerchief round +her head. She stood in the wet and mud, beneath the lamp, quite +unconscious apparently of the bustle and confusion around her.' + +Almost at the same moment our carriage drew up. I lingered on the +step as long as possible. My mother made a sign of impatience at the +delay, and I got into the carriage. Spite of the rain, I put down the +window and leaned out. I forgot the presence of my mother and aunt. I +forgot everything. The carriage moved on. + +'Winifred!' I gasped, as the certainty that the voice was hers came +upon me. + +And the dingy London night became illuminated with scrolls of fire, +whose blinding, blasting scripture seared my eyes till I was fain to +close them: 'Let his children be vagabonds, and beg their bread: let +them seek it also out of desolate places.' + +So rapidly had the carriage rolled through the rain, and so entirely +had my long pain robbed me of all presence of mind, that, by the time +I had recovered from the paralysing shock, we had reached Piccadilly +Circus. I pulled the check-string. + +'Why, Henry!' said my mother, who had raised the window, 'what are +you doing? And what has made you turn so pale?' + +My aunt sat in indignant silence. 'Ten thousand pardons,' I said, as +I stepped out of the carriage, and shook hands with them. 'A sudden +recollection--important papers unsecured at my hotel--business in--in +Lincoln's Inn Fields. I will call on you in the morning.' + +And I reeled down the pavement towards the Haymarket. When I was some +little distance from the carriage, I took to my heels and hurried as +fast as possible towards the theatre, utterly regardless of the +people. I reached the spot breathless. I stood for a moment staring +wildly to right and left of me. Not a trace of her was to be seen. I +heard a thin voice from my lips, that did not seem my own, ask a +policeman, who was now patrolling the neighbourhood, if he had seen a +basket-girl singing. + +'No,' said the man, 'but I fancy you mean the Essex Street Beauty, +don't you? I haven't seen her for a long while now, but her dodge +used to be to come here on rainy nights, and stand bare-headed and +sing and sell just when the theatres was a-bustin'. She gets a good +lot, I fancy, by that dodge.' + +'The Essex Street Beauty?' + +'Oh, I thought you know'd p'raps. She's a strornary pretty +beggar-wench, with blue eyes and black hair, as used to stand at the +corner of Essex Street, Strand, and the money as that gal got +a-holdin' out her matches and a-sayin' texes out of the Bible must +ha' been strornary. So the Essex Street Beauty's bin about here agin +on the rainy-night dodge, 'es she? Well, it must have been the fust +time for many a long day, for I've never seen her now for a long +time. She couldn't ha' stood about here for many minutes; if she had +I must ha' seen her.' + +I staggered away from him, and passed and repassed the spot many +times. Then I extended my beat about the neighbouring streets, +loitering at every corner where a basket-girl or a flower-girl might +be likely to stand. But no trace of her was to be seen. Meantime the +rain had ceased. + +All the frightful stories that I had heard or read of the kidnapping +of girls came pouring into my mind, till my blood boiled and my knees +trembled. Imagination was stinging me to life's very core. Every few +minutes I would pass the theatre, and look towards the portico. + +The night wore on, and I was unconscious how the time passed. It was +not till daybreak that I returned to my hotel, pale, weary, bent. + +I threw myself upon my bed: it scorched me. + +I could not think. At present I could only see--see what? At one +moment a squalid attic, the starlight shining through patched +window-panes upon a lonely mattress, on which a starving girl was +lying; at another moment a cellar damp and dark, in one corner of +which a youthful figure was crouching; and then (most intolerable of +all!) a flaring gin-palace, where, among a noisy crowd, a face was +looking wistfully on, while coarse and vulgar men were clustering +with cruel, wolfish eyes around a beggar-girl. This I saw and +more--a thousand things more. + +It was insupportable. I rose and again paced the street. + + +When I called upon my mother she asked me anxious questions as to +what had ailed me the previous night. Seeing, however, that I +avoided replying to them, she left me after a while in peace. + +'Fancy,' said my aunt, who was writing a letter at a little desk +between two windows,--'fancy an Aylwin pulling the check-string, and +then, with ladies in the carriage and the rain pouring--' + +During that day how many times I passed in front of the theatre I +cannot say; but at last I thought the very men in the shops must be +observing me. Again, though I half poisoned myself with my drug, I +passed a sleepless night. The next night was passed in almost the +same manner as the previous one. + + +II + +From this time I felt working within me a great change. A horrible +new thought got entire possession of me. Wherever I went I could +think of nothing but--the curse. I scorned the monstrous idea of a +curse, and yet I was always thinking about it. I was always seeking +Winifred--always speculating on her possible fate. I saw no one in +society. + +My time was now largely occupied with wandering about the streets of +London. I began by exploring the vicinity of the theatre, and day +after day used to thread the alleys and courts in that neighbourhood. +Then I took the eastern direction, and soon became familiar with the +most squalid haunts. + +My method was to wander from street to street, looking at every +poorly-dressed girl I met. Often I was greeted with an impudent +laugh, that brought back the sickening mental pictures I have +mentioned; and often I was greeted with an angry toss of the head and +such an exclamation as, 'What d'ye take me for, staring like that?' + +These peregrinations I used to carry far into the night, and thus, as +I perceived, got the character at my hotel of a wild young man. The +family solicitor wrote to me again and again for appointments which I +could not give him. + +It had often occurred to me that in a case of this kind the police +ought to be of some assistance. One day I called at Scotland Yard, +saw an official, and asked his aid. He listened to my story +attentively, then said: 'Do you come from the missing party's +friends, sir?' + +'I am her friend,' I answered--'her only friend.' + +'I mean, of course, do you represent her father or mother, or any +near relative?' + +'She is an orphan; she has no relatives,' I said. + +He looked at me steadily and said: 'I am sorry, sir, that neither I +nor a magistrate could do anything to aid you.' + +'You can do nothing to aid me?' I asked angrily. + +'I can do nothing to aid you, sir, in identifying a young woman you +once heard sing in the streets of London, with a lady you saw once on +the top of Snowdon.' + +As I was leaving the office, he said: 'One moment, sir. I don't see +how I can take up this case for you, but I may make a suggestion. I +have an idea that you would do well to pursue inquiries among the +Gypsies.' + +'Gypsies!' I said with great heat, as I left the office. 'If you knew +how I had already "pursued inquiries" among the Gypsies, you would +understand how barren is your suggestion.' + +Weeks passed in this way. My aunt's ill-health became rather serious: +my mother too was still very unwell. I afterwards learnt that her +illness was really the result of the dire conflict in her breast +between the old passion of pride and the new invader remorse. There +were, no doubt, many discussions between them concerning me. I could +see plainly enough they both thought my mind was becoming unhinged. + +One night, as I lay thinking over the insoluble mystery of Winifred's +disappearance, I was struck by a sudden thought that caused me to +leap from my bed. What could have led the official in Scotland Yard +to connect Winifred with Gypsies? I had simply told him of her +disappearance on Snowdon, and her reappearance afterwards near the +theatre. Not one word had I said to him about her early relations +with Gypsies. I was impatient for the daylight, in order that I might +go to Scotland Yard again. When I did so and saw the official, I +asked him without preamble what had caused him to connect the missing +girl I was seeking with the Gypsies. + +'The little fancy baskets she was selling,' said he. 'They are often +made by Gypsies.' + +'Of course they are,' I said, hurrying away. 'Why did I not think of +this?' + +In fact I had, during our wanderings over England and Wales, often +seen Sinfi's sister Videy and Rhona Boswell weaving such baskets. +Winifred, after all, might be among the Gypsies, and the crafty Videy +Lovell might have some mysterious connection with her; for she +detested me as much as she loved the gold 'balansers' she could +wheedle out of me. Moreover, there were in England the Hungarian +Gypsies, with their notions about demented girls, and the Lovells, +owing to Sinfi's musical proclivities, were just now much connected +with a Hungarian troupe. + + + +VII + +SINFI'S DUKKERIPEN + + +I + +The Gypsies I had never seen since leaving them in Wales, and I knew +that by this time they were either making their circuit of the +English fairs or located in a certain romantic spot called Gypsy +Dell, near Rington Manor, the property of my kinsman Percy Aylwin, +whither they often went after the earlier fairs were over. + +The next evening I went to the Great Eastern Railway station, and +taking the train to Rington I walked to Gypsy Dell, where I found the +Lovells and Boswells. + +Familiar as I was with, the better class of Welsh Gypsies, the camp +here was the best display of Romany well-being I had ever seen. It +would, indeed, have surprised those who associate all Gypsy life with +the squalor which in England, and especially near London, marks the +life of the mongrel wanderers who are so often called Gypsies. In a +lovely dingle, skirted by a winding, willow-bordered river, and +dotted here and there with clumps of hawthorn, were ranged the +'living-waggons' of those trading Romanies who had accompanied the +'Griengroes' to the East Anglian and Midland fairs. + +Alongside the waggons was a single large brown tent that for +luxuriousness might have been the envy of all Gypsydom. On the +hawthorn bushes and the grass was spread, instead of the poor rags +that one often sees around a so-called Gypsy encampment, snowy +linen, newly washed. The ponies and horses were scattered about the +Dell feeding. + +I soon distinguished Sinfi's commanding figure near that gorgeous +living-waggon of 'orange-yellow colour with red window-blinds' in +which she had persuaded me to invest my money at Chester. On the +foot-board sat two urchins of the Lovell family, 'making believe' to +drive imaginary horses, and yelling with all their might to Rhona +Boswell, whose laugh, musical as ever, showed that she enjoyed the +game as much as the children did. Sinfi was standing on a patch of +that peculiar kind of black ash which burnt grass makes, busy with a +fire, over which a tea-kettle was hanging from the usual iron +kettle-prop. Among the ashes left by a previous fire her bantam-cock +Pharaoh was busy pecking, scratching, and calling up imaginary hens +to feast upon his imaginary 'finds.' I entered the Dell, and before +Sinfi saw me I was close to her. + +She was muttering to the refractory fire as though it were a live +thing, and asking it why it refused to burn beneath the kettle. A +startled look, partly of pleasure and partly of something like alarm, +came over her face as she perceived me. I drew her aside and told her +all that had happened in regard to Winifred's appearance as a beggar +in London. A strange expression that was new to me overspread her +features, and I thought I heard her whisper to herself, 'I will, I +will.' + +'I knowed the cuss 'ud ha' to ha' its way in the blood, like the bite +of a sap' [snake], she murmured to herself. 'And yit the dukkeripen +on Snowdon said, clear and plain enough, as they'd surely marry at +last. What's become o' the stolen trúshul, brother--the cross?' she +inquired aloud. 'That trúshul will ha' to be given to the dead man +agin, an' it'll ha' to be given back by his chavo [child] as swore to +keep watch over it. But what's it all to me?' she said in a tone of +suppressed anger that startled me. 'I ain't a Gorgie,' + +'But, Sinfi, the cross cannot be buried again. The reason I have not +replaced it in the tomb,--the reason I never will replace it +there,--is that the people along the coast know now of the existence +of the jewel, and know also of my father's wishes. If it was unsafe +in the tomb when only Winnie's father knew of it, it would be a +thousandfold more unsafe now.' + +'P'raps that's all the better for her an' you: the new thief takes +the cuss.' + +'This is all folly,' I replied, with the anger of one struggling +against an unwelcome half-belief that refuses to be dismissed. 'It is +all moonshine-madness. I'll never do it,--not at least while I retain +my reason. It was no doubt partly for safety as well as for the other +reason that my father wished the cross to be placed in the tomb. It +will be far safer now in a cabinet than anywhere else.' + +'Reia,' said Sinfi, 'you told me wonst as your great-grandmother +was a Romany named Fenella Stanley. I have axed the Scollard +about her, and what do you think he says? He says that she wur my +great-grandmother too, for she married a Lovell as died.' + +'Good heavens, Sinfi! Well, I'm proud of my kinswoman.' + +'And he says that Fenella Stanley know'd more about the true +dukkerin, the dukkerin of the Romanies, than anybody as were ever +heerd on.' + +'She seems to have been pretty superstitious,' I said, 'by all +accounts. But what has that to do with the cross?' + +'You'll put it in the tomb again.' + +'Never!' + +'Fenella Stanley will see arter that.' + +'Fenella Stanley! Why, she's dead and dust.' + +'That's what I mean; that's why she can make you do it, and will.' + +'Well, well! I did not come to talk about the cross; I want to have +a quiet word with you about another matter.' + +She sprang away as if in terror or else in anger. Then recovering +herself she took the kettle from the prop. I followed her to the +tent, which, save that it was made of brown blanket, looked more like +a tent on a lawn than a Gypsy-tent. All its comfort seemed, however, +to give no great delight to Videy, the cashier and female +financier-general of the Lovell family, who, in a state of absorbed +untidiness, sitting at the end of the tent upon a palliasse covered +with a counterpane of quilted cloth of every hue, was evidently +occupied in calculating her father's profits and losses at the recent +horse-fair. The moment Videy saw us she hurriedly threw the coin into +the silver tea-pot by her side, and put it beneath the counterpane, +with that instinctive and unnecessary secrecy which characterised +her, and made her such an amazing contrast both to her sister Sinfi +and to Rhona Boswell. + +After Panuel had received me in his usual friendly manner, we all sat +down, partly inside the tent and partly outside, around the white +table-cloth that had been spread upon the grass. The Scollard took no +note of me; he had no eyes for any one but Rhona Boswell. + +When tea was over Sinfi left the camp, and strode across the Dell +towards the river. I followed her. + + +II + +It was not till we reached a turn in the river that is more secluded +than any other--a spot called 'Gypsy Ring,' a lovely little spot +within the hollow of birch trees and gorse--that she spoke a few +words to me, in a constrained tone. Then I said, as we sat down upon +a green hillock within the Ring: 'Sinfi, the baskets my aunt saw in +Winnie's hand when she was standing in the rain were of the very kind +that Videy makes.' + +'Oh, _that's_ what you wanted to say!' said she; 'you think Videy +knows something about Winnie. But that's all a fancy o' yourn, and +it's of no use looking for Winnie any more among the Romanies. Even +supposin' you did hear the Welsh gillie--and I think it was all a +fancy--you can't make nothin' out o' them baskets as your aunt seed. +Us Romanies don't make one in a hundud of the fancy baskets as is +sold for Gypsy baskets in the streets, and besides, the hawkers and +costers what buys 'em of us sells 'em agin to other hawkers and +costers, and there ain't no tracin' on 'em.' + +I argued the point with her. At last I felt convinced that I was +again on the wrong track. By this time the sun had set, and the stars +were out. I had noticed that during our talk Sinfi's attention would +sometimes seem to be distracted from the matter in hand, and I had +observed her give a little start now and then, as though listening to +something in the distance. + +'What are you listening to?' I inquired at last. 'Reia,' said Sinfi, +'I've been a-listenin' to a v'ice as nobody can't hear on'y me, an' +I've bin a-seein' a face peepin' atween the leaves o' the trees as +nobody can't see on'y me; my mammy's been to me. I thought she would +come here. They say my mammy's mammy wur buried here, an' she wur the +child of Fenella, an' that's why it's called Gypsy Ring. The moment I +sat down in this Ring a mullo [spirit] come and whispered in my ear, +but I can't make out whether it's my mammy or Fenella Stanley, and I +can't make out what she said. It's hard sometimes for them as has to +gnaw their way out o' the groun' to get their words out clear. +[Footnote] Howsomever, this I do know, reia, you an' me must part. I +felt as we must part when we was in Wales togither last time, and now +I knows it.' + +[Footnote: Some Romanies think that spirits rise from the ground.] + +'Part, Sinfi! Not if I can prevent it.' + +'Reia,' replied Sinfi emphatically, 'when I've wonst made up my mind, +you know it's made up for good an' all. When us two leaves this 'ere +Ring to-night, you'll turn your ways and I shall turn mine.' + +I thought it best to let the subject drop. Perhaps by the time we had +left the Ring this mood would have passed. After a minute or so she +said, + +'You needn't see no fear about not marryin' Winifred Wynne. You +_must_ marry her; your dukkeripen on Snowdon didn't show itself there +for nothink. When you two was a-settin' by the pool, a-eatin' the +breakfiss, I was a-lookin' at you round the corner of the rock. I +seed a little kindlin' cloud break away and go floatin' over your +heads, and then it shaped itself into what us Romanies calls the +Golden Hand. You know what the Golden Hand means when it comes over +two sweethearts? You don't believe it? Ask Rhona Boswell! Here she +comes a-singin' to herself. She's trying to get away from that devil +of a Scollard as says she's bound to marry him. I've a good mind to +go and give him a left-hand body-blow in the ribs and settle him for +good and all. He means mischief to the Tarno Rye, and Rhona too. +Brother, I've noticed for a long while that the Romany blood is a +good deal stronger in you than the Gorgio blood. And now mark my +words, that cuss o' your feyther's'll work itself out. You'll go to +his grave and you'll jist put that trúshul back in that tomb, and +arter that, and not afore, you'll marry Winnie Wynne.' + +Sinfi's creed did not surprise me: the mixture of guile and +simplicity in the Romany race is only understood by the few who know +it thoroughly: the race whose profession it is to cheat by +fortune-telling, to read the false 'dukkeripen' as being 'good enough +for the Gorgios,' believe profoundly in nature's symbols; but her +bearing did surprise me. + +'Your dukkeripen will come true,' said she; 'but mine won't, for I +won't let it.' + +'And what is yours?' I asked. + +'That's nuther here nor there.' + +Then she stood again as though listening to something, and again I +thought, as her lips moved, that I heard her whisper, 'I will, I +will.' + + +III + +I had intended to go to London at once after leaving Gypsy Dell, but +something that Sinfi told me during our interview impelled me to go +on to Raxton Hall, which was so near. The fact that Sinfi was my +kinswoman opened up new and exciting vistas of thought. + +I understood now what was that haunting sense of recognition which +came upon me when I first saw Sinfi at the wayside inn in Wales. Day +by day had proofs been pouring in upon me that the strain of Romany +blood in my veins was asserting itself with more and more force. Day +by day I had come to realise how closely, though the main current of +my blood was English, I was affined to the strange and mysterious +people among whom I was now thrown--the only people in these islands, +as it seemed to me, who would be able to understand a love-passion +like mine. And there were many things in the great race of my +forefathers which I had found not only unsympathetic to me, but +deeply repugnant. In Great Britain it is the Gypsies alone who +understand nature's supreme charm, and enjoy her largesse as it used +to be enjoyed in those remote times described in Percy Aylwin's poems +before the Children of the Roof invaded the Children of the Open Air, +before the earth was parcelled out into domains and ownerships as it +now is parcelled out. In the mind of the Gorgio, the most beautiful +landscape or the most breezy heath or the loveliest meadow-land is +cut up into allotments, whether of fifty thousand acres or of two +roods, and owned by people. Of ownership of land the Romany is +entirely unconscious. The landscape around him is part of Nature +herself, and the Romany on his part acknowledges no owner. No doubt +he yields to _force majeure_ in the shape of gamekeeper or constable, +but that is because he has no power to resist it. Nature to him is as +free and unowned by man as it was to the North American Indian in his +wigwam before the invasion of the Children of the Roof. + +During the time that I was staying in Flintshire and near Capel +Curig, rambling through the dells or fishing in the brooks, it was +surprising how soon the companionship of a Gorgio would begin to pall +upon me. And here the Cymric race is just as bad as the Saxon. The +same detestable habit of looking upon nature as a paying +market-garden, the same detestable inquiry as to who was the owner of +this or that glen or waterfall, was sure at last to make me sever +from him. But as to Sinfi, her attitude towards nature, though it was +only one of the charms that endeared her to me, was not the least of +them. There was scarcely a point upon which she and I did not touch. + +And what about her lack of education? Was that a drawback? Not in the +least. The fact that she knew nothing of that traditional ignorance +which for ages has taken the name of knowledge--that record of the +foolish cosmogonies upon which have been built the philosophies and +the social systems of the blundering creature Man--the fact that she +knew nothing of these gave an especial piquancy to everything she +said. I had been trying to educate myself in the new and wonderful +cosmogony of growth which was first enunciated in the sixties, and +was going to be, as I firmly believed, the basis of a new philosophy, +a new system of ethics, a new poetry, a new everything. But in +knowledge of nature as a sublime consciousness, in knowledge of the +human heart, Sinfi was far more learned than I. And believing as I +did that education will in the twentieth century consist of +unlearning, of unlading the mind of the trash previously called +knowledge, I could not help feeling that Sinfi was far more advanced, +far more in harmony than I could hope to be With the new morning of +Life of which we are just beginning to see the streaks of dawn. + +'I must go and see Fenella's portrait,' I said, as I Walked briskly +towards Raxton. + +When I reached Raxton Hall I seemed to startle the butler and the +servants, as though I had come from the other world. + +I told the butler that I should sleep there that night, and then went +at once to the picture gallery and stood before Reynolds' famous +picture of Fenella Stanley as the Sibyl. The likeness to Sinfi was +striking. How was it that it had not previously struck me more +forcibly? The painter had evidently seized the moment when Fenella's +eyes expressed that look of the seeress which Sinfi's eyes, on +occasion, so powerfully expressed. I stood motionless before it while +the rich, warm light of evening bathed it in a rosy radiance. And +when the twilight shadows fell upon it, and when the moon again lit +it up, I stood there still. The face seemed to pass into my very +being, and Sinfi's voice kept singing in my ears, 'Fenella Stanley's +dead and dust, and that's why she can make you put that cross in +your feyther's tomb, and she will, she will.' + +I left the picture and went into the library: for I bethought me of +that sheaf of Fenella's letters to my great-grandfather which he had +kept so sacredly, and which had come to me as representative of the +family. My previous slight inspection of them had shown me what a +wonderful woman she was, how full of ideas the most original and the +most wild. The moment a Gypsy-woman has been taught to write there +comes upon her a passion for letter-writing. + +Nothing could be more striking than the contrast between the +illiterate locutions and the eccentric orthography of Fenella's +letters and the subtle remarks and speculations upon the symbols of +nature.--the dukkeripen of the woods, the streams, the stars, and the +winds. But when I came to analyse the theories of man's place in +nature expressed in the ignorant language of this Romany heathen, +they seemed to me only another mode of expressing the mysticism of +the religious enthusiast Wilderspin, the more learned and +philosophic mysticism of my father, and the views of D'Arcy, the +dreamy painter. + +As I rode back to London, I said to myself, 'What change has come +over me? What power has been gradually sapping my manhood? Why do I, +who was so self-reliant, long now so passionately for a friend to +whom to unburthen my soul--one who could give me a sympathy as deep +and true as that I got from Sinfi Lovell, and yet the sympathy of a +mind unclouded by ignorant superstitions?' + +With the exception of D'Arcy, whose advice as to the disposal of the +cross had proclaimed him to be as superstitious as Sinfi herself, not +a single friend had I in all London. Indeed, besides Lord Sleaford (a +tall, burly man with the springy movement of a prize-tighter, with +blue-grey eyes, thick, close-cropped hair, and a flaxen moustache, +who had lately struck up a friendship with my mother) I had not even +an acquaintance. Cyril Aylwin, whom I had not seen since we parted in +Wales, was now on the Continent with Wilderspin. Strange as it may +seem, I looked forward with eagerness to the return of this +light-hearted jester. Cyril's sagacity and knowledge of the world had +impressed me in Wales; but his cynical attitude, whether genuine or +assumed, towards subjects connected with deep passion, had prevented +my confiding in him. He must, I knew, have gathered from Sinfi, and +from other sources, that I was mourning the loss of a Welsh girl in +humble life; but during our very brief intercourse in Wales neither +of us had mentioned the matter to the other. Now, however, in my +present dire strait I longed to call in the aid of his penetrative +mind. + + + +VIII + +ISIS AS HUMOURIST + + +I + +On reaching London I resumed my wanderings through the London +streets. Bitter as these wanderings were, my real misery now did not +begin until I got to bed. Then began the terrible struggle of the +soul that wrestles with its ancestral fleshly prison--that prison +whose warders are the superstitions of bygone ages. 'Have you not +seen the curse literally fulfilled?' ancestral voices of the +blood--voices Romany and Gorgio--seemed whispering in my ears. 'Have +you not heard the voice of his daughter upon whose head the curse of +your dead father has fallen a beggar in the street, while not all +your love can succour her or reach her?' + +And then my soul would cry out in its agony, 'Most true, Fenella +Stanley--most true, Philip Aylwin; but before I will succumb to such +a theory of the universe as yours, a theory which reason laughs at +and which laughs at reason, I will die--die by this hand of mine: +this flesh that imprisons me in a world of mocking delusion shall be +destroyed, but first the symbol itself of your wicked, cruel old +folly shall go.' + +I would then leap from my bed, light a candle, unlock my cabinet, +take out the cross, and holding it aloft prepare to dash it against +the wall, when my hand would be arrested by the same ancestral +voices, Romany and Gorgio, whispering in my ears and at my heart, + +'If you break that amulet, how shall you ever be able to see what +would be the effect upon Winnie's fate of its restoration to your +father's tomb?' + +And then I would laugh aloud and mock the voices of Fenella Stanley +and Philip Aylwin and millions of other voices that echoed or +murmured or bellowed through half a million years, echoed or murmured +or bellowed from European halls and castles, from Gypsy tents, from +caves of palæolithic man. + +'How shall you stay the curse from working in the blood of the +accursed one?' the voices would say. And then I would laugh again +till I feared the people in the hotel would hear me and take me for a +maniac. + +But then my aunt's picture of a beggar-girl standing in the rain +would fill my eyes and the whispers would grow louder than the voice +of the North Sea in the March wind: 'Look at _that_. How dare you +leave undone anything, howsoever wild, which might seem to any +one--even to an illiterate Gypsy, even to a crazy mystic--a means of +finding Winifred? What is the meaning of the great instinct which has +always conquered the soul in its direst need--which has always driven +man when in the grip of unbearable calamity to believe in powers that +are unseen? What though that scientific reason of yours tells you +that Winifred's misfortunes have nothing to do with any curse? what +though your reason tells you that all these calamities may be read as +being the perfectly natural results of perfectly natural causes? Is +the voice of man's puny reason clothed with such authority that it +dares to answer his heart, which knows nothing but that it bleeds? +The terrible facts of the case may be read in two ways. With an +inscrutable symmetry these facts may and do fit in with the universal +theory of the power of the spirit-world to execute a curse from the +grave. Look at that beggar in the street! How dare you ignore the +theory of the sorrowing soul, the logic of the lacerated heart, even +though your reason laughs it to scorn?' + +And then at last my laughter would turn to moans, and, replacing the +cross in the cabinet, I would creep hack to my bed ashamed, like a +guilty thing--ashamed before myself. + +But the more I felt at my throat the claws of the ancestral ogre +Superstition, the more enraged I became with myself for feeling them +there. And the auger against my ancestors' mysticism grew with the +growing consciousness that I was rapidly yielding to the very same +mysticism myself. And then I would get up again and take from my +escritoire the sheaf of Fenella Stanley's letters which I had brought +from Raxton, and read again those stories about curses, such as that +about the withering of a Romany family under a dead man's curse which +Winnie had described to me that night on the sands. + + +II + +I was delighted to be told by Sleaford, whom I met one afternoon in +Piccadilly, that Cyril had returned to London within the last few +days. 'He is appointed artist-in-chief of the new comic paper, _The +Caricaturist,_ said Sleaford, 'and is in great feather. I have just +been calling upon him.' + +'The very man I want to see,' I replied. Sleaford thereupon directed +me to Cyril's studio 'You'll find him at work,' said he, 'doin' a +caricature of Wilderspin's great picture, "Faith and Love." Mother +Gudgeon is sittin' as his model. He does everything from models, you +know.' + +'Mother Gudgeon?' + +'A female costermonger that he picked up some where in the slums, the +funniest woman in London: haw! haw! I promise you she'll make you +laugh when Cyril draws her out.' + +He then began to talk upon the subject which interested him above all +others, the smartness and swiftness of his yacht. 'I am trying to +persuade your mother and aunt to go for a cruise with me, and I think +I shall succeed.' + +He directed me to the studio, and we parted. + +I found Cyril in a large and lofty studio in Chelsea, filled with the +curiously carved black furniture of Bombay, mixed, for contrast, with +a few Indian cabinets of carved and fretted ivory exquisitely +wrought. He greeted me cordially. The walls were covered with +Japanese drawings. I began by asking him about The Caricaturist. + +'Well,' said he, 'now that the House of Commons has become a +bear-garden, and t'other House a waxwork show, and the intellect and +culture of the country are leaving politics to dummies and cads, how +can the artistic mind condescend to caricature the political world--a +world that has not only ceased to be intelligent, but has even ceased +to be funny? The quarry of _The Caricaturist_ will be literature, +science, and art. Instead of wasting artistic genius upon such small +fry as premiers, diplomatists, and cabinet ministers, our cartoons +will be caricatures of the pictures of Millais, Leighton, +Burne-Jones, Rossetti, Madox Brown, Holman Hunt, Watts, Sandys, +Whistler, Wilderspin: our letterpress will be Aristophanic parodies +of Tennyson, Browning, Meredith, Arnold, Morris, Swinburne; game +worth flying at, my boy! The art-world is in a dire funk, I can tell +you, for the artistic epidermis has latterly grown genteel and thin.' + +Already I was beginning to ask myself whether it was possible to make +a confidant of this inscrutable cynic. 'You are fond of Oriental +things?' I said, wishing to turn the subject. I looked round at the +Chinese, Indian, and Japanese monstrosities scattered about the room. + +'That,' said he, pointing to a picture of a woman (apparently drunk) +who was amusing herself by chasing butterflies, while a number of +broad-faced, mischievous-looking children were teasing her--'that is +the masterpiece of Hokusai. The legend in the corner is "Kiyó-jo chó +ni tawamureru," which, according to the lying Japanese scholars, +means nothing more than "A cracked woman chasing butterflies." It was +left for me to discover that it represents Yoka, the goddess of Fun, +sportively chasing the butterfly souls of men, while the urchins, the +little Yokas, are crying, "Ma! you're screwed."' + +'But what are these quaint figures?' I asked, pointing to certain +drawings of an obese Japanese figure, grinning with lazy good-humour +above several of the cabinets. + +'Hoteï, the fat god of enjoyment.' + +'A Japanese god?' I asked. + +'Yes, nothing artistic is quite right now unless it has a savour of +blue mould or Japan. Wonderful people, the Japanese, to have +discovered the Jolly Hoteï. And here is Hoteï's wife, the +goddess-queen Yoka herself--the real masquerader behind that mystic +veil which has so enveloped and bemuddled the mind of poor +Wilderspin. She is to figure in the first number of _The +Caricaturist_.' + +He pointed to an object I had only partially observed: a broad-faced +burly woman, of about forty-five years of age, in an eccentric dress +of Japanese silks, standing on the model-throne between two lay +figures. 'Good heavens!' I exclaimed, 'why, she's alive.' + +'An' kickin', sir,' said a voice that was at once strident and +unctuous. Owing to the almond shape of her sparkling black eyes and +the flatness of her nose, the bridge of which had been broken (most +likely in childhood), she looked absurdly like a Japanese woman, save +that upon her quaintly-cut mouth, curving slightly upwards horse-shoe +fashion, there was that twitter of humorous alertness which is +perhaps rarely seen in perfection except among the lower orders, +Celtic or Saxon, of London. Her build was that of a Dutch +fisher-woman. The set of her head on her muscular neck showed her to +be a woman of immense strength. But still more was her great physical +power indicated by her hands, the fingers of which seemed to have a +grip like that of an eagle's claws. + +I then perceived upon an easel a large drawing. 'I have not seen +Wilderspin's "Faith and Love,"' I said; 'but this, I see, must be a +caricature of it.' + +In it the woman figured as Isis, grinning beneath a veil held over +her head by two fantastically-dressed figures--one having the face of +Darwin, the other the face of Wilderspin. + +'Allow me,' said Cyril, 'to introduce you to the Goddess Yoka, the +true Isis or goddess of bohemianism and universal joke, who, when she +had the chance of I making a rational and common-sense universe, +preferred amusing herself with flamingoes, dromedaries, ring-taile +monkeys, and men.' + +'Pardon me,' I said; 'I merely called to see you. Good afternoon.' + +'Allow me,' said he, turning to the woman, 'to introduce to your +celestial majesty Mr. Henry Aylwin, a kinsman of mine, whose +possessions in Little Egypt are as brilliant (judging from the +colours of his royal waggon) as are his possessions in Philistia.' + +The woman made me a curtsey of much gravity. 'And allow me to +introduce _you_,' he said, turning to me, 'to the real original +Natura Mystica,--she who for ages upon ages has been trying by her +funny goings-on to teach us that "the _Principium hylarchicum_ of the +cosmos" (to use the simple phraseology of a great spiritualistic +painter) is the benign principle of joke.' + +The woman made me another curtsey. 'You forget your exalted position, +Mrs. Gudgeon,' said Cyril; 'when a mystic goddess-queen is so +condescending as to curtsey she should be careful not to bend too +low. Man is a creature who can never with safety be treated with too +much respect.' + +'We's all so modest in Primrose Court, that's the wust on us,' +replied the woman. 'But, Muster Cyril, sir, I don't think you've +noticed that the queen's _t'other_ eye's got dry now.' + +Cyril gravely poured her out a glass of foaming ale from a bottle +that stood upon a little Indian bamboo-table, and handed it to her +carefully over the silks, saying to me, + +'Her majesty's elegant way of hinting that she likes to wet both +eyes!' + +Such foolery as this and at such a time irritated me sorely; but +there was no help for it now. Whether I should or should not open to +him the subject that had taken me thither, I must, I saw, let him +have his humour till the woman was dismissed. + +'And now, goddess,' said he, 'while I am doing justice to the design +of your nose--' + +'You can't do that, sir,' interjected the creature, 'it's sich a +beauty, ha! ha! I allus say that when I do die, I shall die +a-larfin'. They calls me "Jokin' Meg" in Primrose Court. I shall die +a-larfin', they say in Primrose Court, and so I shall--unless I die +a-cryin',' she added in an utterly different and tragic voice which +greatly struck me. + +'While I am trying to do justice to that beautiful bridge you must +tell my friend about yourself and your daughter, and how you and she +first became two shining lights in the art world of London.' + +'You makes me blush,' said the woman, 'an' blow me if blushin' ain't +bin an' made _t'other_ eye dry.' + +She then took another glass of ale, grinned, shook herself, as though +preparing for an effort, and said, + +'Well you must know, sir, as my name's Meg Gudgeon, leaseways that +was my name till my darter chrissened me Mrs. Knocker, and I lives in +Primrose Court, Great Queen Street, and my reg'lar perfession is +a-sellin' coffee "so airly in the mornin'," and I've got a darter as +ain't quite so 'ansom as me, bein' the moral of her father as is over +the water a-livin' in the fine 'Straley. And you must know, sir, that +one of summer's day there comes a knock at our door as sends my 'eart +into my mouth and makes me cry out, "The coppers, by jabbers!" and +when I goes down and opens the door, lo! and behold, there stan's a +chap wi' great goggle eyes, dressed all in shiny black, jest like a +Quaker.' (Here she made a noise between a laugh and a cough.) 'I +allus say that when I do die I shall die a-larfin'--unless I die +a-cryin',' she added, in the same altered voice that had struck me +before. + +'Well, mother,' said Cyril, 'and what did the shiny Quaker say?' + +'They calls me "Jokin' Meg" in Primrose Court. The shiny Quaker, 'e +axes if my name is Gudgeon. "Well," sez I, "supposin' as my name _is_ +Gudgeon,--I don't say it is," says I, "but supposin' as it is,--what +then?" sez I. "But _is_ that your name?" sez 'e. "Supposin' as it +was," sez I, "what then?" "Will you answer my simple kervestion?" sez +'e. "Is your name Mrs. Gudgeon, or ain't it not?" sez 'e. "An' will +_you_ answer _my_ simple kervestion, Mr. Shiny Quaker?" sez I. +"Supposin' my name was Mrs. Gudgeon,--I don't say it _is_, but +supposin' it was,--what's that to you?" sez I, for I thought my poor +bor Bob what lives in the country had got into trouble agin and had +sent for me.' + +'Go on, mother,' said Cyril, 'what did the shiny Quaker say then?' + +'"Well then," sez 'e, "if your name is Mrs. Gudgeon, there is a +pootty gal as is, I am told, a-livin' along o' you." "Oh, oh, my fine +shiny Quaker gent," sez I, an' I flings the door wide open an' there +I stan's in the doorway, "it's _her_ you wants, is it?" sez I. "And +pray what does my fine shiny Quaker gent want wi' my darter?" "Your +darter?" sez 'e, an opens 'is mouth like this, and shets it agin like +a rat-trap. "Yis, my darter," sez I. "I s'pose," sez I, "you think +she ain't 'ansom enough to be my darter. No more she ain't," sez I; +"but she takes arter her father, an' werry sorry she is for it," sez +I. "I want to put her in the way of 'arnin' some money," sez 'e. "Oh, +_do_ you?" sez I. "How very kind! I'm sure it does a pore woman's +'eart good to see how kind you gents is to us pore women's pootty +darters," sez I,--"even shiny Quaker gents as is generally so quiet. +You're not the fust shiny gent," sez I, "as 'ez followed 'er 'um, I +can tell you,--not the fust by a long way; but up to now," sez I, +"I've allus managed to send you all away with a flea in your ears, +cuss you for a lot of wicious warm exits, young and old," sez I, "an' +if you don't get out," sez I--"My good woman, you mistake my +attentions," sez 'e. "Oh no, I don't," sez I, "not a bit on it. It's +sich ole sinners as you in your shiny black coats," sez I, "as I +never _do_ mistake, and if you don't git out there's a pump-'andle +behind this werry door, as my poor bor Bob brought up from the +country for me to sell for him--" "My good woman," sez 'e, "I am a +hartist," sez 'e. "What's that?" sez I. "A painter," sez 'e. "A +painter, air you? you don't look it," sez I. "P'raps it's holiday +time with ye," sez I, "and that makes you look so varnishy. Well, +and what do painters more nor any other trade want with pore women's +pootty darters?" sez I,--"more nor plumbers nor glaziers, nor +bricklayers, for the matter of that?" sez I. "But I ain't a +'ousepainter," sez 'e; "I paints picturs, and I want this gal to set +as a moral," sez 'e. "A moral! an' what's a moral?" sez I. "You ain't +a-goin' to play none o' your shiny-coat larks wi' my pootty darter," +sez I. "I wants to paint her portrait," sez 'e, "an' then put it in a +pictur." "Oh," sez I, "you wants to paint her portrait 'cause she's +such a pootty gal, an' then you wants to make believe you drawed it +out of your own 'ead, an' sell it," sez I. "Oh, but you're a downy +one, you are, an' no mistake," sez I. "But I likes you none the wuss +for that. I likes a downy chap, an' I don't see no objection to that; +but how much will you give to paint my pootty darter?" sez I. "P'raps +I'd better come in," sez he. "P'raps you 'ad, if we're a-comin' to +bisniss," sez I; "so jest make a long leg an' step over them +dirty-nosed child'n o' Mrs. Mix's, a-settin' on my doorstep, an' I +dessay we sha'n't quarrel over a 'undud p'un' or two," sez I. An' +then I bust out a-larfin' agin--I shall die a-larfin'.' And then she +added suddenly in the same tone of sadness, 'if I don't die +a-cryin'.' + +'Really, mother,' said Cyril, 'it is very egotistical of you to +interrupt your story with prophecies about the mood in which you will +probably shuffle off the Gudgeon coil and take to Gudgeon wings. It +is the shiny Quaker we want to know about.' + +'And then the shiny Quaker comes in,' said the woman, 'and I shets +the door, being be'ind 'im, and that skears _'im_ for a moment, till +I bust out a-larfin': "Oh, you needn't be afeard," sez I;--"when we +burgles a Quaker in Primrose Court we never minces 'im for +sossingers, 'e's so 'ily in 'is flavour." Well, sir, to cut a long +story short, I agrees to take my pootty darter to the Quaker gent's +studero; an' I takes 'er nex' day, an' 'e puts her in a pictur. But +afore long,' continued the old woman, leering round at Cyril, 'lo! +and behold, a young swell, p'raps a young lord in disguise (I don't +want to be pussonal, an' so I sha'n't tell his name), 'e comes into +that studero one day when I was a-settlin' up with the Quaker gent +for the week's pay, an' he sets an' admires me, till I sets an' +blushes as I'm a-blushin' at this werry moment; an' when I gits 'ome, +I sez to Polly Onion (that's a pal o' mine as lives on the ground +floor), I sez, "Poll, bring my best lookin'-glass out o' my bowdore, +an' let's have a look at my old chops, for I'm blowed if there ain't +a young swell, p'raps a young lord in disguise, as 'ez fell 'ead over +ears in love with me." And sure enough when I goes back to the +studero the werry nex' time, my young swell 'e sez to me, "It's your +own pootty face as I wants for _my_ moral. I dessay your darter's a +stunner--I ain't seen her yit--but she cain't be nothin' to you." And +I sez to 'im, "In course she ain't, for she takes arter her father's +family, pore gal, and werry sorry she is for it."' + +At this moment a servant entered and said Mr. Wilderspin was waiting +in the hall. + +All hope having now fled of my getting a private word +with Cyril that afternoon, I was preparing to slip I away; but he +would not let me go. + +'I don't want Wilderspin to know about the caricature till it is +finished,' whispered he to me; 'so I told Bunner never to let him +come suddenly upon me. You'd better be off, mother,' he said to the +old woman, 'and come again to-morrow.' + +She bustled up and, throwing off the Japanese finery, left the room, +while Cyril removed the drawing from the easel and hid it away. + +'Isn't she delightful?' ejaculated Cyril. + +'Delightful! What, that old wretch? All that interests me in her is +the change in her voice after she says she will die laughing.' + +'Oh,' said Cyril, 'she seems to be troubled with a drunken son in the +country somewhere, who is always getting into scrapes. Wilderspin's +in love with her daughter, a wonderfully beautiful girl, the finding +of whom at the very moment when he was in despair for the want of the +right model gave the final turn to his head. He thinks she was sent +to him from Paradise by his mother's spirit! He does, I assure you.' + +'Wilderspin in love with a model!' + +'Oh, not _à la_ Raphael.' + +'If you think Wilderspin to be in love with any woman, you little +know what love is,' I exclaimed. 'He is in love with his art and with +that beautiful memory of his mother's self-sacrifice which has +shattered his reason, but built up his genius. Except as a means +towards the production of those pictures that possess him, no model +is anything more to him than his palette-knife. Shall you be alone +this evening?' + +'This evening I dine at Sleaford's. To-morrow I am due in Paris.' + +Wilderspin, who had now entered the studio, seemed genuinely pleased +to see me again, and told me that in a few days he should be able to +borrow 'Faith and Love' of its owner for the purpose of beginning a +replica of it, and hoped then to have the pleasure of showing it to +me. + +'I observed Mrs. Gudgeon in the hall,' said he to Cyril. 'To think +that so unlovely a woman should, through an illusion of the senses, +seem to be the mere material mother of her who was sent to me from +the spirit-world in the very depths of my despair! Wonderful are the +ways of the spirit-world. Ah, Mr. Aylwin, did it never occur to you +how important is the expression of the model from whom you work?' + +'I am not a painter,' I said, 'only an amateur,' trying to stop a +conversation that might run on for an hour. + +'It has never occurred to you! That is strange. Let me read to you a +passage upon this subject just published in _The Art Review_, written +by the great painter D'Arcy.' + +He then took from Cyril's table a number of _The Art Review_, and +began to read aloud:-- + + It is a curious thing that not only the general public, but the art + connoisseurs and the writers upon art, although they know full well + how a painter goes to work in painting a picture, speak and write + as though they thought that the head of a beautiful woman was drawn + from the painter's inner consciousness, instead of from the real + woman who sits to him as a model. Notwithstanding all the technical + excellence of Raphael, his extraordinary good luck in finding the + model that suited his genius had very much to do with his enormous + success and fame. And with all Michael Angelo's instinct for + grandeur, if he had not been equally lucky in regard to models, he + could never adequately have expressed that genius. It is impossible + to give vitality to the painting of any head unless the artist has + nature before him; this is why no true judge of pictures was ever + deceived as to the difference between an original and a copy. It + stands to reason that in every picture of a head, howsoever the + model's features may be idealised, Nature's own handiwork and + mastery must dominate. + +Here Cyril gently took the magazine from Wilderspin's hand, but did +not silence him. 'As I told you in Wales,' said he to me, 'I had an +abundance of imagination, but I wanted some model in order to realise +it. I could never meet a face that came anything nigh my own ideal of +expression as the purely spiritual side of the beauty of woman; and +until I did that I knew that I should achieve nothing whereby the +world might recognise a new power in art. In vain did I try to +idealise such faces as did not please me. And this was because +nothing could satisfy me but the perfect type of expression which not +even Leonardo nor any other painter in the world had found--the true +Romantic type.' + +'I understand you, Mr. Wilderspin,' I said. 'This I perfect type of +expression you eventually found--' + +'In the daughter,' said Cyril, 'of the goddess Gudgeon.' + +'By the blessing of Mary Wilderspin in heaven,' said Wilderspin. + +And then the talk between the two friends ran upon artistic matters, +and I heard no more, for my mind was wandering up and down the London +streets. + +Wilderspin and I left the house together. As we walked along, side by +side, I said to him: 'You spoke just now of your mother's blessing. +Am I really to understand that you in an age like this believe in the +power of human blessings and human curses?' + +'Do I believe in blessings and curses, Mr. Aylwin?' said Wilderspin +solemnly. 'You are asking me whether I am with or without what your +sublime father calls the "most powerful of the primary instincts of +man." He tells us in _The Veiled Queen_ that "Even in this material +age of ours there is not a single soul that does not in its inner +depths acknowledge the power of the unseen world. The most hardened +materialist," says he, "believes in what he calls sometimes 'luck' +and sometimes 'fortune.'" Let me advise you, Mr. Aylwin, to study the +voice of your inspired father. I will send a set of his writings to +your hotel to-morrow. And, Mr. Aylwin, my duty compels me to speak +very plainly to you upon a subject that has troubled me since I had +the honour of meeting you in Wales. There is but one commandment in +the decalogue to which a distinct promise of reward is attached; it +is that which bids us honour our fathers and our mothers. Good-day, +sir.' + + + +IX + +THE PALACE OF NIN-KI-GAL + + +I + +Shortly after this I met my mother at our solicitor's office +according to appointment. As she was on the eve of departing for the +Continent, it was necessary that various family matters should be +arranged. On the day following, as I was about to leave my hotel to +call at Cyril's studio, rather doubtful, after the frivolity I had +lately witnessed, as to whether or not I should unburden my heart to +such a man, he entered my room in company with Wilderspin, the latter +carrying a parcel of books. + +'I have brought your father's works,' Wilderspin said. + +'Thank you very much,' I replied, taking the books. 'And when am I to +call and see your picture? Have you yet got it back from the owner?' + +'"Faith and Love" is now in my studio,' he replied; 'but I will ask +you not to call upon me yet for a few days. I hope to be too busily +engaged upon another picture to afford a moment to any one save the +model--that is,' he added with a sigh, 'should she make her +appearance.' + +'A picture of his called "Ruth and Boaz,"' interposed Cyril. +'Wilderspin is repainting the face from that favourite model of his +of whom you heard so much in Wales. But the fact is the model is +rather out of sorts at this moment, and Wilderspin is fearful that +she may not turn up to-day. Hence the melancholy you see on his face. +I try to console him, however, by assuring him that the daughter of a +mamma with such a sharp appreciation of half-crowns as the lady you +saw at my studio the other day is sure to turn up in due time as +sound as a roach.' + +Wilderspin shook his head gravely. + +'Good heavens!' I muttered, 'when am I to hear the last of painters' +models?' Then turning to Wilderspin, I said, + +'This is the model to whom you feel so deeply indebted?' + +'Deeply indebted, indeed!' exclaimed he in a fervid tone, taking a +chair and playing with his hat between his knees, in his previous +fashion when beginning one of his monologues. 'When I began "Faith +and Love" I worked for weeks and months and years, having but one +thought, how to give artistic rendering to the great idea of the +Renascence of Wonder in Art symbolised in the vignette in your +father's third edition. I was very poor then; but to live upon bread +and water and paint a great picture, and know that you are being +watched by loving eyes above,--there is no joy like that. I found a +model--a fine and beautiful woman, the same magnificent blonde who +sat for so many of the Master's greatest pictures. For a long time my +work delighted me; but after awhile a suspicion, and then a sickening +dread, came upon me that all was not well with the picture. And then +the withering truth broke in upon me, the scales fell from my +eyes--the model's face was beautiful, but it was not right; the +expression I wanted was as far off as ever; there was but one right +expression in the world, and that I could not find. Ah! is there any +pain like that of discovering that all the toil of years has been in +vain, that the best you can do--the best that the spiritual world +permits you to do--is as far off the goal as when you began?' + +'And so you failed after all, Mr. Wilderspin?' I said, anxious to get +him away so that I might talk to Cyril alone upon the one subject at +my heart. + +'I told the model I should want her no more,' said Wilderspin, 'and +for two days and nights I sat in the studio in a dream, and could get +nothing to pass my lips but bread and water. Then it was that Mary +Wilderspin, my mother, remembered me, blessed me--sent me a +spiritual body--' + +'For God's sake!' I whispered to Cyril, 'take the good madman away; +you don't know how his prattle harrows me just now.' + +'Ah! never,' said Wilderspin, 'shall I forget that sunny morning when +was first revealed to me--' + +'My dear fellow,' said Cyril, 'to tell the adventures of that sunny +morning would, as I know from experience, keep us here for the next +three hours. So, as I must not miss my train, and as you cannot spare +a second from "Ruth and Boaz," come along.' + +While I was accompanying them through the corridors of the hotel, +Cyril said: 'You say he is not in love with his model? Don't you see +the sulky looks he gives me? I was the innocent cause of an unlucky +catastrophe with her. I'll tell you about that, however, another +time. Good-bye; I'm off to Paris.' + +'When you return to London,' I said to Cyril, 'I wish to consult you +upon, a matter that concerns me deeply.' + + +II + +On re-entering my room, as I stood and gazed at my father's book _The +Veiled Queen_, I understood something about that fascination which +the bird feels who goes fluttering to the serpent's jaws from sheer +repulsion. 'Am I indeed,' I asked myself, 'that same Darwinian +student who in Switzerland not long since turned over in scorn these +pages, where are enshrined superstitious stories as gross as any of +those told in Fenella Stanley's ignorant letters?' + +In a chapter on 'Love and Death' certain passages showed me how great +must have been the influence of this book on Wilderspin, and I no +longer wondered at what the painter had told me in Wales. I will give +one passage here, because it had a strange effect on my imagination, +as will be soon seen: + +'There is an old Babylonian tablet of Nin-ki-gal, the Queen of Death, +whose abode the tablet thus describes:-- + + To the house men enter, but cannot depart from; + To the road men go, but cannot return; + The abode of darkness and famine, + Where earth is their food--their nourishment clay. + Light is not seen; in darkness they dwell: + Ghosts, like birds, flutter their wings there; + On the gate and the gate-posts the dust lies undisturbed.' + +Another part of the inscription describes Nin-ki-gal on her throne +scattering over the earth the 'Seeds of Life and Death,' and chanting +her responses to the Sibyl, and to the prayers of the shapes kneeling +around her, the dead gods and the souls of all the sons of men. And I +often wonder whether my ancestress, Fenella Stanley, had any +traditional knowledge of the Queen of Death when she had her portrait +painted as the Sibyl. But whether she had or not, I never think of +this Babylonian Sibyl kneeling before Nin-ki-gal, surrounded by gods +and men, without seeing in the Sibyl's face the grand features of +Fenella Stanley. + + THE SIBYL. + + What answer, O Nin-ki-gal? + What answer, O Nin-ki-gal? + Have pity, O Queen of Queens! + + NIN-KI-GAL + + Life's fountain flows, + And still the drink is Death's; + Life's garden blows, + And still 'tis Ashtoreth's; [Footnote] + But all is Nin-ki-gal's. + I lent the drink of Day + To man and beast; + I lent the drink of Day + To gods for feast; + I poured the river of Night + On gods surceased: + Their blood was Nin-ki-gal's. + +[Footnote: Hathor.] + + THE SIBYL. + + What sowest thou, Nin-ki-gal? + What growest thou, Nin-ki-gal? + Have pity, O Queen of Queens! + + NIN-KI-GAL. + + Life-seeds I sow-- + To reap the numbered breaths; + Fair flowers I grow-- + And hers, red Ashtoreth's; + Yea, all are Nin-ki-gal's! + + THE SIBYL. + + What knowest thou, Nin-ki-gal? + What showest thou, Nin-ki-gal? + Have pity, O Queen of Queens! + + NIN-KI-GAL. + + Nor king nor slave I know, + Nor tribes, nor shibboleths; + But Life-in-Death I know-- + Yea, Nin-ki-gal I know-- + Life's Queen and Death's. + +And what was the effect upon me of these communings with the +ancestors whose superstitions I have, perhaps, been throughout this +narrative treating in a spirit that hardly becomes their descendant? + +The best and briefest way of answering this question is to confess +not what I thought, as I went on studying my father's book, its +strange theories and revelations, but what I did. I read the book all +day long: I read it all the next day. I cannot say what days passed. +One night I resumed my wanderings in the streets for an hour or two, +and then returned home and went to bed,--but not to sleep. For me +there was no more sleep till those ancestral voices could be +quelled--till that sound of Winnie's song in the street could be +stopped in my ears. For very relief from them I again leapt out of +bed, lit a candle, unlocked the cabinet, and taking out the amulet, +proceeded to examine the I facets as I did once before when I heard +in the Swiss cottage these words of my stricken father:-- + +'Should you ever come to love as I have loved, you will find that +materialism is intolerable--is hell itself--to the heart that has +known a passion like mine. You will find that it is madness, Hal, +madness, to believe in the word "never"! You will find that you +_dare_ not leave untried any creed, howsoever wild, that offers the +heart a ray of hope.' + +And then while the candle burnt out dead in the socket I sat in a +waking dream. + + +III + +The bright light of morning was pouring through the window. I gave a +start of horror, and cried, 'Whose face?' Opposite to me there seemed +to be sitting on a bed the figure of a man with a fiery cross upon +his breast. That strange wild light upon the face, as it the pains at +the heart were flickering up through the flesh--where had I seen it? +For a moment when, in Switzerland, my father bared his bosom to me, +that ancestral flame had flashed up into his dull lineaments. But +upon the picture of 'The Sibyl' in the portrait-gallery that +illumination was perpetual! + +'It is merely my own reflex in a looking-glass,' I exclaimed. + +Without knowing it I had slung the cross round my neck. + +And then Sinfi Lovell's voice seemed murmuring in my ears, 'Fenella +Stanley's dead and dust, and that's why she can make you put that +cross in your feyther's tomb, and she will, she will.' + +I turned the cross round: the front of it was now next to my skin. +Sharp as needles were those diamond and ruby points as I sat and +gazed in the glass. Slowly a sensation arose on my breast, of pain +that was a pleasure wild and new. _I was feeling the facet_. But the +tears trickling down, salt, through my moustache tears of laughter; +for Sinfi Lovell seemed again murmuring, 'For good or for ill, you +must dig deep to bury your daddy.' + +What thoughts and what sensations were mine as I sat there, pressing +the sharp stones into my breast, thinking of her to whom the sacred +symbol had come, not as a blessing, but as a curse--what agonies were +mine as I sat there sobbing the one word 'Winnie,'--could be +understood by myself alone, the latest blossom of the passionate +blood that for generations had brought bliss and bale to the Aylwins. + +* * * * * + +I cannot tell what I felt and thought, but only what I did. And while +I did it my reason was all the time scoffing at my heart (for whose +imperious behoof the wild, mad things I am about to record were +done)--scoffing, as an Asiatic malefactor will sometimes scoff at the +executioner whose pitiless and conquering saw is severing his +bleeding body in twain. I arose and murmured ironically to Fenella +Stanley as I wrapped the cross in a handkerchief and placed it in a +hand-valise: 'Secrecy is the first thing for us sacrilegists to +consider, dear Sibyl, in placing a valuable jewel in a tomb in a +deserted church. To take any one into our confidence would be +impossible; we must go alone. But to open the tomb and, close it +again, and leave no trace of what has been done, will require all our +skill. And as burglars' jemmies are not on open sale we must buy, on +our way to the railway-station, screw-drivers, chisels, a hammer, and +a lantern; for who should know better than you, dear Sibyl, that the +palace of Nin-ki-gal is dark?' + + +IV + +As I hurried towards the Great Eastern Railway station, I felt like a +horse drawn by a Gypsy whisperer to do something against his own +will, and yet in the street I stopped to buy the tools. Reaching +Dullingham in the afternoon, I lunched there; and as I walked thence +along the cliff, towards Raxton, I became more calm and collected. I +determined not to go near the Hall, lest my movements should be +watched by the servants. The old churchyard was full of workmen of +the navvy kind, and I learned that for the safety of the public it +had now become necessary to hurl down upon the sands some enormous +masses of the cliff newly disintegrated by the land-springs. I +descended the gangway at Flinty Point, and concealing my implements +behind a boulder in the cliff, ascended Needle Point, and went into +the town. + +I had previously become aware, from conversations with my mother, +that Wynne had been succeeded as custodian of the old church by +Shales, the humpbacked tailor, and I apprehended no difficulty in +getting the keys of the church and crypt from my simple-minded +acquaintance, without arousing his suspicions as to my mission. + +Therefore I went at once to the tailor's shop, but found that Shales +was out, attending an annual Odd-Fellows' carousal at Graylingham. +Consequently I was obliged to open my business to his mother, a far +shrewder person, and one who might be much more difficult to deal +with. However, the fact of the navvies being at work so close to a +church whose chancel belonged to my family afforded an excellent +motive for my visit. But before I could introduce the subject to Mrs. +Shales, I had to listen to an exhaustive chronicle of Raxton and +Graylingham doings since I had left. Hence by the time I quitted her +(with a promise to return the keys in the morning) the sun was +setting. + +But, as I walked along Wilderness Road towards the church, a new and +unexpected difficulty presented itself to my mind. I could not, +without running the risk of an interruption, enter the church till +after the Odd-Fellows had all returned from Graylingham, as Shales +and his companions would have to pass along Wilderness Road, which +skirts the churchyard. Shales himself was as short-sighted as a bat; +but his companions had the usual long-sight of agriculturists, and +would descry the slightest movement in the church-yard, or any +glimmer of light at the church windows. + +I would have postponed my enterprise till the morrow; but another +important appointment at the office of our solicitor with my mother, +precluded the possibility of this. So my visit to the catacomb must +perforce be late at night. + +Accordingly I descended the cliff and waited to hear the return of +the carousers. There I sat down upon the well-remembered boulder, +lost in recollections of all that had passed on those sands, while +over the sea the night spread like the widening, darkening wings of +an enormous spectral bird, whose brooding voice was the drone of the +waves as they came nearer and nearer. Then I began to think of what +lay before me, of the strangeness and wildness of my life. + +Then I recalled, with a shudder I could not repress, those sepulchral +chambers beneath the church, which, owing, I believe, to the +directions in an ancestor's will, had been the means of saving it +from demolition after a large portion of the churchyard bad been +condemned as dangerous. Raxton church is the only one along the coast +that can boast a crypt: all the churches are Perpendicular in style, +too late for crypts; a fact which is supposed to indicate that Raxton +was, in very early times, a seaside town of great importance; for the +crypt is much older than the church, and of an entirely different +kind of architecture. It was once a depository for the bones of +Danish warriors killed before the Norman Conquest; it extends not +only beneath the chancel, as in most cases, but beneath both the +transepts. The vaulting (supported partly on low columns of +remarkable beauty and partly on the basement wall of the church) is +therefore of unusual extent. The external door in the churchyard is +now hidden by drifted sand and mould. Many years ago, to give place +to the tombs and coffins of my family, the bones of the old Danes +were piled together in various corners; and the thought of these +bones called up the picture of the abode of 'Nin-ki-gal,' the Queen +of Death, + + Ghosts, like birds, flutter their wings there; + On the gate and the gate-posts the dust lies undisturbed. + +Then my mind began to make pictures for itself of my father lying in +his coffin. I have, I think, already said that his body had been +embalmed, in order to allow of its being conveyed from Switzerland to +England. Therefore I had no dread of being confronted by that +attribute of Death alluded to by D'Arcy which is the most cruel and +terrible of all--corruption. But then what change should I find in +the _expression_ of those features which on the day of the interment +had looked so calm? A thrill ran through my frame as I pictured +myself raising the coffin-lid, and finding expressed upon the face, +in language more appalling than any malediction in articulate +speech--the curse! + +At about ten o'clock I mounted the gangway and waited behind a +deserted bungalow built for Fenella Stanley till I should hear the +Odd-Fellows returning. In a few minutes I heard them approaching. +They were singing snatches of songs they had been entertained with at +Graylingham, and chatting and laughing as they went down Wilderness +Road towards Raxton. As they passed the bungalow and adjoining mill +there was a silence. + +I heard one man say: ''Ez Tom Wynne's ghooast bin seen here o' late?' + +'Nooa, but the Squoire's 'ez,' said another. + +'_I_ say they've both on 'em bin seed,' exclaimed a third voice, +which I recognised to be that of old Lantoff of the 'Fishing +Smack'--'leaseways, if they ain't bin seed they've bin 'eeared. One +Saturday arternoon old Sal Gunn wur in the church a-cleanin' The Hall +brasses, an' jist afore sundown, as she wur a-comin' away, she +'eeared a awful scrimmage an squealin' in the crypt, and she 'eeared +the v'ice o' the Squoire a-callin' out, and she 'eeared Tom Wynne's +v'ice a-cussin' an' a-swearin' at 'im. And more nor that, Sal told me +that on the night when the Squoire wur buried, she seed Tom +a-draggin' the Squoire's body along the churchyard to the cliff; only +she never spoke on it at the time. And Sal says she larnt in a dream +that the moment as Tom went and laid 'is 'and on that 'ere dimind +cross in the coffin, up springs Squoire and claps 'old o' Tom's +throat, and Tom takes 'old on him, and drags him out o' the church, +meanin' to chuck him over the cliffs, when God o' mighty, as wur +a-keepin' 'is eye on Tom all the time, he jist lets go o' the cliffs +and down they falls, and kills Tom, an' buries him an' Squoire tew.' + +'Did you say Sal seed all that in a dream? or did she see it in ole +ale, Muster Lantoff?' said Shales. + +'Well,' replied Lantoff, as the party turned past the bungalow, +'p'raps it wur ole ale as made me see in this very bungaler when I +wur a bor the ghooast o' the great Gypsy lady whose pictur hangs up +at the Hall, her as they used to call the old Squoire's Witch-wife.' +Soon the singing and laughing were renewed; and I stood and listened +to the sounds till they died away in the distance. Then I unlocked +the church door and entered. + + +V + +As I walked down an aisle, the echoes of my footsteps seemed almost +loud enough to be heard on the Wilderness Road. No one could have a +more contemptuous disbelief in ghosts than I, and yet the man's words +about the ghost of Fenella Stanley haunted me. When I reached the +heavy nailed door leading down to the crypt, I lit the lantern. The +rusty key turned so stiffly in the lock, that, to relieve my hands +(which were burdened with the implements I had brought), I slung the +hair-chain of the cross around my neck, intending merely to raise the +coffin-lid sufficiently high to admit of my slipping the amulet in. + +Having, with much difficulty, opened the door, I entered the crypt. +The atmosphere, though not noisome, was heavy, and charged with an +influence that worked an extraordinary effect upon my brain and +nerves. It was as though my personality were becoming dissipated, +until at last it was partly the reflex of ancestral experiences. +Scarcely had this mood passed before a sensation came upon me of +being fanned as if by clammy bat-like wings; and then the idea seized +me that the crypt scintillated with the eyes of a malignant foe. It +was as if the curse which, until I heard Winnie a beggar singing in +the street, had been to me but a collocation of maledictory words, +harmless save in their effect upon her superstitious mind, had here +assumed an actual corporeal shape. In the uncertain light shed by the +lantern, I seemed to see the face of this embodied curse with an +ever-changing mockery of expression; at one moment wearing the +features of my father; at another those of Tom Wynne; at another the +leer of the old woman I had seen in Cyril's studio. + +'It is an illusion,' I said, as I closed my eyes to shut it out; 'it +is an illusion, born of opiate fumes or else of an over-taxed brain +and an exhausted stomach.' Yet it disturbed me as much as if my +reason had accepted it as real. Against this foe I seemed to be +fighting towards my father's coffin as a dreamer lights against a +nightmare, and At last I fell over one of the heaps of old Danish +bones in a corner of the crypt. The candle fell from my lantern, and +I was in darkness. As I sat there I passed into a semi-conscious +state. I saw sitting at the apex of a towering pyramid, built of +phosphorescent human bones that reached far, far above the stars, the +'Queen of Death, Nin-ki-gal,' scattering seeds over the earth below. +At the pyramid's base knelt the suppliant figure of a Sibyl pleading +with the Queen of Death: + + What answer, O Nin-ki-gal? + Have pity, O Queen of Queens! + +And the Sibyl's face was that of Fenella Stanley--her voice was that +of Sinfi Lovell. + +And then from that dizzy height seemed to come a cackling laugh:-- + +'You makes me blush, an' blow me if blushin' ain't bin an' made +_t'other_ eye dry. I lives in Primrose Court, Great Queen Street, an' +my reg'lar perfession is a-sellin' coffee "so airly in the mornin'," +and I've got a darter as ain't quite so 'ansom as me, bein' the moral +of her father.' + +And now in my vision I perceived that Nin-ki-gal's face was that of +the old woman I had seen in Cyril's studio, and that she was dressed +in the same fantastic in which Cyril had bedizened her. + + +VI + +I sprang up, struck a light and relit the candle, and soon reached +the coffin resting on a stone table. I found, on examining it, that +although it had been screwed down after the discovery of the +violation, the work had been so loosely done that a few turns of the +screwdriver were sufficient to set the lid free. Then I paused; for +to raise the loosened lid (knowing as I did that it was only the +blood's inherited follies that had conquered my rationalism and +induced me to disturb the tomb) seemed to require the strength of a +giant. Moreover, the fantastic terror of old Lantoff's story, which +at another time would have made me smile, also took bodily shape, and +the picture of a dreadful struggle at the edge of the cliff between +Winnie's father and mine seemed to hang in the air--a fascinating +mirage of ghastly horror. + +* * * * * + +At last, by an immense effort of will, I closed my eyes and pushed +the lid violently on one side. + +* * * * * + +The 'sweet odours and divers kinds of spices' of the Jewish embalmer +rose like a gust of incense--rose and spread through the crypt like +the sweet breath of a new-born blessing, till the air of the +charnel-house seemed laden with a mingled odour of indescribable +sweetness. Never had any odour so delighted my senses; never had any +sensuous influence so soothed my soul. + +While I stood inhaling the scents of opobalsam, and cinnamon and +myrrh, and wine of palm and oil of cedar, and all the other spices of +the Pharaohs, mingled in one strange aromatic cloud, my personality +seemed again to become, in part, the reflex of ancestral experiences. + +I opened my eyes. I looked into the coffin. The face (which had been +left by the embalmer exposed) confronted mine. 'Fenella Stanley!' I +cried, for the great transfigurer Death had written upon my father's +brow that self-same message which the passions of a thousand Romany +ancestors had set upon the face of her whose portrait hung in the +picture-gallery. And the rubies and diamonds and beryls of the cross +as it now hung upon my breast, catching the light of the opened +lantern in my left hand, shed over the features an indescribable +reflex hue of quivering rose. + +Beneath his head I placed the silver casket: I hung the hair-chain +round his neck: I laid upon his breast the long-loved memento of his +love and the parchment scroll. + +Then I sank down by the coffin, and prayed. I knew not what or why. +But never since the first human prayer was breathed did there rise to +heaven a supplication so incoherent and so wild as mine. Then I rose, +and laying my hand upon my father's cold brow, I said: 'You have +forgiven me for all the wild words that I uttered in my long agony. +They were but the voice of intolerable misery rebelling against +itself. You, who suffered so much--who know so well those flames +burning at the heart's core--those flames before which all the forces +of the man go down like prairie-grass before the fire and wind--you +have forgiven me. You who knew the meaning of the wild word Love--you +have forgiven your suffering son, stricken like yourself. You have +forgiven me, father, and forgiven him, the despoiler of your tomb: +you have removed the curse, and his child--his innocent child--is +free.' + +I replaced the coffin-lid, and screwing it down left the crypt, so +buoyant and exhilarated that I stopped in the churchyard and asked +myself: 'Do I, then, really believe that she was under a curse? Do I +really relieve that my restoring the amulet has removed it? Have I +really come to this?' + +Throughout all these proceedings--yes, even amidst that prayer to +Heaven, amidst that impassioned appeal to my dead father--had my +reason been keeping up that scoffing at my heart which I have before +described. + +I knocked up the landlord of the 'White Hart,' and, turning into bed, +slept my first peaceful sleep since my trouble. + +To escape awkward questions, I did not in the morning take back the +keys to Shales's house myself, but sent them, and walking to +Dullingham took the train to London. + + + +X + +BEHIND THE VEIL + + +I + +When I met my mother at the solicitor's office next day, she was +astonished at my cheerfulness and at the general change in me. As we +left the office together, she said, + +'Everything is now arranged: your aunt and I have decided to accept +Lord Sleaford's invitation to go for a cruise in his yacht. We leave +to-morrow evening. Lord Sleaford has promised to take me to-morrow +afternoon to Mr. Wilderspin's studio, to see the great painter's +portrait of me, which is now, I understand, quite finished.' + +'Why did you not ask me to accompany you, instead of asking +Sleaford?' + +'I did not know that you would care to do so.' 'Dear mother,' I said, +in a tender tone that startled her, 'you must let me go with you and +Sleaford to the studio.' + +She consented, and on the following afternoon I called at my aunt's +house in Belgrave Square. The hall was full of portmanteaux, boxes, +and packages. Sleaford had already arrived, and was waiting with +stolid patience for my mother, who had gone to her room to dress. He +began to talk to me about the astonishing gifts of Cyril Aylwin. + +'Have you made an appointment with Wilderspin?' I said to my mother, +when she entered the room. 'The last time I saw him he seemed to be +much occupied with some disturbing affairs of his own.' + +'Appointment? No,' said she, with an air that seemed to imply that an +Aylwin, even with Gypsy blood in his veins, in calling upon Art, was +conferring upon it a favour to be welcomed at any time. + +'I have not seen this portrait yet,' said Sleaford, as the carriage +moved off; 'but Cyril Aylwin says it is magnificent, and if anybody +knows what's good and what's bad it's Cyril Aylwin.' + +'Do you know,' said my mother to me, 'I have taken vastly to this +eccentric kinsman of ours? I had really no idea that a bohemian could +be so much like a gentleman; but, of course, an Aylwin must always be +an Aylwin.' + +'Haw, haw!' laughed Sleaford to himself, 'that's good about Cyril +Aylwin though--that's dooced good.' + +'We shall see Wilderspin's great picture, "Faith and Love," at the +same time,' I said, as we approached Chelsea; 'for Wilderspin tells +me that he has borrowed it from the owner to make a replica of it.' + +'That is very fortunate,' said my mother. 'I have the greatest desire +to see this picture and its wonderful predella. Wilderspin is one of +the few painters who revert to the predella of the old masters. He is +said to combine the colour of him whom he calls "his master" with the +draughtsmanship and intellect of Shields, whose stained-glass windows +the owner was showing me the other day at Eaton Hall; and do you +know, Henry, that the painter of this wonderful "Faith and Love" is +never tired of declaring that the subject was inspired by your dear +father?' + +When we reached the studio the servant said that Mr. Wilderspin was +much indisposed that afternoon, and was also just getting ready to go +to Paris, where he was to join Mr. Cyril in his studio; 'but perhaps +he would see us,'--an announcement that brought a severe look to my +mother's face, and another half-suppressed 'Haw, haw!' from +Sleaford's deep chest. + +Mounting the broad old staircase, we found ourselves in the studio of +the famous spiritualist-painter--one of two studios; for Wilderspin +had turned two rooms communicating with each other by folding-doors +into a sort of double studio. One of these rooms, which was of +moderate size, fronted the north-east, the other faced the +south-west. There were (as I soon discovered) easels in both. It was +the smaller of these rooms into which we were now shown by the +servant. The walls were covered with sketches and drawings in various +stages, and photographs of sculpture. + +'By Jove, that's dooced like!' said Sleaford, pointing to my mother's +portrait, which was standing on the floor, as though just returned +from the frame-maker's: 'ask Cyril Aylwin if it ain't when you see +him.' + +It was a truly magnificent painting, but more full of imagination +than of actual portraiture. + +One of the windows was open, and the noise of an anvil from a +blacksmith's shop in Maud Street came into the room. + +'Do you know,' said my mother in an undertone, 'that this strange +genius can only, when in London, work to the sound of a blacksmith's +anvil? Nothing will induce him to paint a portrait out of his own +studio; and I observed, when I was sitting to him here, that +sometimes when the noise from the anvil ceased he laid down his brush +and waited for the hideous din to be resumed. + +Wilderspin now came through the folding-doors, and greeted us in his +usual simple, courteous way. But I saw that he was in trouble. 'The +portrait will look better yet,' he said. 'I always leave the final +glazing till the picture is in the frame.' + +After we had thoroughly examined the portrait, we turned to look at a +large canvas upon an easel. Wilderspin had evidently been working +upon it very lately. + +'That's "Ruth and Boaz," don't you know?' said Sleaford. 'Finest crop +of barley I ever saw in my life, judgin' from the size of the +sheaves. Barley paid better than wheat last year. So the farmers all +say.' + +'Don't look at it,' said Wilderspin. 'I have been taking out part of +Ruth, and was just beginning to repaint her from the shoulders +upwards. It will never be finished now,' he continued with a sigh. + +We asked him to allow us to see 'Faith and Love.' + +'It is in the next room,' said he, 'but the predella is here on the +next easel. I have removed it from underneath the picture to work +upon.' + +'The head of Ruth has been taken out,' said my mother, turning to me: +'but isn't it like an old master? You ought to see the marvellous +Pre-Raphaelite pictures at Mr. Graham's and Mr. Leyland's, Henry.' + +'Pre-Raphaelites?' said Wilderspin, 'the Master rhymes, madam, and +Burne-Jones actually _reads_ the rhymes! However, they are on the +right track in art, though neither has the slightest intercourse with +the spirit world, not the slightest.' + +'My exploits as a painter have not been noticeable as yet,' I said; +'but an amateur may know what a barley-field is. That is one before +us. He may know what a man in love is; Boaz there is in love.' + +'I wish we could see the woman's face,' said Sleaford. 'A woman, you +know, without a face--' + +'Come and see the predella of "Faith and Love,"' said Wilderspin, and +he moved towards an easel where rested the predella, a long narrow +picture without a frame. My mother followed him, leaving me standing +before the picture of 'Ruth and Boaz.' Although the head of Ruth had +been painted out, the picture seemed to throb with life. Boaz had +just discovered the Moabitish maiden in the gleaming barley-field, as +she had risen from stooping to glean the corn. Two ears of barley +were in one hand. In the face of Boaz was an expression of surprise, +and his eyes were alight with admiration. The picture was finished +with the exception of the face of Ruth, which was but newly sketched +in. Wilderspin had contrived to make her attitude and even the very +barley-ears in her hand (one of which was dangling between her +slender fingers in the act of falling) express innocent perturbation +and girlish modesty. + + +II + +At length I joined the others, who were standing before the easel, +looking at the predella which, as Wilderspin again took care to tell +us, had been removed from the famous picture of 'Faith and Love' we +were about to see in the next room--'the culmination and final +expression of the Renascence of Wonder in Art.' + +'Perhaps it is fortunate,' said he, 'that I happen to be working at +this very time upon the predella, which acts as a key to the meaning +of the design. You will now have the advantage of seeing the predella +before you see the picture itself. And really it would be to the +advantage of the picture if every one could see it under like +circumstances; it would add immensely to the effect of the design. +Look well and carefully at the predella first. Try to imagine the +Oriental Queen behind that veil, then observe the way in which the +features are expressed through the veil; and then, but not till then, +come into the adjoining room and see the picture itself, see what +Isis really is (according to the sublime idea of Philip Aylwin) when +Faith and Love, the twin angels of all true art, upraise the veil.' + +He then turned and passed through the folding-doors into a room of +great size, crowded with easels, upon which pictures were resting. + +The predella before me seemed a miracle of imaginative power. At that +time I had not seen the work of the great poet-painter of modern +times whom Wilderspin called 'the Master,' and by whom he had been +unconsciously inspired. + +'Most beautiful!' my mother ejaculated, as we three lingered before +the predella. 'Do look at the filmy texture of the veil.' + +'Looks more like steam than a white veil, don't you know?' said +Sleaford. + +'Like steam, my lord?' exclaimed Wilderspin from the next room. 'The +painter of that veil had peculiar privileges. As a child he had been +in the habit of watching a face through the curtain of steam around a +blacksmith's forge when hot iron is plunged into the water-trench, +and the face, my lord, though begrimed by earthly toil, was an +angel's. No wonder, then, that the painting in that veil is unique in +art. The flesh-tints that are pearly and yet rosy seem, as you +observe, to be breaking through it, and yet you cannot say what is +the actual expression on the face. But now come and see the picture +itself.' + +My mother and Sleaford lingered for a moment longer, and then passed +between the folding-doors. + +But I did not follow them; I could not. For now there was something +in the predella before me which fascinated me, I scarcely knew why. +It was the figure of the queen--the figure between the two sleeping +angels--the figure behind the veil, and expressed by the veil--that +enthralled me. + +There was a turn about the outlined neck and head that riveted my +gaze; and, as I looked from these to the veil falling over the face, +a vision seemed to be rapidly growing before my eyes--a vision that +stopped my breath--a vision of a face struggling to express itself +through that snowy film--_whose_ face? + +* * * * * + +'In the crypt my senses had a kind of license to play me tricks,' I +murmured; 'but now and here my reason _shall_ conquer.' + +And I stood and gazed at the veil. During all the time I could hear +every word of the talk between Wilderspin, Sleaford, and my mother +before the picture in the other room. + +'Awfully fine picture,' said Sleaford, 'but the Queen there--Isis: +more like a European face than an Egyptian. I've been to Egypt a good +deal, don't you know?' + +'This is not an historical painting, my lord. As Philip Aylwin says, +"the only soul-satisfying function of art is to give what Zoroaster +calls 'apparent pictures of unapparent realities.'" Perfect beauty +has no nationality; hers has none. All the perfections of woman +culminate in her. How can she then be disfigured by paltry +characteristics of this or that race or nation? In looking at that +group, my lord, nationality is forgotten, and should be forgotten. +She is the type of Ideal Beauty whose veil can never be raised save +by the two angels of all true art, Faith and Love. She is the type of +Nature, too, whose secret, as Philip Aylwin says, "no science but +that of Faith and Love can read."' + +'Seems to be the type of a good deal; but it's all right, don't you +know? Awfully fine picture! Awfully fine woman!' said Sleaford in a +conciliatory tone. 'She's a good deal fairer, though, than any +Eastern women I've seen; but then I suppose she has worn a veil al +her life up to now. Most of 'em take sly peeps, and let in the hot +Oriental sun, and that tans 'em, don't you know?' + +'And the original of this face?' I heard my mother say in a voice +that seemed agitated; 'could you tell me something about the original +of this remarkable face?' 'The model?' said Wilderspin. 'We are not +often asked about our models, but a model like that would endow +mediocrity itself with genius, for, though apparently, and by way of +beneficent illusion, the daughter of an earthly costermonger, she was +a wanderer from another and a better world. She is not more beautiful +here than when I saw her first in the sunlight on that memorable day, +at the corner of Essex Street, Strand, bare-headed, her shoulders +shining like patches of polished ivory here and there through the +rents in her tattered dress, while she stood gazing before her, +murmuring a verse of Scripture, perfectly unconscious whether she was +dressed in rags or velvet; her eyes--' + +'The eyes--it _is_ the eyes, don't you know--it is the eyes that are +not quite right,' said Sleaford. 'Blue eyes with black eyelashes are +awfully fine; you don't see 'em in Egypt. But I suppose that's the +type of something too. Types always floor me, don't you know?' + +'But the scene is no longer Egypt, my lord; it is Corinth,' replied +Wilderspin. + +During this dialogue I stood motionless before the predella: I could +not stir; my feet seemed fixed in the floor by what can only be +described as a wild passion of expectation. As I stood there a +marvellous change appeared to be coming over the veiled figure of the +predella. The veil seemed to be growing more and more filmy--more and +more like the 'steam' to which Sleaford had compared it, till at last +it resolved itself into a veil of mist--into the rainbow-tinted +vapours of a gorgeous mountain sunrise--and looking straight at me +were two blue eyes sparkling with childish happiness and childish +greeting, through flushed mists across a pool on Snowdon. + +That she was found at last my heart knew, though my brain was dazed. +That in the next room, within a few yards of me, my mother and +Sleaford and Wilderspin were looking at the picture of Winifred's +face unclouded by the veil, my heart knew as clearly as though my +eyes were gazing at it, and yet I could not stir. Yes, I knew that +she was now neither a beggar in the street, nor a prisoner in one of +the dens of London, nor starving in a squalid garret, but was safe +under the sheltering protection of a good man. I knew that I had only +to pass between those folding-doors to see her in Wilderspin's +picture--see her dressed in the 'azure-coloured tunic bordered with +stars,' and the upper garment of the 'colour of the moon at +moonrise,' which Wilderspin had so vividly described in Wales; and +yet, paralysed by expectation, I could not stir. + + +III + +Soon I was conscious that my mother, Sleaford, and Wilderspin were +standing by my side, that Wilderspin's hand was laid on my arm, and +that I was pointing at the predella--pointing and muttering, + +'She lives! She is saved.' + +My mother led me into the other studio, and I stood before the great +picture. Wilderspin and Sleaford, feeling that something had occurred +of a private and delicate nature, lingered out of hearing in the +smaller studio. + +'I must be taken to her at once,' I muttered to my mother; 'at once.' + +So living was the portrait of Winifred that I felt that she must be +close at hand. I looked round to see if she herself were not standing +by me dressed in the dazzling draperies gleaming from Wilderspin's +superb canvas. + +But in place of Winifred the profile of my mother's face, cold, +proud, and white, met my gaze. Again did the stress of overmastering +emotion make of me a child, as it had done on the night of the +landslip. 'Mother!' I said, 'you see who it is?' + +She made no answer: she stood looking steadfastly at the picture; but +the tremor of the nostrils, the long deep breaths she drew, told me +of the fierce struggle waging within her breast between conscience +and pity, with rage and cruel pride. My old awe of her returned. I +was a little boy again, trembling for Winnie. In some unaccountable +and, I believe, unprecedented way I had always felt that she, my own +mother, belonged to some haughty race superior to mine and Winnie's; +and nothing but the intensity of my love for Winnie could ever have +caused me to rebel against my mother. + +'Dear mother,' I murmured, 'all the mischief and sorrow and pain are +ended now; and we shall all be happy; for you have a kind heart, +dear, and cannot help loving poor Winnie, when you come to know her.' + +She made no answer save that her lips slowly reddened again after the +pallor; then came a quiver in them, as though pity were conquering +pride within her breast, and then that contemptuous curl that had +often in the past cowed the heart of the fearless and pugnacious boy +whom no peril of sea or land could appal. + +'She is found,' I said. 'And, mother, there is no longer an +estrangement between you and me. I forgive you everything now.' + +I leapt from her as though I had been stung, so sudden and unexpected +was the look of scorn that came over her face as she said, 'You +forgive me!' It recalled my struggle with her on that dreadful +night: and in a moment I became myself again. The pleading boy +became, at a flash, the stern and angry man that misery had made him. +With my heart hedged once more with points of steel to all the world +but Winnie, I turned away. I did not know then that her attitude +towards me at this moment came from the final struggle in her breast +between her pride and that remorse which afterwards took possession +of her and seemed as though it would make the remainder of her life a +tragedy without a smile in it. At that moment Wilderspin and Sleaford +came in from the smaller studio. 'Where is she?' I said to +Wilderspin. 'Take me to her at once--take me to her who sat for this +picture. It is she whom I and Sinfi Lovell were seeking in Wales.' + +A look of utter astonishment, then one of painful perplexity, came +over his face--a look which I attributed to his having heard part of +the conversation between my mother and myself. + +'You mean the--the--model? She is not here, Mr. Aylwin,' said he. +'The same young lady you were seeking in Wales! Mysterious indeed are +the ways of the spirit world!' and then his lips moved silently as +though in prayer. + +'Where is she?' I asked again. + +'I will tell you all about her soon--when we are alone,' he said in +an undertone. 'Does the picture satisfy you?' + +The picture! He was thinking of his art. Amid all that gorgeous +pageant in which mediæval angels; were mixed with classic youths and +flower-crowned; maidens, in such a medley of fantastic beauty as +could never have been imagined save by a painter; who was one-third +artist, one-third madman, and one-third seer--amid all the marvels of +that strange, uncanny culmination of the neo-Romantic movement in Art +which had excited the admiration of one set of the London critics and +the scorn of others, I had really and fully seen but one face--the +face of Isis, or Pelagia, or Eve, or _Natura Benigna_, or whosoever +she was looking at me with those dear eyes of Winnie's which were my +very life--looking at me with the same bewitching, indescribable +expression that they wore when she sat with her 'Prince of the Mist' +on Snowdon. I tried to take in the _ensemble_. In vain! Nothing but +the face and figure of Winifred--crowned with seaweed as in the +Raxton photograph--could stay for the thousandth part of a second +upon my eyes. + +'Wilderspin,' I said, 'I cannot do the picture justice at this +moment. I must see it again--after I have seen her. Where is she? Can +I not see her now?' + +'You cannot.' + +'Can I not see her to-day?' + +'You cannot. I will tell you soon, and I have much to tell you,' said +Wilderspin, looking uneasily round at my mother, who did not seem +inclined to leave us. 'I will tell you all about her when--when you +are sufficiently calm.' + +'Tell me now,' I said. + +'Gad! this is a strange affair, don't you know? It would puzzle Cyril +Aylwin himself,' said Sleaford. 'What the dooce does it all mean?' + +'Is she safe?' I cried to Wilderspin. + +There was a pause. + +'Is she safe?' I cried again. + +'Quite safe,' said Wilderspin, in a tone whose solemnity would have +scared me had the speaker been any other person than this eccentric +creature. 'When you are less agitated, I will tell you all about +her.' + +'No! now, now!' + + +IV + +'Well, Mr. Aylwin,' said Wilderspin, 'when I first saw your father's +book, _The Veiled Queen_, it was the vignette on the title-page +that attracted me. In the eyes of that beautiful child-face, even as +rendered by a small reproduction, there was the very expression that +my soul had been yearning after--the expression which no painter of +woman's beauty had ever yet caught and rendered. I felt that he who +could design or suggest to a designer such a vignette must be +inspired, and I bought the book: it was as an artist, not as a +thinker, that I bought the book for the vignette. When, on reading +it, I came to understand the full meaning of the design, such sweet +comfort and hope did the writer's words give me, that I knew at once +who had impressed me to read it--I knew that my mission in life was +to give artistic development to the sublime ideas of Philip Aylwin. +I began the subject of "Faith and Love." But the more I tried to +render the expression that had fascinated me the more impossible did +the task seem to me. Howsoever imaginative may be any design, the +painter who would produce a living picture must paint from life, and +then he has to fight against his model's expression. Do you remember +my telling you the other day how the spirit of Mary Wilderspin in +heaven came upon me in my sore perplexity and blessed me--sent me a +spiritual body--led me out into the street, and--' + +'Yes, yes, I remember; but what happened?' + +'We will sit,' said Wilderspin. + +He placed chairs for us, and I perceived that my mother did not +intend to go. + +'Well,' he continued, 'on that sunny morning I was impressed to +leave my studio and go out into the streets. It was then that I found +what I had been seeking,--the expression in the beautiful child-face +off the vignette.' + +'In the street!' I heard my mother say to herself. 'How did it come +about?' she asked aloud. + +'It had long been my habit to roam about the streets of London +whenever I could afford the time to do so, in the hope of finding +what I sought, the fascinating and indescribable expression on that +one lovely child-face. Sometimes I believed that I had found this +expression. I have followed women for miles, traced them home, +introduced myself to them, told them of my longings; and have then, +after all, come away in bitter disappointment. The insults and +revilings I have, on these occasions, sometimes submitted to I will +narrate to no man, for they would bring me no respect in a cynical +age like this--an age which Carlyle spits at and the great and good +John Ruskin chides. Sometimes my dear friend Mr. Cyril has +accompanied me on these occasions, and he has seen how I have been +humiliated.' + +An involuntary 'haw, haw!' came from Sleaford, but looking towards my +mother and perceiving that she was listening with intense eagerness, +he said: 'Ten thousand pardons, but Cyril Aylwin's droll +stories,--don't you know? they will--hang it all--keep comin' up and +makin' a fellow laugh.' + +'Well,' continued Wilderspin, 'on that memorable morning I was +impressed to walk down the street towards Temple Bar. I was passing +close to the wall to escape the glare of the sun, when I was stopped +suddenly by a sight which I knew could only have been sent to me in +that hour of perplexity by her who had said that Jesus would let her +look down and watch her boy. Moreover, at that moment the noise of +the Strand seemed to cease in my ears, which were rilled with the +music I love best--the only music that I have patience to listen +to--the tinkle of a black-smith's anvil.' + +'Blacksmith's anvil in the Strand?' said Sleaford. + +'It was from heaven, my lord, that the music fell like rain; it was +a sign from Mary Wilderspin who lives there.' + +'For God's sake be quick!' I exclaimed. 'Where was it?' + +'At the corner of Essex Street. A bright-eyed, bright-haired girl in +rags was standing bare-headed, holding out boxes of matches for sale, +and murmuring words of Scripture. This she was doing quite +mechanically, as it seemed, and unobservant of the crowd passing +by,--individuals of whom would stop for a moment to look at her; some +with eyes of pure admiration and some with other eyes. The squalid +attire in which she was clothed seemed to add to her beauty.' + +'My poor Winnie!' I murmured, entirely overcome. + +'She seemed to take as little heed of the heat and glare as of the +people, but stood there looking before her, murmuring texts from +Scripture as though she were communing with the spiritual world. Her +eyes shook and glittered in the sunshine; they seemed to emit lights +from behind the black lashes surrounding them; the ruddy lips were +quivering. There was an innocence about her brow, and yet a mystic +wonder in her eyes which formed a mingling of the child-like with the +maidenly such as--' + +'Man! man! would you kill me with your description?' I cried. Then +grasping Wilderspin's hand, I said, 'But,--but was she begging, +Wilderspin? Not literally begging! My Winnie! my poor Winnie!' + +My mother looked at me. The gaze was full of a painful interest; but +she recognised that between me and her there now was rolling an +infinite sea or emotion, and her eyes drooped before mine as though +she had suddenly invaded the privacy of a stranger. + +'She was offering matches for sale,' said Wilderspin. + +'Winnie! Winnie! Winnie!' I murmured. 'Did she seem emaciated, +Wilderspin? Did she seem as though she wanted food?' + +'Heaven, no!' exclaimed my mother. + +'No,' replied Wilderspin firmly. 'On that point who is a better judge +than the painter of "Faith and Love"? She did not want food. The +colour of the skin was not--was not--such as I have seen--when a +woman is dying for want of food.' + +'God bless you, Wilderspin, God bless you! But what then?--what +followed?' + +'Well, Mr. Aylwin, I stood for some time gazing at her, muttering +thanks to my mother for what I had found. I then went up to her, and +asked her for a box of matches. She held me out a box, mechanically, +as it seemed, and, when I had taken it of her, she held out her hand +just as though she had been a real earthly beggar-girl; but that was +part of the beneficent illusion of Heaven.' + +'That was for the price, don't you know?' said Sleaford. 'What did +you give her?' + +'I gave her a shilling, my lord, which she looked at for some time in +a state of bewilderment. She then began to feel about her as if for +something.' + +'She was feelin' for the change, don't you know?' said Sleaford, not +in the least degree perceiving how these interruptions of a prosaic +mind were maddening me. + +'I told her that I wanted to speak to her,' continued Wilderspin, +'and asked her where she lived. She gave me the same bewildered, +other-world look with which she had regarded the shilling, a look +which seemed to say, "Go away now: leave me alone!" As I did not go, +she began to appear afraid of me, and moved away towards Temple Bar, +and then crossed the street. I followed, as far behind as I could +without running the danger of losing sight of her, to a wretched +place running out of Great Queen Street. Holborn, which I afterwards +found was called Primrose Court, and when I got there she had +disappeared in one of the squalid houses opening into the court. I +knocked at the first door once or twice before an answer came, and +then a tiny girl with the face of a woman opened it. "Is there a +beggar-girl living here?" I asked. "No," answered the child in a +sharp, querulous voice. "You mean Meg Gudgeon's gal wot sings and +does the rainy-night dodge. She lives next house." And the child +slammed the door in my face. I knocked at the next door, and after +waiting for a minute it was opened by a short, middle-aged woman, +with black eyes and a flattened nose, who stared at me, and then +said, "A Quaker, by the looks o' ye." She had the strident voice of a +raven, and she smelt, I thought, of gin.' + +'But, Mr. Wilderspin, Mr. Wilderspin, you said the girl was safe!' + +It was my mother's voice, but so loud, sharp, and agonised was it +that it did not seem to be her voice at all. In that dreadful moment, +however, I had no time to heed it. At the description of the hideous +den and the odious Mrs. Gudgeon, whose face as I had seen it in +Cyril's studio had haunted me in the crypt, a dreadful shudder +passed through my frame; an indescribable sense of nausea stirred +within me; and for a moment I felt as though the pains of +dissolution were on me. And there was something in Wilderspin's +face--what was it?--that added to my alarm. 'Stay for a moment,' I +said to him; 'I cannot yet bear to hear any more.' + +'I know the dread that has come upon you, and upon your kind, +sympathetic mother,' said he; 'but she you are disturbed about was +not a prisoner in the kind of place my words seem to describe.' + +'But the woman?' said my mother. 'How could she be safe in such +hands?' + +'Has he not said she is safe?' I cried, in a voice that startled even +my own ears, so loud and angry it was, and yet I hardly knew why. + +'You forget,' said Wilderspin, turning to my mother, 'that the whole +spiritual world was watching over her.' + +'But was the place very--was it so very squalid?' said my mother. +'Pray describe it to us, Mr. Wilderspin; I am really very anxious.' + +'No!' I said; 'I want no description: I shall go and see for myself.' + +'But; Henry, I am most anxious to know about this poor girl, and I +want Mr. Wilderspin to tell us how and where he found her.' + +'The "poor girl" concerns me alone, mother. Our calamities--Winnie's +and mine--are between us two and God....You engaged her, Wilderspin, +of the woman whom I saw at Cyril's studio, to sit as a model? What +passed when she came?' + +'The woman brought her next day,' said Wilderspin, 'and I sketched in +the face of Pelagia as Isis at once. I had already taken out the face +of the previous model that had dissatisfied me. I now took out the +figure too, for the figure of this new model was as perfect as her +face.' + +'Go on, go on. What occurred?' + +'Nothing, save that she stood dumb, like one who had no language save +that of another world. But at the second sitting she had a fit of a +most dreadful kind.' + +'Ah! Tell me quickly,' I said. Her face became suddenly distorted by +an expression of terror such as I had never seen and never imagined +possible. I have caught it exactly in my picture "Christabel." She +revived and tried to run out of the studio. Her mother and I seized +her, and she then fell down insensible.' + +'What occasioned the fit? What had frightened her?' + +'That is what I am not quite certain about. When she entered the +studio she fixed her eyes upon a portrait which I had been working +upon; but that must have been merely a coincidence.' + +'A portrait!' I cried. And Winifred's scared expression when she +encountered my mother's look of hate in the churchyard came back to +me like a scene witnessed in a flash of lightning. 'The portrait was +my mother's?' + +'It was the face of the kind, tender, and noble lady your mother,' +said Wilderspin gently. + +I gave a hurried glance at my mother, and saw the pallor of her +face,--but to me the world held now only two realities, Winifred and +Wilderspin; all other people were dreams, obtrusive and irritating +dreams. 'Go on, go on,' I said. + +'She recovered,' continued Wilderspin, 'and seemed to have forgotten +all about the portrait, which I had put away.' + +'Did she talk?' + +'Never, Mr. Aylwin,' said Wilderspin solemnly. 'Nor did I invite her +to talk, knowing whence she came--from the spirit-world. At the first +few sittings Mrs. Gudgeon came with her, and would sit looking on +with the intention of seeing that she came to no harm. She said her +daughter was very beautiful, and she, her mother, never trusted her +with men.' + +'God bless the hag, God bless her; but go on!' + +'Gradually Mrs. Gudgeon seemed to acquire more confidence in me; and +one day, on leaving, she lingered behind the girl, and told me that +her daughter, though uncommonly stupid and a little touched in the +head, had now learnt her way to my studio, and that in future she +should let her come alone, as she believed that she could trust her +with me. She warned me earnestly, however, not to "worrit" the girl +by asking her all sorts of questions.' + +'And there she was right,' I cried. 'But you did ask her +questions,--I see you did, you asked her about her father and brought +on another catastrophe.' + +'No,' said Wilderspin with gentle dignity; 'I was careful not to ask +her questions, for her mother told me that she was liable to fits.' + +'Mr. Wilderspin, I beg your pardon,' I said. + +'I see you are deeply troubled,' said he; 'but, Mr. Aylwin, you need +not beg my pardon. Since I saw Mary Wilderspin, my mother, die for +her children, no words of mere Man have been able to give me pain.' + +'Go on, go on. What did the woman say to you?' + +'She said, "The fewer questions you ask her the better, and don't pay +her any money. She'd only lose it; I'll come for it at the proper +times." From that day the model came to the sittings alone, and Mrs. +Gudgeon came at the end of every week for the money.' + +'And did the model maintain her silence all this time?' + +'She did. She would, every few minutes, sink into a reverie, and +appear to be stone-deaf. But sometimes her face would become suddenly +alive with all sorts of shifting expressions. A few days ago she had +another fit, exactly like the former one. That was on the day +preceding my call at your hotel with your father's books. This time +we had much more difficulty in bringing her round. We did so at last; +and when she was gone I gave the final touch to my picture of "The +Lady Geraldine and Christabel." I was at the moment, however, at work +upon "Ruth and Boaz," which I had painted years before--removing the +face of Ruth originally there. I worked long at it; and as she was +not coming for two days I kept steadily at the picture. This was the +day on which I called upon you, wishing you to postpone your visit, +lest you should interrupt me while at work upon the head of Ruth, +which I was hoping to paint. On Thursday I waited for her at the +appointed hour, but she did not come, and I saw her no more.' + + +V + +'Mr. Wilderspin,' I said, as I rose hurriedly, with the intention of +going at once in search of Winifred, 'let me see the picture you +allude to--"Christabel," and then tell me where to find her.' + +'Better not see it!' said Wilderspin solemnly; 'there's something to +tell you yet, Mr. Aylwin.' + +'Yes, yes; but let me see the picture first. I can bear anything now. +Howsoever terrible it may be, I can bear it now; for she's +found--she's safe.' And I rushed into the next room, and began +turning round in a wild manner one after another some dozens of +canvases that were standing on the floor and leaning against the +wall. + +Half the canvases had been turned, and then I came upon what I +sought. + +I stood petrified. But I heard Wilderspin's voice at my side say, 'Do +not let an imaginary scene distress you, Mr. Aylwin. The picture +merely represents the scene in Coleridge's poem where the Lady +Christabel, having secretly and in pity brought to her room to share +her bed the mysterious lady she had met in the forest at midnight, +watches the beautiful witch undress, and is spell-bound and struck +dumb by some "sight to dream of, not to tell," which she sees at the +lady's bosom.' + +* * * * * + +Christabel! It was Winifred sitting there upright in bed, confronted +by a female figure--a tall lady, who with bowed head was undressing +herself beneath a lamp suspended from the ceiling. Christabel! It was +Winifred gazing at this figure--gazing as though fascinated; her dark +hair falling and tumbling down her neck, till it was at last partly +lost between her shining bosom and her nightdress. Yes, and in her +blue eyes there was the same concentration of light, there was the +same uprolling of the lips, there was the same dreadful gleaming of +the teeth, the same swollen veins about the throat that I had seen in +Wales. No wonder that at first I could see only the face and figure +of Winifred. My consciousness had again dwindled to a single point. +In a few seconds, however, I perceived that the scene was an antique +oak-panelled chamber, corniced with large and curiously-carven +figures, upon which played the warm light from a silver lamp +suspended from the middle of the ceiling by a twofold silver chain +fastened to the feet of an angel, quaintly carved in the dark wood of +the ceiling. It was beneath this lamp that stood the majestic figure +of the beautiful stranger, the Lady Geraldine. As she bent her head +to look at her bosom, which she was about fully to uncover, the +lamp-light gleaming among the gems and flashing in her hair and down +her loosened white silken robe to her naked feet, shining, +blue-veined and half-hidden in the green rushes that covered the +floor, she seemed to be herself the source from which the lurid light +was shed about the room. But her eyes were brighter than all. They +were more dreadful by far to look at than Winifred's own--they were +rolling wildly as if in an agony of hate, while she was drawing in +her breath till that marble throat of hers seemed choking. It was not +upon her eyes, however, that Winifred's were fixed: it was upon the +lady's bosom, for out from beneath the partially-loosened robes that +covered that bosom a tiny fork of flame was flickering like a +serpent's tongue ruddy from the fires of a cruel and monstrous hate +within. + +This sight was dreadful enough; but it was not the terror on +Winifred's face that now sent me reeling against Sleaford, who with +my mother had followed me into the smaller room. Whose figure was +that, and whose was the face which at first I had half-recognised in +the Lady Geraldine? My mother's! + +In painting this subject Wilderspin had, without knowing it, worked +with too strong a reminiscence of my mother's portrait, unconscious +that he was but giving expression to the awful irony of Heaven. + +I turned round. Wilderspin was supporting with difficulty my mother's +dead weight. For the first time (as I think) in her life, she whom, +until I came to know Sinfi Lovell, I had believed to be the +strongest, proudest, bravest woman living, had fainted. + +'Dear me!' said Wilderspin, 'I had no idea that Christabel's terror +was so strongly rendered,--no idea! Art should never produce an +effect like this. Romantic art knows nothing of a mere sensational +illusion. Dear me!--I must soften it at once.' + +He was evidently quite unconscious that he had given my mother's +features to Geraldine, and attributed the effect to his own +superlative strength as a dramatic artist. + +I ran to her: she soon recovered, but asked to be taken to Belgrave +Square at once. Wild as I was with the desire to go in quest of +Winifred; goaded as I was by a new, nameless, shapeless dread which +certain words of Wilderspin's had aroused, but which (like the dread +that had come to me on the night of my father's funeral) was too +appalling to confront, I was obliged to leave the studio and take my +mother to the house of my aunt, who was, I knew, waiting to start for +the yacht. + + + +XI + +THE IRONY OF HEAVEN + + +I + +As we stepped into the carriage, Sleaford, full of sympathy, jumped +in. This fortunately prevented a conversation that would have been +intolerable both to my mother and to me. + +'Studio oppressively close,' said Sleaford; 'usual beastly smell of +turpentine and pigments and things. Why the dooce don't these fellows +ventilate their studios before they get ladies to go to see their +paintin's!' This he kept repeating, but got no response from either +of us. + +As to me, let me honestly confess that I had but one thought: how +much time would be required to go to Belgrave Square and back to the +studio, to learn the whereabouts of Winifred. 'But she's safe,' I +kept murmuring, in answer to that rising dread: 'Wilderspin said she +was safe.' + +During that drive to Belgrave Square, he whose bearing towards my +mother was that of the anxious, loving son was not I, the only living +child of her womb, but poor, simple, empty-headed Sleaford. + +When we reached Belgrave Square my mother declared that she had +entirely recovered from the fainting fit, but I scarcely dared to +look into those haggard eyes of hers, which showed only too plainly +that the triumph of remorse in her bosom was now complete. My aunt, +who seemed to guess that something lowering to the family had taken +place, was impatient to get on board the yacht. I saw how my mother +now longed to remain and learn the upshot of events; but I told her +that she was far better away now, and that I would write to her and +keep her posted up in the story day by day. I bade them a hurried +'Good-bye.' + +'How shall I be able to stay out of England until I know all about +her?' said my mother. 'Go back and learn all about her, Henry, and +write to me; and be sure to get and take care of that dreadful +picture, and write to me about that also.' + +When the carriage left I walked rapidly along the Square, looking +for a hansom. In a second or two Sleaford was by my side. He took my +arm. + +'I suppose you're goin' back to cane him, aren't you?' said he. + +'Cane whom?' I said impatiently, for that intolerable thought which +I have hinted at was now growing within my brain, and I must, _must_ +be alone to grapple with it. + +'Cane the d----d painter, of course,' said Sleaford, opening his +great blue eyes in wonder that such a question should be asked. +'Awfully bad form that fellow goin' and puttin' your mother in the +picture. But that's just the way with these fellows.' + +'What do you mean?' I asked again. + +'What do I mean? The paintin' and writin' fellows. You can't make a +silk purse out of a sow's ear, as I've often and often said to Cyril +Aylwin; and by Jove, I'm right for once. I suppose I needn't ask you +if you're going back to cane him.' + +'Wilderspin did what he did quite unconsciously,' I replied, as I +hailed a hansom. 'It was the finger of God.' + +'The finger of--Oh come! That be hanged, old chap.' + +'Good-bye,' I said, as I jumped into the hansom. + +'But you don't mean to say you are goin' to let a man put your mother +into--' + +I heard no more. The terrible idea which had been growing in my +brain, shaping itself out of a nebulous mass of reminiscences of what +had just occurred at the studio, was now stinging me to madness. +Wilderspin's extreme dejection, the strange way in which he had +seemed inclined to evade answering my question as to the safety of +Winifred, the look of pity on his face as at last he answered 'quite +safe'--what did all these indications portend? At every second the +thought grew and grew, till my brain seemed like a vapour of fire, +and my eyeballs seemed to scorch their sockets as I cried aloud: +'Have I found her at last to lose her?' + +On reaching the studio door I rapped: before the servant had time to +answer my summons, I rapped again till the sounds echoed along the +street. When my summons was answered, I rushed upstairs. Wilderspin +stood at the studio door, listening, apparently, to the sound of the +blacksmith's anvil coming in from the back of Maud Street through the +open window. Though his sorrowful face told all, I cried out, +'Wilderspin, she's safe? You said she was safe?' + +'My friend,' said Wilderspin solemnly, 'the news I have to give you +is news that I knew you would rather receive when you could hear it +alone.' + +'You said she was safe!' + +'Yes, safe indeed! She whom you, under some strange but no doubt +beneficent hallucination, believe to be the lady you lost in Wales, +is safe indeed, for she is in the spirit-land with her whose blessing +lent her to me--she has returned to her who was once a female +blacksmith at Oldhill, and is now the brightest, sweetest, purest +saint in Paradise.' + +Dead! My soul had been waiting for the word--expecting it ever since +I left the studio with my mother--but now it sounded more dreadful +than if it had come as a surprise. + +'Tell me all,' I cried, 'at once--at once. She did not return, you +say, on the day following the catastrophe--when did she return?--when +did you next see her?' + +'I never saw her again alive,' answered Wilderspin mournfully; 'but +you are so pale, Mr. Aylwin, and your eyes are so wild, I had better +defer telling you what little more there is to tell until you have +quite recovered from the shock.' + +'No; now, now.' + +Wilderspin looked with a deep sigh at the picture of 'Faith and +Love,' fired by the lights of sunset, where Winnie's face seemed +alive. + +'Well,' said he, 'as she did not come, I worked at my painting of +"Ruth" all day; and on the next morning, as I was starting for +Primrose Court to seek her, Mrs. Gudgeon came kicking frantically at +the street-door. When it was opened, she came stamping upstairs, and +as I advanced to meet her, she shook her fists in my face, shouting +out: "I could tear your eyes out, you vagabones." "Why, what is the +matter?" I asked in great surprise. "You've bin and killed her, +that's all," said the woman, foaming at the mouth. She then told me +that her daughter, almost immediately on reaching home after having +left the studio in the company of my servant, had fallen down in a +swoon. A succession of swoons followed. She never rallied. She was +then lying dead in Primrose Court.' + +'And what then? Answer me quickly.' + +'She asked me to give her money that her daughter might be buried +respectably and not by the parish. I told her it was all +hallucination about the girl being her daughter, and that a spiritual +body could not be buried, but she seemed so genuinely distressed that +I gave her the money.' + +'Spiritual body! Hallucination!' I said. 'I heard her voice in the +London streets, and she was seen selling baskets at the theatre door. +Where shall I find the house?' + +'It is of no use for you to go there,' he said. + +'Nothing shall prevent my going at once.' A feverish yearning had +come upon me to see the body. + +'If you _will_ go,' said Wilderspin, 'it is No. 2 Primrose Court, +Great Queen Street, Holborn. + + +II + +I hurried out of the house, and soon finding a cab I drove to Great +Queen Street. + +My soul had passed now into another torture-chamber. It was being +torn between two warring, maddening forces--the passionate desire to +see her body, and the shrinking dread of undergoing the ordeal. At +one moment I felt--as palpably as I felt it, on the betrothal +night--her slim figure, soft as a twine of flowers in my arms: at the +next I was clasping a corpse--a rigid corpse in rags. And yet I can +scarcely say that I had any thoughts. At Great Queen Street I +dismissed the cab, and had some little difficulty in finding Primrose +Court, a miserable narrow alley. I knocked at a door which, even in +that light, I could see was a peculiarly wretched one. After a +considerable delay the door was opened and a face peered out--the +face of the woman whom I had seen in Cyril's studio. She did not at +first seem to recognise me. She was evidently far gone in liquor, and +looked at me, murmuring, 'You're one o' the cussed body-snatchers; I +know you: you belong to the Rose Alley "Forty Thieves." You'll +swing--every man Jack o' ye'll swing yet, mind if you don't.' + +At the sight of the squalid house in which Winifred had lived and +died I passed into a new world of horror. Dead matter had become +conscious, and for a second or two it was not the human being before +me, but the rusty iron, the broken furniture, the great patches of +brick and dirty mortar where the plaster had fallen from the +walls,--it was these which seemed to have life--a terrible life--and +to be talking to me, telling me what I dared not listen to about the +triumph of evil over good. I knew that the woman was still speaking, +but for a time I heard no sound--my senses could receive no +impressions save from the sinister eloquence of the dead and yet +living matter around me. Not an object there that did not seem +charged with the wicked message of the heartless Fates. + +At length, and as I stood upon the doorstep, a trembling, a mighty +expectance, seized me like an ague-fit; and I heard myself saying, 'I +am come to see the body, Mrs. Gudgeon.' Then I saw her peer, +blinking, into my face, as she said, + +'Oh, oh, it's _you_, is it? It's one o' the lot as keeps the +studeros, is it?--the cussed Chelsea lot as killed her. I recklet yer +a-starin' at the goddess Joker! So you've come to see my poor +darter's body, are you? How werry kind, to be sure! Pray come in, +gentleman, an' pray let the beautiful goddess Joker be perlite an' +show sich a nice kind wisiter the way upstairs.' + +She took a candle, and with a mincing, mocking movement, curtseying +low at every step, she backed before me, and then stood waiting at +the foot of the staircase with a drunken look of satire on her +features. + +'Pray go upstairs fust, gentleman,' said she; 'I can't think o' goin' +up fust, an' lettin' my darter's kind wisiter foller behind like a +sarvint. I 'opes we knows our manners better nor that comes to in +Primrose Court.' + +'None of this foolery now, woman,' said I. 'There's a time for +everything, you know.' + +'How right he is!' she exclaimed, nodding to the flickering candle +in her hand. 'There's a time for everything an' this is the time for +makin' a peep-show of my pore darter's body. Oh, yes!' + +I mounted a shaky staircase, the steps of which were, some of them, +so broken away that the ascent was no easy matter. The miserable +light from the woman's candle, as I entered the room, seemed suddenly +to shoot up in a column of dazzling brilliance that caused me to +close my eyes in pain, so unnaturally sensitive had they been +rendered by the terrible expectance of the sight that was about to +sear them. + +When I re-opened my eyes, I perceived that in the room there was one +window, which looked like a trap-door; on the red pantiles of the +opposite roof lay a smoke-dimmed sheet of moonlight. On the floor at +the further end of the garret, where the roof met the boards at a +sharp angle, a mattress was spread. Then speech came to me. + +'Not there!' I groaned, pointing to the hideous black-looking bed, +and turning my head away in terror. The woman burst into a cackling +laugh. + +'Not there? Who said she _was_ there? _I_ didn't. If you can see +anythink there besides a bed an' a quilt, you've got eyes as can make +picturs out o' nothink, same as my darter's eyes could make 'em, pore +dear.' + +'Ah, what do you mean?' I cried, leaping to the side of the mattress, +upon which I now saw that no dead form was lying. + +For a moment a flash of joy as dazzling as a fork of lightning seemed +to strike through my soul and turn my blood into a liquid fire that +rose and blinded my eyes. + +'Not dead,' I cried; 'no, no, no! The pitiful heavens would have +rained blood and tears at such a monstrous tragedy. She is not +dead--not dead after all! The hideous dream is passing.' + +'Oh, ain't she dead, pore dear?--ain't she? She's dead enough for +one,' said the woman; 'but 'ow can she be there on that mattress, +when she's buried, an' the prayers read over her, like the darter of +the most 'spectable mother as ever lived in Primrose Court! That's +what the neighbours say o' me. The most 'spectable mother as +ever--' + +'Buried!' I said, 'who buried her?' + +'Who buried her? Why the parish, in course.' + +Despair then again seemed to send a torrent of ice-water through my +veins. But after a time the passionate desire to see her body leapt +up within my heart. + +At this moment Wilderspin, who had evidently followed me with +remarkable expedition, came upstairs and stood by my side. + +'I must go and see the grave,' I said to him. 'I must see her face +once more. I must petition the Home Secretary. Nothing can and +nothing shall prevent my seeing her--no, not if I have to dig down to +her with my nails.' + +'An' who the dickens are you as takes on so about my darter?' said +the woman, holding the candle to my face. + +'Drunken brute!' said I. 'Where is she buried?' + +'Well, I'm sure!' said the woman in a mincing, sarcastic voice. 'How +werry unperlite you is all at wonst! how werry rude you speaks to +such a werry 'spectable party as I am! You seem to forgit who I am. +Ain't I the goddess as likes to 'ave 'er little joke, an' likes to +wet both eyes, and as plays sich larks with her flummeringeroes and +drumming-dairies an' ring-tailed monkeys an' men?' + +When I saw the creature whip up the quilt from the mattress, and, +holding it over her head like a veil, leer hideously in imitation of +Cyril's caricature, a shudder went again through my frame--a strange +kind of dementia came upon me; my soul again seemed to leave my +body--seemed to be lifted through the air and beyond the stars, +crying, in agony, 'Shall there be evil in a city, and the Lord hath +not done it?' Yet all the while, though my soul seemed fleeing +through infinite space, where a pitiless universe was waltzing madly +round a ball of cruel fire--all the while I was acutely conscious of +looking down upon the dreadful dream-world below, looking down into a +frightful garret where a dialogue between two dream-figures was going +on--a dialogue between Wilderspin and the woman, each word of which +struck upon my ears like a sharp-edged flint, though it seemed +millions of miles away. + +* * * * * + +'What made you trick me like this? Where is the money I gave you for +the funeral?' + +'That's werry true, about that money, an' where is it? The orkerdest +question about money allus is--"Where is it?" The money for that +funeral I 'ad, I won't deny that. The orkard question ain't that: +it's "Where is it?" But you see, arter I left your studero I sets on +that pore gal's bed a-cryin' fit to bust; then I goes out into +Clement's Alley, and I calls on Mrs. Mix--that's a werry dear friend +of mine, the mother o' seven child'n as are allus a-settin' on my +doorstep, an' she comes out of Yorkshire you must know, an' she's bin +a streaker in her day (for she was well off wonst was Mrs. Mix afore +she 'ad them seven dirty-nosed child'n as sets on her neighbours' +doorsteps)--an' she sez, sez she, "My pore Meg" (meanin' me), "I've +bin the mother o' fourteen beautiful clean-nosed child'n, an' I've +streaked an' buried seven on 'em, so I ought to know somethink about +corpuses, an' I tell you this corpse o' your darter's must be +streaked an' buried at wonst, for she died in a swownd. An' there's +nothink like the parishes for buryin' folk quick, an' I dessay the +coffin's ordered by this time, an' I dessay the gent gev you that +money just to make you comforble like, seein' as he killed your +darter." That's what Mrs. Mix says to me. So the parish comed an' +brought a coffin an' tookt her, pore dear. And I've cried myself +stupid-like, bein' her pore mother as 'es lost her on'y darter--an' +I was just a-tryin' to make myself comfable when this 'ere young toff +as seems so werry drunk comes a-rappin' at my door fit to rap the +'ouse down.' + +'Has she been buried at all? How can a spiritual body be buried?' + +'"Buried at all?" What do you mean by insinivatin' to the pore gal's +conflicted mother as she p'raps ain't buried at all? You're a-makin' +me cry ag'in. She lays comfable enough underneath a lot of other +coffins, in the pauper part of the New North Cimingtary.' + +'Underneath a lot of others; how can that be?' + +'What! ain't you toffs never seed a pauper finneral? Now that's a +pity; and sich nice toffs as they are, a-settin' theirselves up to +look arter the darters o' pore folks. P'raps you never thought how we +was buried. We're buried, when our time comes, and then they're werry +kind to us, the parish toffs is:--It's in a lump--six at a time--as +they buries us, and sich nice deal coffins they makes us, the parish +toffs does, an' sich nice lamp-black they paints 'em with to make 'em +look as if they was covered over with the best black velvid; an' then +sich a nice sarmint--none o' your retail sarmints, but a hulsale +sarmint--they reads over the lot, an' into one hole they packs us one +atop o' the other, jest like a pile o' the werry best Yarmith +bloaters, an' that's a good deal more sociable an' comfable, the +parish toffs thinks, than puttin' us in single; so it is, for the +matter o' that.' + +Then I heard no more; for at the intolerable picture called up by the +woman's words, my soul in its misery seemed to have soared, scared +and trembling, above and beyond the heavens at whose futile gates it +had been moaning, till at last it sank at the feet of the mighty +power that my love had striven with on the sands of Raxton when the +tide was coming in--some pale and cruel ruler whose brow I saw +wrinkled with the woman's mocking smile--some frightful +columbine-queen, wicked, bowelless, and blind, shaking a starry cap +and bells, and chanting-- + + I lent the drink of Day + To gods for feast; + I poured the river of Night + On gods surceased: + Their blood was Nin-ki-gal's. + +And there, at the feet of the awful jesting hag, Circumstance, I +could only cry 'Winnie! my poor Winnie!' while over my head seemed to +pass Necessity and her black ages of despair. + +When I came to myself I said to the woman, + +'You can point out the grave?' + +'Well, yes,' paid slip, turning round sharply; 'but may I ax who the +dickens you are?--an' what makes you so cut up about a pore woman's +darter? It's right-on beautiful to see how kind gentlemen is +nowadays': and she turned and tried, stumbling, to lead the way +downstairs. + +As we left the room I turned round to look at it. The picture of the +mattress, now nearly hidden in the shadows--the picture of the other +furniture in the room--two chairs--or rather one and a part of a +chair, for the rails of the hack were gone--a table, a large brown +jug, the handle of which had been replaced by a piece of string, and +a white washhand-basin, with most of the rim broken away, and a +shallow tub apparently used for a bath--seemed to sink into my flesh +as though bitten in by the etcher's aquafortis. Winifred's +sleeping-room! + +'Of course she wasn't her daughter,' said Wilderspin meditatively, as +we stood on the stairs. + +'Not my darter! Why, in course she was. What an imperent thing to +say, sure_lie_!' + +'There is one thing I wish to say to you,' said he to the woman. +'When I agreed with you as to the sum to be paid for the model's +sittings, it was clearly understood that she was to sit to no other +artist, and that the match-selling was to cease. + +'Well, and 'ave I broke my word?' + +'A person has heard her singing and seen her selling baskets,' I +said. + +'The person tells a lie,' said the woman, with a dogged and sullen +look, and in a voice that grew thicker with every word. 'Ain't there +sich things as doubles?' + +At these last words my heart gave a sudden leap. We left the house, +and neither of us spoke till we got into the Strand. + +'Did you see the--body at all?' I asked Wilderspin. + +'Oh, yes. After I gave her the money for the funeral I went to +Primrose Court. The woman took me upstairs, and there on the mattress +lay--what the poor woman believed to be the earthly body of an +earthly daughter. It was covered with a quilt. Over the face a ragged +shawl had been thrown.' + +'Yes, yes. She raised the shawl?' + +'Yes, the woman went and held the candle over the head of the +mattress and uncovered the face; and there lay she whom the woman +believed to be her daughter, and whom you believe to be the young +lady you seek, but whom I _know_ to be a spiritual body--the perfect +type that was sent to me in order that I might fulfil my mission. You +groan, Mr. Aylwin, but remember that you have lost only a dream, a +beautiful hallucination; I have lost a reality: there is nothing real +but the spiritual world. + + +III + +As I wandered about the streets after parting from Wilderspin, what +were my emotions? If I could put them into words, is there one human +being in ten thousand who would understand me? Happily, no. For there +is not one in ten thousand who, having sounded the darkest depths of +human misery, will know how strong is Hope when at the true +death-struggle with Despair. 'Hope in the human breast,' wrote my +father, 'is a passion, a wild, a lawless, and an indomitable passion, +that almost no cruelty of Fate can conquer.' + +Many a passer-by in the streets of London that night must have asked +himself, What lunatic is this at large? At one moment I would bound +along the pavement as though propelled by wings, scarcely seeming to +touch the pavement with my feet. At the next I would stop in a cold +perspiration and say to myself, 'Idiot, is it possible that you, so +learned in suffering--you, whom Destiny, or Heaven, or Hell, has +taken in hand as a special sport--can befool yourself with Hope now, +after the terrible comedy by which you and the ancestral idiots from +whom you sprang amused Queen Nin-ki-gal in Raxton crypt?' + +Hope and Despair were playing at shuttlecock with my soul. Underneath +my misery there flickered a thought which, wild as it was, I dared +not dismiss--the thought that, after all, it _might_ not be Winifred +who had died in that den. Possible it was--however improbable--that I +_might_ be labouring under a delusion. My imagination _might_ have +exaggerated a resemblance into actual identity, and Winifred and she +whom Wilderspin painted might be two different persons--and there +might be hope even yet. But so momentous was the issue to my soul, +that the mere fact of having clearly marshalled the arguments on the +side of Hope made my reason critical and suspicious of their cogency. +From the sweet sophisms that my reason had called up, I turned, and +there stood Despair, ready for me behind a phalanx of arguments, +which laughed all Hope's 'ragged regiment' to scorn. + +Had not my mother recognised her? Could the infallible perceptive +faculties of my mother be also deceived? + +But to accept the fact that she who died on that mattress was little +Winnie of the sands was to go stark mad, and the very instinct of +self-preservation made me clutch at every sophism Hope could offer. + +'Did not the woman declare that the singing-girl and the model were +_not_ one and the same?' said Hope. 'And if she did not lie, may you +not have been, after all, hunting a shadow through London?' + +'It might not have been Winifred,' I shouted. + +But no sooner had I done so than the scene in the +studio--Wilderspin's story of the model's terror on seeing my +mother's portrait--came upon me, and 'Dead! dead!' rang through me +like a funeral knell: all the superstructure of Hope's sophisms was +shattered in a moment like a house of cards: my imagination flew +away to all the London graveyards I had ever heard of; and there, in +the part divided by the pauper line, my soul hovered over a grave +newly made, and then dived down from coffin to coffin, one piled +above another, till it reached Winifred, lying pressed down by the +superincumbent mass; those eyes staring. + +Yes; that night I was mad! + +I could not walk fatigue into my restless limbs. Morning broke in +curdling billows of fire over the east of London--which even at this +early hour was slowly growing hazy with smoke. I found myself in +Primrose Court, looking at that squalid door, those squalid windows. +I knocked at the door. No answer came to my summons, and I knocked +again and again. Then a window opened above my head, and I heard the +well-known voice of the woman exclaiming, + +'Who's that? Poll Onion's out to-night, and the rooms are emp'y 'cept +mine. Why, God bless me, man, is it you?' + +'Hag! that was not your daughter.' + +She slammed the window down. + +'Let me in, or I will break the door.' + +The window was opened again. + +'Lucky as I didn't leave the front door open to-night, as I mostly +do. What do you want to skear a pore woman for?' she bawled. 'Go +away, else I'll call up the people in Great Queen Street.' + +'Mrs. Gudgeon, all I want to do is to ask you a question.' + +'Ah, but that's what you jis' _won't_ do, my fine gentleman. I don't +let you in again in a hurry.' + +'I will give you a sovereign.' + +'Honour bright?' bawled the old woman; 'let me look at it.' + +'Here it is, in my hand.' + +'Jink it on the stuns.' + +I threw it down. + +'Quid seems to jink all right, anyhow,' she said, 'though I'm more +used to the jink of a tanner than a quid in these cussed times. You +won't skear me if I come down?' + +'No, no.' + +At last I heard her fumbling inside at the lock, and then the door +opened. + +'Why, man alive! your eyes are afire jist like a cat's wi' drownded +kitlins.' + +'She was not your daughter.' + +'Not my darter?' said she, as she stooped to pick up the sovereign. +'You ain't a-goin' to catch me the likes o' that. The Beauty not my +darter! All the court knows she was my own on'y darter. I'll swear +afore all the beaks in London as I'm the mother of my own on'y darter +Winifred, allus' wur 'er mother, and allus wull be; an' if she went +a-beggin' it worn't my fort. She liked beggin', poor dear; some gals +does.' + +'Her name Winifred!' I cried, with a pang at my heart as sharp as +though there had been a reasonable hope till now. + +'In course her name was Winifred.' + +'Liar! How came she to be called Winifred?' + +'Well, I'm sure! Mayn't a Welshman's wife give her own on'y Welsh +darter a Welsh name? Us poor folks is come to somethink! P'raps +you'll say I ain't a Welshman's wife next? It's your own cussed lot +as killed her, ain't it? What did I tell the shiny Quaker when fust I +tookt her to the studero? I sez to the shiny un, "She's jist a bit +touched here," I sez' (tapping her own head), '"and nothink upsets +her so much as to be arsted a lot o' questions," I sez to the shiny +un. "The less you talks to her," I sez, "the better you'll get on +with her," I sez, "and the better kind o' pictur you'll make out on +her," I sez to the shiny un; "an' don't you go an' arst who her +father is," I sez, "for that word 'ull bring such a horful look on +her face," I sez, "as is enough to skear anybody to death. I sha'n't +forget the look the fust time I seed it," I sez. That's what I sez to +the shiny Quaker. An' yit you did go an' worrit 'er, a-arstin' 'er a +lot o' questions about 'er father. You _did_--I know you did! You +_must_ 'a done it--so no lies; for that wur the on'y thing as ever +skeared 'er, arstin' 'er about 'er father, pore dear....Why, man +alive! what _are_ you a-gurnin' at? an' what are you a-smackin' your +forred wi' your 'and like that for, an' a-gurnin' in my face like a +Chessy cat? Blow'd if I don't b'lieve you're drunk. An' who the +dickens are you a-callin' a fool, Mr. Imperance?' + +It was not the woman but myself I was cursing when I cried out, +'Fool! besotted fool!' + +Not till now had the wild hope fled which had led me back to the den. +As I stood shuddering on the doorstep in the cold morning light, +while the whole unbearable truth broke in upon me, I could hear my +lips murmuring, + +'Fool of ancestral superstitions! Fenella Stanley's fool! Philip +Aylwin's fool! Where was the besotted fool and plaything of besotted +ancestors, when the truth was burning so close beneath his eyes that +it is wonderful they were not scorched into recognising it? Where was +he when, but for superstitions grosser than those of the negroes on +the Niger banks, he might have saved the living heart and centre of +his little world? Where was the rationalist when, but for +superstitions sucked in with his mother's milk, he would have gone to +a certain studio, seen a certain picture which would have sent him on +the wings of the wind to find and rescue and watch over the one for +whom he had renounced all the ties of kindred? Where was then the +most worthy descendant of a line of ancestral idiots--Romany and +Gorgio--stretching back to the days when man's compeers, the mammoth +and the cave-bear, could have taught him better? Rushing down to +Raxton church to save her!--to save her by laying a poor little +trinket upon a dead man's breast!' + + +After the paroxysm of self-scorn had partly exhausted itself, I +stood staring in the woman's face. + +'Well,' said she, 'I thought the shiny Quaker was a rum un, but blow +me if you ain't a rummyer. + +'Her name was Winifred, and the word "father" produced fits,' I said, +not to the woman, but to my soul, in mocking answer to its own woe. +'What about my father's spiritualism now? Good God! Is there no other +ancestral tomfoolery, no other of Superstition's patent Aylwinian +soul-salves for the philosophical Nature-worshipper and apostle of +rationalism to fly to? Her name was Winifred. + +'Yis; don't I say 'er name wur Winifred?' said the woman, who thought +I was addressing her. 'You're jist like a poll-parrit with your +"Winifred, Winifred, Winifred." That was 'er name, an' she 'ad a +shock, pore dear, an' it was all along of you at the studero +a-talkin' about 'er father. You _must_ a-talked about 'er father: so +no lies. She 'ad fits arter that, in course she 'ad. Why, you'll make +me die a-larfin' with your poll-parritin' ways, sayin' "a shock, a +shock, a shock," arter me. In course she 'ad a shock; she 'ad it when +she was a little gal o' six. My pore Bill (that's my 'usband as now +lives in the fine 'Straley) was a'most killed a-fightin' a Irishman. +They brought 'im 'um an' laid 'im afore her werry eyes, an' the sight +throw'd 'er into high-strikes, an' arter that the name of "father" +allus throwed her into high-strikes, an' that's why I told 'em at the +studero never to say that word. An' I know you _must_ 'a' said it, +some o' your cussed lot must, or else why should my pore darter 'a' +'ad the high-strikes? Nothin' else never gev 'er no high-strikes only +talkin' to 'er about 'er father. An' as to me a-sendin' 'er +a-beggin', I tell you she liked beggin'. I gev her baskets to sell, +an' flowers to sell, an' yet she _would_ beg. I tell you she liked +beggin'. Some gals does. She was touched in the 'ead, an' she used to +say she _must_ beg, an' there was nothink she used to like so much as +to stan' with a box o' matches a-jabberin' a tex' out o' the Bible +unless it was singin'. There you are, a-larfin' and a-gurnin' ag'in. +If I wur on'y 'arf as drunk as you are the coppers 'ud 'a' run _me_ +in hours ago; cuss 'em, an' their favouritin' ways.' + + +At the truth flashing in upon me through these fantastic lies, I had +passed into that mood when the grotesque wickedness of Fate's awards +can draw from the victim no loud lamentations--when there are no +frantic blows aimed at the sufferer's own poor eyeballs till the +beard--like the self-mutilated Theban king's--is bedewed with a dark +hail-shower of blood. More terrible because more inhuman than the +agony imagined by the great tragic poet is that most awful condition +of the soul into which I had passed--when the cruelty that seems to +work at Nature's heart, and to vitalise a dark universe of pain, +loses its mysterious aspect and becomes a mockery; when the whole +vast and merciless scheme seems too monstrous to be confronted save +by mad peals of derisive laughter--that dreadful laughter which +bubbles lower than the fount of tears--that laughter which is the +heart's last language; when no words can give it the relief of +utterance--no words, nor wails, nor moans. + +'Another quid,' bawled the woman after me, as I turned away, 'another +quid, an' then I'll tell you somethink to your awantage. Out with it, +and don't spile a good mind.' + +What I did and said that morning as I wandered through the streets of +London in that state of tearless despair and mad unnatural merriment, +one hour of which will age a man more than a decade of any woe that +can find a voice in lamentations, remains a blank in my memory. + + +I found myself at the corner of Essex Street, staring across the +Strand, which, even yet, had scarcely awoke into life. Presently I +felt my sleeve pulled, and heard the woman's voice. + +'You didn't know as I was cluss behind you all the while, a-watchin' +your tantrums. Never spile a good mind, my young swell. Out with +t'other quid, an' then I'll tell you somethink about my pootty darter +as is on my mind.' + +I gave her money, but got nothing from her save more incoherent lies +and self-contradictions about the time of the funeral. + +'Point out the spot where she used to stand and beg. No, don't stand +on it yourself, but point it out.' + +'This is the werry spot. She used to hold out her matches like this +'ere,--my darter used,--an' say texes out o' the Bible. She loved +beggin', pore dear!' + +'Texts from the Bible?' I said, staggering under a new thought that +seemed to strike through me like a bar of hot metal. 'Can you +remember any one of them?' + +'It was allus the same tex', an' I ought to remember it well enough, +for I've 'eerd it times enough. She wur like you for poll-parritin' +ways, and used to say the same thing over an' over ag'in. It wur +allus, "Let his children be wagabones and beg their bread; let them +seek it also out of desolate places." Why, you're at it +ag'in--gurnin' ag'in. You _must_ be drunk.' + +Again there came upon me the involuntary laughter of heart-agony at +its tensest. I cried aloud: 'Faith and Love! Faith and Love! That +farce of the Raxton crypt with the great-grandmother's fool on his +knees shall be repeated for the delight of Nin-ki-gal and the Danish +skeletons and the ancestral ghosts from Hugh the Crusader down to the +hero of the knee-caps and mittens; and there shall be a dance of +death and a song, and the burden shall be-- + + As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods: + They kill us for their sport.' + +Misery had made me a maniac at last; my brain swam, and the head of +the woman seemed to be growing before me--seemed once more to be +transfigured before me into a monstrous mountainous representation of +an awful mockery-goddess and columbine-queen, down whose merry +wrinkles were flowing tears that were at once tears of Olympian +laughter and tears of the oceanic misery of Man. + +'Well, you _are_ a rum un, and no mistake,' said the woman. 'But who +the dickens _are_ you? _That's_ what licks me. Who the dickens _are_ +you? Howsomever, if you'll fork out another quid, the Queen of the +Jokes'll tell you some'ink to your awantage, an' if you won't fork +out the Queen o' the Jokes is mum.' + +I stood and looked at her--looked till the street seemed to heave +under my feet and the houses to rock. After this I seem to have +wandered back to Wilderspin's studio, and there to have sunk down +unconscious. + + + + +XII + +THE REVOLVING CAGE OF CIRCUMSTANCE + + +I + +I will not trouble the reader with details of the illness that came +upon me as the result of my mental agony and physical exhaustion. At +intervals I was aware of what was going on around me, but for the +most part I was in a semi-comatose state. I realised at intervals +that a medical man was sitting by my side, as I lay in bed. Then I +had a sense of being moved from place to place; and then of being +rocked by the waves. Slowly the periods of consciousness became more +frequent and also more prolonged. + +My first exclamation was--'Dead! Have I been ill?' and I tried to +raise myself in vain. + +'Yes, very ill,' said a voice, my mother's. + +'Dangerously?' + +'For several days you were in danger. Your recovery now entirely +depends upon your keeping yourself calm.' + +'I am out at sea?' + +'Yes,' said my mother; 'in Lord Sleaford's yacht.' + +'How did I come here?' + +'Well, Henry, I was so anxious to wait for a day or two to learn the +sequel of the dreadful tragedy, that I persuaded Lord Sleaford to +delay sailing. Next day he called at Belgrave Square, and told us he +had heard that you had been taken suddenly ill and were lying +unconscious at the studio. I went at once and saw the medical man, +Mr. Finch, whom Mr. Wilderspin had called in. This gentleman took a +serious view of your case. When I asked him what could be done he +said that nothing would benefit you so much as removal from London, +and recommended a sea voyage. It occurred to me at once to ask Lord +Sleaford if we might take you in his yacht, and he with his usual +good-nature agreed, and agreed also that Mr. Finch should accompany +us as your medical attendant.' + +'You know all?' I said; 'you know that she is dead.' + +'Alas! yes.' + +At that moment the doctor came into the cabin, and my mother retired. + +'When did you last see Wilderspin?' I asked Mr. Finch. + +'Before leaving England to join a friend in Paris he went to Belgrave +Square to get tidings of you, and I was there.' + +'He told you--what had occurred to make me ill?' + +'He told me that it was the death of some one in whom you took an +interest, a model of his, but told it in such a wild and excited way +that I lost patience with him. His addled brains are crammed with the +wildest and most ignorant superstitions.' + +'Did you ask him about her burial?' + +'I did. I gathered from him that she was buried by the parish in the +usual way. But I assure you the man's account of everything that +occurred was so bewildered and so incoherent that I could really make +nothing out of him. What is his creed? Is it Swedenborgianism? He +seems to think that the model he has lost is a spirit (or spiritual +body, to use his own jargon) sent to him by the artistic-minded +spirits for entirely artistic purposes, but snatched from him now by +the mean jealousy of the same spirit-world.' 'But what did he say +about her burial?' 'Well, he seems not to have ignored so completely +the mundane question of burying this spiritual body as his creed +would have warranted, for he gave the mother money to bury it. The +mother, however, seems to have spent the money in gin and to have +left the duty of burying the spiritual body to the parish, who make +short work of all bodies; and, of course, by the parish she was +buried, you may rest assured of that, though the artist seems to +think that she was simply translated to heaven like Elijah.' + +'I must return to England at once,' I said. 'I shall apply to the +Home Secretary to have the body disinterred.' + +'Why, sir?' + +'In order that she may be buried in a proper place, to be sure.' + +'No use. You have no _locus standi_.' + +'What do you mean?' + +'You are not a relative, and to ask for a disinterment for such an +unimportant reason as that you, a stranger, would prefer to see her +buried elsewhere, would be idle.' + +Sleaford now came into the cabin. I thanked him for his kindness, but +told him I must return at once. + +'Even if your health permitted,' he said, 'it is impossible for the +yacht to go back. I have an appointment to meet a yachting friend. +But in any case depend upon it, old fellow, the doctor won't hear of +your returning for a long while yet. He told me not five minutes ago +that nothing but sea air, and keeping your mind tranquil, you know, +will restore you.' + +The feeling of exhaustion that came upon me as he spoke convinced me +that there was only too much truth in his words. I felt that I must +yield to the inevitable; but as to tranquillity of mind, my entire +being was now filled with a yearning to see the New North +Cemetery--to see her grave. I seemed to long for the very pang which +I knew the sight of the grave would give me. + + +It is of course impossible for me to linger over that cruise, or to +record any of the incidents that took place at the ports at which we +touched and landed. My recovery, or rather my partial recovery, was +slower than the doctor had anticipated. Weeks and months passed, and +still there seemed but little improvement in me. + +The result was that I was obliged to yield to the importunities of my +mother, and to the urgent advice of Dr. Finch, to remain on board +Sleaford's yacht during the entire cruise, and afterwards to go with +them to Italy. + +Absence from England gave me not the smallest respite from the grief +that was destroying me. + + +My parting with my mother was a very pathetic one. She was greatly +changed, and I knew why. The furrows Time sets on the face can never +be mistaken for those which are caused by the passions. The struggle +between pride and remorse had been going on apace; her sufferings had +been as great as my own. + +It was in Rome we parted. We were sitting in the cool, perfumed +atmosphere of St. Peter's, and for the moment a soothing wave seemed +to pass over my soul. For some little time there had been silence +between us. At length I said, 'Mother, it seems strange indeed for me +to have to say to you that you blame yourself too much for the part +you took in the tragedy of Winnie. When you sent her into Wales you +didn't know that her aunt was dead; you did it, as you thought, for +her good as well as for mine.' + +She rose as if to embrace me, and then sank down again. + +'But you don't know all, Henry; you don't know all. I knew her aunt +was dead, though Shales did not, or he would never have taken her. +All that concerned me was to get her away before your own recovery. I +thought there might be relatives of hers or friends whom Shales might +find. But I was possessed by a frenzied desire to get her away. For +years my eyes had been fixed on the earldom. I had been told by your +aunt that Cyril was consumptive, and also that he was very unlikely +to marry.' + +I could not suppress a little laugh. 'Ha, ha! Cyril consumptive! No +man's stronger and sounder, I am glad to tell you; but if by +ill-chance he should die and the title should come to me, then, +mother, I'll wear the coronet, and it shall be made of the best +gingerbread gilt and ornamented thus. I'll give public lectures on +the British aristocracy and its origin, and its present relations to +the community, and my audience shall consist of society--that society +which is so much to aunt and the likes of her. Society shall be my +audience, and then, after my course of lectures is over, I will join +the Gypsies. But pray pardon me, mother. I had no idea I should thus +lose my temper. I should not have lost it so entirely had I not +witnessed how you are suffering from the tyranny of this blatant +bugbear called "Society."' + +'My suffering, Henry, has brought me nearer to your line of thought +than you may suppose. It has taught me that when the affections are +deeply touched everything which before had seemed so momentous stands +out in a new light, that light in which the insignificance of the +important stands revealed. In that terrible conflict between you and +me on the night following the landslip, you spoke of my "cruel +pride." Oh, Henry, if you only knew how that cruel pride had been +wiped out of existence by remorse, I believe that even you would +forgive me. I believe that even she would if she were here.' + +'I told you that I had entirely forgiven you, mother, and that I was +sure Winnie would forgive you if she were alive.' + +'You did, Henry, but it did not satisfy me; I felt that you did not +know all.' + +'I fear you have been very unhappy,' I said. + +'I have been constantly thinking of Winifred a beggar in the streets +as described by Wilderspin. Oh, Henry, I used to think of her in the +charge of that woman. And Miss Dalrymple, who educated her, tells me +that in culture she was far above the girls of her own class; and +this makes the degradation into which she was forced through me the +more dreadful for me to think of. I used to think of her dying in the +squalid den, and then the Italian sunshine has seemed darker than a +London fog. Even the comfort that your kind words gave me was +incomplete, for you did not know the worst features of my cruelty.' + +'But have you had no respite, mother? Surely the intensity of this +pain did not last, or it would have killed you.' + +'The crisis did pass, for, as you say, had it lasted in its most +intense form, it would have killed me or sent me mad. After a while, +though remorse was always with me, I seemed to become in some degree +numbed against its sting. I could bear at last to live, but that was +all. Yet there was always one hour out of the twenty-four when I was +overmastered by pathetic memories, such as nearly killed me with +pity--one hour when, in a sudden and irresistible storm, grief would +still come upon me with almost its old power. This was on awaking in +the early morning. I learnt then that if there is trouble at the +founts of life, there is nothing which stirs that trouble like the +twitter of the birds at dawn. At Florence, I would, after spending +the day in wandering with you through picture galleries or about +those lovely spots near Fiesole, go to bed at night tolerably calm; +I would sink into a sleep, haunted no longer by those dreams of the +tragedy in which my part had been so cruel, and yet the very act of +waking in the morning would bring upon me a whirlwind of anguish; and +then would come the struggling light at the window, and the twitter +of the birds that seemed to say, "Poor child, poor child!" and I +would bury my face in my pillow and moan.' + +When I looked in her face, I realised for the first time that not +even such a passion of pity as that which had aged me is so cruel in +its ravages as Remorse. To gaze at her was so painful that I turned +my eyes away. + +When I could speak I said, + +'I have forgiven you from the bottom of my heart, mother, but, if +that does not give you comfort, is there anything that will?' + +'Nothing, Henry, nothing but what is impossible for me ever to +get--the forgiveness of the wronged child herself. _That_ I can never +get in this world. I dare only hope that by prayers and tears I may +get it in the end. Oh, Henry, if I were in heaven I could never rest +until I had sought her out, and found her and thrown myself on her +neck and said, "Forgive your persecutor, my dear, or this is no place +for me."' + + +II + +As soon as I reached London, thinking that Wilderspin was still on +the Continent, I went first to D'Arcy's studio, but was there told +that D'Arcy was away--that he had been in the country for a long +time, busy painting, and would not return for some months. I then +went to Wilderspin's studio, and found, to my surprise and relief, +that he and Cyril had returned from Paris. I learnt from the servant +that Wilderspin had just gone to call on Cyril; accordingly to +Cyril's studio I went. + +'He is engaged with the Gypsy-model, sir,' said Cyril's man, pointing +to the studio door, which was ajar. 'He told me that if ever you +should call you were to be admitted at once. Mr. Wilderspin is there +too.' + +'You need not announce me,' I said, as I pushed open the door. + +Entering the studio, I found myself behind a tall easel where Cyril +was at work. I was concealed from him, and also from Wilderspin and +Sinfi. On my left stood Cyril's caricature of Wilderspin's 'Faith and +Love,' upon which the light from a window was falling aslant! + +Before I could pass round the easel into the open space I was +arrested by overhearing a conversation between Cyril, Sinfi, and +Wilderspin. + +They were talking about _her_! + +With my eyes fixed on Cyril's caricature on my left hand; I stood, +every nerve in my body seeming to listen to the talk, while the veil +of the goddess-queen in the caricature appeared to become +illuminated; the tragedy of our love (from the spectacle of her +father's dead body shining in the moonlight, with a cross on his +breast, down to the hideous-grotesque scene of the woman at the +corner of Essex Street) appeared to be represented on the veil of the +mocking queen in little pictures of scorching flame. These are the +words I heard: + +'Keep your head in that position, Lady Sinfi,' said Cyril, 'and pray +do not get so excited.' + +'I thought I felt the Swimmin' Rei in the room,' said Sinfi. + +'What do you mean?' + +'I thought I felt the stir of him in my burk [bosom]. Howsomever, it +must ha' bin all a fancy o' mine. But you see, Mr. Cyril, she wur +once a friend o' mine. I want to know what skeared her? If it _was_ +her as set for the pictur, she'd never 'a' had the fit if she hadn't, +'a' bin skeared. I s'pose Mr. Wilderspin didn't go an' say the word +"feyther" to her? I s'pose he didn't go an' ax her who her feyther +was?' + +I heard Wilderspin's voice say. 'No, indeed. _I_ would never have +asked who her father was. Ah, Mr. Cyril, I knew how mysteriously she +had come to me; why should I ask who was her father? Her earthly +parentage was not an illusion. But you will remember that I was not +in the studio at the time of the fit. Mr. Ebury had called about a +commission, and I had gone into the next room to speak to him. You +came into the studio at the time, Mr. Cyril. When I returned, I found +her in the fit, and you standing over her.' + +'No, don't get up, Sinfi, my girl,' I heard Cyril say. 'Sit down +quietly, and I will tell you what, passed. There is no doubt I did +ask her about her father, poor thing; but I did it with the best +intentions--did it for her good, as I thought--did it to learn +whether she had been kidnapped, and certainly not from idle +curiosity.' + +'Scepticism, the curse of the age,' said Wilderspin. + +I heard Cyril say, 'Who could have thought it would turn out so? But +you yourself had told me, Wilderspin, of Mother Gudgeon's injunction +not to ask the girl who her father was, and of course it had upon me +the opposite effect the funny hag had intended it to have upon you. +It was hard to believe that such a flower could have sprung from such +a root. I thought it very likely that the woman had told you this to +prevent your getting at the truth about their connection; so I +decided to question the model myself, but determined to wait till you +had had a good number of sittings, lest there should come a quarrel +with the woman.' + +'Well, an' so you asked her?' said Sinfi. + +'I thought the moment had come for me to try to read the puzzle,' +said Cyril. 'So, on that day when Ebury called, when you, Wilderspin, +had left us together, I walked up to her and said, "Is your father +alive?"' + +'Ah!' cried Sinfi, 'it was as I thought. It was the word "feyther" as +killed her! An' what'll become o' _him_?' + +'The word "father" seemed to shoot into her like a bullet,' said +Cyril. 'She shrieked "Father," and her face looked--' + +'No, don't, tell me how she looked!' said Sinfi. 'Mr. Wilderspin's +pictur' o' the witch and the lady shows how she looked--whoever she +was. But if it was Winnie Wynne. what'll become o' _him_?' + +Then I heard. Cyril address Wilderspin again. 'We had great +difficulty, you remember, Wilderspin, in bringing her round, and +afterwards I took her out of the house, put her into a cab, and you +directed your servant whither to take her.' + +'It was scepticism that ruined all.' I heard Wilderspin say. + +'And yet,' said Sinfi, 'the Golden Hand on Snowdon told as he'd marry +Winifred Wynne. Ah! surely the Swimmin' Rei is in the room! I thought +I heard that choke come in his throat as comes when he frets about +Winnie. Howsomever, I s'pose it must ha' bin all a fancy o' mine.' + +'You make _me_ laugh, Sinfi, about this golden hand of yours that is +stronger than the hand of Death,' said Cyril; 'and yet I wish from my +heart I could believe it.' + +'My poor mammy used to say, "The Gorgios believes when they ought to +disbelieve, and they disbelieve when they ought to believe, and that +gives the Romanies a chance."' + +'Sinfi Lovell,' said Wilderspin, 'that saying of your mother's +touches at the very root of romantic art.' + +'Well, if Gorgios don't believe enough, Sinfi,--if there is not +enough superstition among certain Gorgio acquaintances of mine, it's +a pity,' said Cyril. + +'I don't know what you are a-talkin' about with your romantic art an' +sich like, but I _do_ know that nothink can't go ag'in the +dukkeripen o' the clouds; but if I was on Snowdon with my crwth I +could soon tell for sartin whether she's alive or dead,' said Sinfi. + +'And how?' said Cyril. + +'How? By playin' on the hills the old Welsh dukkerin' tune [Footnote +1] as she was so fond on. If she was dead, she wouldn't hear it, but +if she was alive she would, and her livin' mullo [Footnote 2] 'ud +come to it,' said Sinfi. + +[Footnote 1: Incantation song.] + +[Footnote 2: Wraith or fetch.] + +'Do you believe that possible?' said Cyril, turning to Wilderspin. + +'My friend,' said Wilderspin, 'I was at that moment repeating to +myself certain wise and pregnant words quoted from an Oriental book +by the great Philip Aylwin--words which tell us that he is too bold +who dares say what he will believe, what disbelieve, not knowing in +any wise the mind of God--not knowing in any wise his own heart and +what it shall one day suffer.' + +'But,' said Sinfi, 'about her as sat to Mr. Wilderspin; did she never +talk at all, Mr. Cyril?' + +'Never; but I saw her only three times,' said Cyril. + +'Mr. Wilderspin,' said Sinfi, 'did she never talk?' + +'Only once, and that was when the woman addressed her as Winifred. +That name set me thinking about the famous Welsh saint and those +wonderful miracles of hers, and I muttered "St. Winifred." The face +of the model immediately grew bright with a new light, and she spoke +the only words I ever heard her speak.' + +'You never told me of this,' said Cyril. + +'She stooped,' said Wilderspin, 'and went through a strange kind of +movement, as though she were dipping water from a well, and said, +"Please, good St. Winifred, bless the holy water and make it +cure--"' + +'Ah, for God's sake stop!' cried Sinfi. 'Look! the Swimmin' Rei! He's +in the room! There he stan's, and he's a-hearin' every word, an' +it'll kill him outright!' + +I stared at Cyril's picture of Leæna for which Sinfi was sitting. I +heard her say, + +'There ain't nothink so cruel as seein' him take on like that; I've +seed it afore, many's the time, in old Wales. You'll find her yit. +The dukkeripen says you'll marry her yit, and you will. She can't be +dead when the sun and the golden clouds say you'll marry her at last. +Her as is dead _must_ ha' been somebody else.' + +'Sinfi, you know there is no hope.' + +'It might not ha' bin your Winnie, arter all,' said she. 'It might +ha' bin some poor innocent as her feyther used to beat. It's +wonderful how cruel Gorgio feythers is to poor born naterals. And she +might ha' heerd in London about St. Winifred's Well a-curin' people.' + +'Sinfi,' I said, 'you know there is no hope. And I have no friend but +you now--I am going back to the Romanies.' + +'No, no, brother,' she said, 'never no more.' + +She put on her shawl. I rose mechanically. When she bade Cyril and +Wilderspin good-bye and passed out of the studio, I did so too. In +the street she stood and looked wistfully at me, as though she saw me +through a mist, and then bade me good-bye, saying that she must go to +Kingston Vale where her people were encamped in a hired field. We +separated, and I wandered I knew not whither. + + +III + +I found myself inquiring for the New North Cemetery, and after a time +I stood looking through the bars of tall iron gates at long lines of +gravestones and dreary hillocks before me. Then I went in, walking +straight over the grass towards a gravedigger digging in the +sunshine. He looked at me, resting his foot on his spade. + +'I want to find a grave.' + +'What part was the party buried in?' + +'The pauper part,' I said. + +'Oh,' said he, losing suddenly his respectful tone. 'When was she +buried? I suppose it was a she by the look o' you.' + +'When? I don't know the date.' + +'Rather a wide order that, but there's the pauper part.' And he +pointed to a spot at some little distance, where there were no +gravestones and no shrubs. I walked across to this Desert of Poverty, +which seemed too cheerless for a place of rest. I stood and gazed at +the mounds till the black coffins underneath grew upon my mental +vision, and seemed to press upon my brain. Thoughts I had none, only +a sense of being another person. + +The man came slowly towards me, and then looked meditatively into my +face. I shall never forget him. A tall, sallow, emaciated man he was, +with cheek-bones high and sharp as an American Indian's, and +straight black hair. He looked like a wooden image of Mephistopheles, +carved with a jack-knife. + +'Who are you?' The words seemed to come, not from the gravedigger's +mouth, but from those piles of lamp-blacked coffins which were +searing my eyes through four feet of graveyard earth. By the +fever-fires in my brain I seemed to see the very faces of the +corpses. + +'Who am I?' I said to myself, as I thought, but evidently aloud; +'I am the Fool of Superstition. I am Fenella Stanley's Fool, and +Sinfi Lovell's Fool, and Philip Aylwin's Fool, who went and averted +a curse from one of the heads resting down here, averted a curse by +burying a jewel in a dead man's tomb.' + +'Not in this cemetery, so none o' your gammon,' said the +gravedigger, who had overheard me. 'The on'y people as is fools +enough to bury jewels with dead bodies is the Gypsies, and _they_ +take precious good care, as I know, to keep it mum _where_ they bury +'em. There's bin as much diggin' for them thousand guineas as was +buried with Jerry Chilcott in Foxleigh Parish, where I was born, as +would more nor pay for emptying a gold mine; but I never heard o' +Christian folk a-buryin' jewels. But who are you?' + +I felt a hand upon my shoulder, and looking round, I found Sinfi by +my side. + +'Does he belong to you, my gal?' + +'Yis,' said Sinfi, with a strange, deep ring in her rich contralto +voice. 'Yis, he belongs to me now--leastways he's my pal +now--whatever comes on it.' + +'Then take him away, my wench. What's the matter with him? The old +complaint, I s'pose,' he added, lifting his hand to his mouth as +though drinking from a glass. + +Sinfi gently put out her hand and brushed the man aside. + +'I've bin a-followin' on you all the way, brother,' said Sinfi, as +we moved out of the cemetery, 'for your looks skeared me a bit. Let's +go away from this place.' + +'But whither, Sinfi? I have no friend but you; I have no home.' + +'No home, brother? The kairengros [Footnote] has got about +everythink, 'cept the sky an' the wind, an' you're one o' the richest +kairengros on 'em all--leastways so I wur told t'other day in +Kingston Vale. It's the Romanies, brother, as 'ain't got no home +'cept the sky an' the wind. Howsumever, that's nuther here nor there; +we'll jist go to the woman they told me on, an' if there's any truth +to be torn out of her, out it'll ha' to come, if I ha' to tear out +her windpipe with it.' + +[Footnote: The house-dwellers.] + +We took a cab and were soon in Primrose Court. + +The front door was wide open--fastened back. Entering the narrow +common passage, we rapped at a dingy inner door. It was opened by a +pretty girl, whose thick chestnut hair and eyes to match contrasted +richly with the dress she wore--a dirty black dress, with great +patches of lining bursting through holes like a whity-brown froth. + +'Meg Gudgeon?' said the girl in answer to our inquiries; and at first +she looked at us rather suspiciously, 'upstairs, she's very bad--like +to die--I'm a-seein' arter 'er. Better let 'er alone; she bites when +she's in 'er tantrums.' + +'We's friends o' hern,' said Sinfi, whose appearance and decisive +voice seemed to reassure the girl. + +'Oh, if you're friends that's different,' said she. 'Meg's gone off +'er 'ead; thinks the p'leace in plain clothes are after 'er.' + +We went up the stairs. The girl followed us. When we reached a low +door, Sinfi proposed that she should remain outside on the landing, +but within ear-shot, as 'the sight o' both on us, all of a suddent, +might make the poor body all of a dither if she was very ill.' + +The girl then opened the door and went in. I heard the woman's voice +say in answer to her, + +'Friend? Who is it? Are you sure, Poll, it ain't a copper in plain +clothes come about that gal?' + +The girl came out, and signalling me to enter, went leisurely +downstairs. Leaving Sinfi outside on the landing, I entered the room. +There, on a sort of truckle-bed in one corner, I saw the woman. She +slowly raised herself up on her elbows to stare at me. I took for +granted that she would recognise me at once; but either because she +was in drink when I saw her last, or because she had got the idea of +a policeman in plain clothes, she did not seem to know me. Then a +look of dire alarm broke over her face and she said, + +'P'leaceman, I'm as hinicent about that air gal as a new-born babe.' + +'Mrs. Gudgeon,' I said, 'I only want you to tell a friend of mine +about your daughter.' + +'Oh yis! a friend o' yourn! Another or two on ye in plain clothes +behind the door, I dessay. An' pray who said the gal wur my darter? +What for do you want to put words into the mouth of a hinicent dyin' +woman? I comed by 'er 'onest enough. The pore half-starved thing came +up to me in Llanbeblig churchyard.' + +'Llanbeblig churchyard?' I exclaimed, drawing close up to the bed. +'How came you in Llanbeblig churchyard?' But then I remembered that, +according to her own story, she had married a Welshman. + +'How did I come in Llanbeblig churchyard?' said the woman in a tone +in which irony and fear were strangely mingled. 'Well, p'leaceman, I +don't mean to be sarcy: but seein' as all my pore dear 'usband's kith +and kin o' the name o' Goodjohn was buried in Llanbeblig churchyard, +p'raps you'll be kind enough to let me go there sometimes, an' p'raps +be buried there when my time comes.' + +'But what took you there?' I said. + +'What took me to Llanbeblig churchyard?' exclaimed the woman, whose +natural dogged courage seemed to be returning to her. 'What made me +leave every fardin' I had in the world with Poll Onion, when we +ommust wanted bread, an' go to Carnarvon on Shanks's pony? I sha'n't +tell ye. I comed by the gal 'onest enough, an' she never comed to no +'arm through me, less mendin' 'er does for 'er, and bringin' 'er to +London, and bein' a mother to 'er, an' givin' 'er a few baskets an' +matches to sell is a-doin' 'er any 'arm. An' as to beggin' she +_would_ beg, she loved to beg an' say texes.' + +'Old kidnapper!' I cried, maddened by the visions that came upon me. +'How do I know that she came to no harm with a wretch like you?' + +The woman shrank back upon the pillows in a revival of her terror. +'She never comed to no 'arm, p'leaceman. No, no, she never comed to +no 'arm through me. I'd a darter once o' my own, Jenny Gudgeon by +name--p'raps you know'd 'er, most o' the coppers did--as was brought +up by my sister by marriage at Carnarvon, an' I sent for 'er to +London, I did, pl'eaceman--God forgi'e me--an' she went wrong all +through me bein' a drinkin' woman an' not seein' arter 'er, just as +my son Bob tookt to drink, through me bein' a drinkin' woman an' not +seein' arter _him_. She tookt and went from bad to wuss, bad to +wuss; it's my belief as it's allus starvation as drives 'em to it; +an' when she wur a-dyin' gal, she sez to me, "Mother," sez she, +"I've got the smell o' Welsh vi'lets on me ag'in: I wants to be +buried in Llanbeblig churchyard, among the Welsh child'n an' maids, +mother. I wants to feel the snowdrops, an' smell the vi'lets, an' +the primroses, a-growin' over my 'ead," sez she; "but that can't +never be, mother," sez she, a-sobbin' fit to bust; "never, never, +for such as me," sez she. An' I know'd what she meant, though she +never once blamed me, an' 'er words stuck in my gizzard like a thorn, +p'leaceman.' + +'But what has all this to do with the girl you kidnapped?' + +'Ain't I a-tellin' on ye as fast as I can? When my pore gal dropped +off to sleep, I sez to Polly Onion, "Poll," I sez, "to-morrow mornin' +I'll pop every-think as ain't popped a'ready, an' I'll leave you the +money to see arter 'er, an' I'll start for Carnarvon on Shanks's +pony. I knows a good many on the road," sez I, "as won't let Jokin' +Meg want for a crust and a sup, an' when I gits to Carnarvon I'll ax +'er aunt to bury 'er (she sells fish, 'er aunt does,"' sez I, "and +she's got a pot o' money), an' then I'll see the parson or the sexton +or somebody," sez I, "an' I'll tell 'em I've got a darter in London +as is goin' to die, a Carnarvon gal by family, an' I'll tell 'im she +ain't never bin married, an' then they'll bury 'er where she can +smell the primroses and the vi'lets." That's what I sez to Poll +Onion, an' then Poll she begins to pipe, an' sez, "Oh Meg, Meg, ain't +I a Carnarvon gal too? The likes o' us ain't a-goin' to grow no +vi'lets an' snowdrops in Llanbeblig churchyard." An' I sez to her, +"What a d--d fool you are, Poll! You never 'adn't a gal as went wrong +through you a-drinkin', else you'd never say that. If the parson sez +to me, 'Is your darter a vargin-maid?' d'ye think I shall say, 'Oh +no, parson'? I'll swear she is a vargin-maid on all the Bibles in all +the churches in Wales." That's jis' what I sez to Polly Onion, God +forgi'e me. An' Poll sez, "The parson'll be sure to send you to hell, +Meg, if you do that air." An' I sez, "So he may, then, but I _shall_ +do it, no fear." That's what I sez to Poll Onion (she's downstairs at +this werry moment a-warmin' me a drop o' beer); it was 'er as showed +you upstairs, cuss 'er for a fool; an' she can tell you the same +thing as I'm a-tellin' on you.' + +'But what about her you kidnapped? Tell me all about it, or it will +be worse for you.' + +'Ain't I a-tellin' you as fast as I can? Off to Carnarvon I goes, an' +every futt o' the way I walks--Lor' bless your soul, there worn't a +better pair o' pins nowheres than Meg Gudgeon's then, afore the water +got in 'em an' bust 'em; an' I got to Llanbeblig churchyard early one +mornin', and there I seed the pore half-sharp gal. So you see I comed +by 'er 'onest enough, p'leaceman, though she worn't ezzackly my own +darter.' + +'Well, well,' I said; 'go on.' + +'Yes, it's all very well to say "go on," p'leaceman; but if you'd got +as much water in your legs as I've got in mine, an' if you'd got no +more wind in your bellows than I've got in mine, you'd find it none +so easy to go on.' + +'What was she doing in the churchyard?' + +'Well, p'leaceman, I'm tellin' you the truth, s'elp me Bob! I was +a-lookin' over the graves to see if I could find a nice comfortable +place for my pore gal, an' all at once I heered a kind o' sobbin' as +would a' made me die o' fright if it 'adn't a' bin broad daylight, +an' then I see a gal a-layin' flat on a grave an' cryin', an' when I +got up to her I seed as she wur covered with mud, an' I seed as she +wur a-starvin'.' + +'Good God, woman, you are lying! you are lying!' + +'No, I ain't a-lyin'. She tookt to me the moment she clapped eyes on +me; most people does, and them as don't ought, an' she got up an' put +her arms round my neck, and she called me "Knocker."' + +'Called you what?' + +'Ain't I a-tellin' you? She called me "Knocker"; and that's the very +name as she allus called me up to the day of 'er death, pore dear! I +tried to make 'er come along o' me, an' she wouldn't stir, an' so I +left 'er, meanin' to go back; but when I got to my sister's by +marriage, there was a letter for me an' it wur from Polly Onion, +a-sayin' as my pore Jenny died the same day as I left London, +a-sayin', "Mother, vi'lets, vi'lets; mother, vi'lets, vi'lets!" an' +was buried by the parish. An' that upset me, p'leaceman, an' made me +swownd, an' when I comed to, I couldn't hear nothink only my pore +Jenny's voice a-sobbin' on the wind, "Mother, vi'lets, vi'lets; +mother, vi'lets, vi'lets!" an' that sent me off my 'ead a bit, an' I +run out o' the 'ouse, an' there was Jenny's voice a-goin' on before +me a-sobbin', "Mother, vi'lets, vi'lets; mother, vi'lets, vi'lets!" +an' it seemed to lead me back to the churchyard; an' lo an' be'old! +there was the pore half-starved creatur' a-settin' there jist as I'd +left 'er, an' I sez, "God bless you, my gal, you're a-starvin'!" an' +she jumped up, an' she comed an' throwed 'er arms round my waist, an' +there we stood both on us a-cryin' togither, an' then I runned back +into Carnarvon, an' fetched 'er some grub, an' she tucked into the +grub.--But hullo! p'leaceman, what's up now? What the devil are you +a-squeedgin' my 'and like that for? Are you a-goin' to kiss it? It +ain't none so clean, p'leaceman. You're the rummest copper in plain +clothes ever I seed in all my born days. Fust you seem as if you want +to bite me, you looks so savage, an' then you looks as if you wants +to kiss me; you'll make me laugh, I know you will, an' that'll make +me cough.--Hi! Poll Onion, come 'ere. Bring my best lookin'-glass out +o' my bowdore, an' let me look at my ole chops, for I'm blowed if +there ain't a copper in plain clothes this time as is fell 'ead over +ears in love with me, jist as the young swell did at the studero.' + +'Go on, Mrs. Gudgeon,' I said; 'go on. She ate the food?' + +'Oh, didn't she jist! And the pore half-sharp thing took to me, an' I +took to she, an' I thinks to myself, "She's a purty gal, if she's +ever so stupid, an' she'll get 'er livin' a-sellin' flowers o' fine +days, an' a-doin' the rainy-night dodge with baskets when it's wet "; +an' so I took 'er in, an' in the street she'd all of a suddent bust +out a-singin' songs about Snowdon an' sich like, just as if she was +a-singin' in a dream, and folk used to like to 'ear 'er an' gev 'er +money; an' I was a good mother to 'er, I was, an' them as sez I +worn't is cussed liars.' + +'And she never came to any harm?' I said, holding the great muscular +hands between my two palms, unwilling to let them go. 'She never came +to any harm?' + +'Ain't I said so more nor wunst? I swore on the Bible--there's the +very Bible, under the match-box, agin the winder--on that very Bible +I swore as my port Jenny brought from Wales, an' as I've never popped +yit that this pore half-sharp gal should never go wrong through me; +an' then, arter I swore that, my pore Jenny let me alone, an' I never +'eard 'er v'ice no more a-cryin'. "Mother, vi'lets, vi'lets; mother, +vi'lets, vi'lets!" An' many's the chap as 'as come leerin' after 'er +as I've sent away with a flea in 'is ear. Cuss 'em all; they's all +bad alike about purty gals, men is. She's never comed to no wrong +through _me_. Didn't I ammost kill a real sailor capting when I used +to live in the East End 'cause he tried to meddle with 'er? An' +worn't that the reason why I left my 'um close to Radcliffe 'Ighway +an' comed 'ere? Them as killed 'er wur the cussed lot in the +studeros. I'm a dyin' woman; I'm as hinicent as a new-born babe. An' +there ain't nothink o' 'ern in this room on'y a pair o' ole shoes an' +a few rags in that ole trunk under the winder.' + +I went to the trunk and raised the lid. The tattered, stained remains +of the very dress she wore when I last saw her in the mist on +Snowdon! But what else? Pushed into an old worn shoe, which with its +fellow lay tossed among the ragged clothes, was a brown stained +letter. I took it out. It was addressed to 'Miss Winifred Wynne at +Mrs. Davies's.' Part of the envelope was torn away. It bore the +Graylingham post-mark, and its superscription was in a hand which I +did not recognise, and yet it was a hand which seemed half-familiar +to me. I opened it; I read a line or two before I fully realised what +it was--the letter, full of childish prattle, which I had written to +Winifred when I was a little boy--the first letter I wrote to her. + + +I forgot where I was, I forgot that Sinfi was standing outside the +door, till I heard the woman's voice exclaiming, 'What do you want to +set on my bed an' look at me like that for?--you ain't no p'leaceman +in plain clothes, so none o' your larks. Git off o' my bed, will ye? +You'll be a-settin' on my bad leg an' a-bustin' on it in a minit. Git +off my bed, else look another way; them eyes o' yourn skear me.' + +I was sitting on the side of her bed and looking into her face. +'Where did you get this?' I said, holding out the letter. + +'You skears me, a-lookin' like that,' said she. 'I comed by it +'onest. One day when she was asleep, I was turnin' over 'er clothes +to see how much longer they would hold together, when I feels a +somethink 'ard sewed up in the breast; I rips it open, and it was +that letter. I didn't put it back in the frock ag'in, 'cause I +thought it might be useful some day in findin' out who she was. She +never missed it. I don't think she'd 'ave missed anythink, she wur +so oncommon silly. You ain't a-goin' to pocket it, air you?' + +I had put the letter in my pocket, and had seized the shoes and was +going out of the room; but I stopped, took a sovereign from my purse, +placed it in an envelope bearing my own address which I chanced to +find in my pocket, and, putting it into her hand, I said, 'Here is my +address and here is a sovereign. I will tell your friend below to +come for me or send whenever you need assistance.' The woman clutched +at the money with greed, and I left the room, signalling to Sinfi +(who stood on the landing, pale and deeply moved) to follow me +downstairs. When we reached the wretched room on the ground-floor we +found the girl hanging some wet rags on lines that were stretched +from wall to wall. + +'What is your name?' I said. + +'Polly Unwin,' replied she, turning round with a piece of damp linen +in her hand. + +'And what are you?' + +'What am I?' + +'I mean what do you do for a living?' + +'What do I do for a living?' she said. 'All kinds of things--help the +men at the barrows in the New Cut sell flowers, do anything that +comes in my way.' + +'Never mind what she does for a livin', brother,' said Sinfi; 'give +her a gold balanser or two, and tell her to see arter the woman.' + +'Here is some money,' I said to the girl. 'See that Mrs. Gudgeon +upstairs wants for nothing. Is that story of hers true about her +daughter and Llanbeblig churchyard?' + +'That's true enough, though she's a wunner at a lie: that's true +enough.' + +But as I spoke I heard a noise like the laugh or the shriek of a +maniac. It seemed to come from upstairs. + +'She's a-larfin' ag'in,' said the girl. 'It's a very wicked larf, +sir, ain't it? But there's wuss uns nor Meg Gudgeon for all 'er +wicked larf, as I knows. Many a time she's kep' me from starvin'. I +mus' run up an' see 'er. She'll kill herself a-larfin' yit.' + +The girl hurried upstairs and I followed her, leaving Sinfi below. I +re-entered the bedroom. There was the woman, her face buried in the +pillow, rocking and rolling her body half round with the regularity +of a pendulum. Between the peals of half-smothered hysterical +laughter that came from her, I could hear her say: + +'_Dear Lord Jesus, don't forget to love dear Henry who can't git up +the gangways without me_.' + +The words seemed to fall upon my heart like a rain of molten metal +dropping from the merciless and mocking skies. But I had ceased to +wonder at the cruelty of Fate. The girl went to her and shook her +angrily. This seemed to allay her hysterics, for she rolled round +upon her back and stared at us. Then she looked at the envelope +clutched in her hand, and read out the address, + +'Henry, Henry, Henry Halywin, Eskeuer! An' I tookt 'im for a copper +in plain clothes all the while! Henry, Henry, Henry Halywin, Eskeuer! +I shall die a-larfin', I know I shall! I shall die a-larfin', I know +I shall! Poll! don't you mind me a-tellin' you about my pore darter +Winifred--for my darter she _was_, as I'll swear afore all the beaks +in London--don't you mind me a-sayin' that if she wouldn't talk when +she wur awake, she could mag away fast enough when she wur asleep; +an' it were allus the same mag about dear little Henry, an' dear +Henry Halywin as couldn't git up the gangways without 'er. Well, pore +dear Henry was 'er sweet'airt, an' this is the chap, an' if my eyes +ain't stun blind, the werry chap out o' the cussed studeros as killed +'er, pore dear, an' as is a-skearin' me away from my beautiful 'um in +Primrose Court; an' 'ere wur I a-talkin' to 'im all of a muck sweat, +thinkin' he wur a copper in plain clothes!' + +At this moment Sinfi entered the room. She came up to me, and laying +her hand upon my shoulder she said: 'Come away, brother, this is +cruel hard for you to bear. It's our poor sister Winifred as is dead, +and it ain't nobody else.' + +The effect of Sinfi's appearance and of her words upon the woman was +like that of an electric shock. She sat up in her bed open-mouthed, +staring from Sinfi to me, and from me to Sinfi. + +'So my darter Winifred's your _sister_ now, is she?' (turning to me). +'A few minutes ago she was your sweet'airt: an' now she seems to ha' +bin your sister. An' she was _your_ sister, too, was she?' (turning +to Sinfi). 'Well, all I know is, that she was my darter, Winifred +Gudgeon, as is dead, an' buried in the New North Cemetery, pore dear; +an' yet she was sister to both on ye!' + +She then buried her face again in the pillows and resumed the rocking +movement, shrieking between her peals of laughter: 'Well, if I'm the +mother of a six-fut Gypsy gal an' a black-eyed chap as seems jest +atween a Gypsy and a Christian, I never knowed _that_ afore. No, I +never knowed _that_ afore! I allus said I should die a-larfin', an' +so I shall; I'm a-dyin' now--ha! ha! ha!' + +She fell back upon the pillow, exhausted by her own cruel merriment. + +'She always said she'd die a-larfin', an' she will, too--more nor I +shall ever do,' said the girl, after we had gone downstairs. + +'Did you notice what she said about Winnie a-callin' her Knocker?' +said Sinfi. + +'Yes, and couldn't understand it.' + +'_I_ know what it meant. Winnie knowed all about the Knockers of +Snowdon, the dwarfs o' the copper mine, and this woman, bein' so +thick and short, must look ezackly like a Knocker, I should say, if +you could see one.' + +I said to the girl, 'Was she really kind to--to--' + +'To her you were asking about,--the Essex Street Beauty? I should +think she just was. She's a drinker, is poor Meg, and drinking in +Primrose Court means starvation. Meg and the Beauty were often short +enough of grub, but, drunk or sober, Meg would never touch a mouthful +till the Beauty had had her fill. I noticed it many a time--not a +mouthful. When Meg was obliged to send her into the streets to sell +things she was always afraid that the Beauty might come to harm +through the toffs and the chaps. The toffs were the worst looking +after her--as they mostly are--so I was always watching her in the +day-time, and at night Meg was always watching her, and that was what +made me know your face, as soon as ever I clapt eyes on it.' + +'Why, what do you mean?' + +'Well, one rainy night when I was standing by the theatre door, I +heard a toff ask a policeman about the Essex Street Beauty, and I +thought I knew what that meant very well. So I ran off to find Meg. I +had seen her watching the Beauty all the time. But lo and behold! Meg +was gone and the Beauty too. So I run across here, and found Meg and +the Beauty getting their supper as quiet as possible. Meg had heard +the toff talking to the policeman--though I didn't know she was +standing so near--and whisked her off and away as quick as +lightning.' + +'That was I,' I said. 'God! God! If I had only known!' + +'There's the same look now on your face as there was then, and I +should know it among ten thousand.' + +'Polly Onion,' I said, 'there is my address, and if ever you want a +friend, and if you are in trouble, you will know where to find +assistance,' and I gave her another sovereign. + +'You're a good sort,' said she, 'and no mistake.' + +'Good-bye,' I said, shaking her hand. 'See well after Mrs. Gudgeon.' + +'All right,' said she, and a smile broke over her face. 'I think I +ought to tell you now,' she continued, 'that Meg's no more ill of +dropsy than I am; she could walk twenty miles off the reel; there +ain't a bullock in England half as strong as Meg; she's shamming.' + +'Shamming, but why?' + +'Well, she ain't drunk; ever since the Beauty died she's never +touched a drop o' gin. But she's turned quite cranky. She's got it +into her head that the relations of the Beauty are going to send her +to prison for kidnapping; and she thinks that every one that comes +near her is a policeman in plain clothes. She's just lying in bed to +keep herself out of the way till she starts.' + +'Where's she going, then?' + +'She talks about going to see after her son Bob in the country; her +husband is a Welshman. He's over the water.' + +'Did you say she had given up drinking?' I asked. + +'Yes; she seemed to dote on the Beauty, and when the Beauty died she +said, "My darter went wrong through me drinkin', and my son Bob went +wrong through me drinkin'; and I feel somehow that it was through my +drinkin' that I lost the Beauty; and never will you find me touch +another drop o' gin, Poll. Beer I ain't fond on, and it 'ud take a +rare swill o' beer to get up as far as Meg Gudgeon's head."' + +'There ain't much fault to be found with a woman like Meg Gudgeon,' +said Sinfi. 'Was the Beauty fond o' her? She ought to ha' bin.' + +'She used to call her Knocker,' said the girl. 'She seemed very fond +of her when they were together, but seemed to forget her as soon as +they were apart.' + +Sinfi and I then left the house. + +In Great Queen Street she took my hand as if to bid me good-bye. But +she stood and gazed at me wistfully, and I gazed at her. At last she +said, + +'An' now, brother, we'll jist go across to Kingston Vale, an' see my +daddy, an' set your livin'-waggin to rights.' + +'Then, Sinfi,' I said, 'you and I are once more--' + +I stopped and looked at her. The fearless young Amazon and seeress, +who kept a large family of the Kaulo Camloes in awe, was supposed to +have nearly conquered the feminine weakness of tears; but she had +not. There was a chink in the Amazon's armour, and I had found it. + +'Yis,' said she, nodding her head and smiling. 'You an' me's right +pals ag'in.' + +As we were going I told her how I had replaced the jewel in the tomb. + +'I know'd you would do it. Yis, I heer'd you telling the gravedigger +the same thing.' + +'And yet,' said I bitterly, 'in spite of that and in spite of the +Golden Hand, she is dead.' + +Sinfi stood silently looking at me now. Even her prodigious faith +seemed conquered. + + +IV + +For a few days I paced with Sinfi over Wimbledon Common and Richmond +Park, The weather was now unusually brilliant for the time of year. +Sinfi would walk silently by my side. + +But I could not rest with the Gypsies. I must be alone. Soon I left +the camp and returned to London, where I took a suite of rooms in a +house not far from Eaton Square--though to me London was a huge +meaningless maze of houses clustered around Primrose Court--that +horrid, fascinating, intolerable core of pain. Into my lungs poured +the hateful atmosphere of the city where Winifred had perished; +poured hot and stifling as sand-blasts of the desert. Impossible to +stay there!--for the pavement seemed actually to scorch my feet, like +the floor of a fiery furnace. To me the sun above was but the hideous +eye of Circumstance which had stared down pitilessly on that bare +head of hers, and blistered those feet. + +The lamps at night seemed twinkling, blinking in a callous +consciousness of my tragedy--my monstrous tragedy of real life, the +like of which no poet dare imagine. But what aroused my wrath to an +unbearable pitch--what determined me to leave London at once--was the +sight of the unsympathetic faces in the streets. Though sympathy +could have given me no comfort, the myriad unsympathetic eyes of +London infuriated me. + +'Died in beggar's rags--died in a hovel!' I muttered with rage as the +equipages and coarse splendours of the West End rolled insolently by. +'Died in a hovel!--and this London, this vast, ridiculous, swarming +human ant-hill, whose millions of paltry humdrum lives were not worth +one breath from those lips--this London spurned her, left her to +perish alone in her squalor and misery.' + + +Cyril and Wilderspin had returned to the Continent. D'Arcy was still +away. + + +I made application to the Home Secretary to have the pauper grave +opened. On the ground that I was 'not a relative of the deceased,' +the officials refused to institute even preliminary inquiries. + +During this time no news of Mrs. Gudgeon had come to me through Polly +Onion, and I determined to go to Primrose Court and see what had +become of her. + +When I reached Primrose Court I found that the shutters of the house +were up. Knocking and getting no response, I ascertained from a +pot-boy who was passing the corner of the court that Mrs. Gudgeon had +decamped. Neither the pot-boy nor any one in the court could tell me +whither she was gone. + +'But where is Polly Onion?' I asked anxiously; for I was beginning to +blame myself bitterly for having neglected them. + +'I can tell you where poor Polly is,' said the pot-boy. 'She's in the +New North Cemetery. She fell downstairs and broke her neck.' + +'Why, she lived downstairs,' I said. + +'That's true; you seem to be well up in the family, sir. But Poll +couldn't pay her rent, so old Meg took her in. And on the very +morning when Meg and Poll were a-startin' off together into the +country--it was quite early and dark--Poll stumbles over three young +flower-gals as 'ad crep' in the front door in the night time and was +makin' the stairs their bed. Gals as hadn't made enough to pay for +their night's lodgin' often used to sleep on Meg's stairs. Poll was +picked up as nigh dead as a toucher, and she died at the 'ospital.' + + +Toiling in the revolving cage of Circumstance, I strove in vain +against that most appalling form of envy--the envy of one's fellow +creatures that they should live and breathe while there is no breath +of life for the _one_. + + +My uncle Cecil's death had made me a rich man; but what was wealth to +me if it could not buy me respite from the vision haunting me day and +night--the vision of the attic, the mattress, and the woman? + +And as I thought of the powerlessness of wealth to give me one crumb +of comfort, and remembered Winnie's sermon about wealth, I would look +at myself in the mirror above my mantelpiece and smile bitterly at +the sight of the hollow cheeks, furrowed brow, and melancholy eyes, +and recall her words about her hovering near me after she was dead. + +The thought of my wealth and the squalor in which she had died was, I +think, the most maddening thought of all. I had now become the +possessor of Wilderspin's picture 'Faith and Love,' having bought it +of the Bond Street dealer to whom it belonged; and also of the +'Christabel' picture, and these I was constantly looking at as they +hung up on the walls of my room. After a while, however, I destroyed +the 'Christabel' picture, it was too painful. Though I would not see +such friends as I had, I read their letters; indeed, it was these +same letters which alone could draw from me a grim smile now and +then. + +Almost every letter ended by urging me, in order to flee from my +sorrows, to travel! With the typical John Bull travelling seems to be +always the panacea. In sorrow, John's herald of peace is Baedeker: +the dispenser of John's true nepenthe is Mr. Murray. Pity and love +for Winifred pursued me, tortured me nigh unto death, and therefore +did these friends of mine seem to suppose that I wanted to flee from +my pity and sorrow! Why, to flee from my sorrow, to get free of my +pity, to flee from the agonies that went nigh to tearing soul from +body, would have been to flee from all that I had left of +life--memory. + +Did I want to flee from Winnie? Why, memory was Winnie now; and did +I want to flee from _her_? And yet it was memory that was goading me +on to the verge of madness. No doubt the reader thinks me a weak +creature for allowing the passion of pity to sap my manhood in this +fashion. But it was not so much her death as the manner of her death +that withered my heart and darkened my soul. The calamities which +fell upon her, grievous beyond measure, unparalleled, not to be +thought of save with a pallor of cheek and a shudder of the flesh, +were ever before me, mocking me--maddening me. + +'Died in a hovel!' As I gave voice to this impeachment of Heaven, +night after night, wandering up and down the streets, my brain was +being scorched and withered by those same thoughts of anger against +destiny and most awful revolt which had appalled me when first I saw +how the curse of Heaven or the whim of Circumstance had been +fulfilled. + +Then came that passionate yearning for death, which grief such as +mine must needs bring. But if what Materialism teaches were true, +suicide would rob me even of my memory of her. If, on the other hand, +what I had been taught by the supernaturalism of my ancestors were +true, to commit suicide might be but to play finally into the hands +of that same unknown pitiless power with whom my love had all along +been striving. + +'Suicide might sever my soul from hers for ever.' I said, and then +the tragedy would seem too monstrously unjust to be true, and I said: +'It cannot be--such things cannot be: it is a hideous dream. She is +not dead! She is in Wales with friends at Carnarvon, and I shall +awake and laugh at all this imaginary woe!' + +And what were now my feelings towards the memory of my father? Can +a man cherish in his heart at one and the same moment scorn of +another man for believing in the efficacy of a curse, and bitter +anger against him for having left a curse behind him? He can! On my +return to London after my illness I had sent back to Wilderspin the +copy of _The Veiled Queen_ he had lent me. But from the library of +Raxton Hall I brought my father's own copy, elaborately bound in the +tooled black calf my father affected. The very sight of that black +binding now irritated me; never did I pass it without experiencing a +sensation that seemed a blending of scorn and fear: scorn of the +ancestral superstitions the book gave voice to: fear of them. + +One day I took the book from the shelves and then hurled it across +the room. Stumbling over it some days after this, a spasm of +ungovernable rage came upon me, for terribly was my blood struggling +with Fenella Stanley and Philip Aylwin, and thousands of ancestors, +Romany and Gorgio, who for ages upon ages had been shaping my +destiny. I began to tear out the leaves and throw them on the fire. +But suddenly I perceived the leaves to be covered with marginalia in +my father's manuscript, and with references to Fenella Stanley's +letters--letters which my father seemed to have studied as deeply as +though they were the writings of a great philosopher instead of the +scribblings of an ignorant Gypsy. My eye had caught certain written +words which caused me to clutch at the sheets still burning on the +fire. Too late!--I grasped nothing save a little paper-ash. Then I +turned to the pages still left in my hand, and read these words of my +father's: + +'These marginalia are written for the eyes of my dear son, into whose +hands this copy of my book will come. Until he gave me his promise to +bury the amulet with me, I felt alone in the world. But even he +failed to understand what he called "my superstition." He did not +know that by perpetually feeling on my bosom the facets of the +beloved jewel which had long lain warm upon hers--the cross which had +received the last kiss from her lips--I had been able to focus all +the scattered rays of thought--I had been able to vitalise memory +till it became an actual presence. He did not know that out of my +sorrow had been born at last a strange kind of happiness--the +happiness that springs from loving a memory--living with a +memory--till it becomes a presence--an objective reality. He did not +know that, by holding her continually in my thoughts, by means of +the amulet, I achieved at last the miracle described by the Hindoo +poets--the miracle of reshaping from the undulations of "the three +regions of the universe the remembered object by the all-creative +magic of love!"' + + +Then followed some translations from the Kumara-sambhava and other +Sanscrit poems, and then the well-known passage in Lucretius about +dreams, and then a pathetic account of the visions called up within +him by the sensation caused by the lacerations of the facets of the +cherished amulet upon his bosom--visions something akin, as I +imagine, to those experienced by _convulsionnaires_. And then after +all this learning came references to poor ignorant Fenella Stanley's +letters and extracts from them. + +In one of these extracts I was startled to come upon the now familiar +word 'crwth.' + + +'De Welch fok ses as de livin mullos only follow the crwth on Snowdon +wen it is playde by a Welch Chavi, but dat is all a lie. Dey follows +the crwth when a Romany Chi plays it as I nows very wel, but de +chavi wot play on the crwth, shee must love the living mullo she want +for to come, and de living mullo must love her.' + + +And then followed my father's comments on the extract. + + +'_N.B._--To see and hear a crwth, if possible, and ascertain the true +nature of the vibrations. But there are said to be only a few crwths +in existence; and very likely there is no musician who could play +upon them.' + + +Then followed a few sentences written at a later date. + + +'The crwth is now becoming obsolete; on inquiry I learn that it is a +stringed instrument played with a bow like a violin; but as one of +the feet of the bridge passes through one of the sound-holes and +rests on the inside of the back, the vibrations must be quite unique, +if we remember how important a part is played by the back in all +instruments of the violin kind. It must be far more subtle than the +vibrations of the Welsh harp, and even more subtle (if also more +nasal) than those of the violin. + +'The reason why music has in all ages been called in to aid in +evoking the spirits, the reason why it is as potent now as ever it +was in aiding the spirits to manifest themselves, is simple enough: +the rhythmic vibrations of music set in active motion the magnetic +waves through whose means alone the two worlds, spiritual and +material, can hold communication. The quality and the value of these +vibrations depend mainly, no doubt, upon the magnetic power, +conscious or other, of the musician, but partly also upon the kind of +instrument used. The vibrations awakened by stringed instruments have +been long known to be more subtle than any others: instruments of the +violin kind are of course the most subtle of all. Doubtless this is +why among the Welsh hills the old saying used to be "The spirits +follow the crwth."' + +'Which folly is the more besotted,' I said, as I read and re-read the +marginalia--'that of the scholar with his scientific nonsense about +vibrations, or that of the ignorant Gypsy with her living mullos +drawn through the air by music and love?' + +But now my eyes fell upon a very different kind of marginal note +which ran thus:-- + + +'The one important fact of the twentieth century will be the growth +and development of that great Renascence of Wonder which set in in +Europe at the close of the eighteenth century and the beginning of +the nineteenth. + +'The warring of the two impulses governing man (and probably not man +only, but the entire world of conscious life)--the impulse of +acceptance, the impulse to take unchallenged and for granted all the +phenomena of the outer world as they are, and the impulse to confront +these phenomena with eyes of inquiry and wonder--will occupy all the +energies of the next century. + +'The old impulse of wonder which came to the human race in its +infancy has to come back--has to triumph--before the morning of the +final emancipation of man can dawn. + +'But the wonder will be exercised in very different fields from those +in which it was exercised in the past. The materialism which at this +moment seems to most thinkers inseparable from the idea of evolution +will go. Against their own intentions certain scientists are showing +that the spiritual force called life is the maker and not the +creature of organism--is a something outside the material world, a +something which uses the material world as a means of phenomenal +expression. + +'The materialist, with his primitive and confiding belief in the +testimony of the senses, is beginning to be left out in the cold, +when men like Sir W. R. Grove turn round on him and tell him that +"the principle of all certitude" is not and cannot be the testimony +of his own senses; that these senses, indeed, are no absolute tests +of phenomena at all; that probably man is surrounded by beings he can +neither see, feel, hear, nor smell; and that, notwithstanding the +excellence of his own eyes, ears, and nose, the universe the +materialist is mapping out so deftly is, and must be, monophysical, +lightless, colourless, soundless--a phantasmagoric show--a deceptive +series of undulations, which become colour, or sound, or what not, +according to the organism upon which they fall.' + + +These words were followed by a sequence of mystical sonnets about +"the Omnipotence of Love," which showed, beyond doubt, that if my +father was not a scientific thinker, he was, at least, a very +original poet. And this made me perplexed as to what could have drawn +Wilderspin, who scorned the art of poetry, into the meshes of _The +Veiled Queen_. Perhaps, however, it was because Wilderspin's ancestry +was, notwithstanding his English name, largely, if not wholly, Welsh, +as I learnt from Cyril. Welshmen, whether sensitive or not to the +rhythmic expression of the English language, are almost all, I +believe, of the poetic temperament. + +But from this moment my mind began to run upon the picture of Fenella +Stanley, surrounded by those Snowdonian spirits which her music was +supposed to have evoked from the mountain air of the morning. + + + +XIII + +THE MAGIC OF SNOWDON + + +I + +In a few days I left London and went to North Wales. + +Opposite to me in the railway carriage sat an elderly lady, into +whose face I occasionally felt myself to be staring in an unconscious +way. But I was merely communing with myself: I was saying to myself, +'My love of North Wales, and especially of Snowdon, is certainly very +strong; but it is easily accounted for--it is a matter of +temperament. Even had Wales not been associated with Winnie, I still +must have dearly loved it. Much has been said about the effect of +scenery upon the minds and temperaments of those who are native to +it. But temperament is a matter of ancestral conditions: the place of +one's birth is an accident. As some, like my cousin Percy, for +instance are born with a passion for the sea, and some with a passion +for forests, some with a passion for mountains, and some with a +passion for rolling plains. The landscape amid which I was born had, +no doubt, a charm for me, and could bring to me that nature-ecstacy +which I inherited from Fenella Stanley. But with Wales I actually +fell in love the moment I set foot in the country. This is why I am +hurrying there now.' + +And I laughed at myself, and evidently frightened the old lady very +much. She did not know that underneath the soul's direst +struggle--the struggle of personality with the tyranny of the +ancestral blood--there is an awful sense of humour--a laughter +(unconquerable, and yet intolerable) at the deepest of all +incongruities, the incongruity of Fate's game with man. I apologised +to her, and told her that I had been absorbed in reading a droll +story, in which a man believed that the Angel of Memory had +refashioned for him his dead wife out of his own sorrow and +unquenchable fountain of tears. + +'What an extraordinary idea!' said the old lady, in the conciliatory +tone she would have adopted towards a madman whom she found alone +with her in a railway carriage. 'I mean he was very eccentric, wasn't +he?' + +'Who shall say, madam? "Bold is the donkey-driver and bold the ka'dee +who dares say what he will believe, what disbelieve, not knowing in +any wise the mind of Allah, not knowing in any wise his own heart and +what it shall some day suffer."' + +At the next station the old lady left the carriage and entered +another, and I was left alone. + +My intention was to take up my residence at the cottage where +Winifred had lived with her aunt. Indeed, for a few days I did this, +taking with me one of the Welsh peasants with whom I had previously +made friends. But of course a lengthened stay in such a house was +impossible. More than ever now I needed attendance, and good +attendance, for I had passed into a strange state of irritability--I +had no command over my nerves, which were jarred by the most trifling +thing. I went to the hotel at Peri y Gwryd, but there tourists and +visitors made life more intolerable still to a man in my condition. + +At first I thought of building a house as near to the cottage as +possible; but this would take time, and I could not rest out of +Wales. I decided at last to have a wooden bungalow built. By telling +the builders that time was the first consideration with me, the cost +a secondary one, I got a bungalow built in a few weeks. By the +tradesmen of Chester I got it fitted up and furnished to my taste +with equal rapidity. Attending to this business gave real relief. + +When the bungalow was finished I removed into it the picture 'Faith +and Love.' I also got in as much painting material as I might want +and began to make sketches in the neighbourhood. + +Time went on, and there I remained. In a great degree, however, the +habit of grieving was conquered by my application to work. My +moroseness of temper gradually left me. + +Beautiful memories began to take the place of hideous ones--the +picture of the mattress and the squalor gave place to pictures of +Winifred on the sands of Raxton or on Snowdon. Yet so much of habit +is there in grief that even at this time I was subject to recurrent +waves of the old pain--waves which were sometimes as overmastering as +ever. + +I did not neglect the cottage, which was now my property, but kept it +in exactly the same state as that in which it had been put by Sinfi +after Winnie had wandered back to Wales. + +By isolating myself from all society, by surrounding myself with +mementos of Winifred, memory really did at last seem to be working a +miracle such as was worked for the widowed Ja'afar. + +Yet not entirely had memory passed into an objective presence. I +seemed to feel Winnie near me; but that was all. I felt that more +necessary than anything else in perfecting the atmosphere of memory +in which I would live was the society of her in whom alone I had +found sympathy--Sinfi Lovell. Did I also remember the wild theories +of my father and Fenella Stanley about the crwth? To obtain the +company of Sinfi had now become very difficult--her attitude towards +me had so changed. When she allowed me to rejoin the Lovells at +Kingston Vale she did so under the compulsion of my distress. But my +leaving the Gypsies of my own accord left her free from this +compulsion. She felt that she had now at last bidden me farewell +for ever. + +Still, opportunities of seeing her occasionally would, I knew, +present themselves, and I now determined to avail myself of these. +Panuel Lovell and some of the Boswells were not unfrequently in the +neighbourhood, and they were always accompanied by Sinfi and Videy. + + +II + +On a certain occasion, when I learnt that the Lovells were in the +neighbourhood, I sought them out. Sinfi at first was extremely shy, +or distant, or proud, or scared, and it was not till after one or two +interviews that she relaxed. She still was overshadowed by some +mysterious feeling towards me that seemed at one moment anger, at +another dread. However, I succeeded at last. I persuaded Panuel and +his daughters to leave their friends at 'the Place,' and spend a few +days with me at the bungalow. Great was the gaping and wide the +grinning among the tourists to see me inarching along the Capel Curig +road with three Gypsies. But to all human opinion I had become as +indifferent as Wilderspin himself. + +As we walked along the road, Sinfi slowly warmed into her old self, +but Videy, as usual, was silent, preoccupied, and meditative. When we +got within sight of the bungalow, however, the lights flashing from +the windows made the long low building look very imposing. Pharaoh, +the bantam cock which Sinfi was carrying, began to crow, but silence +again fell upon Sinfi. + +Panuel, when we entered the bungalow, said he was very tired and +would like to go to bed. I had perceived by the glossy appearance of +his skin (which was of the colour of beeswaxed mahogany) and the +benevolent dimple in his check that, although far from being +intoxicated, he was 'market-merry'; and as the two sisters also +seemed tired, I took the party at once to their bedrooms. + +'Dordi! what a gran' room,' said Sinfi, in a hushed voice, as I +opened the door of the one allotted to her. 'Don't you mind, Videy, +when you an' me fust slep' like two kairengros?' [Footnote] + +[Footnote: House-dwellers.] + +'No, I don't,' said Videy sharply. + +'It was at Llangollen Fair,' continued Sinfi, her frank face beaming +like a great child's; 'two little chavies we was then. An' don't you +mind, Videy, how we both on us cried when they put us to bed, 'cause +we was afeard the ceilin' would fall down on us?' + +Videy made no answer, but tossed up her head and looked around to see +whether there was a grinning servant within earshot. + +'Good-night, Sinfi,' I said, shaking her hand; 'and now, Videy, I +will show you your room.' + +'Oh, but Videy an' me sleeps togither, don't we?' + +'Certainly, if you wish it,' I replied. + +'She's afeard o' the "mullos,"' said Videy scornfully, as she went +and stood before an old engraved Venetian mirror I had picked up at +Chester, admiring her own perfect little figure reflected therein. +'Ever since she's know'd you she's bin afeard o' mullos, and keeps +Pharaoh with her o' nights; the mullos never come where there's a +crowin' cock.' + +I did not look at Sinfi, but bent my eyes upon the mirror, where, +several inches above the reflex of Videy's sarcastic face, shone the +features of Sinfi, perfectly cut as those of a Greek statue. + +'It's the dukkerin' dook [Footnote] as she's afeard on,' said Videy, +smiling in the glass till her face seemed one wicked glitter of +scarlet lips and pearly teeth. 'An' yit there ain't no dukkerin' +dook, an' there ain't no mullos.' + +[Footnote: The prophesying ghost.] + +Among the elaborately-engraved flowers and stars at the top of the +mirror was the representation of an angel grasping a musical +instrument. + +'Look, look!' said Sinfi, 'I never know'd afore that angels played +the crwth. I wonder whether they can draw a livin' mullo up to the +clouds, same as my crwth can draw one to Snowdon?' + +I bade them good-night, and joined Panuel at the door. + +I was conducting him along the corridor to his room when the door was +reopened and Sinfi's head appeared, as bright as ever, and then a +beckoning hand. + +'Reia,' said she, when I had returned to the door, 'I want to whisper +a word in your ear'; and she pulled my head towards the door and +whispered, 'Don't tell nobody about that 'ere jewelled trúshul in the +church vaults at Raxton. We shall be going down there at the fair +time, so don't tell nobody.' + +'But you surely are not afraid of your father,' I whispered in reply. + +'No, no,' said she, bringing her lips so close to my face that I felt +the breath steaming round my ear. 'Not daddy--Videy!--Daddy can't +keep a secret for five minutes. It's her I'm afeared on.' + +I had scarcely left the door two yards behind me when I heard the +voices of the sisters in loud altercation. I heard Sinfi exclaim, 'I +sha'n't tell you what I said to him, so now! It was somethin' atween +him an' me.' + +'There they are ag'in,' said Panuel, bending his head sagely round +and pointing with his thumb over his shoulder to the door; 'at it +ag'in! Them two chavies o' mine are allus a-quarrellin' now, an' it's +allus about the same thing. 'Tain't the quarrellin' as I mind so +much,--women an' sparrows, they say, must cherrup an' quarrel,--but +they needn't allus keep a-nag-naggin' about the same thing.' + +'What's their subject, Panuel?' I asked. + +'Subjick? Why _you_, in course. That's what the subjick is. When +women quarrels you may allus be sure there's a chap somewheres +about.' + +By this time we had entered his bedroom: he went and sat upon the +bed, and without looking round him began unlacing his 'highlows.' I +had often on previous occasions remarked that Panuel, who, when +sober, was as silent as Videy, and looked like her in the face, +became, the moment that he passed into 'market-merriness,' as frank +and communicative as Sinfi, and (what was more inexplicable) _looked_ +as much like Sinfi as he had previously looked like Videy. + +'How can I be the subject of their quarrels?' I said, listlessly +enough, for I scarcely at first followed his words. + +'How? Ain't you a chap?' + +'Undoubtedly, Panuel, I am a chap.' + +'When women quarrels there's allus a chap somewheres about, in course +there is. But look ye here, Mr. Aylwin, the fault ain't Sinfi's, not +a bit of it. It's Videy's, wi' her dog-in-the-manger ways. She's a +back-bred un,' he said, giving me a knowing wink as he pulled off his +calf-skin waistcoat and tossed it on to a chair at the further end of +the room with a certainty of aim that would have been marvellous, +even had he been entirely free from market-merriness. + +I had before observed that Panuel when market-merry always designated +Videy the 'back-bred un, that took a'ter Shuri's blazin' ole dad!' +When sober his views of heredity changed; the 'back-bred un' was +Sinfi. + +After breakfast next morning it was agreed that Panuel and Videy +should walk to the Place to see that everything was going on well, +while Sinfi and I should remain in the bungalow. I observed from the +distance that Videy had loitered behind her father on the Capel Curig +road. I saw a dark shadow of anger pass over Sinfi's face, and I soon +understood what was causing it. The daughter of the well-to-do Panuel +Lovell and my guest was accosting a tourist with, 'Let me tell you +your fortune, my pretty gentleman. Give the poor Gypsy a sixpence for +luck, my gentleman.' + +The bungalow delighted Sinfi. 'It's just like a great livin'-waggin, +only more comfortable,' said she. + +We spent the entire morning and afternoon there, and much of the next +two days. It certainly seemed to me that her mere presence was an +immense stimulus to memory in vitalising its one image. + +'What's the use o' us a-keepin' a-talkin' about Winnie?' Sinfi said +to me one day. 'It on'y makes you fret. You skears me sometimes; for +your eyes are a-gettin' jis' as sad-lookin' as Mr. D'Arcy's eyes, an' +it's all along o' fret-tin'.' + +I persuaded her to stay with me while Panuel and Videy went on to +Chester, for she could both soothe and amuse me. + + +III + +Those who might suppose that Sinfi Lovell's lack of education would +be a barrier against our sympathy, know little or nothing of real +sorrow--little or nothing of the human heart--little or nothing of +the stricken soul that looks out on man and his conventions through +the light of an intolerable pain. + +I now began to read and study as well as paint. But so absorbed was I +in my struggle with Fenella Stanley and Romany superstitions, that +the only subject which could distract me from memory was that of +hereditary influence--prepotency of transmission in relation to +races. Though Sinfi could neither read nor write, she loved to sit by +my side and, caressing Pharaoh, to watch me as I read or wrote. To +her there evidently seemed something mysterious and uncanny in +writing, something like 'penning dukkering.' It seemed to her, I +think, a much more remarkable accomplishment than that of painting. +And as to reading, I am not sure that the satirical Videy was +entirely wrong in saying that Sinfi believed that books 'could talk +jis' like men and women.' Not a word would she speak, save when she +now and then bent down her head to whisper to Pharaoh when that +little warrior was inclined to give a disturbing chuckle, or to shake +his wattles. And when at last she and Pharaoh got wearied by the +prolonged silence, she would begin to murmur in a tone of playful +satire to the restless bird, 'Mum, mum, Pharaoh. He's too hoot of a +mush to rocker a choori chavi.' [Hush, hush, Pharaoh. He's too proud +to speak to a poor child.] + +Of course there was immense curiosity about my life at the bungalow, +not only among the visitors at the Capel Curig Hotel, but among the +Welsh residents; and rarely did the weekly papers come out without +some paragraph about me. As a result of this, some of the London +papers reproduced the paragraphs, and built upon their gossip columns +of a positively offensive nature. In a paper which I will for +convenience call the _London Satirist_ appeared a paragraph which +some one cut out of the columns of the paper and posted to me. It ran +thus: + + +'THE ECCENTRIC AYLWINS.--The power of heredity, which has much +exercised the mind of Balzac, has never been more strikingly +exemplified than in the case of the great family of the Aylwins. It +is matter of common knowledge that some generations ago one of the +Aylwins married a Gypsy. This fact did not, however, prevent his +branch from being respectable, and receiving the name of the proud +Aylwins; and the Gypsy blood remained entirely in abeyance until the +present generation. Mr. Percy Aylwin, it will be remembered, having +been smitten by the charms of a certain Rhona Boswell, actually set +up a tent with the Gypsies; and now Mr. Henry Aylwin, of Raxton Hall +(who, by the bye, has never been seen in that neighbourhood since the +great landslip), is said to be following a good example by living in +Wales with a Gypsy wife, but whether the wedding took place at St. +George's, Hanover Square, or in simpler fashion in an encampment of +Little Egypt, we do not know.' + + +One day in the bungalow, when I was reading the copious marginalia +with which my father had furnished his own copy of _The Veiled +Queen_, I came upon a passage which so completely carried my mind +back to the night of our betrothal that I heard as plainly as I had +then heard Winnie's words at the door of her father's cottage: + +'I should have to come in the winds and play around you in the woods. +I should have to peep over the clouds and watch you. I should have +to follow you about wherever you went. I should have to beset you +till you said: "Bother Winnie, I wish she'd keep in heaven!"' + +The written words of my father that had worked this magical effect +upon me were these: + + +'But after months of these lonely wanderings in Graylingham Wood and +along the sands, not even the reshaping power of memory would suffice +to appease my longing; a new hope, wild as new, was breaking in upon +my soul, dim and yet golden, like the sun struggling through a +sea-fog. While wandering with me along the sands on the eve of that +dreadful day when I lost her, she had declared that even in heaven +she could not rest without me, nor did I understand how she could. +For by this time my instincts had fully taught me that there is a +kind of love so intense that no power in the universe--not death +itself--is strong enough to sever it from its object. I knew that +although true spiritual love, as thus understood, scarcely exists +among Englishmen, and even among Englishwomen is so rare that the +capacity for feeling it is a kind of genius, this genius was hers. +Sooner or later I said to myself, "She will and must manifest +herself!"' + + +I looked up from the book and saw both Sinfi and Pharaoh gazing at +me. + +'Sinfi,' I said, 'what were Winnie's favourite places among the +hills? Where was she most in the habit of roaming when she stayed +with your people?' + +'If I ain't told you that often enough it's a pity, brother,' she +said. 'What do _you_ think, Pharaoh?' + +Pharaoh expressed his acquiescence in the satire by clapping his +wings and crowing at me contemptuously. + +'The place I think she liked most of all wur that very pool where she +and you breakfasted together on that morning.' + +'Were there no other favourite places?' + +'Yes, there wur the Fairy Glen; she wur very fond of that. And there +wur the Swallow Falls; she wur very fond of them. And there wur a +place on the Beddgelert pathway, up from the Carnarvon road, about +two miles from Beddgelert. There is a great bit of rock there where +she used to love to sit and look across towards Anglesey. And talking +about that place reminds me, brother, that our people and the +Boswells and a lot more are camped on the Carnarvon road just where +the pathway up Snowdon begins. And I wur told yesterday by a +'quaintance of mine as I seed outside the bungalow that daddy and +Videy had joined them. Shouldn't we go and see 'em?' + +This exactly fitted in with the thoughts and projects that had +suddenly come to me, and it was arranged that we should start for the +encampment next morning. + +As we were leaving the bungalow the next day, I said to Sinfi, 'You +are not taking your crwth.' + +'Crwth! we sha'n't want that.' + +'Your people are very fond of music, you know. Your father is very +fond of a musical tea.' + +'So he is. I'll take it,' said Sinfi. + + +IV + +When we reached the camping-place on the Carnarvon road we found a +very jolly party. Panuel had had some very successful dealings, and +he was slightly market-merry. He said to Videy, 'Make the tea, Vi, +and let Sinfi hev' hern fust, so that she can play on the Welsh +fiddle while the rest on us are getting ourn. It'll seem jist like +Chester Fair with Jim Burton scrapin' in the dancin' booth to heel +and toe.' + +Sinfi soon finished her tea, and began to play some merry dancing +airs, which set Rhona Boswell's limbs twittering till she spilt her +tea in her lap. Then, laughing at the catastrophe, she sprang up +saying, 'I'll dance myself dry,' and began dancing on the sward. + +After tea was over the party got too boisterous for Sinfi's taste, +and she said to me, 'Let's slip away, brother, and go up the pathway, +and I'll show you Winnie's favourite place.' + +This proposal met my wishes entirely, and under the pretence of going +to look at something on the Carnarvon road we managed to escape from +the party, Sinfi still carrying her crwth and bow. She then led the +way up a slope green with grass and moss. We did not talk till we had +passed the slate quarry. + +The evening was so fine and the scene was so lovely that Sinfi's very +body seemed to drink it in and become intoxicated with beauty. After +we had left the slate quarries behind, the panorama became more +entrancing at every yard we walked. Cwellyn Lake and Valley, Moel +Hebog, y Garnedd, the glittering sea, Anglesey, Holyhead Hill, all +seemed to be growing in gold and glory out of masses of sunset mist. + +When at last we reached the edge of a steep cliff, with the rocky +forehead of Snowdon in front, and the shining llyns of Cwm y Clogwyn +below, Sinfi stopped. + +'This is the place,' said she, sitting down on a mossy mound, 'where +Winnie loved to come and look down.' + +After Sinfi and I had sat on this mound for a few minutes, I asked +her to sing and play one or two Welsh airs which I knew to be +especial favourites of hers, and then, with much hesitancy, I asked +her to play and sing the same song or incantation which had become +associated for ever with my first morning on the hills. + +'You mean the Welsh dukkerin' gillie,' said Sinfi, looking, with an +expression that might have been either alarm or suspicion, into my +face. + +'Yes.' + +'You've been a-thinkin' all this while, brother, that I don't know +why you asked me about Winnie's favourite places on Snowdon, and why +you wanted me to take my crwth to the camp. But I've been a-thinkin' +about it, and I know now why you did, and I know why you wants me to +play the Welsh dukkerin' gillie here. It's because you heerd me say +that if I were to play that dukkerin' gillie on Snowdon in the places +she was fond on, I could tell for sartin whether Winnie wur alive or +dead. If she wur alive her livin' mullo 'ud follow the crwth. But I +ain't a-goin' to do it.' + +'Why not, Sinfi?' + +'Because my mammy used to say it ain't right to make use o' the real +dukkerin' for Gorgios, and I've heerd her say that if them as had the +real dukkerin'--the dukkerin' for the Romanies--used it for the +Gorgios, or if they turned it into a sport and a plaything, it 'ud +leave 'em altogether. And that ain't the wust on it, for when the +real dukkerin' leaves you it turns into a kind of a cuss, and it +brings on the bite of the Romany Sap. [Footnote] Even now, Hal, I +sometimes o' nights feels the bite here of the Romany Sap,' pointing +to her bosom, 'and it's all along o' you, Hal, it's all along o' you, +because I seem to be breaking the promise about Gorgios I made to my +poor mammy.' + +[Footnote: The Romany serpent, Conscience.] + +'The Romany Sap? You mean the Romany conscience, I suppose, Sinfi: +you mean the trouble a Romany feels when he has broken the Romany +laws, when he has done wrong according to the Romany notions of right +and wrong. But you are innocent of all wrong-doing.' + +'I don't know nothin' about conscience,' said she, 'I mean the Romany +Sap. Don't you mind when we was a-goin' up Snowdon arter Winifred +that mornin'? I told you as the rocks, an' the trees, an' the winds, +an' the waters cuss us when we goes ag'in the Romany blood an' ag'in +the dukkerin' dook. The cuss that the rocks, an' the trees, an' the +winds, an' the waters makes, an' sends it out to bite the burk +[Footnote] o' the Romany as does wrong--that's the Romany Sap.' + +[Footnote: Breast.] + +'You mean conscience, Sinfi.' + +'No, I don't mean nothink o' the sort; the Romanies ain't got no +conscience, an' if the Gorgios has, it's precious little good as it +does 'em, as far as I can see. But the Romanies has got the Romany +Sap. Everything wrong as you does, such as killin' a Romany, or +cheatin' a Romany, or playin' the lubbany with a Gorgio, or breakin' +your oath to your mammy as is dead, or goin' ag'in the dukkerin' +dook, an' sich like, every one o' these things turns into the Romany +Sap.' + +'You're speaking of conscience, Sinfi.' + +'Every one o' them wrong things as you does seems to make out o' the +burk o' the airth a sap o' its own as has got its own pertickler +stare, but allus it's a hungry sap, Hal, an' a sap wi' bloody fangs. +An' it's a sap as follows the bad un's feet, Hal--follows the bad +un's feet wheresomever they goes; it's a sap as goes slippin' thro' +the dews o' the grass on the brightest mornin', an' dodges round the +trees in the sweetest evenin', an' goes wriggle, wriggle across the +brook jis' when you wants to enjoy yourself, jis' when you wants to +stay a bit on the steppin'-stuns to enjoy the sight o' the dear +little minnows a-shootin' atween the water-creases. That's what the +Romany Sap is.' + +'Don't talk like that, Sinfi,' I said; 'you make me feel the sap +myself.' + +'It's a sap, Hal, as follows you everywheres, everywheres, till you +feel as you must stop an' face it whatever comes; an' stop you do at +last, an' turn round you must, an' bare your burk you must to the +sharp teeth o' that air wenemous sap.' + +'Well, and what then, Sinfi?' + +'Well then, when you ha' given up to the thing its fill o' your +blood, then the trees, an' the rocks, an' the winds, an' the waters +seem to know, for everythink seems to begin smilin' ag'in, an' you're +let to go on your way till you do somethin' bad ag'in. That's the +Romany Sap, Hal, an' I won't deny as I sometimes feel its bite pretty +hard here' (pointing to her breast) 'when I thinks what I promised my +poor mammy, an' how I kep' my word to her, when I let a Gorgio come +under our tents.' [Footnote] + +[Footnote: To prevent misconceptions, it may be well to say that the +paraphrase of Sinfi's description of the 'Romany Sap,' which appeared +in the writer's reminiscences of George Borrow, was written long +after the main portion of the present narrative.] + +'You don't mean,' I said, 'that it is a real flesh-and-blood sap, but +a sap that you think you see and feel.' + +'Hal,' said Sinfi, 'a Romany's feelin's ain't like a Gorgio's. A +Romany can feel the bite of a sap whether it's made o' flesh an' +blood or not, and the Romany Sap's all the wuss for not bein' a +flesh-and-blood sap, for it's a cuss hatched in the airth; it's +everythink a-cussin' on ye--the airth, an' the sky, an' the dukkerin' +dook.' + +Her manner was so solemn, her grand simplicity was so pathetic, that +I felt I could not urge her to do what her conscience told her was +wrong. But soon that which no persuasion of mine would have effected +the grief and disappointment expressed by my face achieved. + +'Hal,' she said, 'I sometimes feel as if I'd bear the bite o' all the +Romany saps as ever wur hatched to give you a little comfort. +Besides, it's for a true Romany arter all--it's for myself quite as +much as for you that I'm a-goin' to see whether Winnie is alive or +dead. If she's dead we sha'n't see nothink, and perhaps if she's in +one o' them fits o' hern we sha'n't see nothink; but if she's alive +and herself ag'in, I believe I shall see--p'raps we shall both +see--her livin' mullo.' + +She then drew the bow across the crwth. The instrument at first +seemed to chatter with her agitation. I waited in breathless +suspense. At last there came clearly from her crwth the wild air I +had already heard on Snowdon. Then the sound of the instrument ceased +save for the drone of the two bottom strings, and Sinfi's voice leapt +out and I heard the words of what she called the Welsh dukkering +gillie. + +As I listened and looked over the wide-stretching panorama before me, +I felt my very flesh answering to every vibration; and when the song +stopped and I suddenly heard Sinfi call out, 'Look, brother!' I felt +that my own being, physical and mental, had passed into a new phase, +and that resistance to some mighty power governing my blood was +impossible. + +'Look straight afore you, brother, and you'll see Winnie's face. +She's alive, brother, and the dukkeripen of the Golden Hand will come +true, and mine will come true. Oh, mammy, mammy!' + +At first I saw nothing, but after a while two blue eyes seemed gazing +at me as through a veil of evening haze. They were looking straight +at me, those beloved eyes--they were sparkling with childish +happiness as they had sparkled through the vapours of the pool when +she walked towards me that morning on the brink of Knockers' Llyn. + +Starting up and throwing up my arms, I cried, 'My darling!' The +vision vanished. Then turning round, I looked at Sinfi. She seemed +listening to a voice I could not hear--her face was pale with +emotion. I could hear her breath coming and going heavily; her bosom +rose and fell, and the necklace of coral and gold coins around her +throat trembled like a shuddering snake while she murmured, 'My +dukkeripen! Yes, mammy, I've gone ag'in you and broke my promise, +and this is the very Gorgio as you meant.' + +'Call the vision back,' I said; 'play the air again, dear Sinfi.' + +She sprang in front of me, and seizing one of my wrists, she gazed in +my face, and said, 'Yes, it's "dear Sinfi"! You wants dear Sinfi to +fiddle the Gorgie's livin' mullo back to you.' + +I looked into the dark eyes, lately so kind. I did not know them. +They were dilated and grown red-brown in hue, like the scorched +colour of a North African lion's mane, and along the eyelashes a +phosphorescent light seemed to play. What did it mean? Was it indeed +Sinfi standing there, rigid as a column, with a clenched brown fist +drawn up to the broad, heaving breast, till the knuckles shone white, +as if about to strike me? What made her throw out her arms as if +struggling desperately with the air, or with some unseen foe who was +binding her with chains? + +I stood astounded, watching her, as she gradually calmed down and +became herself again; but I was deeply perplexed and deeply troubled. + + +After a while she said, 'Let's go back to "the Place,"' and without +waiting for my acquiescence, she strode along down the path towards +Beddgelert. + +I was quickly by her side, but felt as little in the mood for talking +as she did. Suddenly a small lizard glided from the grass. + +'The Romany Sap!' cried Sinfi, and she--the fearless woman before +whom the stoutest Gypsy men had quailed--sobbed wildly in terror. She +soon recovered herself, and said: 'What a fool you must think me, +Hal! It wur all through talkin' about the Romany Sap. At fust I +thought it wur the Romany Sap itself, an' it wur only a poor little +effet arter all. There ain't a-many things made o' flesh and blood as +can make Sinfi Lovell show the white feather; but I know you'll think +the wuss o' me arter this, Hal. But while the pictur were a-showin' I +heard my dear mammy's whisper: "Little Sinfi, little Sinfi, beware o' +Gorgios! This is the one."' + + +V + +By the time we reached the encampment it was quite dark. Panuel, and +indeed most of the Gypsies, had turned into the tents for the night; +but both Videy Lovell and Rhona Boswell were moving about as briskly +as though the time was early morning, one with guile expressed in +every feature, the other shedding that aura of frankness and sweet +winsomeness which enslaved Percy Aylwin, and no wonder. + +Rhona was in a specially playful mood, and came dancing round us more +like a child of six than a young woman with a Romany Rye for a lover. + +But neither Sinfi nor I was in the mood for frolic. My living-waggon, +which still went about wherever the Lovells went, had been carefully +prepared for me by Rhona, and I at once went into it, not with the +idea of getting much sleep, but in order to be alone with my +thoughts. What was I to think of my experiences of that evening? Was +I really to take the spectacle that had seemed to fall upon my eyes +when listening to Sinfi's crwth, or rather when listening to her +song, as evidence that Winifred was alive? Oh, if I could, if I +could! Was I really to accept as true this fantastic superstition +about the crwth and the spirits of Snowdon and the 'living mullo'? +That was too monstrous a thought even for me to entertain. +Notwithstanding all that had passed in the long and dire struggle +between my reason and the mysticism inherited with the blood of two +lines of superstitious ancestors, which circumstances had conspired +to foster, my reason had only been baffled and thwarted; it had not +really been slain. + +What, then, could be the explanation of the spectacle that had seemed +to fall upon my eyes? 'It is hallucination,' I said, 'and it is the +result of two very powerful causes--my own strong imagination, +excited to a state of feverish exaltation by the long strain of my +suffering, and that power in Sinfi which D'Arcy had described as her +"half-unconscious power as a mesmerist." At a moment when my will, +weakened by sorrow and pain, lay prostrate beneath my own fevered +imagination, Sinfi's voice, so full of intense belief in her own +hallucination, had leapt, as it were, into my consciousness and +enslaved my imagination, which in turn had enslaved my will and my +senses.' + +For hours I argued this point with myself, and I ended by coming +to the conclusion that it was 'my mind's eye' alone that saw the +picture of Winifred. + +But there was also another question to confront. What was the cause +of Sinfi's astonishing emotion after the vision vanished? Such a +mingling of warring passions I had never seen before. I tried to +account for it. I thought about it for hours, and finally fell +asleep without finding any solution of the enigma. + +I had no conversation of a private nature with Sinfi until the next +evening, when the camp was on the move. + +'You had no sleep last night, Sinfi; I can see it by the dark circles +round your eyes.' + +'That's nuther here nor there, brother,' she said. + + +I found to my surprise that the Gypsies were preparing to remove the +camp to a place not far from Bettws y Coed. I suggested to Sinfi that +we two should return to the bungalow. But she told me that her stay +there had come to an end. The firmness with which she made this +announcement made me sure that there was no appeal. + +'Then,' said I, 'my living-waggon will come into use again. The +camping place is near some of the best trout streams in the +neighbourhood, and I sadly want some trout-fishing.' + +'We part company to-day, brother,' she said. 'We can't be pals no +more--never no more.' + +'Sister, I will not be parted from you: I shall follow you.' + +'Reia--Hal Aylwin--you knows very well that any man, Gorgio or +Romany, as followed Sinfi Lovell when she told him not, 'ud ketch +a body-blow as wouldn't leave him three hull ribs, nor a ounce o' +wind to bless hisself with.' + +'But I am now one of the Lovells, and I shall go with you. I am a +Romany myself--I mean I am becoming more and more of a Romany every +day and every hour. The blood of Fenella Stanley is in us both.' + +She looked at me, evidently astonished at the earnestness and the +energy of my tone. Indeed at that moment I felt an alien among +Gorgios. + +'I am now one of the Lovells,' I said, 'and I shall go with you.' + +'We part company to-night, brother, fare ye well,' she said. + +As she stood delivering this speech--her head erect, her eyes +flashing angrily at me, her brown fists tightly clenched, I knew that +further resistance would be futile. + +'But now I wants to be left alone,' she said. + +She bent her head forward in a listening attitude, and I heard her +murmur, 'I knowed it 'ud come ag'in. A Romany sperrit likes to come +up in the evenin' and smell the heather an' see the shinin' stars +come out.' + +While she was speaking, she began to move off between the trees. But +she turned, took hold of both my hands, and gazed into my eyes. Then +she moved away again, and I was beginning to follow her. She turned +and said: 'Don't follow me. There ain't no place for ye among the +Romanies. Go the ways o' the Gorgios, Hal Aylwin, an' let Sinfi +Lovell go hern.' + +As I leaned against a tree and watched Sinfi striding through the +grass till she passed out of sight, the entire panorama of my life +passed before me. + +'She has left me with a blessing after all,' I said; 'my poor Sinfi +has taught me the lesson that he who would fain be cured of the +disease of a wasting sorrow must burn to ashes Memory. He must flee +Memory and never look back.' + + +VI + +And did I flee Memory? When I re-entered the bungalow next day it was +my intention to leave it and Wales at once and for ever, and indeed +to leave England at once--perhaps for ever, in order to escape from +the unmanning effect of the sorrowful brooding which I knew had +become a habit. 'I will now,' I said, 'try the nepenthe that all my +friends in their letters are urging me to try--I will travel. Yes, I +will go to Japan. My late experiences should teach me that Ja'afar's +"Angel of Memory," who refashioned for him his dead wife out of his +own sorrow and tears, did him an ill service. He who would fain be +cured of the disease of a wasting sorrow should try to flee the +"Angel of Memory," and never look back.' + +And so fixed was my mind upon travelling that I wrote to several of +my friends, and told them of my intention. But I need scarcely say +that as I urged them to keep the matter secret it was talked about +far and wide. Indeed, as I afterwards found to my cost, there were +paragraphs in the newspapers stating that the eccentric amateur +painter and heir of one branch of the Aylwins had at last gone to +Japan, and that as his deep interest in a certain charming beauty of +an un-English type was proverbial, it was expected that he would +return with a Japanese, or perhaps a Chinese wife. + +But I did not go to Japan; and what prevented me? + +My reason told me that what I had just seen near Beddgelert was an +optical illusion. I had become very learned on the subject of optical +illusions ever since I had known Sinfi Lovell, and especially since I +had seen that picture of Winnie in the water near Bettws y Coed, +which I have described in an earlier chapter. Every book I could get +upon optical illusions I had read, and I was astonished to find how +many instances are on record of illusions of a much more powerful +kind than mine. + +And yet I could not leave Snowdon. The mountain's very breath grew +sweeter and sweeter of Winnie's lips. As I walked about the hills I +found myself repeating over and over again one of the verses which +Winnie used to sing to me as a child at Raxton. + + Eryri fynyddig i mi, + Bro dawel y delyn yw, + Lle mae'r defaid a'r wyn, + Yn y mwswg a'r brwyn, + Am cân inau'n esgyn i fyny, + A'r gareg yn ateb i fyny, i fyny, + O'r lle bu'r eryrod yn byw. [Footnote] + +[Footnote: + + Mountain-wild Snowdon for me! + Sweet silence there for the harp, + Where loiter the ewes and the lambs, + In the moss and the rushes, + Where one's song goes sounding up + And the rocks re-echo it higher and higher + In the height where the eagles live.] + +But then I felt that Sinfi was the mere instrument of the mysterious +magic of y Wyddfa, that magic which no other mountain in Europe +exercises. I knew that among all the Gypsies Sinfi was almost the +only one who possessed that power which belonged once to her race, +that power which is expressed in a Scottish word now universally +misused, 'glamour,' the power which Johnnie Faa and his people +brought into play when they abducted Lady Casilis. + + Soon as they saw her well-faured face + They cast the glamour oure her. + +'Yes,' I said, 'I am convinced that my illusion is the result of two +causes, my own brooding over Winnie's tragedy and the glamour that +Sinfi sheds around her, either consciously or unconsciously; that +imperious imagination of hers which projects her own visions upon the +senses of another person either with or without an exercise of her +own will. This is the explanation, I am convinced.' + +Wheresoever I now went, Snowdon's message to my heart was, 'She +lives,' and my heart accepted the message. And then the new blessed +feeling that Winnie was not lying in a pauper grave had an effect +upon me that a few who read these pages will understand--only a few. +Perhaps, indeed, even those I am thinking of, those who, having lost +the one being they loved, feel that the earth has lost all its +beauty--perhaps even these may not be able to sympathise fully with +me in this matter, never having had an experience remotely comparable +with mine. + +When I thought of Winifred lying at the bottom of some chasm in +Snowdon, my grief was very great, as these pages show. Yet it was not +intolerable; it did not threaten to unseat my reason, for even then, +when I knew so little of the magic of y Wyddfa, I felt how close was +the connection between my darling and the hills that knew her and +loved her. But during the time that her death, amidst surroundings +too appalling to contemplate, hung before my eyes in a dreadful +picture--during the time when it seemed certain that her death in a +garret, her burial in a pauper pit six coffins deep, was a hideous +truth and no fancy, all the beauty with which Nature seemed at one +time clothed was wiped away as by a sponge. The earth was nothing +more than a charnel-house, the skies above it were the roof of the +Palace of Nin-ki-gal. But now that Snowdon had spoken to me, the old +life which had formerly made the world so beautiful and so beloved +came back. + +All nature seemed rich and glowing with the deep expectance of my +heart. The sunrise and the sunset seemed conscious of Winnie, and the +very birds seemed to be warbling at times 'She's alive.' + +I think, indeed, that I had passed into that sufistic ecstasy +expressed by a writer often quoted by my father, an Oriental writer, +Ferridoddin-- + + With love I burn: the centre is within me; + While in a circle everywhere around me + Its Wonder lies-- + +that exalted mood, I mean, described in the great chapter on the +Renascence of Wonder which forms the very core and heart-thought of +the strange book so strangely destined to govern the entire drama of +my life, _The Veiled Queen_. + +The very words of the opening of that chapter came to me: + +'The omnipotence of love--its power of knitting together the entire +universe--is, of course, best understood by the Oriental mind. Just +after the loss of my dear wife I wrote the following poem called "The +Bedouin Child," dealing with the strange feeling among the Bedouins +about girl children, and I translated it into Arabic. Among these +Bedouins a father in enumerating his children never counts his +daughters, because a daughter is considered a disgrace. + + 'Ilyàs the prophet, lingering 'neath the moon, + Heard from a tent a child's heart-withering wail, + Mixt with the message of the nightingale, + And, entering, found, sunk in mysterious swoon, + A little maiden dreaming there alone. + She babbled of her father sitting pale + 'Neath wings of Death--'mid sights of sorrow and bale, + And pleaded for his life in piteous tone. + + '"Poor child, plead on," the succouring prophet saith, + While she, with eager lips, like one who tries + To kiss a dream, stretches her arms and cries + To Heaven for help--"Plead on; such pure love-breath, + Beaching the Throne, might stay the wings of Death + That, in the Desert, fan thy father's eyes." + + 'The drouth-slain camels lie on every hand; + Seven sons await the morning vultures' claws; + 'Mid empty water-skins and camel maws + The father sits, the last of all the band. + He mutters, drowsing o'er the moonlit sand, + "Sleep fans my brow: sleep makes us all pashas; + Or, if the wings are Death's, why Azraeel draws + A childless father from an empty land." + + '"Nay," saith a Voice, "the wind of Azraeel's wings + A child's sweet breath has stilled: so God decrees:" + A camel's bell comes tinkling on the breeze. + Filling the Bedouin's brain with bubble of springs + And scent of flowers and shadow of wavering trees, + Where, from a tent, a little maiden sings. + +'Between this reading of Nature, which makes her but "the superficial +film" of the immensity of God, and that which finds a mystic heart of +love and beauty beating within the bosom of Nature herself, I know no +real difference. Sufism, in some form or another, could not possibly +be confined to Asia. The Greeks, though strangers to the mystic +element of that Beauty-worship which in Asia became afterwards +sufism, could not have exhibited a passion for concrete beauty such +as theirs without feeling that, deeper than Tartarus, stronger than +Destiny and Death, the great heart of Nature is beating to the tune +of universal love and beauty.' + +This was followed by a still more mystical poem called 'The Persian +Slave Girl's Progress to Paradise,' showing the Omnipotence of Love. +[Footnote] + +[Footnote: This poem of Philip Aylwin's appears now in the present +writer's volume, _The Coming of Love_.] + + + +XIV + +SINFI'S COUP DE THÉÂTRE + + +I + +Weeks passed by. I visited all the scenes that were in the least +degree associated with Winnie. + +The two places nearest to me--Fairy Glen and the Swallow Falls--which +I had always hitherto avoided on account of their being the +favourite haunts of tourists--I left to the last, because I +specially desired to see them by moonlight. With regard to Fairy +Glen, I had often heard Winnie say how she used to go there by +moonlight and imagine the Tylwyth Teg or the fairy scenes of the +_Midsummer Night's Dream_ which I had told her of long ago--imagine +them so vividly that she could actually see, on a certain projecting +rock in the cliffs that enclose the dell, the figure of Titania +dressed in green, with a wreath of leaves round her head. And with +regard to the Swallow Falls, I remembered only too well her telling +me, on the night of the landslip, the Welsh legend of Sir John Wynn, +who died in the seventeenth century, and whose ghost, imprisoned at +the bottom of the Falls on account of his ill deeds in the flesh, was +heard to shriek amid the din of the waters. On that fatal night she +told me that on certain rare occasions, when the moon shines straight +down the chasm, the wail will become an agonised shriek. I had often +wondered what natural sound this was which could afford such pabulum +to my old foe, Superstition. So one night, when the moon was shining +brilliantly--so brilliantly that the light seemed very little +feebler than that of day--I walked in the direction of the Swallow +Falls. + +Being afraid that I should not get much privacy at the Falls, I +started late. But I came upon only three or four people on the road. +I had forgotten that my own passion for moonlight was entirely a +Romany inheritance. I had forgotten that a family of English +tourists will carefully pull down the blinds and close the shutters, +in order to enjoy the luxury of candlelight, lamp-light, or gas, +when a Romany will throw wide open the tent's mouth to enjoy the +light he loves most of all--'chonesko dood,' as he calls the +moonlight. As I approached the Swallow Falls Hotel, I lingered to +let my fancy feast in anticipation on the lovely spectacle that +awaited me. When I turned into the wood I encountered only one +person, a lady, and she hurried back to the hotel as soon as I +approached the river. + +Following the slippery path as far as it led down the dell, I +stopped at the brink of a pool about a dozen yards, apparently, +from the bottom, and looked up at the water. Bursting like a vast +belt of molten silver out of an eerie wilderness of rocks and trees, +the stream, as it tumbled down between high walls of cliff to the +platform of projecting rocks around the pool at the edge of which I +stood, divided into three torrents, which themselves were again +divided and scattered by projecting boulders into cascades before +they fell into the gulf below. The whole seemed one wide cataract of +living moonlight that made the eyes ache with beauty. + +Amid the din of the water I listened for the wail which had so deeply +impressed Winifred, and certainly there was what may be described as +a sound within a sound, which ears so attuned to every note of +Superstition's gamut as Winifred's might easily accept as the wail of +Sir John Wynn's ghost. + +There was no footpath down to the bottom, but I descended without any +great difficulty, though I was now soaked in spray. Here the +mysterious human sound seemed to be less perceptible amid the din of +the torrent than from the platform where I had stayed to listen to +it. But when I climbed up again to the spot by the mid-pool where I +had originally stood, a strange sensation came to me. My recollection +of Winnie's words on the night of the landslip came upon me with such +overmastering power that the noise of the cataract seemed changed to +the sound of billows tumbling on Raxton sands, and the 'wail' of Sir +John Wynn seemed changed to that shriek from Raxton cliff which +appalled Winnie as it appalled me. + + +The following night I passed into a moonlight as bright as that which +had played me such fantastic tricks at the Swallow Falls. + +It was not until I had crossed the bridge over the Conway, and was +turning to the right in the direction of Fairy Glen, that I fully +realised how romantic the moonlight was. Every wooded hill and every +precipice, whether craggy and bald or feathered with pines, was +bathed in light that would have made an Irish bog, or an Essex marsh, +or an Isle of Ely fen, a land of poetry. + +When I reached Pont Llyn-yr-Afange (Beaver Pool Bridge) I lingered to +look down the lovely lane on the left, through which I was to pass in +order to reach the rocky dell of Fairy Glen, for it was perfumed, not +with the breath of the flowers now asleep, but with the perfume I +love most of all, the night's floating memory of the flowery breath +of day. + +Suddenly I felt some one touching my elbow. I turned round. It was +Rhona Boswell. I was amazed to see her, for I thought that all my +Gypsy friends, Boswells, Lovells, and the rest, were still attending +the horse-fairs in the Midlands and Eastern Counties. + +'We've only just got here,' said Rhona; 'wussur luck that we got here +at all. I wants to get back to dear Gypsy Dell and Rington Wood; +that's what I wants to do.' + +'Where is the camp?' I asked. + +'Same place, twix Bettws and Capel Curig.' + +She had been to the bungalow, she told me, with a message from Sinfi. +This message was that she particularly wished to meet me at Mrs. +Davies's cottage--'not at the bungalow'--on the following night. + +'She'll go there to-morrow mornin',' said Rhona, 'and make things +tidy for you; but she won't expect you till night, same time as she +met you there fust. She's got a key o' the door, she says, wot you +gev her.' + +I was not so surprised at Sinfi's proposed place of meeting as I +should have been had I not remembered her resolution not to return +to the bungalow, and not to let me return to the camp. + +'You must be sure to go to meet her at the cottage to-morrow night, +else you'll be too late.' + +'Why too late?' I asked. + +'Well,' said Rhona, 'I can't say as I knows why ezackly. But +I know she's bin' an' bought beautiful dresses at Chester, or +somewheres,--an' I think she's goin' to be married the day arter +to-morrow.' + +'Married to whom?' + +'Well, I can't say as I rightly knows,' said Rhona. + +'Do you know whether Mr. Cyril is in Wales?' I asked. + +'Yes,' said Rhona, 'him and the funny un are not far from Capel +Curig. Now I come to think on't, it's mose likely Mr. Cyril as she's +a-goin' to marry, for I know it ain't no Romany chal. It _can't_ be +the funny un,' added she, laughing. + +'But where's the wedding to take place?' + +'I can't say as I knows ezackly,' said Rhona; 'but I thinks it's by +Knockers' Llyn if it ain't on the top o' Snowdon.' + +'Good heavens, girl!' I said. 'What on earth makes you think that? +That pretty little head of yours is stuffed with the wildest +nonsense. I ran make nothing out of you, so good-night. Tell her I'll +be there.' + +And I was leaving her to walk down the lane when I turned back and +said, 'How long has Sinfi been at the camp?' + +'On'y jist come. She's bin away from us for a long while,' said +Rhona. + +And then she looked as if she was tempted to reveal some secret that +she was bound not to tell. + +'Sinfi's been very bad,' she went on, 'but she's better now. Her +daddy says she's under a cuss. She's been a-wastin' away like, but +she's better now.' + +'So it's Sinfi who is under a curse now,' I said to myself. 'I +suppose Superstition has at last turned her brain. This perhaps +explains Rhona's mad story.' + +'Does anybody but you think she's going to be married?' I asked her. +'Does her father think so?' + +'Her daddy says it ain't Sinfi as is goin' to be married; but I think +it's Sinfi! An' you'll know all about it the day arter to-morrow.' +And she tripped away in the direction of the camp. + +Lost in a whirl of thoughts and speculations, I turned into Fairy +Glen. And now, below me, lay the rocky dell so dearly beloved by +Winnie; and there I walked in such a magic web of light and shade as +can only be seen in that glen when the moon hangs over it in a +certain position. + +I descended the steps to the stream and sat down for a time on one +of the great boulders and asked myself if this was the very boulder +on which Winnie used to sit when she conjured up her childish +visions of fairyland. And by that sweet thought the beauty of the +scene became intensified. There, while the unbroken torrent of +the Conway--glittering along the narrow gorge of the glen between +silvered walls of rock as upright as the turreted bastions of a +castle--seemed to flash a kind of phosphorescent light of its own +upon the flowers and plants and sparsely scattered trees along the +sides, I sat and passed into Winifred's own dream, and the Tylwyth +Teg, which to Winnie represented Oberon and Titania and the whole +group of fairies, swept before me. + +Awaking from this dream, I looked up the wall of the cliff to enjoy +one more sight of the magical beauty, when there fell upon my eyes, +or seemed to fall, a sight that, though I felt it must be a delusion, +took away my breath. Standing on a piece of rock that was flush with +one of the steps by which I had descended was a slender girlish +figure, so lissom that it might have been the famous 'Queen of the +Fair People.' + +'Never,' I said to myself, 'was there an optical illusion so perfect. +I can see the moonlight playing upon her hair. But the hair is not +golden, as the hair of the Queen of the Tylwyth Teg should be; it is +dark as Winnie's own.' + +Then the face turned and she looked at the river, and then I +exclaimed 'Winifred!' And then Fairy Glen vanished and I was at +Raxton standing by a cottage door in the moonlight. I was listening +to a voice--that one voice to whose music every chord of life within +me was set for ever, which said, + +'I should have to come in the winds, and play around you on the +sands. I should have to peep over the clouds and watch you. I should +have to follow you about wherever you went.' + + +The sight vanished. Although I had no doubt that what I had seen was +an hallucination, when I moved farther on and stood and gazed at the +stream as it went winding round the mossy cliffs to join the Lledr, I +felt that Winnie was by my side, her hand in mine, and that we were +children together. And when I mounted the steps and strolled along +the path that leads to the plantation where the moonlight, falling +through the leaves, covered the ground with what seemed symbolical +arabesques of silver and grey and purple, I felt the pressure of +little fingers that seemed to express 'How beautiful!' And when I +stood gazing through the opening in the landscape, and saw the rocks +gleaming in the distance and the water down the Lledr valley, I saw +the sweet young face gazing in mine with the smile of the delight +that illumined it on the Wilderness Road when she discoursed of birds +and the wind. + +The vividness of the vision of Fairy Glen drove out for a time all +other thoughts. The livelong night my brain seemed filled with it. + + 'My eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, + Or else worth all the rest,' + +I said to myself as I lay awake. So full, indeed, was my mind of this +one subject that even Rhona's strange message from Sinfi was only +recalled at intervals. While I was breakfasting, however, this +incident came fully back to me. Either Rhona's chatter about Sinfi's +reason for wanting to see me was the nonsense that had floated into +Rhona's own brain, the brain of a love-sick girl to whom everything +spelt marriage--or else poor Sinfi's mind had become unhinged. + + +II + +As I was to sleep at the cottage, and as I knew not what part I might +have to play in Sinfi's wild frolic, I told the servants that any +letters which might reach the bungalow next morning were to be sent +at once to the cottage, should I not have returned thence. + + +At about the hour, as far as I could guess, when I had first knocked +at the cottage door at the beginning of my search for Winnie, I stood +there again. The door was on the latch. I pushed it open. + +The scene I then saw was so exact a repetition of what had met my +eyes when for the first time I passed under that roof, that it did +not seem as though it could be real; it seemed as though it must be a +freak of memory: the same long low room, the same heavy beams across +the ceiling, the same three chairs, standing in the same places where +they stood then, the same table, and upon it the crwth and bow. There +was a brisk fire, and over it hung the kettle--the same kettle as +then. There were on the walls the same pictures, with the ruddy +fingers of the fire-gleam playing upon them and illuminating them in +the same pathetic way, and in front of the fire sitting upon the same +chair, was a youthful female figure--not Winnie's figure, taller than +hers, and grander than hers--the figure of Sinfi, her elbows resting +upon her knees, and her face sunk meditatively between her hands. + +After standing for fully half a minute gazing at her, I went up to +her, and laying my hand upon her shoulder, I said, 'This is a good +sight for the Swimming Rei, Sinfi.' + +At the touch of my hand a thrill seemed to dart through her frame; +she leaped up and stared wildly in my face. Her features became +contorted by terror--as horribly contorted as Winnie's had been in +the same spot and under the same circumstances. Exactly the same +terrible words fell upon my ear:-- + +'Let his children be vagabonds and beg their bread: let them seek it +also out of desolate places. So saith the Lord. Amen.' + +Then she fell on the floor insensible. + +At first I was too astonished, awed, and bewildered to stir from the +spot where I was standing. Then I knelt down, and raising her +shoulders, placed her head on my knee. For a time the expression of +horror on her pale features was fixed as though graven in marble. A +jug of water, from which the kettle had been supplied, stood on the +floor in the recess. I sprinkled some water over her face. The +muscles relaxed, she opened her eyes; the seizure had passed. She +recognised me, and at once the old brave smile I knew so well passed +over her face. Rhona's words about the curse and the purchase of the +dresses seemed explained now. Long brooding over Winnie's terrible +fate had unhinged her mind. + +'My girl, my brave girl,' I said, 'have you, then, felt our sorrow so +deeply? Have you so fully shared poor Winnie's pain that your nerves +have given way at last? You are suffering through sympathy, Sinfi; +you are suffering poor Winnie's great martyrdom.' + +'Oh, it ain't that!' she said, 'but how I must have skeared you!' + +She got up and sat upon the chair in a much more vigorous way than I +could have expected after such a seizure. + +'I am so sorry,' she said. 'It was the sudden feel o' your hand on my +shoulder that done it. It seemed to burn me like, and then it made my +blood seem scaldin' hot. If I'd only 'a' seed you come through the +door I shouldn't have had the fit. The doctor told me the fits wur +all gone now, and I feel sure as this is the last on 'em. You must go +to Knockers' Llyn with me to-morrow mornin' early. I want you to go +at the same time that we started when we tried that mornin' to find +Winnie.' + +'Then Rhona's story is true,' I thought. 'Her delusion is that she is +going to Knockers' Llyn to be married.' + +'The weather's goin' to be just the same as it was then,' she said, +'and when we get to Knockers' Llyn where you two breakfasted +together, I want to play the crwth and sing the song just as I did +then.' + +She made no allusion to a wedding. Getting up and pouring the boiling +water from the kettle into the teapot, 'Something tells me,' she went +on, 'that when I touch my crwth to-morrow, and when I sing them words +by the side of Knockers' Llyn, you'll see the picture you want to +see, the livin' mullo o' Winnie.' + +'Still no allusion to a wedding, but no doubt that will soon come,' I +murmured. + +'I want to go the same way we went that day, and I want for you and +me to see everythink as we seed it then from fust to last.' + +I was haunted by Rhona Boswell's words, and wondered when she would +begin talking about the wedding at Knockers' Llyn. + +She never once alluded to it; but at intervals when the talk between +us flagged I could hear her muttering, 'He must see everythink just +as he seed it then from fust to last, and then it's good-bye for +ever.' + +At last she said, 'I've had both the rooms upstairs made tidy to +sleep in--one for you and one for me. I'll call you in the mornin' at +the proper time. Goodnight.' + +I was not sorry to get this summary dismissal and be alone with my +thoughts. When I got to bed I was kept awake by recalling the sight I +saw on entering the cottage. There seemed no other explanation of it +than this, the tragedy of Winifred had touched Sinfi's sympathetic +soul too deeply. Her imagination had seized upon the spectacle of +Winifred in one of her fits, and had caused so serious a disturbance +of her nervous system that through sheer fascination of repulsion her +face mimicked it exactly as Winifred's face had mimicked the original +spectacle of horror on the sands. + + +III + +It was not yet dawn when I was aroused from the fitful slumber into +which I had at last fallen by a sharp knocking at the door. When I +answered the summons by 'All right, Sinfi,' and heard her footsteps +descend the stairs, the words of Rhona Boswell again came to me. + + +I found that I must return to the bungalow to get my bath. + +The startled servant who let me in asked if there was anything the +matter. I explained my early rising by telling him that I was merely +going to Knockers' Llyn to see the sunrise. He gave me a letter which +had come on the previous evening, and had been addressed by mistake +to Carnarvon. As the handwriting was new to me, I felt sure that it +was only an unimportant missive from some stranger, and I put it into +my pocket without opening it. + +On my return I found Sinfi in the little room where we had supped. I +guessed that an essential part of her crazy project was that we +should breakfast at the llyn. + +On the table was a basket filled with the materials for the +breakfast. + +Another breakfast was spread for us two on the table, and the teapot +was steaming. Sinfi saw me look at the two breakfasts and smile. + +'We've got a good way to walk before we get to the pool where we are +goin' to breakfast,' she said, 'so I thought we'd take a snack before +we start.' + + +As we went along I noticed that the air of Snowdon seemed to have its +usual effect on Sinfi. In taking the path that led to Knockers' Llyn +we saw before us Cwm-Dyli, the wildest of all the Snowdonian +recesses, surrounded by frowning precipices of great height and +steepness. We then walked briskly on towards our goal. When the three +peaks that she knew so well--y Wyddfa, Lliwedd, and Crib Goch--stood +out in the still grey light she stopped, set down her basket, clapped +her hands, and said, 'Didn't I tell you the mornin' was a-goin' to be +ezackly the same as then? No mists to-day. By the time we get to the +llyn the colours o' the vapours, what they calls the Knockers' flags, +will come out ezackly as they did that mornin' when you and me first +went arter Winnie.' + +All the way Sinfi's eyes were fixed on the majestic forehead of y +Wyddfa and the bastions of Lliwedd which seemed to guard it as though +the Great Spirit of Snowdon himself was speaking to her and drawing +her on, and she kept murmuring 'The two dukkeripens.' + +But still she said nothing about her wedding, though that some such +mad idea as that suggested by Rhona possessed her mind was manifest +enough. + + +'Here we are at last,' she said, when we reached the pool for which +we were bound; and setting down her little basket she stood and +looked over to the valley beneath. + +The colours were coming more quickly every minute, and the entire +picture was exactly the same as that which I had seen on the morning +when we last saw Winifred on the hills, so unlike the misty panorama +that Snowdon usually presents. Y Wyddfa was silhouetted against the +sky, and looked as narrow and as steep as the sides of an acorn. Here +we halted and set down our basket. + +As we did so she said, 'Hark! the Knockers! Don't you hear them? +Listen, listen!' + +I did listen, and I seemed to hear a peculiar sound as of a distant +knocking against the rocks by some soft substance. She saw that I +heard the noise. + +'That's the Snowdon spirits as guards more copper mines than ever +yet's been found. And they're dwarfs. I've seed 'em, and Winnie has. +They're little, fat, short folk, somethin' like the woman in Primrose +Court, only littler. Don't you mind the gal in the court said Winnie +used to call the woman Knocker? Sometimes they knock to show to some +Taffy as has pleased 'em where the veins of copper may be found, and +sometimes they knock to give warnin' of a dangerous precipuss, and +sometimes they knock to give the person as is talkin' warnin' that +he's sayin' or doin' somethin' as may lead to danger. They speaks to +each other too, but in a v'ice so low that you can't tell what words +they're a-speakin', even if you knew their language. My crwth and +song will rouse every spirit on the hills.' + +I listened again. This was the mysterious sound that had so +captivated Winnie's imagination as a child. + +The extraordinary lustre of Sinfi's eyes indicated to me, who knew +them so well, that every nerve, every fibre in her system, was +trembling under the stress of some intense emotion. I stood and +watched her, wondering as to her condition, and speculating as to +what her crazy project could be. + +Then she proceeded to unpack the little basket. + +'This is for the love-feast,' said Sinfi. + +'You mean betrothal feast,' I said. 'But who are the lovers?' + +'You and the livin' mullo that you made me draw for you by my crwth +down by Beddgelert--the livin' mullo o' Winnie Wynne.' + +'At last then,' I said to myself, 'I know the form the mania has +taken. It is not her own betrothal, but mine with Winnie's wraith, +that is deluding her crazy brain. How well I remember telling her how +I had promised Winnie as a child to be betrothed by Knockers' Llyn. +Poor Sinfi! Mad or sane, her generosity remains undimmed.' + +Before the breakfast cloth could be laid--indeed before the basket +was unpacked--she asked me to look at my watch, and on my doing so +and telling her the time, she jumped up and said, 'It's later than I +thought. We must lay the cloth arterwards.' She then placed me in +that same crevice overlooking the tarn whence Winnie had come to me +on that morning. + +Knockers' Llyn, it will perhaps be remembered, is enclosed in a +little gorge opening by a broken, ragged fissure at the back to the +east. Leading to this opening there is on one side a narrow, jagged +shelf which runs half-way round the pool. Sinfi's movements now were +an exact repetition of everything she did on that first morning of +our search for Winnie. + +While I stood partially concealed in my crevice, Sinfi took up her +crwth, which was lying on the rock. + +'What are you going; to do, Sinfi?' I said. + +'I'm just goin' to bring back old times for you. You remember that +mornin' when my crwth and song called Winnie to us at this very llyn? +I'm goin' to play on my crwth and sing the same song now. It's to +draw her livin' mullo, as I did at Bettws and Beddgelert, so that the +dukkeripen of the "Golden Hand" may come true.' + +'But how can it come true, Sinfi?' I said. + +'The dukkeripen allus does come true, whether it's good or whether +it's bad.' + +'Not always,' I said. + +'No, not allus,' she cried, starting up, while there came over her +face that expression which had so amazed me at Beddgelert. When at +last breath came to her she was looking towards y Wyddfa through the +kindling haze. + +'There you're right, Hal Aylwin. It ain't every dukkeripen as comes +true. The dukkeripen allus comes true, unless it's one as says a +Gorgio shall come to the Kaulo Camloes an' break Sinfi Lovell's +heart. Before that dukkeripen shall come true Sinfi Lovell 'ud cut +her heart out. Yes, my fine Gorgio, she'd cut it out--she'd cut it +out and fling it in that 'ere llyn. She did cut it out when she took +the cuss on herself. She's a-cuttin' it out now.' + +Then without saying another word Sinfi took up her crwth and moved +towards the llyn. + +'You'll soon come back, Sinfi?' I said. + +'We've got to see about that,' she replied, still pale and trembling +from the effects of that sudden upheaval of the passion of a +Titaness. 'If the livin' mullo does come you can't have a love-feast +without company, you know, and I sha'n't be far off if you find you +want me.' + +She then took up her crwth, went round the llyn, and disappeared +through the eastern cleft. In a few minutes I heard her crwth. But +the air she played was not the air of the song she called the 'Welsh +dukkerin' gillie' which I had heard by Beddgelert. It was the air of +the same idyll of Snowdon that I first beard Winifred sing on the +sands of Raxton. Then I heard in the distance those echoes, magical +and faint, which were attributed by Winifred and Sinfi to the +Knockers or spirits of Snowdon. + + +IV + +There I stood again, as on that other morning, in the crevice +overlooking the same llyn, looking at what might well have been the +same masses of vapour enveloping the same peaks, rolling as then, +boiling as then, blazing as then, whenever the bright shafts of +morning struck them. There I stood again, listening to the wild notes +of Sinfi's crwth in the distance, as the sun rose higher, pouring a +radiance through the eastern gate of the gorge, and kindling the +aerial vapours moving about the llyn till their iridescent sails +suggested the wings of some enormous dragon-fly of every hue. + +'Her song does not come,' I said, 'but, this time, when it does come, +it will not befool my senses. Sinfi's own presence by my side--that +magnetism of hers which D'Arcy spoke of--would be required before the +glamour could be cast over me, now that I know she is crazy. Poor +Sinfi! Her influence will not to-day be able to cajole my eyes into +accepting her superstitious visions as their own.' + +But as I spoke a sound fell, not upon my ears alone, but upon every +nerve of my body, the sound of a voice singing, a voice that was not +Sinfi's, but another's, + + 'I met in a glade a lone little maid, + At the foot of y Wyddfa the white; + Oh, lissom her feet as the mountain hind, + And darker her hair than the night; + Her cheek was like the mountain rose, + But fairer far to see. + As driving along her sheep with a song, + Down from the hills came she.' + +It was the same voice that I heard singing the same song on Raxton +Sands. It was the same voice that I heard singing the same song in +the London streets--Winnie's! + +And then there appeared in the eastern cleft of the gorge on the +other side of the llyn, illuminated as by a rosy steam, Winnie! Amid +the opalescent vapours gleaming round the llyn, with eyes now +shimmering as through a veil--now flashing like sapphires in the +sun--there she stood gazing through the film, her eyes expressing a +surprise and a wonder as great as my own. + + +'It is no phantasm--it is no hallucination,' I said, while my +breathing had become a spasmodic, choking gasp. + +But when I remembered the vision of Fairy Glen, I said, 'Imagination +can do that, and so can the glamour cast over me by Sinfi's music. It +does not vanish; ah, if the sweet madness should remain with me for +ever! It does not vanish--it is gliding along the side of the llyn: +it is moving towards me. And now those sudden little ripples in the +llyn--what do they mean? The trout are flying from her shadow. The +feet are grating on the stones. And hark! that pebble which falls +into the water with a splash; the glassy llyn is ribbed and rippled +with rings. Can a phantom do that? It comes towards me still. +Hallucination!' + +Still the vision came on. + + +When I felt the touch of her body, when I felt myself clasped in soft +arms, and felt falling on my face warm tears, and on my lips the +pressure of Winnie's lips--lips that were murmuring, 'At last, at +last!'--a strange, wild effect was worked within me. The reality of +the beloved form now in my arms declared itself; it brought back the +scene where I had last clasped it. + +Snowdon had vanished; the brilliant morning sun had vanished. The +moon was shining on a cottage near Raxton Church, and at the door two +lovers were standing, wet with the sea-water--with the sea-water +through which they had just waded. All the misery that had followed +was wiped out of my brain. It had not even the cobweb consistence of +a dream. + + +When, after a while, Snowdon and the drama of the present came back +to me, my brain was in such a marvellous state that it held two +pictures of the same Winnie as though each hemisphere of the brain +were occupied with its own vision. I was kissing Winnie's sea-salt +lips in the light of the moon at the cottage door, and I was kissing +them in the morning radiance by Knockers' Llyn. And yet so +overwhelming was the mighty tide of bliss overflowing my soul that +there was no room within me for any other emotion--no room for +curiosity, no room even for wonder. + +Like a spirit awakening in Paradise, I accepted the heaven in which +I found myself, and did not inquire how I got there. + +This did not last long, however. Suddenly and sharply the moonlight +scene vanished, and I was on Snowdon, and there came a burning +curiosity to know the meaning of this new life--the meaning of the +life of pain that had followed the parting at the cottage door. + + +V + +'Winnie,' I said, 'tell me where we are. I have been very ill since +we parted in your father's cottage. I have had the wildest +hallucinations concerning you; dreams, intolerable dreams. And even +now they hang about me; even now it seems to me that we are far away +from Raxton, surrounded by the hills and peaks of Snowdon. If they +were real _you_ would be the dream, but you are real; this waist is +real.' + +'Of course we are on Snowdon, Henry!' said she. 'You must indeed have +been ill--you must now be very ill--to suppose you are at Raxton.' + +'But what are we doing here?' I said. 'How did we come here?' + +'Let Badoura speak for herself only,' she said, with that arch smile +of hers. She was alluding to the old days at Raxton, when she hoped +that some day her little Camaralzaman would be carried by genii to +her as she sat thinking of him by the magic llyn. 'The genie who +brought me was Sinfi Lovell. But who brought Camaralzaman? That is a +question,' she said, 'I am dying to have answered.' + +At the name of Sinfi Lovell the past came flowing in. + +'Then there _is_ a Sinfi Lovell, Winnie! And yet she is one of the +figures in the dream. There was no Sinfi Lovell with us at Raxton.' + +'Of course there is a Sinfi Lovell! You begin to make me as dazed as +yourself. You have known her well; you and she were seeking me when I +was lost.' + +'Then you _were_ lost?' I said. 'That, then, is no dream. And yet if +you were lost you have been--But you are alive, Winnie. Let me +feel the lips on mine again. You are alive! Snowdon told me at last +that you were alive, but I dared not believe it, my darling. I dared +not believe that my misery would end thus--thus.' + +There came upon her face an expression of distressed perplexity which +did more than anything else to recall me to my senses. + +'Winnie,' I said, 'my brain is whirling. Let us sit down.' + +She sat down by my side. + +'You thought your Winnie was dead, Henry. Sinfi Lovell has told me +all about it.' Then, looking intently at me, she said, 'And how your +sorrow has changed you, dear!' + +'You mean it has aged me, Winnie. I have observed it myself, and +people tell me it has made me look older than I am by many years. +These furrows around the eyes--these furrows on my brow--you are +kissing them, dear.' + +'Oh, I love them; how I love them!' she said. 'I am not kissing them +to smooth them away. To me every line tells of your love for Winnie.' + +'And the hair, Winnie--look, it is getting quite grizzled.' Then, as +the lovely head sank upon my breast. I whispered in her ears, 'Is +there at last sorrow enough in the eyes, Winnie? Has the hardening +effect of wealth coarsened my expression? Can a rich man for once +enter the kingdom of love? Is the betrothal now complete? Are we both +betrothed now?' + +I stopped, for bliss and love were convulsing her with sobs until you +might have supposed her heart was breaking. + + +While she lay silent thus, I was able in some degree to call my wits +around me. And the difficulty of knowing in what course I ought to +direct conversation presented itself, and seemed to numb my faculties +and paralyse me. + +After a while she became more composed, and sat in a trance, so to +speak, of happiness. + +But she remained silent. The conversation, I perceived, would have to +be directed entirely by me. With the appalling seizures ever present +in my mind, I felt that every word that came from my lips was +dangerous. + +'Look,' I said, 'the colours of the vapours round the llyn are as +rich as they were when we breakfasted here together.' + +'We breakfasted here together! Why, what do you mean?' she said, +looking in my face. 'You forget, Henry, you never knew me in Wales at +all; it was only at Raxton that you ever saw me.' + +'I mean when you breakfasted with the Prince of the Mist. I was the +Prince of the Mist, dear.' + +She gave me a puzzled look which scared while it warned me. How cruel +it seemed of Sinfi, who had planned this meeting, not to have told me +how much and how little Winnie knew of the past. + +'You know nothing about the Prince of the Mist except what I told you +on Raxton sands,' she said. 'But you have been very ill; you will be +well now.' + +'Yes,' I said; 'I have found the life I had lost, and these dreams of +mine will soon pass.' + +As the conversation went on I began to see that she remembered our +meetings on the sands--remembered everything up to a certain point. +What was that point? This was the question that kept me on +tenterhooks. + +Every word she uttered, however, shed light into my mind, and served +as a warning that I must feel my way cautiously. It was evident to me +that in some unaccountable way Sinfi at some time after she left me +at Beddgelert had discovered that Winnie was not really dead, and had +brought her back to me--brought her back to me restored in mind, but +with all memory of what had passed during her dementia erased from +her consciousness. Everything depended now upon my learning how much +of her past she did remember. A single ill-judged word of mine--a +single false move--might ruin all, and bring back the life of misery +which I seemed at last to have left behind me. + + +VI + +'Winnie,' I said, 'you have not yet told me how you came here. You +have not yet told me how it is that you meet me on Snowdon--meet me +in this wonderful way.' + +'Oh,' said she with a smile, 'Badoura has been a mere puppet in the +play. She had no idea she was going to meet her prince. Sinfi was +suddenly seized with a desire that she and I should come back, and +visit the dear old places we knew together. I was nothing loth, as +you may imagine, but I could not understand what had made her set +her heart upon it. When we reached Carnarvonshire I found that +Sinfi's people were all encamped near to Bettws y Coed, and we went +and stayed there. We visited all the places in the neighbourhood that +were associated with her childhood and mine.' + +'You went to Fairy Glen?' I said. + +'Yes; we went there the night before last and saw it in the +moonlight.' + +'I was there, and I saw you.' + +'Ah! Then the man sitting on the boulder at the bottom was you! How +wonderful! Sinfi was there on the step round the corner; she must +have seen you. I know now why she suddenly hurried me away. She had +told me that she wanted to see the Glen by moonlight' + +'Then you did not know that you would meet me here?' + +'My dear Henry, do you suppose that if I had known, I could have been +induced to take part in anything so theatrical? When I saw you +standing here my amazement and joy were so great that I forgot the +strange way in which I stood exhibited.' + +I felt that the longer she chatted about such matters as these the +more opportunities I should get of learning how much and how little +she knew of her own story, so I said, + +'But tell me how Sinfi contrived to trick you.' + +'Well, this morning was the time fixed for our visiting Llyn +Coblynau, as we call Knockers' Lynn, which was my favourite place as +a child. We were to see it when the colours of the morning were upon +it. Then we were to go right to the top of Snowdon and take a mid-day +meal at the hut there, and in the evening go down to Llanberis and +sleep there. To-morrow morning we were to go to dear old Carnarvon +and see again the beloved sea. I find now that her plan was to bring +you and me together in this sensational way.' + +'Will she join us?' I asked. + +'I know no more than you what will be Sinfi's next whim. At the last +moment yesterday I was surprised to find that I was not to come with +her here, as she was not to sleep in the camp last night because she +had promised to see a friend at Capel Curig. And now, shall I tell +you how she inveigled me into taking my part in this Snowdon play she +was getting up? She told me that she had the greatest wish to +discover how the "Knockers' echoes," as they are called, would sound +if, in the early morning, she were to play her crwth in one spot and +I were to answer it from another spot with a verse of a Welsh song. +It seemed a pretty idea, and it was agreed that when I reached the +llyn I was to go round it to the opening at the east, pass through +the crevice, and wait there till I heard her crwth.' + +'Well, Winnie, I must say that the way in which our Gypsy friend +manipulated you, and the way in which she manipulated me, shows a +method that would have done credit to any madness.' + +'You? How did she trick you?' + +I was determined not to talk about myself till I had felt my way. + +'Winnie, dear,' I said, 'seeing you is such a surprise, and my +illness has left me so weak, that I must wait before talking about +myself. I shall be more able to do this after I have learnt more of +what has befallen you. You say that Sinfi proposed to bring you to +Wales; but where were you when she did so? And what brought you into +contact with Sinfi again after--after--after you and I were parted in +Raxton?' + +'Ah! that is a strange story indeed,' said Winifred. 'It bewilders me +to recall it as much as it will bewilder you when you come to hear +it. I, too, seem to have been ill, and quite unconscious for months +and months.' + +'Winnie,' I said, 'tell me this strange story about yourself. Tell it +in your own way, and do not let me interrupt you by a word. Whenever +you see that I am about to speak, stop me--put your hand over my +mouth.' + +'But where am I to begin?' + +'Begin from our first meeting on the sands on the night of the +landslip.' + +But while I spoke I thought I observed her looking at the breakfast +provided by Sinfi with something like the same wistful expression +that was on her face on that morning forgotten by her but remembered +by me so well, when she breakfasted so heartily on the same spot. + +'Winnie,' I said, 'this mountain air has given me a voracious +appetite. I wonder whether you could manage to eat some of these good +things provided by our theatrical manageress?' + +'I wonder whether I could,' said Winnie; 'I'll try--if you'll ask me +no questions, but talk about Snowdon and watch the changes of the +glorious morning. But we must call Sinfi.' + +'No, no. I want to talk to you alone first. By the time your story is +over I at least shall be ready for another breakfast, and then we +will call her.' + +This was agreed upon, and I sat down to my second breakfast with +Winnie beside Knockers' Llyn. I sat with my face opposite to the +llyn, and we had scarcely begun when I noticed Sinfi's face peeping +round a corner of the little gorge. Winnie's back being turned from +the llyn she did not see Sinfi, who gave me a sign that her part of +that performance was to be looker-on. + +I have not time to dwell upon what was said and done during our +breakfast in this romantic place, and under these more than romantic +circumstances. During the whole of the time the Knockers kept up +their knockings, and it really seemed as though the good-natured +goblins were expressing their welcome to the child of y Wyddfa. + + + +XV + +THE DAUGHTER OF SNOWDON'S STORY + + +I + +After the breakfast was ended Winifred went over the entire drama of +that night of the landslip as far as she knew it. There was not an +important incident that she missed. Every detail of her narrative was +so vividly given that I lived it all over again. She recalled our +meeting on the sands, and my inexplicable bearing when she told me of +the seaman's present of precious stones to her father. She dwelt upon +my mysterious conduct in insisting upon our ascending the cliff by +different gangways. She recalled her picking up from the sands a +parchment scroll and spelling out by the moonlight the words of the +curse it called down upon the head of any one who should violate the +tomb from which the parchment and the jewel had been stolen, but as +she repeated the words of the curse she was evidently unconscious of +the tremendous import of the words in regard to herself and her +father. She told me of her desire to conceal from me, for my own sake +merely, the evidence afforded by the scroll that my father's tomb had +been violated. She recalled my seeing the parchment and being thrown +thereby into a state of the greatest mental agony. She recalled my +taking her hand as we neared the new tongue of land made by the +_débris_, and peering round it as though in dread of some concealed +foe, but evidently she had no idea of _what_ was behind there. She +described the way in which my 'foot slipped on the sand,' and how I +was thrown back upon her as she stood waiting to pass the _débris_ +herself. She spoke of my unaccountable and apparently mad suggestion +that we should, although the tide was coming in, and we were already +in danger of being imprisoned in the cove and drowned, sit down on +the boulder made sacred to us both by our childish betrothal. She +spoke of her own suspicion, and then her conviction, that some great +calamity was threatening me on account of the violation of the tomb, +and that the knowledge of this was governing all these strange +movements of mine. She reminded me of my telling her that the shriek +we both heard at the moment when the cliff fell was connected with +the crime against my father, and that it was the call from the grave +which, according to wild traditions, will sometimes come to the heir +of an old family. She recalled the very words I used when I told her +that in answer to this call I intended to remain there until the tide +came in and drowned me. She dwelt upon the way in which I urged her +to go and leave me, her own resolution to die with me, and her +cutting up her shawl into a rope and tying herself to me. She +recalled the sudden thunderous noise of the settlement in response +to the tide, and my springing up and running to the mass of _débris_ +and looking round it, and then my calling her to join me; and finally +she described her running toward Needle Point in order to pass round +it before the tide should get any higher, her plunging into the sea +and my pulling her round the Point. + +It was manifest, from the first word she uttered to the last, that +she had no idea who was the 'miscreant,' to use her oft-repeated +word, who committed the sacrilege; and nothing could express what +relief this gave my heart. I felt as though I had just escaped from +some peril too dire to think of with calmness. + +'You remember, Henry,' said she, 'how we ran to the cottage in our +wet clothes. You remember how we parted at the cottage door. From +that night till now we have never met, and now we meet--here on +Snowdon--at the very llyn I was always so fond of. + +'But tell me more, Winnie--tell me what occurred to you on the next +morning.' + +'Well,' said she, 'I was always a sound sleeper, but my fatigue that +night made me sleep until quite late the next morning. I hurried up +and got breakfast ready for father and myself. I then went and rapped +at his door, but I got no answer. His room was empty.' + +Winifred paused here as though she expected me to say something. A +thousand things occurred to me to ask, but until I knew more--until I +knew how much and how little she remembered of that dreadful time, I +dared ask her nothing--I dared make no remark at all. I said, 'Go on, +Winnie; pray do not break your story.' + +'Well,' said she, 'I found that my father had not returned during the +night. I did not feel disturbed at that, his ways were so uncertain. +I did not even hurry over my breakfast, but dallied over it, +recalling the scenes of the previous night, and wondering what some +of them could mean. I then went down the gangway at Needle Point to +walk on the sands. I thought I might meet father coming from +Dullingham. I had to pass the landslip, where a great number of +Raxton people were gathered. They were looking at the frightful +relics of Raxton churchyard. They were too dreadful for me to look +at. I walked right to Dullingham without meeting my father. At +Dullingham I was told that he had not been there for some days. Then, +for the first time, I began to be haunted by fears, but they took no +distinct shape. When I returned to the landslip the people were still +there, and still very excited about it. In the afternoon I went again +on the sands, thinking that I might see my father and also that I +might see you. I walked about till dusk without seeing either of you, +and then I went back to the cottage. I had now become very anxious +about my father, and sat up all night. The next morning after +breakfast I went again on the sands. The number of people collected +round the landslip seemed greater than ever, and many of them, I +think, came from Graylingham, Rington, and Dullingham. They seemed +more excited than they had been on the previous day, and they did not +notice me as I joined them. I heard some one say in a cracked and +piping voice, "Well, it's my belief as Tom lays under that there +settlement. It's my belief that he wur standing on the edge of the +churchyard cliff, and when the cliff fell he fell with it." Then the +kind and good-natured little tailor Shales saw me, and I thought he +must have made some signal to the others, for they all stood silent. +I felt sure now that for some reason, unknown to me, it was generally +believed that my father had perished in the landslip. Mrs. Shales +took me by the hand, and gently led me away up the gangway. When we +reached the cottage I asked her whether my father's body had been +found. She told me that it had not, and was not likely to be found, +for if he had really fallen with the landslip his body lay under tons +upon tons of earth. I shall never forget the misery of that night; +kind Mrs. Shales would not leave me, but slept in the cottage. I had +very little doubt that the Raxton people were right in their dreadful +guesses about my father. I had very little doubt that while walking +along the cliff, either to or from the cottage, he had reached the +point at the back of the church at the moment of the landslip, and +been carried down with it, and I now felt sure that the shriek you +and I both heard was his shriek of terror as he fell. I bethought me +of the jewels that my father's sailor friend was to give him, and +searched the cottage for them. As I could not find them, I felt sure +that it was on his return from his meeting with his sailor friend, +when the jewels were upon him, that he fell with the landslip.' + +Again Winnie paused as if awaiting some question, or at least some +remark from me. + +'Did you make no inquiries about me?' I said. + +'Oh yes,' said she; 'my grief at the loss of my father was very much +increased by my not being able to see you. Mrs. Shales told me that +you were ill--very ill. And altogether, you may imagine my misery. +Day after day I got worse and worse news of you. 'And day after day +it became more and more certain, that my father had perished in the +way people supposed. I used to spend most of the day on the sands, +gazing at the landslip, and searching for my father's body. Every +one tried to persuade me to give up my search, as it was hopeless, +for his body was certain to be buried deep under the new tongue of +land.' + +'But you still continued your search, Winnie?' I said, remembering +every word Dr. Mivart had told me in connection with her being found +by the fishermen. + +'Yes, I found it impossible not to go on with it. But one morning +after there had been a great storm followed by a further settlement +of the landslip, I went out alone on the cliffs. I said to myself, +"This shall be my last search." By this time the news of your illness +and the anxiety I felt about you helped much in blunting the anxiety +I felt about my father's loss. But on this very morning I am speaking +of something very extraordinary happened. + +'Don't tell me, Winnie. For God's sake, don't tell me! It will +disturb you; it will make you ill again.' + +She looked at me in evident astonishment at my words. + +'Don't tell you, Henry? Why, there is nothing to tell,' said she. 'As +I was walking along the sands, looking at the new tongue of land made +by the landslip, I seem to have lost consciousness.' + +'And you don't know what caused this?' + +'Not in the least; unless it was my anxiety and want of sleep. This +was the beginning of the long illness that I spoke of, and I seem to +have remained quite without consciousness until a few weeks ago. I +often try to make my mind bring back the circumstances under which I +lost consciousness. I throw my thoughts, so to speak, upon a wall of +darkness, and they come reeling back like waves that are dashed +against a cliff.' + +'Then don't do so any more, Winnie. I know enough of such matters to +tell you confidently that you never will recall the incidents +connected with your collapse, and that the endeavour to do so is +really injurious to you. What interests me very much more is to know +the circumstances under which you came to yourself. I am dying with +impatience to know all about that.' + + +II + +'When I came to myself,' said Winifred, 'I was in a world as new and +strange and wonderful as that in which Christopher Sly found himself +when he woke up to his new life in Shakespeare's play.' + +She paused. She little thought how my flesh kindled with impatience. + +'Yes, Winnie,' I said; 'you are going to tell me how, and where, and +when you were restored to life--regained your consciousness, I +mean--unless it will too deeply agitate you to tell me.' + +'It would not agitate me in the least, Henry, to tell you all about +it. But it is a long story, and this seems a strange place in which +to tell it, surrounded by these glorious peaks and covered by this +roof of sunrise. But do you tell me all about yourself, all about +your illness, which seems to have been a dreadful one.' + + +My story, indeed! What was there in my story that I could or dare +tell her? My story would have to be all about herself, and the +tragedy of the supposed curse, and the terrible seizures from which +she had recovered, and of which she must never know. I set to work to +persuade her to tell me all she knew. + +At last she yielded, and said, 'Well, I awoke as from a deep sleep, +and found myself lying on a couch, with a man's face bending over +mine. I could not help exclaiming, "Henry!'" + +'Then did he resemble me?' I asked. + +'Only in this--that in his eyes there was the expression which has +always appealed to me more than any other expression, whether in +human eyes or in the eyes of animals. I mean the pleading, yearning +expression of loneliness that there was in your eyes when they were +the eyes of a little, lame boy who could not get up the gangways +without me.' + +'Ah, the egotism of love!' I exclaimed. 'You mean, Winnie, that +expression which my unlucky eyes had lost when we met upon the sands +after our childhood was passed.' + +'But which love,' said she, 'love of Winnie, sorrow for the loss of +Winnie, have brought back, increased a thousandfold, till it gives me +pain and yet a delicious pain to look into them. Oh, Henry, I can't +go on; I really can't, if you look--' + +She burst into tears. + +When she got calmer she proceeded. + +'It was only in the expression of your eyes that he resembled you. +He was much older, and wore spectacles. He, on his part, gave a start +when he looked into my eyes. It seemed to me that he had been +expecting to see something in them which he did not find there, and +was a little disappointed. I then heard voices in the room, which was +evidently, from the sound of the voices, a large room, and I looked +round. I saw that there was another couch close to mine, but nearly +hidden from view by a large screen between the two couches. Evidently +a woman was lying on the other couch, for I could see her feet; she +was a tall woman, for her feet reached out much beyond my own.' + +'Good heavens, Winnie,' I exclaimed, 'what on earth is coming? But I +promised not to interrupt you. Pray go on, I am all impatience.' + +'Well, at the sound of the voices the gentleman started, and seemed +much alarmed--alarmed on my account, I thought. + +'I then heard a voice say, "A most successful experiment. Look at the +face of this other patient, and see the expression on it." + +'The gentleman bent over me, and hurriedly raised me from the couch, +and then fairly carried me out of the room. But you seem very +excited, Henry, you have turned quite pale.' + +It would have been wonderful if I had not turned pale. So deeply +burnt into my brain had been the picture I had imagined of Winnie +dead and in a pauper's grave that even now, with Winnie in my arms, +it all came to me, and I seemed to see her lying in a pauper's +shroud, and being restored to life, and I said to her, 'Did you +observe--did you observe your dress, Winnie?' + +She answered my question by a little laugh. 'Did I observe my dress +at such a moment? Well, I knew you could be satirical on my sex when +you are in the mood, but, Henry, there are moments, I assure you, +when the first thing a woman observes is not her dress, and this was +one. Afterwards I did observe it, and I can tell you what it was. It +was a walking-dress. Perhaps,' said she, with a smile, 'perhaps you +would like to know the material? But really I have forgotten that.' +'Pardon my idle question, Winnie--pray go on. I will interrupt you no +more.' + +'Oh, you will interrupt me no more! We shall see. The gentleman then +led me through a passage of some length.' + +'Do describe it!' + +'I felt quite sure you would interrupt me no more. Well! The dim +light in the windows made me guess I was in an old house, and from +the sweet smell of hay and wild-flowers I thought we were near the +Wilderness, at Raxton. I could only imagine that I had fallen +insensible on the sands and been taken to Raxton Hall.' + +'Ah! that's where you ought to have been taken.' I could not help +exclaiming. + +'Surely not,' said Winnie. + +'Why?' + +'Your mother! But why have you turned so angry?' + +In spite of all that I had lately witnessed of my mother's sufferings +from remorse, in spite of all the deep and genuine pity that those +sufferings had drawn from me, Winnie's words struck deeper than any +pity for any creature but herself, and for a moment my soul rose +against my mother again. + +'Go on, Winnie, pray go on,' I said. + +'You _will_ make me talk about myself,' said Winifred, 'when I so +much want to hear all about you. This is what I call the +self-indulgence of love. Well, then, the gentleman and I mounted some +steps and then we entered a tapestried room. The windows--they were +quaint and old-fashioned casements--were open, and the sunlight was +pouring through them. I then saw at once that I was not anywhere near +Raxton. Besides, there was no sea-smell mixed with the perfumes of +the flowers and the songs of the birds. That I was not near Raxton, +very much amazed me, you may be sure. And then the room was so new to +me and so strange. I had never been in an artist's studio, but Sinfi +had talked to me of such places, and there were many signs that I was +in a studio now.' + +'A studio! And not in London! Describe it, Winnie,' I said. + +Although she had told me that the house was in the country, my mind +flew at once to Wilderspin's studio. 'You say that the gentleman was +not young, but that he had an expression of sorrow in his eyes. Had +he long iron-grey hair, and was he dressed--dressed, like a--like a +shiny Quaker?' So full was my mind of Mrs. Gudgeon's story that I was +positively using her language. + +'Like a what?' exclaimed Winnie. 'Really, Henry, you have become very +eccentric since our parting. The gentleman had not iron-grey hair, +and he was not dressed in the least like a Quaker, unless a loose, +brown lounge coat tossed on anyhow over a waistcoat and trousers of +the same colour is the costume of a shiny Quaker. But it was the room +you asked me to describe. There were pictures on the walls, and there +were two easels, and on one of them I saw a picture. The gentleman +led me to a strange and very beautiful piece of furniture. If I +attempted to describe it I should call it a divan, under a gorgeous +kind of awning ornamented with Chinese figures in ivory and precious +stones. Now, isn't it exactly like an _Arabian Nights_ story, Henry?' + +'Yes, yes, Winnie; but pray go on. What did the gentleman do?' + +'He drew a chair towards me, and without speaking looked into my face +again. The expression in his eyes drew me towards him, as it had at +first done when I awoke from my trance; it drew me towards him partly +because it said, "I am lonely and in sorrow," and partly from +another cause which I could not understand and could never define, +howsoever I might try. "Where am I?" I said; "I remember nothing +since I fell on the sands. Where is Henry? Is he better or worse? Can +you tell me?" The gentleman said, "The friend you inquire about is a +long way from here, and you are a long way from Raxton." I asked him +why I was a long way from Raxton, and said, "Who brought me here? Do, +please, tell me what it means. I am amongst friends--of that I am +sure; there is something in your voice which assures me of that; but +do tell me what this mystery means." "You are indeed among friends," +he said. Then looking at me with an expression of great kindness, he +continued, "It would be difficult to imagine where you could go +without finding friends, Miss Wynne."' + +'Then he knew who you were, Winnie?' I said. + +'Yes, he knew who I was,' said she, looking meditatively across the +hills as though my query had raised in her own mind some question +which had newly presented itself. 'The gentleman told me that I had +been very ill and was now recovered, but not so entirely recovered at +present that I could with safety be burthened and perplexed with the +long story of my illness and what had brought me there. And when he +concluded by saying, "You are here for your good," I exclaimed, "Ah, +yes; no need for me to be told that," for his voice convinced me that +it was so. "But surely you can tell me something. Where is Henry? Is +he still ill?" I said. He told me that he believed you to be +perfectly well, and that you had lately been living in Wales, but had +now gone to Japan. "Henry lately in Wales! now gone to Japan!" I +exclaimed, "and he was not with me during the illness that you say I +have just recovered from?"' + +'Winnie,' I said, 'it was no wonder you asked those questions, but you +will soon know all.' + +Whilst Winnie had been talking my mind had been partly occupied with +words that fell from her about the voice of her mysterious rescuer. +They seemed to recall something. + +'You were saying, Winnie, that the gentleman had a peculiarly musical +voice,' I said. + +'So musical,' she replied, 'that it seemed to delight and charm, not +my mind only, but every nerve in my body.' + +'Could you describe it?' + +'Describe a voice,' she said, laughing. 'Who could describe a voice?' + +'You, Winnie; only you. Do describe it.' + +'I wonder,' she said, 'whether you remember our first walk along the +Raxton road, when I made invidious comparison between the voices of +birds and the voices of men and women?' + +'Indeed I do,' I said. 'I remember how you suggested that among the +birds the rooks only could listen without offence to the cackle of a +crowd of people.' + +'Well, Henry, I can only give you an idea of the gentleman's voice by +saying that the most fastidious blackbirds and thrushes that ever +lived would have liked it. Indeed they did seem to like it, as I +afterwards thought, when I took walks with him. It was music in every +variety of tone; and, besides, it seemed to me that this music was +enriched by a tone which I had learnt from your own dear voice as a +child, the tone which sorrow can give and nothing else. The listener +while he was speaking felt so drawn towards him as to love the man +who spoke. When his voice ceased, some part of his attraction ceased. +But the moment the voice was again heard the magic of the man +returned as strong as ever.' + + +III + +For some time during Winnie's narrative glimmerings of the +gentleman's identity had been coming to me, and what she said of the +voice seemed to be turning these glimmerings into shafts of light. I +was now in a state of the greatest impatience to verify my surmise. +But this only gave a sharper edge to my intense curiosity as to +_how_ she had been rescued by him. + +'Winnie,' I said, 'you have said nothing about his appearance. Could +you describe his face?' + +'Describe his face?' said Winnie. 'If I were a painter I could paint +it from memory. But who can paint a face in words?' + +Then she launched into a description of the gentleman's appearance, +and gave me a specimen of that 'objective' power which used to amaze +me as a child but which I afterwards found was a speciality of the +girls of Wales. + +'I should like a description of him feature by feature,' I said. + +She laughed, and said, 'I suppose I must begin with his forehead +then. It was almost of the tone of marble, and contrasted, but not +too violently, with the thin crop of dark hair slightly curling round +the temples, which were partly bald. The forehead in its form was so +perfect that it seemed to shed its own beauty over all the other +features; it prevented me from noticing, as I afterwards did, that +these other features--the features below the eyes, were not in +themselves beautiful. The eyes, which looked at me through +spectacles, were of a colour between hazel and blue-grey, but there +were lights shining within them which were neither grey, nor hazel, +nor blue--wonderful lights. And it was to these indescribable lights, +moving and alive in the deeps of the pupils, that his face owed its +extraordinary attractiveness. Have I sufficiently described him? or +am I to go on taking his face to pieces for you?' + +'Go on, Winnie--pray go on.' + +'Well, then, between the eyes, across the top of the nose, where the +bridge of the spectacles rested, there was a strongly marked indented +line which had the appearance of having been made by long-continued +pressure of the spectacle frame. Am I still to go on?' + +'Yes, yes.' + +'The beauty of the face, as I said before, was entirely confined to +the upper portion. It did not extend lower than the cheek-bones, +which were well shaped.' + +'The mouth, Winnie? Describe that, and then I need not ask you his +name, though perhaps you don't know it yourself.' + +'A dark brown moustache covered the mouth. I have always thought that +a mouth is unattractive if the lips are so close to the teeth that +they seem to stick to them; and yet what a kind woman Mrs. Shales is, +and her mouth is of this kind. But, on the other hand, where the +space between the teeth and the lips is too great no mouth can be +called beautiful, I think. Now though the mouth of the gentleman was +not ill-cut, the lips were too far from the teeth, I thought; they +were too loose, a little baggy, in short. And when he laughed--' + +'What about that, Winnie? I specially want to know about his laugh.' + +'Then I will tell you. When he laughed his teeth were a little too +much seen; and this gave the mouth a somewhat satirical expression.' + +'Winnie,' I said, 'there is no need now for you to tell me the name +of the gentleman. In a few sentences you have described him better +than I could have done in a hundred.' + +'And certainly there is no reason why I should not tell you his +name,' she said, laughing, 'for if there is a word that is musical in +my ears, it is the name of him whose voice is music--D'Arcy. When he +told me that I should know everything in time, and that there was +nothing for me to know except that which would give me comfort, and +said, "You confide in me!" I could only answer, "Who would not +confide in you? I will wait patiently until you tell me what you have +to tell." "Then," said he, "the best thing you can do is to lie down +for an hour or two on that divan and rest yourself, and go to sleep +if you can, while I go and attend to certain affairs that need me." +He then left the room. I was glad to be alone, for I was terribly +tired. I felt as though I had been taking violent bodily exercise, +but without feeling the staying power that Snowdon air can give. I +lay down on the divan, and must have fallen asleep immediately. When +I woke I found the same kind face near me, and the same kind eyes +watching me. Mr. D'Arcy told me that I had been sleeping for two +hours, and that it had, he hoped, much refreshed me. He told me also +that he took a constitutional walk every day, and asked me if I would +accompany him. I said, "Yes, I should like to do so." At this moment +there passed the window some railway men leaving some luggage. On +seeing them Mr. D'Arcy said, "I see that I must leave you for a +minute or two to look after a package of canvases that has just come +from my assistant in London," and he left me. When I was left alone I +had an opportunity of observing the room. The walls were covered with +old faded tapestry, so faded indeed that its general effect was that +of a dull grey texture. On looking at it closely I found that it told +the story of Samson. Every piece of furniture seemed to me to be a +rare curiosity.' + +'Now, Winnie,' I said, 'I am not going to interrupt you any more. I +want to hear your story as an unbroken narrative.' + + +IV + +'Well,' said Winnie, 'after a while Mr. D'Arcy returned and told me +that he was now ready to take me for a stroll across the meadows, +saying, "The doctor told me that, at first, your walks must be short; +so while you go to your room I will get Mrs. Titwing in for my usual +consultation about our frugal meal." + +'"My room," I said, "my room, and Mrs. Titwing; who's--" + +'"Ha! I quite forgot myself," he said, with an air of vexation, +which he tried, I thought, to conceal. "I will ring for Mrs. +Titwing--the housekeeper--and she will take you to your room." + +'He walked towards the bell, but before reaching it he stopped as if +arrested by a sudden thought. Then he said, "I will go to the +housekeeper's room and speak to Mrs. Titwing there. I shall be back +in a minute." And he passed from the room through the door by which +he and I had first entered. + +'Scarcely had the door closed behind him before a woman entered by +another door opposite to it. She was about the common height, +slender, and of an extremely youthful figure for a woman of middle +age. Her bright-complexioned face, lit by two watery blue eyes, was +pleasant to look upon. It was none the less pleasant because it +showed clearly that she was as guileless as a child. + +'I knew at once that she was the person--the housekeeper--that Mr. +D'Arcy had gone to seek at the other side of the house. Evidently she +had come upon me unexpectedly, for she gave a violent start, then she +murmured to herself, + +'"So it's all over, and all went off well." she said. Then she walked +quietly towards me and threw her arms round me and kissed me, saying, +"Dear child, I am so glad." + +'The tone of voice in which she spoke to me was exactly that of a +nurse speaking to a little child. + +'I was so taken by surprise that I pulled myself from her embrace +with some force. The poor woman looked at me in a hurt way and then +said, + +'"I beg your pardon, miss. I didn't notice at first how--how changed +you are. The look in your eyes makes me feel that you are not the +same person, and that I have done quite wrong." + +'While she was speaking, Mr. D'Arcy had re-entered the room by the +door by which he went out. He had evidently heard the housekeeper's +words. + +'"Miss Wynne," he said, "this is Mrs. Titwing, my excellent +housekeeper. She has been attending you during your illness; but your +weakness was so great that you were unconscious of all her kindness." + +'I went up to her and kissed her rosy cheek, at which she began to +cry a little. I afterwards found that she was in the habit of crying +a little on most occasions. + +'"Will you, then, kindly show me my room?" I said to her. But as she +turned round to lead the way to the room, Mr. D'Arcy said to her, + +'"Before you show Miss Wynne the way, I should like one word with +you, Mrs. Titwing, in your room, about the arrangements for the day." + +'The two passed out of the room, and again I was left to myself and +my own thoughts.' + + +V + +'Evidently there was some mystery about me,' said Winifred, +continuing her story. 'But the more I tried to think it out the more +puzzling it seemed. How had I been conveyed to this strange new +place? Who was the wizard whose eyes and whose voice began to enslave +me? and what time had passed since he caught me up on Raxton sands? +It seemed exactly like one of those _Arabian Nights_ stories which +you and I used to read together when we were children. The waking up +on the couch, the sight of the end of the other couch behind the +screen, and the tall woman's feet upon it, the voices from unseen +persons in the room, and above all the strange magic of him who +seemed to be the directing genie of the story--all would have seemed +to me unreal had it not been for the prosaic figure of Mrs. Titwing. +About her there could not possibly be any mystery; she was what Miss +Dalrymple would have called "the very embodiment of British +commonplace," and when, after a minute or two, she returned with Mr. +D'Arcy, I went and kissed her again from sheer delight of feeling +the touch of her real, solid; commonplace cheek, and to breathe the +commonplace smell of scented soap. Her bearing, however, towards me +had become entirely changed since she had gone out of the room. She +did not return the kiss, but said, "Shall I show you the way, miss?" +and led the way out. + +'She took me through the same dark passage by which I had entered, +and then I found myself in a large bedroom with low panelled walls, +in the middle of which was a vast antique bedstead made of black +carved oak, and every bit of furniture in the room seemed as old as +the bedstead. Over the mantelpiece was an old picture in a carved oak +frame, a Madonna and Child, the beauty of which fascinated me. I +remember that on the bottom of the frame was written in printed +letters the name "Chiaro dell' Erma." I was surprised to find in the +room another walking-dress, not new, but slightly worn, laid out +ready for me to put on. I lifted it up and looked at it. I saw at a +glance that it would most likely fit me like a glove. + +'"Whose dress is this?" I said. + +'"It's yours, miss." + +'"Mine? But how came it mine?" + +'"Oh, please don't ask me any questions, miss," she said. "Please ask +Mr. D'Arcy, miss; he knows all about it. I am only the housekeeper, +miss." + +'"Mr. D'Arcy knows all about my dress!" I said. "Why, what on earth +has Mr. D'Arcy to do with my dress?" + +'"Please don't ask me any more questions, miss," she said. "Pray +don't. Mr. D'Arcy is a very kind man; I am sure nobody has ever heard +me say but what he is a very kind man; but if you do what he says you +are not to do, if you talk about what he says you are not to talk +about, he is frightful, he is awful. He calls you a chattering old--I +don't know what he won't call you. And, of course, I know you are a +lady, miss. Of course you look a lady, miss, when you are dressed +like one. But then, you see, when I first saw you, you were not +dressed as you are now, and at first sight, of course, we go by the +dress a good deal, you know. But Mr. D'Arcy needn't be afraid I shall +not treat you like a lady, miss. I'm only a housekeeper now, though, +of course, I was once very different--very different indeed. But, of +course, anybody has only to look at you to see you are a lady, and, +besides, Mr. D'Arcy says you are a lady, and that is quite enough." + +'At this moment there came through the door--it was ajar--Mr. +D'Arcy's voice from the distance, so loud and clear that every word +could be heard. + +'"Mrs. Titwing, why do you stay chattering there, preventing Miss +Wynne from getting ready? You know we are going out for a walk +together." + +'"Oh Lord, miss!" said the poor woman in a frightened tone, "I must +go. Tell him I didn't chatter--tell him you asked me questions and I +was obliged to answer them." + +'The mysteries around me were thickening every moment. What did this +prattling woman mean about the dress in which she had at first seen +me? Was the dress in which she had first seen me so squalid that it +had affected her simple imagination? What had become of me after I +had sunk down on Raxton sands, and why was I left neglected by every +one? I knew you were ill after the landslip, but Mr. D'Arcy had just +told me that you had since been well enough to go to Wales and +afterwards to Japan. + +'I put on the dress and soon followed her. When I reached the +tapestried room there was Mr. D'Arcy talking to her in a voice so +gentle, tender, and caressing, that it seemed impossible the rough +voice I had heard bellowing through the passage could have come from +the same mouth, and Mrs. Titwing was looking into his face with the +delighted smile of a child who was being forgiven by its father for +some trifling offence. As I stood and looked at them I said to +myself, "Truly I am in a land of wonders."' + + +VI + +'Mr. D'Arcy and I,' said Winifred, 'went out of the house at the +back, walked across a roughly paved stable-yard, and passed through a +gate and entered a meadow. Then we walked along a stream about as +wide as one of our Welsh brooks, but I found it to be a backwater +connected with a river. For some time neither of us spoke a word. He +seemed lost in thought, and my mind was busy with what I intended to +say to him, for I was fully determined to get some light thrown upon +the mystery. + +'When we reached the river bank we turned towards the left, and +walked until we reached a weir, and there we sat down upon a fallen +willow tree, the inside of which was all touchwood. Then he said, + +'"You are silent, Miss Wynne." + +'"And you are silent," I said. + +'"My silence is easily explained," he said. "I was waiting to hear +some remark fall from you as to these meadows and the river, which +you have seen so often." + +'"Which I see now for the first time, you mean." + +'"Miss Wynne," he said, looking earnestly in my face, "you and I have +taken this walk together nearly every day for months." + +'"That," I said, "is--is quite impossible." + +'"It is true," he said. And then again we sat silent. + +'Then I said to him with great firmness, "Mr. D'Arcy, I'm only a +peasant girl, but I'm Welsh; I have faith in you, faith in your +goodness and faith in your kindness to me; but I must insist upon +knowing how I came here, and how you and I were brought together." + +'He smiled, and said, "I was right in thinking that your face +expresses a good deal of what we call character. I should have +preferred waiting for a day or two before relating all I have to +tell," he said, "in answer to what you ask, but as you _insist_ upon +having it now," with a playful kind of smile, "it would be ill-bred +for me to insist that you must wait. But before I begin, would it not +be better if you were to tell me something of what occurred to +yourself when you were taken ill at Raxton?" + +'"Then will your story begin where mine breaks off?" I said. + +'"We shall see that," he said, "as soon as you have ended yours." + +'"Do you know Raxton?" I said. + +'At first he seemed to hesitate about his reply, and then said, + +'"No, I do not." + +'I then told him in as few words as I could our adventures on the +sands on the night of the landslip, and my search for my father's +body afterwards, until I suddenly sank down in a fit. When I had +finished Mr. D'Arcy was silent, and was evidently lost in thought. At +last he said, + +'"My story, I perceive, cannot begin where yours breaks off. I first +became acquainted with you in the studio of a famous painter named +Wilderspin, one of the noblest-minded and most admirable men now +breathing, but a great eccentric." + +'"Why, Mr. D'Arcy, I never was in a studio in my life until to-day," +I said. + +'"You mean, Miss Wynne, that you were not consciously there," he +said. "But in that studio you certainly were, and the artist, who +reverenced you as a being from another world, was painting your face +in a beautiful picture. While he was doing this you were taken +seriously ill, and your life was despaired of. It was then that I +brought you into the country, and here you have been living and +benefiting by the kind services of Mrs. Titwing for a long time." + +'"And you know nothing of my history previously to seeing me in the +London studio?" I asked. + +'"All that I could ever learn about that," said he, in what seemed to +me a rather evasive tone, "I had to gather from the incoherent and +rambling talk of Wilderspin, a religious enthusiast whose genius is +very nearly akin to mania. He was so struck by you that he actually +believed you to be not a corporeal woman at all; he believed you had +been sent from the spirit-world by his dead mother to enable him to +paint a great picture." + +'"Oh, I must see him, and make him tell me all," I said. + +'"Yes," said he, "but not yet." + + +'What Mr. D'Arcy told me,' said Winnie, 'affected me so deeply that I +remained silent for a long time. Then came a thought which made me +say, + +'"You. too, are a painter, Mr. D'Arcy?" + +'"Yes," he said. + +'"During the months that I have been living here have you used me as +your model?" + +'"No; but that was not because I did not wish to do so." + +'Then he suddenly looked in my face and said, + +'"Is your family entirely Welsh, Miss Wynne?" + +'"Entirely," I said. "But why did you not use me as your model, Mr. +D'Arcy?" + +'"Poor Wilderspin believed you to be a spiritual body," he said; "I +did not. I knew that you were a young lady in an unconscious +condition. To have painted you in such a condition and without the +possibility of getting your consent would have been sacrilege, even +if I had painted you as a Madonna." + +'I could not speak, his words and tone were so tender. He broke the +silence by saying, + +'"Miss Wynne, there is one thing in connection with you that puzzles +me very much. You speak of yourself as though you were a kind of +Welsh peasant girl, and yet your conversation--well, I mustn't tell +you what I think of that." + +'This made me laugh outright, for ladies who called on Miss Dalrymple +used to make the same remark. + +'"Mr. D'Arcy," I said, "you are harbouring the greatest little +impostor in the British Islands. I am the mere mocking-bird of one of +the most cultivated women living. My true note is that of a simple +Welsh bird." + +'"A Welsh warbler," he said, with a smile, "but who was the original +of the impostor?" + +'"Miss Dalrymple," I said. + +'"Miss Dalrymple, the writer!--why I knew her years ago--before you +were born." + + +'Our talk had been so lively that we had not noticed the passage of +time, nor had we noticed that the clouds had been gathering for a +summer shower. Suddenly the rain fell heavily; although we ran to the +house, we were quite wet by the time we got in. + +'We found poor Mrs. Titwing in a great state of excitement on account +of the rain, and also because the dinner had been waiting for nearly +an hour. That scamper in the rain, and the laughing and joking at our +predicament, seemed to bring us closer together than anything else +could have done. Mr. D'Arcy told Mrs. Titwing to take me to my room +to change my dress for dinner, and he seemed quite disappointed when +I told him that I could eat no dinner, and would like to retire to my +room for the night. The fact was that the events of that wonderful +day had exhausted all my powers; every nerve within me seemed crying +out for sleep. + +'I went to my room, dismissed Mrs. Titwing, and went to bed at once. +But no sooner had I got into bed than I began to perceive that, +instead of sleep, a long wakeful night was before me. Mr. D'Arcy's +story about finding me in a London studio took entire possession of +my mind. How did I get there? Where had I been and what had been my +adventures before I got there? Why did the painter, in whose studio +Mr. D'Arcy found me, believe that I had been super-naturally sent to +him? I shuddered as a thousand dreadful thoughts flowed into my mind. +"Mr. D'Arcy," I said to myself, "must know more than he has told +me." Then, of course, came thoughts about you. I wondered why you had +allowed me to drift away from you in this manner. True, I was +probably removed from Raxton immediately after my illness, when you +were very ill, as I knew; but then you had recovered!' + + +VII + +When Winifred reached this point in her story, I said, + +'And so you wondered what had become of me from your last seeing me +down to your waking up in Mr. D'Arcy's house?' + +'Yes, yes, Henry. Do tell me what you were doing all that time.' + +As she said these words the whole tragedy of my life returned to me +in one moment, and yet in that moment I lived over again every +dreadful incident and every dreadful detail. The spectacle on the +sands, the search for her in North Wales, the meeting in the cottage, +the frightful sight as she leapt away from me on Snowdon, the +heart-breaking search for her among the mountains, the sound of her +voice, singing by the theatre portico in the rain, the search for her +in the hideous London streets, the scenes in the studios, the +soul-blasting drama in Primrose Court--all came upon me in such a +succession of realities that the beautiful radiant creature now +talking to me seemed impossible except as a figure in a dream. And +she was asking me to tell her what I had been doing during all these +months of nightmare. But I knew that I never could tell her, either +now or at any future time. I knew that to tell her would be to kill +her. + +'Winnie,' I said, 'I will tell you all about myself, but I must hear +your story first. The faster you get on with that the sooner you will +hear what I have to tell.' + +'Then I will get on fast,' said she. 'After a while my thoughts, as I +tossed in my bed, turned from the past to the future. What was the +future that was lying before me? For months I had evidently been +living on the charity of Mr. D'Arcy. My only excuse for having done +so was that I was entirely unconscious of it; but now that I did know +the relations between us I must of course end them at once. But what +was I to do? Whither was I to go? Besides Miss Dalrymple, whose +address I did not know, I had no friends except Sinfi Lovell and the +Gypsies and a few Welsh farmers. To live upon my benefactor's +generous charity now that I was conscious of it was, I felt, +impossible. + +'I was penniless. I had not even money to pay my railway fare to any +part of England. There was only one thing for me to do--write to you. +When I rose in the morning it was with the full determination to +write to you at once. I had been told by Mrs. Titwing that Mr. D'Arcy +always breakfasted alone in a little anteroom adjoining his bedroom, +and always breakfasted late. My breakfast, she said, would be +prepared in what she called the little green room. And when I left my +bedroom, dressed in a morning dress that was carefully laid out for +me, I found the housekeeper moving about in the passages. She +conducted me to the little green room. On the walls were two +looking-glasses in old black oak frames carved with knights at tilt +and angels' heads hovering above them. Each frame contained two +circular mirrors surrounded by painted designs telling the story of +the Holy Grail. The room was furnished with quaint sofas and chairs +on which beautiful little old-fashioned designs were painted. She +told me that as I had not named an hour for breakfasting I should +have to wait about twenty minutes. + +'In one corner of the room was a rather large whatnot, on which lay +one or two French novels in green and yellow paper covers and a few +daily and weekly newspapers, which I went and turned over. Among them +I was startled to find a paper called the _Raxton Gazette_. But I saw +at once how it got there, for written on the margin at the top of the +paper was the address, "Dr. Mivart, Wimpole Street, London." Mr. +D'Arcy had told me that the gentleman whose voice I heard behind the +screen was the medical man who attended to me during my illness, and +it now suddenly flashed upon my mind that at Raxton there was a Dr. +Mivart, though I had never seen him during my stay there. These were, +no doubt, one and the same person, and some one from Raxton had +posted the newspaper to the doctor's house in London. + +'I looked down the columns of the paper with a very lively interest, +and my eye was soon caught by a paragraph encircled by a thick blue +pencil mark. It gave from a paper called the _London Satirist_ what +professed to be a long account of you, in which it was said that you +were living in a bungalow in Wales with a Gypsy girl.' + +When Winifred said this I forgot my promise not to interrupt her +narrative, and exclaimed, + +'And you believed this infamous libel, Winnie?' + +'To say that I believed it as a simple statement of fact would of +course be wrong. I never doubted you loved me as a child.' + +'As a child! Do you then think that I did not love you that night on +Raxton sands?' + +'I did not doubt that you loved me then. But wealth, I had been told, +is so demoralising, and I thought your never coming forward to find +me and protect me in my illness might have something to do with +inconstancy. Anyhow, these thoughts combined with my dread of your +mother to prevent me from writing to you.' + +'Winnie, Winnie!' I said, 'these theories of the so-called advanced +thinkers, whom your aunt taught you to believe in--these ideas that +love and wealth cannot exist together, are prejudices as narrow and +as blind as those of an opposite kind which have sapped the natures +of certain members of my own family.' + +'The sight of your dear sad face when I first saw it here was proof +enough of that,' she said. 'As your life was said to be that of a +wanderer, I did not care to write to Raxton, and I did not know where +to address you. What I had read in the newspaper, I need not tell +you, troubled me greatly. I cried bitterly, and made but a poor +breakfast. After it was over Mr. D'Arcy entered the room, and shook +me warmly by the hand. He saw that I had been crying, and he stood +silent and seemed to be asking himself the cause. Drawing a chair +towards me, and taking a seat, he said, + +'"I fear you have not slept well, Miss Wynne." + +'"Not very well," I answered. Then, looking at him, I said, "Mr. +D'Arcy, I have something to say to you, and this is the moment for +saying it." + +'He gave a startled look, as though he guessed what I was going to +say. + +'"And I have something to say to _you_, Miss Wynne," he said, +smiling, "and this seems the proper time for saying it. Up to the +last few weeks a young gentleman from Oxford has been acting as my +secretary. He has now left me, and I am seeking another. His duties, +I must say, have not been what would generally be called severe. I +write most of my own letters, though not all, and my correspondence +is far from being large. His chief duty has been that of reading to +me in the evening. For many years my eyes have not been so strong as +a painter's ought to be, and the oculist whom I consulted told me +that the strain of the painter's work was quite as much as my eyes +ought to bear, and that I could not afford much eyesight for reading +purposes. I am passionately fond of reading. To be without the +pleasure that books can afford me would be to make me miserable, and +I have looked upon my secretary's duty of reading aloud to me as an +important one. If you would take his place you would be conferring +the greatest service upon me." + +'"Mr. D'Arcy," I said, "I suspect you." + +'"Suspect me, Miss Wynne?" + +'"I suspect that generous heart of yours. I suspect you are merely +inventing a post for me to fill, because you pity me." + +'"No, Miss Wynne; upon my honour this is not so. I will not deny that +if it were not in your power to do me the service that I ask of you, +I should still feel the greatest disappointment if you passed from +under this roof. Your scruples about living here as you lived during +your illness--simply as my guest--I understand, but do not approve. +They show that you are not quite so free from the bondage of custom +as I should like every friend of mine to be. The tie of friendship +is, in my judgment, the strongest of all ties, stronger than that of +blood, because it springs from the natural kinship of soul to soul, +and there is no reason in the world why I should not offer you a home +as a friend, or why, if the circumstances of our lives were reversed, +you should not offer me one. But in this case it is the fact that the +service I am asking you to render me is greater than any service I +can render you." + +'I was so deeply touched by his words and by his way of speaking +them, that my lips trembled, and I could make no reply. + + +'"It is a shame," he said, "for me to talk about business so soon +after your recovery. Let us leave the matter for the moment, and come +to me in the studio during the morning, and let me show you the +pictures I am painting, and some of my choice things." + +'The morning wore on, and still I sat pondering over the situation in +which I found myself. The servant came and removed the breakfast +things, and her furtive glances at me showed that I was an object at +once familiar and strange to her. But very little attention did I pay +to her, in such a whirl of thoughts as I then was. The moment that +one course of action seemed to me the best, the very opposite would +occur to me as being the best. However, I was determined to know from +Mr. D'Arcy, and at once, what was the state in which I was when I was +brought to this place, and what had been the course of my life during +my stay here. Mr. D'Arcy had told me that, for reasons which he so +touchingly alluded to, he had not used me as a model. How, then, had +my time been passed? To question poor Mrs. Titwing would only be to +frighten her. I would ask Mr. D'Arcy for a full confession. + +'Mrs. Titwing came into the room. She began pulling at the ribbon of +her black silk apron as though she wanted to speak and could not find +the proper words. At last she said, + +'"I hope, miss, there have been no words between you and Mr. D'Arcy?" + +''"Words between me and Mr. D'Arcy? What do you mean?" I asked. + +'"He seems very much upset, miss, about something. He is not at his +easel, but keeps walking about the studio, and every now and then he +asks where you are. I'm sure he used to dote on you when you were a +child, miss." + +'"When I was a child?" I said, laughing. "But I see what it is. I +have been very neglectful. I promised to go into the studio to see +the pictures, and he is, of course, impatient at my keeping him +waiting. I will go to him at once," and I went. + +'When I entered the studio he turned quickly round and said, + +'"Well?" + +'"You were so kind," I said, "as to invite me to see your treasures." + +'"To be sure," he said. "I thought you came to give your decision." + +'He then showed me the curious divan upon which I had rested the day +before, and explained to me the meaning of the carved designs.' + + +VIII + +Winifred described the designs on the divan so vividly that I could +almost see them. But what interested me was the painter, not his +surroundings; and she now seemed to grow weary of talking about +herself. + +'Did he,' I said, 'did he say anything about--about painters' +models?' + +'Yes,' she said, 'Mr. D'Arcy took me to an easel and showed me a +picture. It was only the half-length of a woman; but it was a tragedy +rendered fully by the expression on one woman's face. + +'"I had no idea," I said, "that any picture of a single face could do +such work as that. Was this painted from a model?" + +'"Yes," he said, with a smile, which was evidently at my ignorance of +art. "It was painted from life." + +'There were four other half-lengths in the room, all of them very +beautiful. + +'"Two of these," he said, "are copies; the originals have been sold. +The other two need still a few touches to make them complete." + +'"And they were all painted from life?" I said. + +'"Yes," he said. "Why do you repeat that question?" + +'"Because," I said, "although they are all so wonderful and so +beautiful in colour, I can see a great difference between them--I can +scarcely say what the difference is. They are evidently all painted +by the same artist, but painted in different moods of the artist's +mind." + +'"Ah," he said, "I am much interested. Let me see you classify them +according to your view. There are, as you see, two brunettes and two +blondes." + +'"Yes," I said, "between this grand brunette, to use your own +expression, holding a pomegranate in her hand and the other brunette +whose beautiful eyes are glistening and laughing over the fruit she +is holding up, there is the same difference that there is between the +blonde's face under the apple blossoms and the other blonde's face of +the figure that is listening to music. In both faces the difference +seems to be that of the soul." + +'"The two faces," said he, "in which you see what you call soul are +painted from two dear friends of mine--ladies of high intelligence +and great accomplishments, who occasionally honour me by giving me +sittings--the other two are painted from two of the finest hired +models to be found in London." + +'"Then," I said, "an artist's success depends a great deal upon his +model? I had no idea of such a thing." + +'"It does indeed," he said. "Such success as I have won since my +great loss is very largely owing to those two ladies, one so grand +and the other so sweet, whom you are admiring." + +'The way in which he spoke the words "since my great loss" almost +brought tears into my eyes. He then went round the room, and +explained in a delightful way the various pictures and objects of +interest. I felt that I was preventing him from working, and told +him so. + +'"You are very thoughtful," he said, "but I can only paint when I +feel the impulse within me, and to-day I am lazy. But while you go +and get your luncheon--I do not lunch myself--I must try to do +something. You must have many matters of your own that you would +like to attend to. Will you return to the studio about five o'clock, +and let me have your company in another walk?" + +'Until five o'clock I was quite alone, and wandered about the house +and garden trying my memory as to whether I could recall something, +but in vain. At any other time than this I should no doubt have found +the old house a very fascinating one; but not for two minutes +together could my mind dwell upon anything but the amazing situation +in which I found myself. The house was, I saw, built of grey stone, +and as it had seven gables it suggested to me Nathaniel Hawthorne's +famous story, of which my aunt was so fond. Inside I found every room +to be more or less interesting. But what attracted me most, I think, +was a series of large attics in which was a number of enormous oak +beams supporting the antique roof. With the sunlight pouring through +the windows and illuminating almost every corner, the place seemed +cheerful enough, but I could not help thinking how ghostly it must +look on a moonlight night. + +'While the thought was in my mind, a strangle sensation came upon me. +I seemed to hear a moan; it came through the door of the large attic +adjoining the one in which I stood, and then I heard a voice that +seemed familiar to me, and yet I could not recall it. It was +repeating in a loud, agonised tone the words of that curse written on +the parchment scroll which I picked up on Raxton sands. I was so +astonished that for a long time I could think of nothing else. + + +IX + +'At five o'clock I was going towards the studio to keep my +appointment when I met Mr. D'Arcy in his broad-brimmed felt hat, +ready and waiting for me to take the proposed walk with him. + +'Oh, what a lovely afternoon it was! A Welsh afternoon could not have +been lovelier. In fact, it carried my mind back here. The sun, +shining on the buttercups and the grey-tufted standing grass, made +the meadows look as though covered with a tapestry that shifted from +grey to lavender, and then from lavender to gold, as the soft breeze +moved over it. And many of the birds were still in full song; and +brilliant as was the music of the skylarks, the blackbirds and +thrushes were so numerous that the music falling from the sky seemed +caught and swallowed up by the music rising from the hedgerows and +trees. + +'I lingered at one of the gates through which we passed to enjoy the +beauty undisturbed by the motion of my own body. + +'"I have often wished," Mr. D'Arcy said, "that I had a tithe of your +passion for Nature, and all your knowledge of Nature. To have been +born in London and to have passed one's youth there is a great loss. +Nature has to be learnt, as art has to be learnt, in earliest youth." + +'"What makes you know that my chief passion is love of Nature?" I +asked. + +'"It was," he said, "the one thing you showed during your +illness--during your unconscious condition." + +'"And yet I remember nothing of that time," I said. "This gives me an +opportunity of asking you something--an opportunity which I had +determined to make for myself before another day went by." + +'"And what is that?" he said, in a tone that betrayed some +uneasiness. + +'"You have told me how I came here. I now want you to tell me, too, +what was my condition when I came and what was my course of life +during all this long period. How did the time pass? What did I do? I +remember nothing." + +'"I am glad you are asking me these questions," he said, "for I +believe that the more fully and more exactly I answer them, the +better for you and the better for me. Victor Hugo, in one of his +romances, speaks of the pensive somnambulism of the animals. +'Somnambulism,' sometimes pensive and sometimes playful, is the +very phrase I should use in characterising your condition when you +first came here and down to your recovery from that strange illness. +But this somnambulism would every now and then change and pass into +a consciousness which I can only compare with that of a child. But +no child that I have ever seen was so bewitchingly child-like as you +were. It was this that made your presence such a priceless boon to +me." + +'"Priceless boon, Mr. D'Arcy!" I said. "How could such a being as you +describe be a priceless boon to any one?" + +'"I will tell you," he replied. "Even before that great sorrow which +has made me the loneliest man upon the earth--even in the days when +my animal spirits were considered at times almost boisterous, I was +always at intervals subject to periods of great depression, or +rather, I should say, to periods of _ennui_. I must either be +painting or reading or writing. I had not the precious faculty of +being able on occasions to sit and let the rich waters of life flow +over me. I would yearn for amusement, and search in vain for some +object to amuse me. When you first came I was deeply interested in so +extraordinary a case as yours; and after a while, when the acuteness +of my curiosity and the poignancy of my sympathy for you had abated, +you became to me a joy, as a child is a joy in the eyes of its +parents." + +'"Then your interest in me," I said, with a smile, "was that which +you would feel towards a puppy or a kitten." + +'"I perceive that you have a turn for satire," he said, laughing. +"I will not deny that I have an extraordinarily strong passion for +watching the movements of animals. I have, to the sorrow of my +neighbours, filled my garden in London with all kinds of purchases +from Jamrach's. But from the moment that I knew you, who combined the +fascination of a fawn and a child with that of a sylph or a fairy, my +poor little menagerie was neglected, and what became of its members I +scarcely know. I suppose I am very uncomplimentary to you, but you +would have the truth. The moment that I felt myself threatened by the +fiend _Ennui_ I used to tell Mrs. Titwing, who was in the habit of +calling you her baby, to bring you into the studio, and at once the +fiend fled. At last I grew so attached to you that your presence was +a positive necessity of my life. Unless I knew that you were in the +studio I could not paint. It was necessary for me at intervals to +look across the room at that divan and see you there amusing +yourself--playing with yourself, so to speak, sometimes like a +kitten, sometimes like a child. I would not have parted with you for +the world." + +'He did not say he would not now part with me for the world, Henry, +and I thought I understood the meaning of that expression of +disappointment which I had observed in his eyes when I first saw them +looking into mine. I thought I understood this extraordinary man--so +unlike all others; I thought I knew why my eyes lost the charm he was +now so eloquently describing to me the moment that they became +lighted with what he called self-consciousness. + +'After a while I said, "But as I was in such an unconscious state as +you describe, how could you possibly know that a speciality of mine +is a love of Nature?" + +'"It was only when you were out in the open air that the condition +which I have compared to somnambulism seemed at times to disappear. +Then your consciousness seemed to spring up for a moment and to take +heed of what was passing around you. You would sometimes scamper +through the meadows, pluck the wild-flowers and weave them into +wreaths round your head, or stand listening to the birds, or hold out +your hands as if to embrace the sunny wind. One day when a friend of +mine, an enthusiastic angler, who comes here, was going down to the +river to fish, you showed the greatest interest in what was going on. +The fishing tackle seemed so familiar to you that my friend put a +fishing rod into your hand and you went with him to the river. I do +not myself care for angling, and I was at the time very busy with a +picture, but I could not resist the temptation to follow you. You +skipped into the punt with the greatest glee, baited your hook, +adjusted your float on the line, cast it into the water and fished +with such skill that you caught two fish to my friend's one. +Observing all these things, I came to the conclusion that you had +lived much in the open air, and other incidents made me know that you +were a great lover of Nature." + +'"And you," I said, "must also be a lover of Nature, or you could not +find such delight in watching animals." + +'"No," he said, "the interest I take in animals has nothing whatever +to do with love of Nature or study of Nature. They interest me by +that unconsciousness of grace which makes them such a contrast to +man." + +'We then went into the house. Our talk during our ramble in the +fields seemed to remove effectually all awkwardness and restraint +between us. + + +X + +'That day,' said Winnie, 'a determination which had been caused by +many a reflection during the last few hours induced me at dinner to +lead the conversation to the subject of pictures and models. In a few +minutes Mr. D'Arcy launched out in an eloquent discourse upon a +subject which was so new to me and so familiar to him. + +'"You were saying this morning, Mr. D'Arcy," I urged me to tell her +what had befallen myself since we had parted at the cottage door at +Raxton. Even had it been possible for me to talk about myself without +touching upon some dangerous incident or another, my impatience to +get at the mystery of mysteries in connection with her and her rescue +from Primrose Court was so great that I could only implore her to +tell me what had occurred down to her leaving Hurstcote Manor, and +also what had been the cause of her leaving. + +'Well,' said Winnie, 'I am now going to tell you of an extraordinary +thing that happened. One fine night the moon was so brilliant that +after I quitted Mr. D'Arcy I stole out of the side door into the +garden, a favourite place of mine, for old English flowers were mixed +with apple trees and pear trees. I was strolling about the garden, +thinking over a thousand things connected with you, and myself, and +Mr. D'Arcy, when I saw stooping over a flower-bed the figure of a +tall woman. I could scarcely believe my eyes, for I had all the while +supposed that, excepting Mr. D'Arcy, myself, and Mrs. Titwing, the +servants were the only occupants of the place. I turned away, and +walked silently through the little wicket into what is called the +home close. As I pondered over the incident, I recalled certain +things which singly had produced no effect on my mind, but which now +fitted in with each other, and seemed to open up vistas of mystery +and suspicion. Mysterious looks and gestures on the faces of the +servants pointed to there being some secret that was to be kept from +me. I had not given much heed to these things, but now I could not +help connecting them with the appearance of the tall woman in the +garden. + + +'Some guests arrived next day, and when I pleaded headache Mr. D'Arcy +said, "Perhaps you would rather keep to your own room to-day." + +'I told him I should, and I spent the day alone--spent it mainly in +thinking about the tall woman. In the evening I went into the garden, +and remained there for a long time, but no tall woman made her +appearance. + +'I passed out through the wicket into the home close, and as I walked +about in the grass, under the elms that sprang up from the tall +hedge, I thought and thought over what I had seen, but could come to +no explanation. I was standing under a tree, in the shadow which its +branches made, when I became suddenly conscious that the tall woman +was close to me. I turned round, and stood face to face with Sinfi +Lovell. The sight of a spectre could not have startled me more, but +the effect of my appearance upon her was greater still. Her face took +an expression that seemed to curdle my blood, and she shrieked, +"Father! the curse! Let his children be vagabonds and beg their +bread; let them seek it also out of desolate places." And then she +ran towards the house. + +'In a few minutes Mr. D'Arcy came out into the field without his hat, +and evidently much agitated. + +'"Miss Wynne," he said, "I fear you must have been half frightened to +death. Never was there such an unlucky _contretemps_." + +'"But why is Sinfi Lovell here?" I said, "and why was I not told she +was here?" + +'"Sinfi is an old friend of mine," he said. "I have been in the habit +of using her as a model for pictures. She came here to sit to me, +when she was taken ill. She is subject to fits, as you have seen. The +doctor believed that they were over and would not recur, and I had +determined that to-morrow I would bring you together." + +'I made no reply, but walked silently by his side across the field to +the little wicket. The confidence I had reposed in Mr. D'Arcy had +been like the confidence a child reposes in its father. + +'"Miss Wynne," he said, in a voice full of emotion, "I feel that an +unlucky incident has come between us, and yet if I ever did anything +for your good, it was when I decided to postpone revealing the fact +that Sinfi Lovell was under this roof until her cure was so complete +and decisive that you could never by any chance receive the shock +that you have now received." + +'I felt that my resentment was melting in the music of his words. + +'"What caused the fits?" I said. "She talked about being under a +curse. What can it mean?" + +'"That," he said, "is too long a story for me to tell you now." + +'"I know," said I, "that some time ago the tomb of Mr. Aylwin's +father was violated by some undiscovered miscreant, and I know that +the words Sinfi uttered just now are the words of a curse written by +the dead man on a piece of parchment, and stolen with a jewel from +his tomb. I have seen the parchment itself, and I know the words +well. Her father, Panuel Lovell, is as innocent of the crime of +sacrilege as my poor father was. What could have made her suppose +that she had inherited the curse from her father?" + +'"I have no explanation to offer," he said. "As you know so much of +the matter and I know so little, I am inclined to ask you for some +explanation of the puzzle." + +'I thought over the matter for a minute, and then I said to him, +"Sinfi Lovell knows Raxton as well as Snowdon, and must have been +very familiar with the crime. I can only suppose that she has brooded +so long over the enormity of the offence and the appalling words of +the curse that she has actually come at last to believe that poor, +simple-minded Panuel Lovell is the offender, and that she, as his +child, has inherited the curse." + +'"A most admirable solution of the mystery," he said, his face +beaming with delight.' + + +XII + +When Winnie got to this point she said, 'Yes, Henry, poor Sinfi seems +in some unaccountable way to have learnt all about that piece of +parchment and the curse written upon it. She has been under the +extraordinary delusion that her own father, poor Panuel Lovell, was +the violator of the tomb, and that she has inherited the curse.' + +'Good God, Winnie!' I exclaimed; and when I recalled what I had seen +of Sinfi in the cottage, I was racked with perplexity, pity, and +wonder. What could it mean? + +'Yes,' said Winifred, 'she has been possessed by this astounding +delusion, and it used to bring on fits which were appalling to +witness. They are passed now, however.' + +'Is she recovered now?' + +'Mr. D'Arcy,' said Winnie, 'assured me that, in the opinion of the +doctor, the delusion would not he permanent, but that Sinfi would +soon be entirely restored to health. While Mr. D'Arcy and I were +talking about her Sinfi came through the wicket again. Rushing up to +me and seizing my hand, she said, + +'"Oh, Winnie, how I must have skeared you! I dare say Mr. D'Arcy has +told you that I've been subject to fits o' late. It was comin' on you +suddint as I did under the tree that brought it on. I wouldn't let +Mr. D'Arcy tell you I wur here until I wur quite sure I should have +no more on 'em, but the doctor said this very day that I wur now +quite well." + +'My mind ran all night long upon the mystery of Sinfi Lovell. Mr. +D'Arcy's explanation of her appearance at Hurstcote Manor was +certainly clear enough, but somehow its very clearness aroused +suspicion--no, I will not say suspicion--misgivings. If he had been +able, while he seemed so frank and open, to keep away from me a +secret--I mean the secret of Sinfi Lovell's being concealed in the +house--what secrets might he not be concealing from me about my own +mystery? Did he not know everything that occurred during that period +which was a blank in my mind, the period from my sinking down on the +sands to my waking up in his house? + +'From the very first, indeed, a feeling of mystery had haunted me. I +had often pondered over every circumstance that attended my waking +into life, but that incident which was the most firmly fixed in my +mind was the sight of the feet of a tall woman whose body was hid by +the screen between my couch and the other one. When I asked Mr. +D'Arcy about this, he did not say in so many words that I was +suffering from a delusion about those feet, but he talked about the +illusion which generally accompanied a recovery from such illnesses +as mine. Now of course I felt sure that Sinfi was the person I had +seen on the couch. But why was she there? + +'I did not see Mr. D'Arcy until the afternoon after the guests had +left, for in order to avoid seeing him and them, I took a long stroll +by the river and then got into the punt. I had scarcely done so when +Sinfi appeared on the bank and hailed me. I took her into the punt. +She was so entirely herself that I found it difficult to believe in +the startling spectacle of the previous evening, although her +expression was careworn, and she certainly looked a little paler than +she used to look when she and I and Rhona Boswell were such great +friends; her splendid beauty and bearing were as striking as ever, I +thought. I was expecting every minute that she would say something +about what occurred under the elm tree in the home close. But she did +not allude to it, and therefore I did not. We spent the entire +afternoon in reminiscences of Carnarvonshire. When she told me that +she knew you and that you had been there together, and when she told +me the cause of your being there, and told me of your search for me, +and all the distress that came to you on my account, my longing to +see you was like a fever. + +'But vivid as were the pictures that Sinfi gave me of your search for +me, I could not piece them together in a plain tale. I tried to do +so; it was impossible. What had happened to me after I had become +unconscious on the sands in that unaccountable way--why I was found +in Wales--how I could possibly have got there without knowing about +it--what had led to my being discovered by Mr. D'Arcy--discovered in +London, above all places, and in a painter's studio--these questions +were with me night and day, and Sinfi was entirely unable to tell me +anything about the matter, unless, as I sometimes half-thought, she +was concealing something from me.' + + +'How could you have suspicions of poor Sinfi?' I said, for I was +becoming alarmed at the way in which these inquiries were absorbing +Winnie's mind. + +'It is, I know, Henry, a peculiarity of my nature to be extremely +confiding until I have once been deceived, and then to be just as +suspicious. Kind as Mr. D'Arcy has been to me, I began to feel +restless in his haven of refuge. I think that he perceived it, for I +often found his eyes fixed upon me with a somewhat inquiring and +anxious expression in them. I felt that I must leave him and go out +into the world and take my place in the battle of life.' + +'But, Winnie,' I said, 'you don't say that you intended to come to +me. Battle of life, indeed! Where should Winnie stand in that battle +except by the side of Henry? You knew now where to find me. Sinfi, +of course, told you that I was in Wales. And you did not even write +to me! What can it mean?' + +'Why, Henry, don't you know what it means? Don't you know that the +newspapers were full of long paragraphs about the heir of the Aylwins +having left his famous bungalow and gone to Japan? Why, it was +actually copied into the little penny weekly thing that Mrs. Titwing +takes in, and it was there that I read it.' + +'This shows the folly of ignoring the papers,' I said. 'I did +undoubtedly say in some letters to friends that I proposed going to +Japan; but my loss of you, my grief, my misery, paralysed every +faculty of mine. My strength of purpose was all gone. I delayed and +delayed starting, and never left Wales at all, as you see.' + +'Two things,' continued Winnie, 'prevented my leaving Hurstcote--my +promise to Mr. D'Arcy to sit to him for his picture of Zenelophon, +and the prosaic fact that I had not money in my pocket to travel +with; for it was part of the delicate method of Mr. D'Arcy to furnish +me with everything money could buy, but to give me no money. His +extravagant expenditure upon me in the way of dress, trinkets, and +every kind of luxury that could be placed in my room by Mrs. Titwing +appalled me. Mrs. Titwing's own bearing, when I spoke to her about +them, would have made one almost suppose that they grew there like +mushrooms; and if I mentioned them to Mr. D'Arcy he would tell me +that Mrs. Titwing was answerable for all that; he knew nothing about +such matters. + +'What I should in the end have done as to leaving Hurstcote or +remaining there I don't know; but after a while something occurred to +remove my difficulties. One morning, when I was giving Mr. D'Arcy a +long sitting for his picture, a Gypsy friend of Sinfi's, belonging to +a family of Lees encamped two or three miles off, called to see her. +It was a man, Sinfi told me, whom I did not know, and he had gone +away without my seeing him. + +'In the afternoon, when Sinfi and I were in the punt fishing +together, I could not help noticing that she was much absorbed in +thought. + +'"This 'ere fishin' brings back old Wales, don't it?" she said. + +'"Yes," I said, "and I should love to see the old places again." + +'"You would?" she said; and her excitement was so great that she +dropped her fishing-rod in the river. "Jake Lee has been tellin' me +that our people are there, all camped in the old place by Bettws y +Coed. I told him to write to my daddy--Jake can write--and tell him +that I'm goin' to see him." + +'"But you already knew they were there, Sinfi; you told me. What +makes you so suddenly want to go?" + +'"That's nuther here nor there. I do want to go. Why can't you go +with me?" + +'"I should much like it," I said, "but it's impossible." + +'"Why? You can come back to Mr. D'Arcy again." + +'"But, Sinfi," I said, "how are we to travel without money? I have +not a copper." + +'"Ah, but I've got gold balansers about me, and they're better nor +copper." + +'"Dear Sinfi!" I said, "I'd rather borrow of you than any one in the +world." + +'"Borrow!" said she,--"all right! Now we shall have to speak to Mr. +D'Arcy about it. It'll be like drawin' one o' his teeth partin' with +you." + +'When I next saw Mr. D'Arcy I found that Sinfi had already spoken to +him about our project. He seemed very reluctant for me to leave him, +although I promised him that I would return. + +'"It is a strange fancy of Sinfi's, Miss Wynne," said he, "and a very +disconcerting one to me; but I feel that it must be yielded to. +Whatever can be done to serve or even gratify Sinfi Lovell, it is my +duty and yours to do." + +'Mr. D'Arcy always spoke of Sinfi in this way. She seems to have done +something of a peculiarly noble kind for him and for me too, but what +it is I have tried in vain to discover. + +'And a few days after this we started for Wales. + +'Oh, Henry, I wonder whether any one who is not Welsh-born can +understand my delight as we passed along the railway at nightfall and +I first felt upon my cheek the soft rich breath of the Welsh meadows, +smelling partly of the beloved land and partly of the beloved sea. +"Yr Hen Wlad, yr Hen Gartref!" I murmured when at Prestatyn I heard +the first Welsh word and saw the first white-washed Welsh cottage. +From head to foot I became a Welsh girl again. The loveliness of +Hurstcote Manor seemed a dull, grey, far-away house in a dream. But +if I had known that I should also find you, my dear! If I had dreamed +that I should find Henry!' + + +And then silence alone would satisfy her. And Snowdon was speaking to us +both. + + +XIII + +And what about Sinfi Lovell? In those supreme moments of bliss did +Winifred and I think much about Sinfi? Alas, that love and happiness +should be so selfish! + +When at last the sound of Sinfi's crwth and song came from some spot +a good way up the rugged path leading to the summit, it quite +startled us. + +'That's Sinfi's signal,' said Winnie; 'that is the way we used to +call each other when we were children. She used to sing one verse of +a Snowdon song, and I used to answer it with another. Upon my word, +Henry, I had forgotten all about her. What a shame! We have not seen +each other since we parted yesterday at the camp.' + +And she sprang up to go. + +'No, don't leave me,' I said; 'wait till she comes to us. She's sure +to come quite soon enough. Depend upon it she is eager to see how her +_coup de théâtre_ has prospered.' + +'I must really go to her,' said Winifred; 'ever since we left +Hurstcote I have fallen in with her wishes in everything.' + +'But why?' + +'Because I am sure from Mr. D'Arcy's words that she has rendered me +some great service, though what it is I can't guess in the least.' + +'But what are really the plans of the day of this important Gypsy?' + +'There again I can't guess in the least,' said Winifred. 'Probably +the walk to the top and then down to Llanberis, and then on to +Carnarvon, is really to take place, as originally arranged--only with +the slight addition that _some one_ is to join us! I shall soon be +back, either alone or with Sinfi, and then we shall know.' + +She ran up the path. Against her wish I followed her for a time. She +moved towards the same dangerous ledge of rock where I had last seen +her on that day before she vanished in the mist. + +I cried out as I followed her, 'Winnie, for God's sake don't run that +danger!' + +'No danger at all,' she cried. 'I know every rock as well as you know +every boulder of Raxton Cliffs.' + +I watched her poising herself on the ledge; it made me dizzy. Her +confidence, however, was so great that I began to feel she was safe; +and after she had passed out of sight I returned to the llyn where we +had breakfasted. + +Sinfi's music ceased, but Winifred did not return. I sat down on the +rock and tried to think, but soon found that the feat was impossible. +The turbulent waves of my emotion seemed to have washed my brain +clear of all thoughts. The mystery in connection with Sinfi was now +as great as the mystery connected with the rescue of Winifred from +the mattress in Primrose Court. So numbed was my brain that I at last +pinched myself to make sure that I was awake. In doing this I seemed +to feel in one of my coat pockets a hard substance. Putting my hand +into the pocket, I felt the sharp corner of a letter pricking between +a finger and its nail. The acute pain assured me that I was awake. I +pulled out the letter. It was the one that the servant at the +bungalow had given me in the early morning when I called to get my +bath. I read the address, which was in a handwriting I did not +know:-- + +'HENRY AYLWIN, ESQ., +'Carnarvon, North Wales.' + +The Carnarvon postmark and the words written on the envelope, 'Try +Capel Curig,' showed the cause of the delay in the letter's reaching +me. In the left-hand corner of the envelope were written the words +'Very urgent. Please forward immediately.' I opened it, and found it +to be a letter of great length. I looked at the end and gave a start, +exclaiming, 'D'Arcy!' + + + +XVI + +D'ARCY'S LETTER + +This is how the letter ran:-- + +HURSTCOTE MANOR. + +MY DEAR AYLWIN, + +I have just learned by accident that you are somewhere in Wales. I +had gathered from paragraphs in the newspapers about you that you +were in Japan, or in some other part of the East. + +Miss Wynne and Sinfi Lovell are at this moment in Wales, and I write +at once to furnish you with some facts in connection with Miss Wynne +which it is important for you to know before you meet her. I can +imagine your amazement at learning that she you have lost so long +has been staying here as my guest. I will tell you all without more +preamble. + +One day, some little time after I parted from you in the streets of +London, I chanced to go into Wilderspin's studio, when I found him +in great distress. He told me that the beautiful model who had sat +for his picture 'Faith and Love' had suddenly died. The mother of the +girl had on the previous day been in and told him that her daughter +had died in one of the fits to which at intervals she had been +subject. + +Wilderspin, in his eccentric way, had always declared that the +model was not the woman's daughter. He did not think her, as I did, +to have been kidnapped; he believed her to be not a creature of flesh +and blood at all, but a spiritual body sent from heaven by his mother +in order that he might use her as a model. As to the woman Gudgeon, +who laid claim to be her mother, he thought she was suffering from a +delusion--a beneficent delusion--in supposing the model to be her +daughter. And now he thought that this beautiful phantom from the +spirit-world had been recalled because his picture was complete. When +I entered the studio he was just starting for the second time, as he +told me, to the woman's house, in the belief that the body of the +girl which he had seen lying on a mattress was a delusion--a +spiritual body, and must by this time have vanished. + +I had reasons for wishing to prevent his going there and being again +brought into contact with the woman before I saw her myself. From my +first seeing the woman and the model, I had found it impossible to +believe that there could be any blood relationship between them, for +the girl's frame from head to foot was as delicate as the woman's +frame from head to foot was coarse and vulgar. + +Naturally, therefore, it occurred to me that this was an excellent +opportunity to find out the truth of the matter. I determined to go +and bully the impudent hag into a confession; but of course +Wilderspin was the last man I should choose to accompany me on such +a mission. Your relative, Cyril Aylwin, was, as I believed, on the +Continent, expecting Wilderspin to join him there, or I might have +taken him with me. + +I have always had great influence over Wilderspin, and I easily +persuaded him to remain in the studio while I went myself to the +woman's address, which he gave me. I knew that if the model were +really dead she would have to be buried by the parish at a pauper +funeral, that is to say, lowered into a deep pit with other paupers. +It was painful to me to think of this, and I determined to get her +buried myself. So I took a hansom and drove to the squalid court in +the neighbourhood of Holborn, where the woman lived. + +On reaching the house, I found the door open. Wilderspin had +described to me the room occupied by Mrs. Gudgeon, so I went at once +upstairs. I found the model upon a mattress, her features horribly +contorted, lying in the same clothes apparently in which she had +fallen when seized. + +In an armchair in the middle of the room was Mrs. Gudgeon, in a +drunken sleep so profound that I could not have roused her had I +tried. While I stood looking at the girl, something in the appearance +of her flesh--its freshness of hue--made me suspect that she was +still alive, and that she was only suffering from a seizure of a more +acute kind than any the woman had yet seen. As I stood looking at +these two it occurred to me that should the model recover from the +seizure this would be an excellent and quite unexpected opportunity +for me to get her away. The woman, I thought, would after a while +wake up, and find to her amazement the body gone of her whom she +thought dead. If she had really kidnapped the girl she would be +afraid to set any inquiry afoot. She might even perhaps imagine that +the girl's relations had traced her, found the dead body, and removed +it for burial while she, the kidnapper, was asleep. + +After a while the expression of terror on the model's face began to +relax, and she soon awoke into that strange condition which had +caused Wilderspin to declare that she had been sent from another +world. She recognised me in the semi-conscious way in which she +recognised all those who were brought into contact with her, and +looked into my face with that indescribably sweet smile of hers. From +the first she had in her dazed way seemed attached to me, and I had +now no difficulty whatever in persuading her to accompany me +downstairs and out of the house. + +Before going, however, the whim seized me to write on the wall in +large letters, with a piece of red drawing-chalk I had in my +waistcoat pocket, '_Kidnapper, beware! Jack Ketch is on your track_.' +I took the girl to my house, and put her under the care of my +housekeeper (much to the worthy lady's surprise), who gave her every +attention. I then went to Wilderspin's studio. + +'Well,' said he, 'there is no body lying there, I suppose?' + +'None,' I said. + +'Did I not tell you that the spirit-world had called her back? What +I saw has vanished, as I expected. How could you suppose that a +material body could ever be so beautiful?' + +As I particularly wished that the model should, for a time at least, +be removed from all her present surroundings, I thought it well to +let Wilderspin retain his wild theory as to her disappearance. + +I had already arranged to go on the following day to Hurstcote Manor, +where several unfinished pictures were waiting for me, and I decided +to take the model with me. + +Before, however, I started for the country with her, I had the +curiosity to call next morning upon the woman in Primrose Court, +in order to discover what had been the effect of my stratagem. I +found her sitting in a state of excitement, and evidently in great +alarm, gazing at the mattress. The words I had written on the wall +had been carefully washed out. + +'Well, Mrs. Gudgeon,' I said, 'what has become of your daughter?' + +'Dead,' she whimpered, 'dead.' + +'Yes, I know she's dead,' I said. 'But where is the body?' + +'Where's the body? Why, buried, in course,' said the woman. + +'Buried? Who buried her?' I said. + +'What a question, sure_lie_!' she said, and kept repeating the words +in order, as I saw, to give herself time to invent some story. Then a +look of cunning overspread her face, and she whimpered, 'Who _does_ +bury folks in Primrose Court? The parish, to be sure.' + +These words of the woman's showed that matters had taken exactly the +course I should have liked them to take. She would tell other +inquirers as she had told me, that her daughter had been buried by +the parish. No one would take the trouble, I thought, to inquire into +it, and the matter would end at once. + +So I said to her, 'Oh, if the parish buried her, that's all right; no +one ever makes inquiries about people who are buried by the parish.' + +This seemed to relieve the woman's mind vastly, and she said, 'In +course they don't. What's the use of askin' questions about people as +are buried by the parish?' + +Not thinking that the time was quite ripe for cross-examining Mrs. +Gudgeon as to her real relations to the model, I left her, and that +same afternoon I took the model down to Hurstcote Manor, determining +to keep the matter a secret from everybody, as I intended to +discover, if possible, her identity. + +I need scarcely remind you that although you told me some little of +the story of yourself and a young lady to whom you were deeply +attached, you were very reticent as to the cause of her dementia; and +your story ended with her disappearance in Wales. I, for my part, had +not the smallest doubt that she had fallen down a precipice and was +dead. Everything--especially the fact that you last saw her on the +brink of a precipice, running into a volume of mist--pointed to but +one conclusion. To have imagined for a moment that she and +Wilderspin's model, who had been discovered in the streets of London, +were the same, would have been, of course, impossible. Besides, you +had given me no description of her personal appearance, nor had you +said a word to me as to her style of beauty, which is undoubtedly +unique. + +When I got the model fairly settled at Hurstcote her presence became +a delight to me such as it could hardly have been to any other man. +It is difficult for me to describe that delight, but I will try. + +Do you by chance remember our talk about animals and the charm they +had for me, especially young animals? And do you remember my saying +that the most fascinating creature in the world would be a beautiful +young girl as unconscious as a child or a young animal; if such a +combination of charms were possible? Such a young girl as this it was +whom I was now seeing every day and all day. The charm she exercised +over me was no doubt partly owing to my own peculiar temperament--to +my own hatred of self-consciousness and to an innate shyness which +is apt to make me feel at times that people are watching me, when +they most likely are doing nothing of the kind. + +And charming as she is now, restored to health and +consciousness--charming above most young ladies with her sweet +intelligence and most lovable nature--the inexpressible witchery I +have tried to describe has vanished, otherwise I don't know how I +should have borne what I now have brought myself to bear, parting +from her. + +I seemed to have no time to think about prosecuting inquiries in +regard to her identity. I am afraid there was much selfishness in +this, but I have never pretended to be an unselfish man. + +The one drop of bitterness in my cup of pleasure was the recurrence +of the terrible paroxysms to which she was subject. + +I was alarmed to find that these became more and more frequent and +more and more severe. I felt at last that her system could not stand +the strain much longer, and that the end of her life was not far +distant. + +It was in a very singular way that I came to know her name and also +her relations with you. In my original perplexity about finding a +model for my Zenelophon, I had bethought me of Sinfi Lovell, who, +with a friend of hers named Rhona Boswell, sat to Wilderspin, to your +cousin, and others. I had made inquiries about Sinfi, but had been +told that she was not now to be had, as she had abandoned London +altogether, and was settled in Wales. + +One day, however, I was startled by seeing Sinfi walking across the +meadows along the footpath leading from the station. + +She told me that she had quitted Wales for good, and had left you +there, and that on reaching London and calling at one of the studios +where she used to sit, she had been made aware of my inquiries after +her. As she had now determined to sit a good deal to painters, she +had gone to my studio in London. Being told there that I was at +Hurstcote Manor, where she had sat to me on several occasions, she +had taken the train and come down. + +During our conversation the model passed through the garden gate and +walked towards the Spinney, and stood looking in a rapt way at the +sunset clouds and listening to the birds. + +When Sinfi caught sight of her she stood as if petrified, and +exclaimed, 'Winnie Wynne! Then she ain't dead; the dukkeripen was +true; they'll be married arter all. Don't let her see me suddenly, it +might bring on fits.' + +Miss Wynne, however, had observed neither Sinfi nor me, and we two +passed into the garden without any difficulty. + +In the studio Sinfi sat down, and in a state of the deepest agitation +she told me much of the story, as far as she knew it, of yourself and +Miss Wynne, but I could see that she was not telling me all. + +We were both perplexed as to what would be the best course of action +to take in regard to Miss Wynne--whether to let her see Sinfi or not, +for evidently she was getting worse, the paroxysms were getting more +frequent and more severe. They would come without any apparent +disturbing cause whatever. Now that I had to connect her you had lost +in Wales with the model, many things returned to me which I had +previously forgotten, things which you had told me in London. I had +quite lately learnt a good deal from Dr. Mivart, who formerly +practised near the town in which you lived, but who now lives in +London. He had been attending me for insomnia. While speculating as +to what would be best to do, it occurred to me that I would write to +Mivart, asking him to run down to me at Hurstcote Manor and consult +with me, because he had told me that he had given attention to cases +of hysteria. I did this, and persuaded Sinfi to remain and to keep +out of Miss Wynne's sight. Although Sinfi was still as splendid a +woman as ever, I noticed a change in her. Her animal spirits had +fled, and she had to me the appearance of a woman in trouble; but +what her trouble was I could not guess, and I cannot now guess. +Perhaps she had been jilted by some Gypsy swain. + +When Dr. Mivart came he was much startled at recognising in Miss +Wynne his former patient of Raxton, whom he had attended on her first +seizure. He said that it would now be of no use for me to write to +you, as it was matter of common knowledge that you had gone to Japan. +If it had not been for this I should have written to you at once. He +took a very grave view of Miss Wynne's case, and said that her +nervous system must shortly succumb to the terrible seizures. Sinfi +Lovell was in the room at the time. I asked Dr. Mivart if there was +any possible means of saving her life. + +'None,' he said, 'or rather there is one which is unavailable.' + +'And what is that?' I asked. + +'They have a way at the Salpêtrière Hospital of curing cases of acute +hysteria By transmitting the seizure to a healthy patient by means of +a powerful magnet. My friend Marini, of that hospital, has had +recently some extraordinary successes of this kind. Indeed, by a +strange coincidence, as I was travelling here this morning I chanced +to buy a _Daily Telegraph_, in which this paragraph struck my eye.' + +Mivart then pointed out to me a letter from Paris in the _Daily +Telegraph_, giving an account of certain proceedings at the +Salpêtrière Hospital, and in the same paper there was a long leading +article upon the subject. The report of the experiments was to me so +amazing that at first I could not bring my mind to believe in it. As +you will, I am sure, feel some incredulity, I have cut out the +paragraph, and here it is pasted at the bottom of this page:-- + +'The chief French surgeons and medical professors have, for some +time, been carefully studying the effect of mesmerism on the female +patients of the Salpêtrière Hospital, and M. Marini, a clinical +surgeon of that establishment, has just effected a series of +experiments, the results of which would seem to open up a new field +for medical science. M. Marini tried to prove that certain hysterical +symptoms could be transferred by the aid of the magnet from one +patient to another. He took two subjects: one a dumb woman afflicted +with hysteria, and the other a female who was in a state of hypnotic +trance. A screen was placed between the two, and the hysterical woman +was then put under the influence of a strong magnet. After a few +moments she was rendered dumb, while speech was suddenly restored to +the other. Luckily for his healthier patients, however, their +borrowed pains and symptoms did not last long.' + +And Mivart was able to give me some more extraordinary instances of +the transmission of hysterical seizures from one patient to +another--instances where permanent cures were effected. [Footnote] +Naturally I asked Mivart what befell the new victims of the seizures. + +[Footnote: The transmissions here alluded to were mostly effected by +M. Babinski of the Salpêtrière. They excited great attention in +Paris.] + +'That depends,' said Mivart, 'upon three circumstances--the acuteness +of the seizure, the strength of the recipient's nervous system, and +the kind of imagination she has. In all Marini's experiments the new +patient has quickly recovered, and the original patient has remained +entirely cured and often entirely unconscious that she has ever +suffered from the paroxysms at all.' + +Mivart went on to say that the case of Miss Wynne was so severe a one +that if the new patient's imagination were very strong the risk to +her would be exceptionally great. + +At the end of this discussion Mivart directed my attention to Sinfi +Lovell. She sat as though listening to some voice. Her head was bent +forward, her lips were parted, and her eyes were closed. Then I heard +her say in a loud whisper, 'Yis, mammy dear, little Sinfi's +a-listenin'. Yis, this is the way to make her dukkeripen come true, +and then mine can't. Yis, this is the very way. They shall meet again +by Knockers' Llyn, where I seed the Golden Hand, and arter that, +never shall little Sinfi go agin you, dear. And never no more shall +any one on 'em, Gorgio or Gorgie, bring their gries and their +beautiful livin'-waggins among tents o' ourn. Never no more shall +they jine our breed--never no more, never no more. And then my +dukkeripen _can't_ come true.' + +Then, springing up, she said, 'I'll stand the risk anyhow. You may +pass the cuss on to me if you can.' + +'The seizure has nothing to do with any curse,' said Mivart, 'but if +you think it has, you are the last person to whom it should be +transmitted.' + +'Oh, never fear,' said Sinfi; 'Gorgio cuss can't touch Romany. But +if you find you can pass the cuss on to me, I'll stand the cuss all +the same.' + +I always admired this noble girl very much, and I pointed out to her +the danger of the experiment to one of her temperament, but assured +her the superstition about the Gorgio curse was entirely an idle one. + +'Danger or no danger,' she said, 'I'll chance it; I'll chance it.' + +'It might be the death of you,' I said, 'if you believe that the +seizure is a curse.' + +'Death!' she murmured, with a smile. 'It ain't death as is likely to +scare a Romany chi, 'specially if she happens to want to die;' and +then she said aloud, 'I tell you I mean to chance it, but I think my +dear old daddy ought to know about it. So if you'll jist write to him +at Gypsy Dell, by Rington, and ask him to come and see me here, I'm +right well sure he'll come and see me at wonst. He can't read the +letter hisself, of course, but the Scollard can, and so can Rhona +Boswell. One on 'em will read it to him, and I know he'll come at +wonst. I shouldn't like to run such a risk without my dear blessed +old daddy knowin' on it.' + +It ended in Mivart's writing to Sinfi's father, and Panuel Lovell +turned up the next evening in a great state of alarm as to what he +was wanted for. Panuel's opposition to the scheme was so strong that +I refused to urge the point. + +It was a very touching scene between him and Sinfi. + +'You know what your mammy told you about you and the Gorgios,' said +he, with tears trickling down his cheeks. 'You know the dukkeripen +said as you wur to beware o' Gorgios, because a Gorgio would come to +the Kaulo Camloes as would break your heart.' + +She looked at her father for a second, and then she broke into a +passion of tears, and threw herself upon the old man's neck, and I +_thought_ I heard her murmur, 'It's broke a'ready, daddy.' But I +really am not quite sure that she did not say the opposite of this. + +I had no idea before how strong the family ties are between the +Gypsies. It seems to me that they are stronger than with us, and I +was really astonished that Sinfi could, in order to be of service to +two people of another race, resist the old Gypsy's appeal. She did, +however, and it was decided that at the next seizure the experiment +should be made, and Dr. Mivart telegraphed to London for his +assistant to bring one of Marini's magnets. + +We had not long to wait, for the very next day, just as Mivart was +preparing to leave for London, Miss Wynne was seized by another +paroxysm. It was more severe than any previous one--so severe, +indeed, that it seemed to me that it must be the last. + +It was with great reluctance that Mivart consented to use Sinfi as +the recipient of the seizure, because of her belief that it was the +result of a curse. However, he at last consented, and ordered two +couches to be placed side by side with a large magnet between them. +Then Miss Wynne was laid on one couch, and Sinfi Lovell on the other; +a screen was placed between the couches, and then the wonderful +effect of the magnetism began to show itself. + +The transmission was entirely successful, and Miss Wynne awoke as +from a trance, and I saw as it were the beautiful eyes change as the +soul returned to them. She was no longer the fascinating child who +had become part of my life. She was another person, a stranger whose +acquaintance I had now to make, and whose friendship I had yet to +win. Indeed the change in the expression was so great that it was +really difficult to believe that the features were the same. This +was owing to the wonderful change in the eyes. + +To Sinfi Lovell the seizure was transmitted in a way that was +positively uncanny--she passed into a paroxysm so severe that Mivart +was seriously alarmed for her. Her face assumed the same expression +of terror which I had seen on Miss Wynne's face, and she uttered the +cry, 'Father!' and then fell back into a state of rigidity. + +'The transmission was just in time,' said Mivart; 'the other patient +would never have survived this.' + +Strong as Sinfi Lovell was, the effect of the transmission upon her +nervous system was to me appalling. Indeed it was much greater, +Mivart said, than he was prepared for. Poor Panuel Lovell kept gazing +at us, and then said, 'It's cruel to let one woman kill herself for +another; but when her as kills herself is a Romany, and t'other a +Gorgie, it's what I calls a blazin' shame. She would do it, my poor +chavi would do it. "No harm can't come on it," says she, "because a +Gorgio cuss can't touch a Romany." An' now see what's come on it.' + +Mivart would not hear of Sinfi's returning at present to the Gypsies, +as she required special treatment. Hence there was no course left +open to us but that of keeping her here attended by a nurse whom +Mivart sent. While the recurrent paroxysms were severe, Sinfi was to +be carefully kept apart from Miss Wynne until it should become quite +clear how much and how little Miss Wynne remembered of her past life. +Mivart, however, leaned to the opinion that nothing could recall to +her mind the catastrophe that caused the seizure. By an unforeseen +accident they met, and I was at first fearful of the consequences, +but soon found that Mivart's theory was right. No ill effects +whatever followed the meeting. Sinfi's transmitted paroxysms have +gradually become less acute and less frequent, and Miss Wynne has +been constantly with her and ministering to her; the affection +between them seems to have been of long standing, and very great. + +I found that Miss Wynne remembered all her past life down to her +first seizure on Raxton sands, while everything that had since passed +was a blank. Since her recovery her presence here has seemed to shed +a richer sunlight over the old place, but of course she is no longer +the fairy child who before her cure fascinated me more than any other +living creature could have done. + +Apart from her sweet companionship, she has been of great service to +me in my art. When I learnt who she was, I should not have dreamed of +asking her to sit to me as a model without having first taken your +views, and you were, as I understood, abroad; but she herself +generously volunteered to sit to me for a picture I had in my mind, +'The Spirit of Snowdon.' It was a failure, however, and I abandoned +it. Afterwards, knowing that I was at my wits' end for a model in the +painting I have been for a long time at work upon, 'Zenelophon,' she +again offered to sit to me. The result has been that the picture, now +near completion, is by far the best thing I have ever done. + +I had noticed for some time that Sinfi's mind seemed to be running +upon some project. Neither Miss Wynne nor I could guess what it was. +But a few days ago she proposed that Miss Wynne and she should take a +trip to North Wales in order to revisit the places endeared to them +both by reminiscences of their childhood. Nothing seemed more natural +than this. And Sinfi's noble self-sacrifice for Miss Wynne had +entitled her to every consideration, and indeed every indulgence. + +And yesterday they started for Wales. It was not till after they were +gone that I learnt from another newspaper paragraph that you did not +go to Japan, and are in Wales. And now I begin to suspect that +Sinfi's determination to go to Wales with Miss Wynne arose from her +having suddenly learnt that you are still there. + +And now, my dear Alywin, having acted as a somewhat prosaic reporter +of these wonderful events, I should like to conclude my letter with a +word or two about what took place when I parted from you in the +streets of London. I saw then that your sufferings had been very +great, and since that time they must have been tenfold greater. And +now I rejoice to think that, of all the men in this world who have +ever loved, you, through this very suffering, have been the most +fortunate. As Job's faith was tried by Heaven, so has your love been +tried by the power which you call 'circumstance' and which Wilderspin +calls 'the spiritual world.' All that death has to teach the mind and +the heart of man you have learnt to the very full, and yet she you +love is restored to you, and will soon be in your arms. I, alas! have +long known that the tragedy of tragedies is the death of a beloved +mistress, or a beloved wife. I have long known that it is as the King +of Terrors that Death must needs come to any man who knows what the +word 'love' really means. I have never been a reader of philosophy, +but I understand that the philosophers of all countries have been +preaching for ages upon ages about resignation to Death--about the +final beneficence of Death--that 'reasonable moderator and equipoise +of justice,' as Sir Thomas Browne calls him. Equipoise of justice +indeed! He who can read with tolerance such words as these most have +known nothing of the true passion of love for a woman as you and I +understand it. The Elizabethans are full of this nonsense; but where +does Shakespeare, with all his immense philosophical power, ever show +this temper of acquiescence? All his impeachments of Death have the +deep ring of personal feeling--dramatist though he was. But, what I +am going to ask you is, How shall the modern materialist, who you +think is to dominate the Twentieth Century and all the centuries to +follow--how shall he confront Death when a beloved mistress is struck +down? When Moschus lamented that the mallow, the anise, and the +parsley had a fresh birth every year, whilst we men sleep in the +hollow earth a long, unbounded, never-waking sleep, he told us what +your modern materialist tells us, and he re-echoed the lamentation +which, long before Greece had a literature at all, had been heard +beneath Chaldean stars and along the mud-banks of the Nile. Your +bitter experience made you ask materialism, What comfort is there in +being told that death is the very nursery of new life, and that our +heirs are our very selves, if when you take leave of her who was and +is your world it is 'Vale, vale, in æternum vale'? The dogged +resolution with which at first you fought and strove for materialism +struck me greatly. It made you almost rude to me at our last meeting. + +When I parted from you I should have been blind indeed had I failed +to notice how scornfully you repudiated my suggestion that you should +replace the amulet in the tomb from which it had been stolen. I did +not then know that the tomb was your father's. Had I known it my +suggestion would have been much more emphatic. I saw that you had +the greatest difficulty in refraining from laughing in my face when I +said to you that you would eventually replace it. Yes, you had great +difficulty in refraining from laughing. I did not take offence. I +felt sure that the cross was in some way connected with the young +lady you had lost in Wales, but I could not guess how. Had you told +me that the cross had been taken from your father's tomb I should no +doubt have connected it with the cry of 'Father' which had, I knew, +several times been uttered in Wilderspin's studio by the model in her +paroxysms, and I should have earlier done what I was destined to +do--I should earlier have brought you together. From sympathy that +sprang from a deep experience I knew you better than you knew +yourself. When I learnt from Sinfi Lovell that you had fulfilled +my prophecy I did not laugh. Tears rather than laughter would have +been more in my mood, for I realised the martyrdom you must have +suffered before you were impelled to do it. I knew how you must +have been driven by sorrow--driven against all the mental methods +and traditions of your life--into the arms of supernaturalism. +But you were simply doing what Hamlet would have done in such +circumstances--what Macbeth would have done, and what he would have +done who spoke to the human heart through their voices. All men, I +believe, have Macbeth's instinct for making 'assurance doubly sure,' +and I cannot imagine the man who, entangled as you were in a net of +conflicting evidence--the evidence of the spiritual and the +evidence of the natural world--would not, if the question were that +of averting a curse from acting on a beloved mistress, have done as +you did. That paralysis of Hamlet's will which followed when the +evidence of two worlds hung in equipoise before him, no one can +possibly understand better than I. For it was exactly similar to my +own condition on that never-to-be-forgotten night when she whom I +lost... + + +While the marvellous sight fell, or appeared to fall, upon my eyes, +my blood, like Hamlet's, became so masterful that my reason seemed +nothing but a blind and timorous guide. No sooner had the sweet +vision fled than my reason, like Hamlet's, rose and rejected it. It +was not until I became acquainted with the _rationale_ of sympathetic +manifestations--it was not till I learnt, by means of that +extraordinary book of your father's, which seems to have done its +part in turning friend Wilderspin's head, what is the supposed +method by which the spiritual world acts upon the material +world--acts by the aid of those same natural bonds which keep the +stars in their paths--that my blood and my reason became reconciled, +and a new light came to me. And I knew that this would be your case. +Yes, my dear Aylwin, I knew that when the issues of Life are greatly +beyond the common, and when our hearts are torn as yours has been +torn, and when our souls are on fire with a flame such as that which +I saw was consuming you, the awful possibilities of this universe--of +which we, civilised men or savage, know nothing--will come before us, +and tease our hearts with strange wild hopes, 'though all the +"proofs" of all the logicians should hold them up to scorn.' + +I am, my dear Aylwin, + +Your sincere Friend, + +T. D'ARCY. + + + +XVII + +THE TWO DUKKERIPENS + +Was the mystery at an end? Was there one point in this story of +stories which this letter of D'Arcy's had not cleared up? Yes, indeed +there was one. What motive--or rather, what mixture of motives--had +impelled Sinfi to play her part in restoring Winifred to me? Her +affection for me was, I knew, as strong as my own affection for her. +But this I attributed largely to the mysterious movements of the +blood of Fenella Stanley which we both shared. In many matters there +was a kinship of taste between us, such as did not exist between me +and Winnie, who was far from being scornful of conventions, and to +whom the little Draconian laws of British 'Society' were not objects +of mere amusement, as they were to me and Sinfi. + +All this I attributed to that 'prepotency of transmission in descent' +which I knew to be one of the Romany characteristics. All this I +attributed, I say, to the far-reaching influence of Fenella Stanley. + +But would this, coupled with her affection for Winifred, have been +strong enough to conquer Sinfi's terror of a curse and its supposed +power? And then that colloquy recorded by D'Arcy with what she +believed to be her mother's spirit--those words about 'the two +dukkeripens'--what did they mean? At one moment I seemed to guess +their meaning in a dim way, and at the next they seemed more +inexplicable than ever. But be their import what it might, one thing +was quite certain--Sinfi had saved Winifred, and there swept through +my very being a passion of gratitude to the girl who had acted so +nobly which for the moment seemed to drown all other emotions. +I had not much time, however, for bringing my thoughts to bear upon +this new source of wonderment; for I suddenly saw Winifred and Sinfi +descending the steep path towards me. + +But what a change there was in Sinfi! The traces of illness had fled +entirely from her face, and were replaced by the illumination of the +triumphant soul within--a light such as I could imagine shining on +the features of Boadicea fresh from a successful bout with the foe of +her race. Even the loveliness of Winnie seemed for the moment to pale +before the superb beauty of the Gypsy girl, whom the sun was +caressing as though it loved her, shedding a radiance over her +picturesque costume, and making the gold coins round her neck shine +like dewy whin-flowers struck by the sunrise. + +I understood well that expression of triumph. I knew that, with her, +imagination was life itself. I knew that this imagination of hers had +just escaped from the sting of the dominant thought which was +threatening to turn a supposed curse into a curse indeed. + +I went to meet them. + +'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. + + + +XVIII + +THE WALK TO LLANBERIS + +When, on coming to rejoin us, Winnie learnt that Sinfi had left for +Capel Curig, she seemed at first somewhat disconcerted, I thought. +Her training, begun under her aunt, and finished under Miss +Dalrymple, had been such that she was by no means oblivious of Welsh +proprieties; and, though I myself was entirely unable to see in what +way it was more eccentric to be mountaineering with a lover than with +a Gypsy companion, she proposed that we should follow Sinfi. + +'I have seen your famous living-waggon,' she said. 'It goes wherever +the Lovells go. Let us follow her. You can stay at Bettws or Capel +Curig, and I can stay with Sinfi.' + +I told her how strong was Sinfi's wish that we should not do so. +Winnie soon yielded her point, and we began leisurely our descent +westward, along that same path which Sinfi and I had taken on that +other evening, which now seemed so far away, when we walked down to +Llanberis with the setting sun in our faces. If my misery could then +only find expression in sighs and occasional ejaculations of pain, +absolutely dumb was the bliss that came to me now, growing in power +with every moment, as the scepticism of my mind about the reality of +the new heaven before me gave way to the triumphant acceptance of it +by my senses and my soul. + +The beauty of the scene--the touch of the summer breeze, soft as +velvet even when it grew boisterous, the perfume of the Snowdonian +flowerage that came up to meet us, seemed to pour in upon me through +the music of Winnie's voice which seemed to be fusing them all. That +beloved voice was making all my senses one. + +'You leave all the talk to me,' she said. But as she looked in my +face her instinct told her why I could not talk. She knew that such +happiness and such bliss as mine carry the soul into a region where +spoken language is not. + +Looking round me towards the left, where the mighty hollow of Cwm +Dyli was partly in sunshine and partly in shade, I startled Winnie by +suddenly calling out her name. My thoughts had left the happy dream +of Winifred's presence and were with Sinfi Lovell. As I looked at the +tall precipices rising from the chasm right up to the summit of +Snowdon, I recalled how Sinfi, notwithstanding her familiarity with +the scene, appeared to stand appalled as she gazed at the jagged +ridges of Crib-y-Ddysgyl, Crib Goch, Lliwedd, and the heights of Moel +Siabod beyond. I recalled how the expression of alarm upon Sinfi's +features had made me almost see in the distance a starving girl +wandering among the rocks, and this it was that made me now exclaim +'Winnie!' With this my lost power of speech returned. + +We went to the ruined huts where Sinfi had on that memorable day +lingered by the spring, and Winnie began to scoop out the water with +her hand and drink it. She saw how I wanted to drink the water out of +the little palm, and she scooped some out for me, saying, 'It's the +purest, and sweetest, and best water on Snowdon.' + +'Yes,' I said, 'the purest, and sweetest, and best water in the world +when drunk from such a cup.' + +She drew her hand away and let the water drop through her fingers, +and turned round to look at the scene we had left, where the summit +of Snowdon was towering beyond a reach of rock, bathed in the rapidly +deepening light. + +'No idle compliments between you and me, sir,' she said, with a +smile. 'Remember that I have still time and strength to go back to +the top and follow Sinfi down to the camp.' + +And then we both laughed together, as we laughed that afternoon in +Wilderness Road when she enunciated her theories upon the voices of +men and the voices of birds. She then stood gazing abstractedly into +a pool of water, upon which the evening lights were now falling. As I +saw her reflected in the surface of the stream, which was as smooth +as a mirror--saw her reflected there sometimes on an almost +colourless surface, sometimes amid a procession in which every colour +of the rainbow took part, I sighed. 'Why do you sigh?' said she. + +I could not tell her why, for I was recalling Wilderspin's words +about her matchless beauty and its inspiring effect upon the painter +who painted it. It would indeed, as Wilderspin had said, endow +mediocrity with genius. + +'Why do you sigh?' she repeated. + +'Oh, if I could paint that, Winnie, if I could paint that picture in +the water.' + +'And why should you not?' she said, in a dreamy way. And then a +sudden thought seemed to strike her, and she said with much energy, +'Become a painter, Henry! Become a painter! No man ever yet satisfied +a true woman who did not work--work hard at something--anything--if +not in the active affairs of life, in the world of art. My love you +must always have now--you must always have it under any +circumstances. I could not help under any circumstances giving you +love. But I fear I could not give a rich, idle man--even if he were +Henry himself--enough love to satisfy a yearning like yours.' + +She bent her face again over the water, and looked at the picture. + +'You have often told me that my face is beautiful, Henry, and you +know you never could make me believe it. But suppose you should be +right after all, and suppose that you were a painter, and used it for +a picture of the Spirit of Snowdon, I should then thank God for +having given me a beautiful face, for it would enable you to win your +goal. And afterwards, when its beauty had passed away, as it soon +would, I should have no further need for beauty, for my +painter-husband would, partly through me, have won.' + +As we walked along, she pointed to the tubular bridge over the Menai +Straits and to the coast of Anglesey. The panorama had that +fairy-like expression which belongs so peculiarly to Welsh scenery. +Other mountainous countries in Europe are beautiful, and since that +divine walk I have become intimately acquainted with them, but for +associations romantic and poetic, there is surely no land in the +world equal to North Wales. + +'Do you remember, Winnie,' I murmured, 'when you so delighted me by +exclaiming, "What a beautiful world it is!"?' + +'Ah, yes,' said Winnie, 'and how I should love to paint its beauty. +The only people I really envy are painters.' + +We were now at the famous spot where the triple echo is best heard, +and we began to shout like two children in the direction of Llyn +Ddu'r Arddu. And then our talk naturally fell on Knockers' Llyn and +the echoes to be heard there. She then took me to another famous +sight on this side of Snowdon, the enormous stone, said to be five +thousand tons in weight, called the Knockers' Anvil. While we +lingered here Winnie gave me as many anecdotes and legends of this +stone as would fill a little volume. But suddenly she stopped. + +'Look!' she said, pointing to the sunset. 'I have seen that sight +only once before. I was with Sinfi. She called it "the Dukkeripen +of the Trushul."' + +The sun was now on the point of sinking, and his radiance, falling on +the cloud-pageantry of the zenith, fired the flakes and vapoury films +floating and trailing above, turning them at first into a +ruby-coloured mass, and then into an ocean of rosy fire. A horizontal +bar of cloud which, until the radiance of the sunset fell upon it, +had been dull and dark and grey, as though a long slip from the slate +quarries had been laid across the west, became for a moment a deep +lavender colour, and then purple, and then red-gold. But what Winnie +was pointing at was a dazzling shaft of quivering fire where the sun +had now sunk behind the horizon. Shooting up from the cliffs where +the sun had disappeared, this shaft intersected the bar of clouds and +seemed to make an irregular cross of deep rose. + +When Winnie turned her eyes again to mine I was astonished to see +tears in them. I asked her what they meant. She said, 'While I was +looking at that cross of rose and gold in the clouds it seemed to me +that there came on the evening breeze the sound of a sob, and that it +was Sinfi's, my sister Sinfi's; but of course by this time Snowdon +stands between us and her.' + + + +POSTSCRIPT + +In every case where I have brought into this story facts connected +with medical matters, I have been most cautious to avail myself of +the authority of medical men. I will give here the words of Mr. James +Douglas upon this matter. After stating the fact that the story was +in part dictated to my dear friend Dr. Gordon Hake during a stay with +him at Roehampton, he says:-- + +Dr. Hake is mainly known as the 'parable poet,' but as a fact he was +a physician of extraordinary talent who had practised first at Bury +St. Edmunds and afterwards at Spring Gardens, London, until he partly +retired to be private physician to the late Lady Ripon. After her +death he left practice altogether in order to devote himself to +literature, for which he had very great equipments. As _Aylwin_ +touched upon certain subtle nervous phases, it must have been a great +advantage to the author to dictate these portions of the story to so +skilled and experienced a friend. The rare kind of cerebral +exaltation into which Henry Aylwin passed after his appalling +experience in the cove, in which the entire nervous system was +disturbed, was not what is known as brain fever. The record of it in +_Aylwin_ is, I understand, a literal account of a rare and wonderful +case brought under the professional notice of Dr. Hake. + +But I am now going to touch upon a much more important medical +subject. Since the appearance of _Aylwin_, I have received many +letters enquiring whether the transmission of hysteria from one +patient to another by means of a magnet is an imaginary experiment, +or whether it is based on fact. It has been impossible for me to +answer all these letters. But some of them, coming from loving +relatives of those who have suffered from hysteria, have been couched +in such earnest and pathetic words that they could not be left +unanswered, and this has caused me great inconvenience. I have +therefore determined to give the reader some tangible data upon this +subject. The extract from the _Daily Telegraph_ which appears on page +465 is a real extract, and records a real case of transmission of +hysteria. Upon the same subject I take the following admirable +remarks from an article in the _Quarterly Review_ for July 1890, +called 'Mesmerism and Hypnotism.' + + +_The Influence of Magnets_.--We have briefly referred to the action +of magnets on the muscles in speaking of the physiological phenomena, +but they possess other properties which hardly come under that head. +They have the power of attracting hypnotised subjects. Thus, if a +good-sized magnet is placed at some little distance from the subject, +and behind a screen so that he cannot see it, after a time he will +get up and go towards it. If now another magnet be placed at an equal +distance behind him, he will stop and remain as it were balanced +between the two. By withdrawing one or other he can be drawn +backwards or forwards. Further, he can be charged with magnetism by +placing near him a large magnet with five ends. If it be suddenly +removed and hidden in another room, he is impelled to follow it with +such force that he will fling aside all obstacles in his way, and +tracking it step by step will walk straight up to it. 'Once he sights +it, he either remains in dumb contemplation of it in front of its two +poles, or else lays his hands on both of the poles with a kind of +profound satisfaction.' These experiments with magnets are very +exhausting. + +* * * * * + +Finally, if the senses can be so heightened as in the cases already +cited from Braid and the clinique of La Salpêtrière, it requires no +great stretch of imagination to suppose them carried still further +until they become comparable to those inexplicable faculties which we +call instinct in animals, that for instance by which animals--cats, +dogs, and sheep--can find their way home, sometimes over hundreds of +miles of unknown country. + +Concerning the faculty of presensation, it is worth while to say a +little more. The early mesmerists made a great point of the power of +some patients to diagnose the condition of another. Dr. Puysegur's +patient Joly, mentioned above, possessed the faculty to an unusual +degree. He was an educated man, of good position, and could express +himself intelligibly:-- + + +C'est une sensation veritable que j'éprouve dans un endroit +correspondant à la partie qui souffre chez celui que je touche: ma +main va naturellement se porter à l'endroit de son mal, et je ne peux +pas plus m'y tromper que je ne pourrois le faire en portant ma main +où je souffrirois moi-meme. + + +Now, the following experiment has been carried out by Charcot at La +Salpêtrière. A young girl suffering from hysterical hemiplegia +(paralysis of one side) came up one day from the country. She was +placed in a chair behind a screen and a hypnotic patient sent for +from the wards. The latter was placed on the other side of the screen +and hypnotised. Neither of the patients was aware of the other's +presence. At the end of a minute the hypnotised patient was found to +have acquired the other's hemiplegia. The experiment was repeated +every day, and in four days the new comer was relieved of her +trouble, which had lasted over a year. The same experiment was tried +in many cases, and always succeeded, although in some of them the +affections imitated were of a very complex character, such as +paralysis of half the tongue. With these facts in view, the alleged +experiences of the older mesmerists appear by no means impossible. + + + + + + + +APPENDICES + +I. IN DEFENCE OF A GREAT AND BELOVED POET WHOSE CHARACTER IS + DELINEATED IN THIS STORY. + +II. A KEY TO "AYLWIN," BY THOMAS ST. E. HAKE, + REPRINTED FROM "NOTES AND QUERIES." + + + + + + + +APPENDIX I + + D. G. R. + + Thou knewest that island, far away and lone, + Whose shores are as a harp, where billows break + In spray of music and the breezes shake + O'er spicy seas a woof of colour and tone, + While that sweet music echoes like a moan + In the island's heart, and sighs around the lake, + Where, watching fearfully a watchful snake. + A damsel weeps upon her emerald throne. + + Life's ocean, breaking round thy senses' shore, + Struck golden song, as from the strand of Day: + For us the joy, for thee the fell foe lay-- + Pain's blinking snake around the fair isle's core, + Turning to sighs the enchanted sounds that play + Around thy lovely island evermore. + +Certain remarks that have been made upon the character of _D'Arcy_ in +_Aylwin_ have rendered it an imperative--nay, a sacred--duty for the +author to seize an opportunity that may never occur again of saying +here a few words upon the subject. + +It is universally acknowledged that characters in fiction are not +creations projected from the author's inner consciousness, but are +founded more or less upon characters that he was brought into contact +with in real life. + +Mr. A. C. Benson, in his monograph on D. G. Rossetti, in _English Men +of Letters_, says, 'It was for a long time hoped that Mr. +Watts-Dunton would give the memoir of his great friend to the world, +but there is such a thing as knowing a man too well to be his +biographer. It is, however, an open secret that a vivid sketch of +Rossetti's personality has been given to the world in Mr. +Watts-Dunton's well-known romance _Aylwin_, where the artist D'Arcy +is drawn from Rossetti.' + +Since the appearance of these words many people who take an +increasing interest in the most mysterious and romantic figure in the +artistic world of the mid-Victorian period, have urged the author to +tell them whether the portrait of Rossetti in _Aylwin_ is a true one, +or whether it is not idealized as certain cynical critics have +affirmed. Nothing but the dread of being charged with egotism has +prevented the author's stating publicly, and once for all, that the +portrait of Rossetti in _Aylwin_ showing him to be the creature of +varying moods, gay and even frolicsome at one moment, profoundly +meditative at the next, deeply dejected at the next, but always the +most winsome of men, is true to the life. It is more than hinted in +the story that _D'Arcy's_ melancholy was the result of the loss of +one he deeply loved. From such a loss it was that Rossetti's +melancholy moods resulted. There are documentary evidences of the +verisimilitude of the picture in every respect. Let one be given out +of many. There exists a pathetic record that has never yet been +published, by one who knew Rossetti--knew him with special +intimacy--the poet Swinburne--depicting the great tragedy which +darkened Rossetti's life--the loss of his wife. + +It gives the only authorized account of that tragedy--a tragedy which +ever since the publication of William Bell Scott's _Autobiographical +Notes_ has been so grievously misunderstood and misrepresented. In +this narrative Swinburne tells how, when first introduced to +Rossetti, he himself was an Oxford undergraduate of twenty. He +records how he and Rossetti had lived on terms of affectionate +intimacy: shaped and coloured on Rossetti's side by the cordial +kindness and exuberant generosity which, to the last, distinguished +his recognition of younger men's efforts: on his (Swinburne's) part +by gratitude as loyal and admiration as fervent as ever strove and +ever failed to express 'all the sweet and sudden passion of youth +towards greatness in its elder.' He records how, during that year, he +had come to know, and to regard with little less than a brother's +affection, the noble lady whom Rossetti had recently married. He +records how on the evening of her terrible death, they all three had +dined together at a restaurant which Rossetti had been accustomed to +frequent. He records how next morning, on coming by appointment to +sit for his portrait, he heard that she had died in the night, under +circumstances which afterwards made necessary his (Swinburne's) +appearance and evidence at the inquest held on her remains. He dwells +upon the anguish of the widower, when next they met, under the roof +of the mother with whom he had sought refuge. He records how Rossetti +appealed to his friendship in the name of the dead lady's regard for +him--a regard such as she had felt for no other of Rossetti's +friends--to cleave to him in this time of sorrow, to come and keep +house with him as soon as a residence could be found. + +Can there be a more convincing and a more beautiful testimony as to a +friend's sorrow and its cause? + +Over and above the touching testimony of Swinburne, no one will deny +that if ever one man knew another too well to be his biographer, as +Mr. Benson says, the author of _Aylwin_ was that man with regard to +Rossetti. No one has ever ventured to challenge the assertion in the +article on Rossetti in the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ that there was a +time when with the exception of his own family the poet-painter saw +scarcely any one save the writer of this book, whom he was never +tired of designating his friend of friends. There is no need to +multiply instances of this friendship, which has been enlarged upon +by Rossetti's brother, and by many others. Elizabeth Luther Gary, in +the best of all the books upon Rossetti, published by G. P. Putnam's +Sons two years after the first edition of _Aylwin_, speaks of +_D'Arcy_ as being 'the mouthpiece of Rossetti.' + +It may be added that Rossetti's _Ballads and Sonnets_, published in +1882, were dedicated to the author in these words: 'To the Friend +whom my verse won for me, these few more pages are affectionately +inscribed.' When he drew his last breath at Birchington it was in +that friend's arms. It is necessary to dwell upon such facts as the +above to show how fully equipped is the author of _Aylwin_ for +understanding and depicting the great poet-painter, to whose memory +he addressed the sonnet at the head of this note. + +As to the personality of Rossetti, to which Mr. Benson alludes, to +say that it was the one that stood out among the lives of the +Victorian poets is to state the case very feebly. It has been the +fortune of the delineator of D'Arcy to be thrown intimately across +several of the great poets of his time, not one of whom displayed a +personality so dominant as Rossetti's. Fine as is Rossetti's poetry +and fine as are his paintings, they but inadequately represent the +man. As to his personal fascination, among all the poets of England +we have no record of anything equal to it. It asserted itself not +only in relation to the pre-Raphaelite group, but in relation to all +other members of society with whom he was brought into contact. To +describe the magnetism of such a man is, of course, impossible. Much +has been written upon what is called the _demonic_ power in certain +individuals--the power of casting one's own influence over all +others. Napoleon's case is generally instanced as a typical one. But +Napoleon's demonic power was of a self-conscious kind. It would seem, +however, that there is another kind of demonic power--the power of +shedding quite unconsciously one's personality upon all brought into +contact with it. The demonic power of Rossetti, like that of _D'Arcy_ +in this story, was quite unconscious. In Rossetti's presence, as in +_D'Arcy's_, it was impossible not to yield to this strange, +mysterious power. At the time when he was not so entirely reclusive +as he afterwards became, when he used to meet all sorts of people, +the author had many opportunities of noticing its effect upon others. +He has seen them try to resist it, and in vain. On a certain occasion +a very eminent man, much used to society, and much used to the +brilliant literary clubs of London, was quite cowed and silenced +before Rossetti. It is necessary to dwell upon these subtle +distinctions, because this is the D'Arcy who, as a critic has +remarked, 'is the real protagonist of _Aylwin_--although the reader +does not discover it until the very end of the story, where D'Arcy +is the character who unravels and explains all.' Without D'Arcy, +indeed, and the demonic power possessed by him, the story would have +no existence. + +It is, of course, in the illustrated editions of _Aylwin_ that +D'Arcy's identification with Rossetti and his importance in the story +become specially manifest. On page 204 of the illustrated editions an +exact picture has been given by Rossetti's pupil, Dunn, of the famous +studio at 16 Cheyne Walk--the studio which will always be associated +with Rossetti's name. It has been immortalized by his friend, Dr. +Gordon Hake, in the following lines addressed to the author of +_Aylwin_ in the sonnet-sequence, _The New Day_: + + + Sitting with him, his tones as Petrarch's tender, + With many a speaking vision on the wall, + The fire, a-blaze, flashing the studio fender, + Closed in from London shouts and ceaseless brawl-- + Twas you brought Nature to the visiting, + Till she herself seemed breathing in the room, + And Art grew fragrant in the glow of Spring + With homely scents of gorse and heather bloom. + Or sunbeams shone by many an Alpine fountain, + Fed by the waters of the forest stream; + Or glacier-glories in the rock-girt mountain, + Where they so often fed the poet's dream; + Or else was mingled the rough billow's glee + With cries of petrels on a sullen sea. + + +Again on page 393 of the same editions will be found Miss May +Morris's beautiful water colour of Kelmscott Manor, the country-house +jointly occupied by Rossetti and William Morris in which takes place +what has been called 'the crucial scene in _Aylwin_.' + + + + + + + +APPENDIX II + +So many questions about the characters depicted in _Aylwin_ were put +to the editor of _Notes and Queries_ that he suggested that a key to +the novel would he found acceptable. Some weeks after this suggestion +was made there appeared in that journal (7th June 1902) the following +contribution by Mr. Thomas St. E. Hake, an intimate friend of +Rossetti, and of other leading characters of the story. The +republication of it here has been kindly sanctioned by Mr. J. C. +Francis, a name so indissolubly associated both with the _Athenæum_ +and _Notes and Queries_. Mr. Hake writes as follows: + + +Ever since the publication of _Aylwin_ I have, at various times, seen +in _Notes and Queries_, the _Daily Chronicle_, the _Contemporary +Review_, and other organs, inquiries as to the identification of the +characters that appear in that story. And now that an inquiry comes +from so remote a place as Libau in Russia, I think I may come forward +and say what I know on the subject. But, of course, within the limited +space that could possibly be allotted to me in _Notes and Queries_, I +can only say a few words on a subject that would require many pages to +treat adequately. Until _Aylwin_ appeared, Mr. Joseph Knight's +monograph on Rossetti in the 'Great Writers' series was, with the sole +exception of what has been written about him by his own family and by +my late father, Dr. Gordon Hake, in his _Memoirs of Eighty Years_, the +only account that gave the reader the least idea of the man--his +fascination, his brilliance, his generosity, and his whimsical +qualities. But in _Aylwin_ Rossetti lives as I knew him; it is +impossible to imagine a more living picture of the man. I have stayed +with Rossetti at 16 Cheyne Walk for weeks at a time, and at Bognor +also, and at Kelmscott--the 'Hurstcote' of _Aylwin_. With regard to +'Hurstcote,' I well knew 'the large bedroom with low-panelled walls +and the vast antique bedstead made of black carved oak' upon which +Winifred Wynne slept. In fact, the only thing in the description of +this room that I do not remember is the beautiful _Madonna and Child_ +upon the frame of which was written 'Chiaro dell' Erma' (readers of +_Hand and Soul_ will remember that name). This quaint and picturesque +bedroom leads by two or three steps to the tapestried room 'covered +with old faded tapestry--so faded, indeed, that its general effect +was that of a dull grey texture'--depicting the story of Samson. +Rossetti used the tapestry room as a studio, and I have seen in it +the very same pictures that so attracted the attention of Winifred +Wynne: the 'grand brunette' (painted from Mrs. Morris) 'holding a +pomegranate in her hand'; the 'other brunette, whose beautiful eyes +are glistening and laughing over the fruit she is holding up' +(painted from the same famous Irish beauty named Smith who appears +in _The Beloved_), and the blonde 'under the apple blossoms' (painted +from a still more beautiful woman--Mrs. Stillman). These pictures +were not permanently placed there, but, as it chanced, they were +there (for retouching) on a certain occasion when I was visiting at +Kelmscott. With regard to the green room in which Winifred took her +first breakfast at 'Hurstcote' I am a little in confusion. It seems +to me more like the green dining-room in Cheyne Walk, decorated with +antique mirrors, which was painted by Dunn, showing Rossetti reading +his poems aloud. This is the only portrait of Rossetti that really +calls up the man before me. As Mr. Watts-Dunton is the owner of +Dunn's drawing, and as so many people want to see what Rossetti's +famous Chelsea house was like inside, it is a pity he does not give +it as a frontispiece to some future edition of _Aylwin_. +Unfortunately, Mr. G. F. Watts's picture, now in the National +Portrait Gallery, was never finished, and I never saw upon Rossetti's +face the dull, heavy expression which that portrait wears. I think +the poet told me that he had given the painter only one or two +sittings. As to the photographs, none of them is really satisfactory. + +The 'young gentleman from Oxford who has been acting as my +secretary,' as mentioned in _Aylwin_, was my brother. [Footnote] With +regard to the two circular mirrors surrounded by painted designs +telling the story of the Holy Grail, 'in old black oak frames carved +with knights at tilt,' I do not remember seeing these there. But they +are evidently the mirrors decorated with copies of the lost Holy +Grail frescoes once existing on the walls of the Union Reading-Room +at Oxford. These beautiful decorations I have seen at 'The Pines,' +but not elsewhere. I have often seen 'D'Arcy' in the company of +several of the other characters introduced into _Aylwin_; for +instance, 'De Castro' and 'Symonds' (the late F. R. Leyland, at that +time the owner of the Leyland line of steamers, living at Prince's +Gate, where was the famous Peacock Room painted by Mr. Whistler). I +did not myself know that quaint character Mrs. Titwing, but I have +been told by people who knew her well that she is true to the life. +With regard to 'De Castro,' it is a matter of regret to those who +knew him that, after giving us that most vivid scene between 'D'Arcy' +and 'De Castro' at Scott's oyster-rooms (a place which Rossetti was +very fond of frequenting in those nocturnal rambles that caused 'De +Castro' to give him the name of Haroun al Raschid), the author did +not go on and paint to the full the most extraordinary man of the +very extraordinary group, the centre of which was Rossetti's Chelsea +house. Rossetti was a well-known figure at Scott's and at Rule's +oyster-rooms at the time he encountered 'Henry Aylwin.' That scene at +Scott's is, in my opinion, the most living thing in the book--a +picture that whenever I turn to it makes me feel that everything said +and done must have occurred. 'De Castro' seemed to belong not merely +to the Rossetti group, but to all groups, for he was brought into +touch with almost every remarkable man of his time, and fascinated +every one of them. Literary and artistic London was once full of +stories of him, and no one that knew him doubted he was what must be +called a man of genius--although a barren genius. Among others, he +was brought into close relations with Ruskin, Burne-Jones, and, I +think, Smetham ('Wilderspin'), and others. + +[Footnote: This was George Hake, who died in Central Africa a few +years ago.] + +Rossetti used to say that since Blake there has been no more +visionary painter in the art world than Smetham. Rossetti had a quite +affectionate feeling towards Smetham, and several of his pictures +(small ones) were on Rossetti's studio walls. I remember one or two +extraordinary pictures of his--especially one depicting a dragon in a +fen, of which Rossetti had a great opinion; and I believe this, with +other pictures of Smetham's, is in the hands of Mr. Watts-Dunton. The +author of _Aylwin_ would have been much amused had he seen, as I did, +in an American magazine the statement that 'Wilderspin' was +identified with William Morris--a man who was as much the opposite +of the visionary painter as a man can be. Morris, whom I had the +privilege of knowing very well, and with whom I have stayed at +Kelmscott during the Rossetti period, is alluded to in _Aylwin_ +(chap. ix. book xv.) as the 'enthusiastic angler' who used to +go down to 'Hurstcote' to fish. At that time this fine old +seventeenth-century manor house was in the joint occupancy of +Rossetti and Morris. 'Wilderspin' was Smetham with a variation: +certain characteristics of another painter of genius were introduced, +I believe, into the portrait of him in _Aylwin_; and the story of +'Wilderspin's' early life was not that of Smetham. The series of +'large attics in which was a number of enormous oak beams' supporting +the antique roof was a favourite resort of my own; but all the +ghostly noise that I there heard was the snoring of young owls--a +peculiar sound that had a special fascination for Rossetti; and after +dinner Rossetti, my brother, and I would go to the attics to listen +to them. + +But a more singular mistake with regard to the _Aylwin_ characters +than that of Morris being confounded with 'Wilderspin' was that of +confounding, as certain newspaper paragraphs at the time did, 'Cyril +Aylwin' with Mr. Whistler. I am especially able to speak of this +character, who has been inquired about more than any other in the +book. I knew him, I think, even before I knew Rossetti and Morris, or +any of that group. He was a brother of Mr. Watts-Dunton's--Mr. Alfred +Eugene Watts. He lived at Park House, Sydenham, and died suddenly +either in 1870 or 1871, very shortly after I had met him at a wedding +party. Among the set in which I moved at that time he had a great +reputation as a wit and humorist. His style of humour always struck +me as being more American than English. While bringing out humorous +things that would set a dinner-table in a roar, he would himself +maintain a perfectly unmoved countenance. And it was said of him, as +'Wilderspin' says of 'Cyril Aylwin,' that he was never known to +laugh. The pen-picture of him in _Aylwin_ is one of the most vivid +things in the book. + +With regard to the most original character in the story, those who +knew Clement's Inn, where I myself once resided, and Lincoln's Inn +Fields, will be able at once to identify Mrs. Gudgeon, who lived in +one of the streets running into Clare Market. Her business was that +of night coffee-stall keeper. At one time, I believe--but I am not +certain about this--she kept a stall on the Surrey side of Waterloo +Bridge, and it might have been there that, as I have been told, her +portrait was drawn for a specified number of early breakfasts by an +unfortunate artist who sank very low, but had real ability. Her +constant phrase was 'I shall die o' laughin'--I know I shall!' On +account of her extra-ordinary gift of repartee, and her inexhaustible +fund of wit and humour, she was generally supposed to be an +Irishwoman. But she was not: she was cockney to the marrow. Recluse +as Rossetti was in his later years, he had at one time been very +different, and could bring himself in touch with the lower orders of +London in a way such as was only known to his most intimate friends. +With all her impudence, and I may say insolence, Mrs. Gudgeon was a +great favourite with the police, who were the constant butts of her +chaff. + +With regard to the gipsies, although I knew George Borrow intimately, +and saw a great deal of Mr. Watts-Dunton's other Romany Rye friend, +the late Frank Groome, I did not know Sinfi Lovell or Rhona Boswell. +But I may say that those who have said that Sinfi Lovell was painted +from the same model as Mr. Meredith's Kiomi are mistaken. Sinfi +Lovell was extremely beautiful, whereas Kiomi, I believe, was never +very beautiful. But that they are represented as being contemporaries +and friends is shown by D'Arcy's mention of Kiomi in Scott's +oyster-rooms. The characters who figure in the early Raxton scenes I +cannot speak of for reasons which may be pretty obvious; nor can I +speak of the Welsh chapters in _Aylwin_, which have been a good deal +discussed in recent numbers of _Notes and Queries_. But being myself +an East Anglian by birth--one of my Christian names is St. Edmund, +because I was born at Bury St. Edmunds--I can say something about +what the East Anglian papers call 'Aylwinland,' and of the truth of +the pictures of the east coast to be found in the story, Since +_Aylwin_ was published an interesting attempt has been made by a +correspondent in the _Lowestoft Standard_ (25th August 1900) to +identify Pakefield Church as the 'Raxton' Church of the story, and +the writer of the letter mentions the most remarkable, and to me +quite new fact, that although the guide-books of Lowestoft and the +district are quite silent as to a curious crypt at the east end of +Pakefield Church, there is exactly such a crypt as that described in +_Aylwin_, and that in the early days of the correspondent in question +it was used as a storehouse for bones. The readers of _Aylwin_ will +remember the author's words: 'The crypt is much older than the +church, and of an entirely different architecture. It was once the +depository of the bones of Danish warriors killed before the Norman +conquest.' + +THOMAS ST. E. HAKE. + + +In _Notes and Queries_ [9th S., ix. 369, 450; x. 16] a letter had +appeared, signed 'Jay Aitch,' inquiring as to the school of mystics +founded by Lavater, alluded to on page 83 of the _Illustrated +Aylwin_. This afforded Mr. Thomas St. E. Hake another opportunity of +unloading his wallet of Rossetti and _Aylwin_ lore. And in the same +journal, for 2nd August 1902, he wrote as follows: + + +The question raised by Jay Aitch as to the school of mystics founded +by Lavater, and the large book _The Veiled Queen_, by 'Philip +Aylwin,' which contains quotations that Jay Aitch affirms have +haunted him ever since he read them, are certainly questions about as +interesting as any that could have been raised in connexion with the +story. And in answering these queries I find an opportunity of saying +a few authentic words on a subject upon which many unauthentic ones +have been-uttered--that of the occultism of D. G, Rossetti and some +of his friends. It has been frequently said that Rossetti was a +spiritualist, and it is a fact that he went to several _séances_; but +the word 'spiritualism' seems to have a rather elastic meaning. A +spiritualist, as distinguished from a materialist, Rossetti certainly +was, but his spiritualism was not, I should say, that which in common +parlance bears this name. It was exactly like 'Aylwinism,' which +seems to have been related to the doctrines of the Lavaterian sect +about which Jay Aitch inquires. As a matter of fact, it was not the +original of 'Wilderspin' nearly so much as the original D'Arcy who +was captured by the doctrine of what is called in the story the +'Aylwinian.' + +With regard to Johann Kaspar Lavater, Jay Aitch is no doubt aware +that, although this once noted writer's fame rests entirely upon his +treatise _Physiognomische Fragmente_, he founded a school of mystics +in Switzerland. This was before what is called spiritualism came into +vogue. I believe that the doctrines of _The Veiled Queen_ are closely +related to the doctrines of the Lavaterians; but my knowledge on this +matter is of a second-hand kind, and is derived from conversations +upon Lavater and his claims as a physiognomist, which I heard many +years ago at Coombe and during walks in Richmond Park, between the +author of _Aylwin_ and my father, who, admittedly a man of +intellectual grasp, went even further than Lavater. + +A writer in the _Literary World_, in some admirable remarks upon this +story, is, as far as I know, the only critic who has dwelt upon the +extraordinary character of 'Philip Aylwin.' He says: + + +'The melancholy, the spiritual isolation, and the passionate love of +this master-mystic for his dead wife are so finely rendered that the +reader's sympathies go out at once to this most pathetic and lonely +figure....It would be difficult for any sensitive man or woman to +follow Philip Aylwin's story as related by his son without the +tribute of aching heart and scalding tears. To our thinking, the +man's sanity is more moving, more supremely tragic, than even the +madness of Winifred, which is the culminating tragedy of the book.' + + +I must say that I agree with this writer in thinking 'Philip Aylwin' +to be the most impressive character in the story. The most remarkable +feature of the novel, indeed, is that, although 'Philip Aylwin' +disappears from the scene so early, his opinions, his character, and +his dreams are cast so entirely over the book from beginning to end +that the novel might have been called _Philip Aylwin_. I have a +special interest in this character, because I knew the undoubted +original of the character with a considerable amount of intimacy. +Without the permission of the author of _Aylwin_, I can only touch on +outward traits--the deep, spiritual life of this man is beyond me. +Although a very near relation, he was not, as has been so often +surmised, the author's father. [Footnote] He was a man of +extraordinary learning in the academic sense of the word, and +possessed still more extraordinary general knowledge. He lived for +many years the strangest kind of hermit life, surrounded by his +books and old manuscripts. His two great passions were philology +and occultism. He knew more, I think, of those strange writers +discussed in Vaughan's _Hours with the Mystics_ than any other +person--including, perhaps, Vaughan himself; but he managed to +combine with his love of Mysticism a deep passion for the physical +sciences, especially astronomy. He seemed to be learning languages up +to almost the last year of his life. His method of learning languages +was the opposite of that of George Borrow, that is to say, he made +great use of grammars; and when he died it is said that from four to +five hundred treatises on grammar were found among his books. He used +to express great contempt for Borrow's method of learning languages +from dictionaries only. + +[Footnote: He was Mr. Watts-Dunton's uncle--Mr. James Orlando Watts.] + +I do not think that any one connected with literature--with the +exception of Mr. Watts-Dunton, Mr. Swinburne, my father, and Dr. R. +G. Latham--knew so much of him as I did. His personal appearance was +exactly like that of 'Philip Aylwin,' as described in the novel. +Although he never wrote poetry, he translated, I believe, a good deal +from the Spanish and Portuguese poets. I remember that he was an +extraordinary admirer of Shelley. His knowledge of Shakespeare and +the Elizabethan dramatists was a link between him and Mr. Swinburne. + +At a time when I was a busy reader at the British Museum +Reading-Room, I used frequently to see him, and he never seemed to +know any one among the readers except myself, and whenever he spoke +to me it was always in a hushed whisper, lest he should disturb the +other readers, which in his eyes would have been a heinous offence. +For very many years he had been extremely well known to the +second-hand booksellers, for he was a constant purchaser of their +wares. He was a great pedestrian, and, being very much attached to +the north of London, would take long, slow tramps ten miles out in +the direction of Highgate, Wood Green, etc. I have a very distinct +recollection of calling upon him in Myddelton Square at the time when +I was living close to him in Percy Circus. Books were piled up from +floor to ceiling, apparently in great confusion, but he seemed to +remember where to find every book and what there was in it. It is a +singular fact that the only person outside those I have mentioned who +seems to have known him was that brilliant but eccentric journalist, +Thomas Purnell, who had an immense opinion of him and used to call +him 'the scholar.' How Purnell managed to break through the icy wall +that surrounded the recluse always puzzled me; but I suppose they +must have come across one another at one of those pleasant inns in +the north of London where 'the scholar' was taking his chop and +bottle of Beaune. He was a man that never made new friends, and as +one after another of his old friends died he was left so entirely +alone that, I think, he saw no one except Mr. Swinburne, the author +of _Aylwin_, and myself. But at Christmas he always spent a week at +'The Pines,' when and where my father and I used to meet him. His +memory was so powerful that he seemed to be able to recall not only +all that he had read, but the very conversations in which he had +taken a part. He died, I think, at a little over eighty, and his +faculties up to the last were exactly like those of a man in the +prime of life. He always reminded me of Charles Lamb's description +of George Dyer. + +Such is my outside picture of this extraordinary man; and it is only +of externals that I am free to speak here, even if I were competent +to touch upon his inner life. He was a still greater recluse than +the 'Philip Aylwin' of the novel. I think I am right in saying that +he took up one or two Oriental tongues when he was seventy years of +age. Another of his passions was numismatics, and it was in these +studies that he sympathized with the author of _Aylwin's_ friend, the +late Lord de Tabley. I remember one story of his peculiarities which +will give an idea of the kind of man he was. He had a brother who was +the exact opposite of him in every way--strikingly good-looking, with +great charm of mariner and _savoir faire_, but with an ordinary +intellect and a very superficial knowledge of literature, or, indeed, +anything else, except records of British military and naval +exploits--where he was really learned. Being full of admiration of +his student brother, and having a parrot-like instinct for mimicry, +he used to talk with great volubility upon all kinds of subjects +wherever he went, and repeat in the same words what he had been +listening to from his brother, until at last he got to be called the +'walking encyclopedia.' The result was that he got the reputation of +being a great reader and an original thinker, while the true student +and book-lover was frequently complimented on the way in which he +took after his learned brother. This did not in the least annoy the +real student, it simply amused him, and he would give with a dry +humour most amusing stories as to what people had said to him on this +subject. + +THOMAS ST. E. HAKE. + + +The editor of _Notes and Queries_ has the following footnote: + +'We hail some acquaintance with the being Mr. Hake depicts (Mr. James +Orlando Watts) and can testify to the truth of the portraiture.' + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AYLWIN*** + + +******* This file should be named 13454-8.txt or 13454-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/4/5/13454 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/old/13454-8.zip b/old/13454-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2fa1d3f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13454-8.zip diff --git a/old/13454.txt b/old/13454.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..61e7cb8 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13454.txt @@ -0,0 +1,19919 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Aylwin, by Theodore Watts-Dunton + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Aylwin + +Author: Theodore Watts-Dunton + +Release Date: September 14, 2004 [eBook #13454] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AYLWIN*** + + +E-text prepared by Roy Brown, Trowbridge, England + + + +AYLWIN + +With Two Appendices, One Containing a Note on the Character of +D'arcy; the Other a Key to the Story, Reprinted from _Notes and +Queries_ + +by + +THEODORE WATTS-DUNTON + +Author of 'The Coming of Love: Rhona Boswell's Story,' etc. etc. + + + + + + + +TO +C. J. R. +IN REMEMBRANCE OF SUNNY DAYS AND STARLIT NIGHTS +WHEN WE RAMBLED TOGETHER ON CRUMBLING CLIFFS THAT +ARE NOW AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA +THIS EDITION OF A STORY WHICH HAS BEEN A LINK BETWEEN US +IS INSCRIBED + + + +CAUGHT IN THE EBBING TIDE + +A REMINISCENCE OF RAXTOX CLIFFS + +The mightiest Titan's stroke could not withstand + An ebbing tide like this. These swirls denote + How wind and tide conspire. I can but float +To the open sea and strike no more for land. +Farewell, brown cliffs, farewell, beloved sand + Her feet have pressed--farewell, dear little boat + Where Gelert,[Footnote] calmly sitting on my coat, +Unconscious of my peril, gazes bland! + +All dangers grip me save the deadliest, fear: + Yet these air-pictures of the past that glide-- + These death-mirages o'er the heaving tide-- +Showing two lovers in an alcove clear, + Will break my heart. I see them and I hear +As there they sit at morning, side by side. + +[Footnote: A famous swimming dog.] + + +THE VISION + +_With Barton elms behind--in front the sea, + Sitting in rosy light in that alcove, +They hear the first lark rise o'er Raxton Grove: +'What should I do with fame, dear heart?' says he, +'You talk of fame, poetic fame, to me + Whose crown is not of laurel but of love-- + To me who would not give this little glove +On this dear hand for Shakespeare's dower in fee. + +While, rising red and kindling every billow, + The sun's shield shines 'neath many a golden spear, +To lean with you, against this leafy pillow, + To murmur words of love in this loved ear-- +To feel you bending like a bending willow, + This is to be a poet--this, my dear!'_ + +O God, to die and leave her--die and leave + The heaven so lately won!--And then, to know + What misery will be hers--what lonely woe!-- +To see the bright eyes weep, to see her grieve +Will make me a coward as I sink, and cleave + To life though Destiny has bid me go. + How shall I bear the pictures that will glow +Above the glowing billows as they heave? + +One picture fades, and now above the spray + Another shines: ah, do I know the bowers + Where yon sweet woman stands--the woodland flowers, +In that bright wreath of grass and new-mown hay-- + That birthday wreath I wove when earthly hours +Wore angel-wings,--till portents brought dismay? + +Shall I turn coward here who sailed with Death + Through many a tempest on mine own North Sea, + And quail like him of old who bowed the knee-- +Faithless--to billows of Genesereth? +Did I turn coward when my very breath + Froze on my lips that Alpine night when He + Stood glimmering there, the Skeleton, with me, +While avalanches rolled from peaks beneath? + +Each billow bears me nearer to the verge + Of realms where she is not--where love must wait. +If Gelert, there, could hear, no need to urge + That friend, so faithful, true, affectionate, + To come and help me, or to share my fate. +Ah! surely I see him springing through the surge. + [_The dog, plunging into the tide and striking + towards his master with immense strength, + reaches him and swims round him._] + +Oh, Gelert, strong of wind and strong of paw, + Here gazing like your namesake, 'Snowdon's Hound,' + When great Llewelyn's child could not be found, +And all the warriors stood in speechless awe-- +Mute as your namesake when his master saw + The cradle tossed--the rushes red around-- + With never a word, but only a whimpering sound +To tell what meant the blood on lip and jaw! + +In such a strait, to aid this gaze so fond, + Should I, brave friend, have needed other speech +Than this dear whimper? Is there not a bond + Stronger than words that binds us each to each?-- +But Death has caught us both. 'Tis far beyond + The strength of man or dog to win the beach. + +Through tangle-weed--through coils of slippery kelp + Decking your shaggy forehead, those brave eyes + Shine true--shine deep of love's divine surmise +As hers who gave you--then a Titan whelp!-- +I think you know my danger and would help!-- + See how I point to yonder smack that lies + At anchor--Go! His countenance replies. +Hope's music rings in Gelert's eager yelp! + [_The dog swims swiftly away down the tide._] + +Now, life and love and death swim out with him! + If he should reach the smack, the men will guess + The dog has left his master in distress. +She taught him in these very waves to swim-- +'The prince of pups,' she said, 'for wind and limb'-- + And now those lessons come to save--to bless. + + +ENVOY + +(_The day after the rescue: Gelert and his master walking along +the sand._) + +'Twas in no glittering tourney's mimic strife,-- + 'Twas in that bloody fight in Raxton Grove, + While hungry ravens croaked from boughs above, +And frightened blackbirds shrilled the warning fife-- +'Twas there, in days when Friendship still was rife. + Mine ancestor who threw the challenge-glove + Conquered and found his foe a soul to love, +Found friendship--Life's great second crown of life. + +So I this morning love our North Sea more + Because he fought me well, because these waves +Now weaving sunbows for us by the shore + Strove with me, tossed me in those emerald caves + That yawned above my head like conscious graves-- +I love him as I never loved before. + + + +PREFACE TO THIS EDITION + +The heart-thought of this hook being the peculiar doctrine in Philip +Aylwin's _Veiled Queen_, and the effect of it upon the fortunes +of the hero and the other characters, the name 'The Renascence of +Wonder' was the first that came to my mind when confronting the +difficult question of finding a name for a book that is at once a +love-story and an expression of a creed. But eventually I decided, +and I think from the worldly point of view wisely, to give it simply +the name of the hero. + +The important place in the story, however, taken by this creed did +not escape the most acute and painstaking of the critics. Madame +Galimberti, for instance, in the elaborate study of the book which +she made in the Rivista d' Italia, gave great attention to its +central idea: so did M. Maurice Muret, in the _Journal des +Debats_; so did M. Henri Jacottet in _La Semaine Litteraire_. +Mr. Baker, again, in his recently published work on fiction, +described _Aylwin_ as 'an imaginative romance of modern days, +the moral idea of which is man's attitude in face of the unknown,' +or, as the writer puts it, 'the renascence of wonder.' With regard to +the phrase itself, in the introduction to the latest edition of +Aylwin--the twenty-second edition--I made the following brief reply +to certain questions that have been raised by critics both in England +and on the Continent concerning it. The phrase, I said, 'The +Renascence of Wonder,' + + Is used to express that great revived movement of the soul of man + which is generally said to have begun with the poetry of + Wordsworth, Scott, Coleridge, and others, and after many varieties + of expression reached its culmination in the poems and pictures of + Rossetti. The phrase 'The Renascence of Wonder' merely indicates + that there are two great impulses governing man, and probably not + man only but the entire world of conscious life--the impulse of + acceptance--the impulse to take unchallenged and for granted all + the phenomena of the outer world as they are, and the impulse to + confront these phenomena with eyes of inquiry and wonder. + +The painter Wilderspin says to Henry Aylwin, 'The one great event of +my life has been the reading of _The Veiled Queen_, your +father's hook of inspired wisdom upon the modern Renascence of Wonder +in the mind of man.' And further on he says that his own great +picture symbolical of this renascence was suggested by Philip +Aylwin's vignette. Since the original writing of Aylwin, many years +ago, I have enlarged upon its central idea in the _Encyclopaedia +Britannica_ and in the introductory essay to the third volume of +Chambers's _Cyclopaedia of English Literature_, and in other +places. Naturally, therefore, the phrase has been a good deal +discussed. Quite lately Dr. Robertson Nicoll has directed attention +to the phrase, and he has taken it as a text of a remarkable +discourse upon the 'Renascence of Wonder in Religion.' I am tempted +to quote some of his words:-- + + Amongst the Logia recently discovered by the explorers of the Egypt + Fund, there is one of which part was already known to have occurred + in the Gospel according to the Hebrews. It runs as follows:--'Let + not him that seeketh cease from his search until he find, and when + he finds he shall wonder: wondering he shall reach the kingdom, and + when he reaches the kingdom he shall have rest.'...We believe that + Butler was one of the first to share in the Renascence of Wonder, + which was the renascence of religion....Men saw once more the + marvel of the universe and the romance of man's destiny. They + became aware of the spiritual world, of the supernatural, of the + lifelong struggle of the soul, of the power of the unseen. + +The words quoted by Dr. Nicoll might very appropriately be used as a +motto for _Aylwin_ and also for its sequel _The Coming of +Love: Rhona Boswells Story_. + + + + +PREFACE TO THE TWENTY-SECOND EDITION OF 1904 + +Nothing in regard to Aylwin has given me so much pleasure as the way +in which it has been received both by my Welsh friends and my Romany +friends. I little thought, when I wrote it, that within three years +of its publication the gypsy pictures in it would be discoursed upon +to audiences of 4000 people by a man so well equipped to express an +opinion on such a subject as the eloquent and famous 'Gypsy Smith,' +and described by him as 'the most trustworthy picture of Romany life +in the English language, containing in Sinfi Lovell the truest +representative of the Gypsy girl.' + +And as regards my Welsh readers, they have done me the honour of +suggesting that an illustrated edition of the work would be prized by +all lovers of 'Beautiful Wales.' + +Although such an edition is, I am told, an expensive undertaking, my +friend and publisher, Mr. Blackett, sees his way, he tells me, to +bringing it out. + +Since the first appearance of the book there have been many +interesting discussions by Welsh readers, in various periodicals, +upon the path taken by Sinfi Lovell and Aylwin in their ascent of +Snowdon. + +A very picturesque letter appeared in _Notes and Queries_ on May +3rd, 1902, signed _C. C. B._ in answer to a query by E. W., +which I will give myself the pleasure of quoting because it describes +the writer's ascent of Snowdon (accompanied by a son of my old friend +Harry Owen, late of Pen-y-Gwryd) along a path which was almost the +same as that taken by Aylwin and Sinfi Lovell, when he saw the same +magnificent spectacle that was seen by them:-- + + The mist was then clearing (it was in July) and in a few moments + was entirely gone. So marvellous a transformation scene, and so + immense a prospect, I have never beheld since. For the first and + only time in my life I saw from one spot almost the whole of North + and Mid-Wales, a good part of Western England, and a glimpse of + Scotland and Ireland. The vision faded all too quickly, but it was + worth walking thirty-three or thirty-four miles, as I did that day, + for even a briefer view than that. + +Referring to Llyn Coblynau this interesting writer says-- + + Only from Glaslyn would the description in _Aylwin_ of y Wyddfa + standing out against the sky 'as narrow and as steep as the sides of + an acorn' be correct, but from the north and north-west sides of + Glaslyn this answers with quite curious exactness to the appearance + of the mountain. We must suppose the action of the story to have + taken place before the revival of the copper-mining industry on + Snowdon. + +With regard, however, to the question here raised, I can save myself +all trouble by simply quoting the admirable remarks of _Sion o +Ddyli_ in the same number of _Notes and Queries:_-- + + None of us are very likely to succeed in placing this llyn, because + the author of _Aylwin_, taking a privilege of romance often + taken by Sir Walter Scott before him, probably changed the + landmarks in idealising the scene and adapting it to his story. It + may be, indeed, that the Welsh name given to the llyn in the book + is merely a rough translation of the gipsies' name for it, the + 'Knockers' being gnomes or goblins of the mine; hence 'Coblynau' + equals goblins. If so, the name itself can give us no clue unless + we are lucky enough to secure the last of the Welsh gipsies for a + guide. In any case, the only point from which to explore Snowdon + for the small llyn, or perhaps llyns (of which Llyn Coblynau is a + kind of composite ideal picture), is no doubt, as E. W. has + suggested, Capel Curig; and I imagine the actual scene lies about a + mile south from Glaslyn, while it owes something at least of its + colouring in the book to that strange lake. The 'Knockers,' it must + be remembered, usually depend upon the existence of a mine near by, + with old partly fallen mine-workings where the dropping of water or + other subterranean noises produce the curious phenomenon which is + turned to such imaginative account in the Snowdon chapters of + _Aylwin_. + +There is another question--a question of a very different +kind--raised by several correspondents of _Notes and Queries_, +upon which I should like to say a word--a question as to _The +Veiled Queen_ and the use therein of the phrase 'The Renascence of +Wonder'--a phrase which has been said to 'express the artistic motif +of the book.' The _motif_ of the book, however, is one of +emotion primarily, or it would not have been written. + +There is yet another subject upon which I feel tempted to say a few +words. D'Arcy in referring to Aylwin's conduct in regard to the cross +says:-- + + You were simply doing what Hamlet would have done in such + circumstances--what Macbeth would have done, and what he would have + done who spoke to the human heart through their voices. All men, I + believe, have Macbeth's instinct for making 'assurance doubly + sure,' and I cannot imagine the man who, entangled as you were in a + net of conflicting evidence--the evidence of the spiritual and the + evidence of the natural world--would not, if the question were that + of averting a curse from acting on a beloved mistress, have done as + you did. That paralysis of Hamlet's will which followed when the + evidence of two worlds hung in equipoise before him, no one can + possibly understand better than I. + +Several critics have asked me to explain these words. Of course, +however, the question is much too big and much too important to +discuss here. I will merely say that Shakespeare having decided in +the case of 'Macbeth' to adopt the machinery he found in Holinslied, +and in the case of 'Hamlet' the machinery he found in the old +'Hamlet,' seems to have set himself the task of realising the +situation of a man oscillating between the evidence of two worlds, +the physical and the spiritual--a man in each case unusually +sagacious, and in each case endowed with the instinct for 'making +assurance doubly sure'--the instinct which seems, from many passages +in his dramas, to have been a special characteristic of the poet's +own, such for instance as the words in _Pericles_: + + + For truth can never be confirm'd enough, + Though doubts did ever sleep. + +Why is it that, in this story, Hamlet, the moody moraliser upon +charnel-houses and mouldy bones, is identified with the jolly companion +of the Mermaid, the wine-bibbing joker of the Falcon, and the Apollo +saloon? It is because Hamlet is the most elaborately-painted character +in literature. It is because the springs of his actions are so +profoundly touched, the workings of his soul so thoroughly laid bare, +that we seem to know him more completely than we know our most intimate +friends. It is because the sea which washes between personality and +personality is here, for once, rolled away, and we and this Hamlet +touch, soul to soul. That is why we ask whether such a character can +be the mere evolvement of the artistic mind at work. That is why we +exclaim: 'The man who painted Hamlet must have been painting himself.' +The perfection of the dramatist's work betrays him. For, really and +truly, no man can paint another, but only himself, and what we call +'character painting' is, at the best, but a poor mixing of painter and +painted, a 'third something' between these two; just as what we call +colour and sound are born of the play of undulation upon organism. + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE SNOWDON EDITION OF 1901 + +Though written many years ago this story was, for certain personal +reasons easy to guess, withheld from publication--withheld, as _The +Times_ pointed out, because 'with the _Dichtung_ was mingled +a good deal of _Wahrheit_,' But why did I still delay in +publishing it after these reasons for withholding it had passed away? +This is a question that has often been put to me both in print and in +conversation. And yet I should have imagined that the explanation was +not far to seek. It was simply diffidence; in other words it was that +infirmity which, though generally supposed to belong to youth, comes +to a writer, if it comes at all, with years. Undoubtedly there was a +time in my life when I should have leapt with considerable rashness +into the brilliant ranks of our contemporary novelists. But this was +before I had reached what I will call the diffident period in the +life of a writer. And then, again, I had often been told by George +Borrow, and also by my friend Francis Groome, the great living +authority on Romany matters, that there was in England no interest in +Gypsies. Altogether then, had it not been for the unexpected success +of _The Coming of Love_, a story of Gypsy life, it is doubtful +whether I should not have delayed the publication of _Aylwin_ +until the great warder of the gates of day we call Death should close +his portal behind me and shut me off from these dreams. However, I am +very glad now that I did publish it; for it has brought around me a +number of new friends--brought them at a time when new friends were +what I yearned for--a time when, looking back through this vision of +my life, I seem to be looking down an Appian way--a street of +tombs--the tombs of those I loved. No wonder, then, that I was deeply +touched by the kindness with which the Public and the Press received +the story. + +One critic did me the honour of remarking upon what he called the +'absolute newness of the plot and incidents of _Aylwin_.' He +seems to have forgotten, however, that one incident--the most daring +incident in the book--that of the rifling of a grave for treasure +--is not new: it will at once remind folk-lorists of certain +practices charged against our old Norse invaders. And students of +Celtic and Gaelic literature are familiar with the same idea. Quite, +lately, indeed, Mr. Alfred Nutt, in his analysis of the Gaelic +_Agallamh na Senorach_, or 'Colloquy of the Elders,' has made +some interesting remarks upon the subject. + + +As far as I remember, the only objection made by the critics to +_Aylwin_ was that I had imported into a story written for +popular acceptance too many speculations and breedings upon the +gravest of all subjects--the subject of love at struggle with death. +My answer to this is that although it did win a great popular +acceptance I never expected it to do so. I knew the book to be an +expression of idiosyncrasy, and no man knows how much or how little +his idiosyncrasy is in harmony with the temper of his time, until his +book has been given to the world. It was the story of _Aylwin_ +that was born of the speculations upon Love and Death; it was not the +speculations that were pressed into the story; without these +speculations there could have been no story to tell. Indeed the chief +fault which myself should find with _Aylwin_, if my business +were to criticise it, would be that it gives not too little but too +much prominence to the strong incidents of the story--a story written +as a comment on love's warfare with death--written to show that +confronted as a man is every moment by signs of the fragility and +brevity of human life, the great marvel connected with him is not +that his thoughts dwell frequently upon the unknown country beyond +Orion where the beloved dead are loving us still, but that he can +find time and patience to think upon anything else--a story written +further to show how terribly despair becomes intensified when a man +has lost--or thinks he has lost--a woman whose love was the only +light of his world--when his soul is torn from his body, as it were, +and whisked off on the wings of the 'viewless winds' right away +beyond the farthest star, till the universe hangs beneath his feet a +trembling point of twinkling light, and at last even this dies away +and his soul cries out for help in that utter darkness and +loneliness. + +It was to depict this phase of human emotion that both _Aylwin_ +and its sequel, _The Coming of Love_, were written. They were +missives from the lonely watch-tower of the writer's soul, sent out +into the strange and busy battle of the world--sent out to find, if +possible, another soul or two to whom the watcher was, without +knowing it, akin. + + +And now as to my two Gypsy heroines, the Sinfi Lovell of +_Aylwin_ and the Rhona Boswell of _The Coming of Love_. +Although Borrow belonged to a different generation from mine, I +enjoyed his intimate friendship in his later years--during the time +when he lived in Hereford Square; and since his death I have written +a good deal about him--both in prose and in verse--in the Athenaeum, +in the Encyclopaedia Britannica, and in other places. When, some seven +or eight years ago, I brought out an edition of _Lavengro_ (in +Messrs. Ward, Lock & Co.'s Minerva Library), I prefaced that +delightful book by a few desultory remarks upon Sorrow's Gypsy +characters. On that occasion I gave a slight sketch of the most +remarkable 'Romany Chi' that had ever been met with in the part of +East Anglia known to Borrow and myself--Sinfi Lovell. I described +her playing on the crwth. I discussed her exploits as a boxer, and I +contrasted her in many ways with the glorious Anglo-Saxon road-girl +Isopel Berners. Since the publication of _Aylwin_ and _The +Coming of Love_ I have received very many letters from English and +American readers inquiring whether 'the Gypsy girl described in the +introduction to _Lavenyro_ is the same as the Sinfi Lovell of +_Aylwin_,' and also whether 'the Rhona Boswell that figures in +the prose story is the same as the Rhona of _The Coming of +Love_?' The evidence of the reality of Rhona so impressed itself +upon the reader that on the appearance of Rhona's first letter in the +_Athenaeum_, where the poem was printed in fragments, I got among +other letters one from the sweet poet and adorable woman Jean +Ingelow, who was then very ill,--near her death indeed,--urging me to +tell her whether Rhona's love-letter was not a versification of a +real letter from a real Gypsy to her lover. As it was obviously +impossible for me to answer the queries individually, I take this +opportunity of saying that the Sinfi of _Aylwin_ and the Sinfi +described in my introduction to _Lavengro_ are one and the same +character--except that the story of the child Sinfi's weeping for the +'poor dead Gorgios' in the churchyard, given in the Introduction, is +really told by the Gypsies, not of Sinfi, but of Rhona Boswell. Sinfi +is the character alluded to in the now famous sonnet describing 'the +walking lord of Gypsy lore,' Borrow, by his most intimate friend Dr. +Gordon Hake. + + 'And he, the walking lord of Gypsy lore! + How often 'mid the deer that grazed the Park, + Or in the fields and heath and windy moor, + Made musical with many a soaring lark, + Have we not held brisk commune with him there, + While Lavengro, then towering by your side, + With rose complexion and bright silvery hair, + Would stop amid his swift and lounging stride + To tell the legends of the fading race--. + As at the summons of his piercing glance, + Its story peopling his brown eyes and face, + While you called up that pendant of romance + To Petulengro with his boxing glory + Your Amazonian Sinfi's noble story?' + +Now that so many of the griengroes (horse-dealers), who form the +aristocracy of the Romany race, have left England for America, it is +natural enough that to some readers of _Aylwin_ and _The +Coming of Love_ my pictures of Romany life seem a little +idealised. The _Times_, in a kindly notice of _The Coming of +Love_, said that the kind of Gypsies there depicted are a very +interesting people, 'unless the author has flattered them unduly.' +Those who best knew the Gypsy women of that period will be the first +to aver that I have not flattered them unduly. But I have fully +discussed this matter, and given a somewhat elaborate account of +Sinfi Lovell and Rhona Boswell, in the introduction to the fifth +edition of _The Coming of Love: Rhona Boswell's Story._ + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAP. + +1. THE CYMRIC CHILD +2. THE MOONLIGHT CROSS OF THE GNOSTICS +3. WINIFRED'S DUKKERIPEN +4. THE LEADER OF THE AYLWINIANS +5. HAROUN-AL-RASCHID THE PAINTER +6. THE SONG OF Y WYDDFA +7. SINFI'S DUKKERIPEN +8. ISIS AS HUMOURIST +9. THE PALACE OF NIN-KI-GAL +10. BEHIND THE VEIL +11. THE IRONY OF HEAVEN +12. THE REVOLVING CAGE OF CIRCUMSTANCE +13. THE MAGIC OF SNOWDON +14. SINFI'S COUP DE THEATRE +15. THE DAUGHTER OF SNOWDON'S STORY +16. D'ARCY'S LETTER +17. THE TWO DUKKERIPENS +18. THE WALK TO LLANBERIS +APPENDICES + + + +AYLWIN + +THE RENASCENCE OF WONDER + + + +I + +THE CYMRIC CHILD + + +I + +'Those who in childhood have had solitary communings with the sea +know the sea's prophecy. They know that there is a deeper sympathy +between the sea and the soul of man than other people dream of. They +know that the water seems nearer akin than the land to the spiritual +world, inasmuch as it is one and indivisible, and has motion, and +answers to the mysterious call of the winds, and is the writing +tablet of the moon and stars. When a child who, born beside the sea, +and beloved by the sea, feels suddenly, as he gazes upon it, a dim +sense of pity and warning; when there comes, or seems to come, a +shadow across the waves, with never a cloud in the sky to cast it; +when there comes a shuddering as of wings that move in dread or ire, +then such a child feels as if the bloodhounds of calamity are let +loose upon him or upon those he loves; he feels that the sea has told +him all it dares tell or can. And, in other moods of fate, when +beneath a cloudy sky the myriad dimples of the sea begin to sparkle +as though the sun were shining bright upon them, such a child feels, +as he gazes at it, that the sea is telling him of some great joy near +at hand, or, at least, not far off.' + +One lovely summer afternoon a little boy was sitting on the edge of +the cliff that skirts the old churchyard of Raxton-on-Sea. He was +sitting on the grass close to the brink of the indentation cut by the +water into the horse-shoe curve called by the fishermen Mousetrap +Cove; sitting there as still as an image of a boy in stone, at the +forbidden spot where the wooden fence proclaimed the crumbling hollow +crust to be specially dangerous--sitting and looking across the sheer +deep gulf below. + +Flinty Point on his right was sometimes in purple shadow and +sometimes shining in the sun; Needle Point on his left was sometimes +in purple shadow and sometimes shining in the sun; and beyond these +headlands spread now the wide purple, and now the wide sparkle of the +open sea. The very gulls, wheeling as close to him as they dared, +seemed to be frightened at the little boy's peril. Straight ahead he +was gazing, however--gazing so intently that his eyes must have been +seeing very much or else very little of that limitless world of light +and coloured shade. On account of certain questions connected with +race that will be raised in this narrative, I must dwell a little +while upon the child's personal appearance, and especially upon his +colour. Natural or acquired, it was one that might be almost called +unique; as much like a young Gypsy's colour as was compatible with +respectable descent, and yet not a Gypsy's colour. A deep undertone +of 'Romany brown' seemed breaking through that peculiar kind of ruddy +golden glow which no sunshine can give till it has itself been +deepened and coloured and enriched by the responsive kisses of the +sea. + +Moreover, there was a certain something in his eyes that was not +Gypsy-like--a something which is not uncommonly seen in the eyes of +boys born along that coast, whether those eyes be black or blue or +grey; a something which cannot be described, but which seems like a +reflex of the daring gaze of that great land-conquering and daring +sea. Very striking was this expression as he momentarily turned his +face landward to watch one of the gulls that had come wheeling up the +cliffs towards the flinty grey tower of the church--the old deserted +church, whose graveyard the sea had already half washed away. As his +eyes followed the bird's movements, however, this daring sea-look +seemed to be growing gradually weaker and weaker. At last it faded +away altogether, and by the time his face was turned again towards +the sea, the look I have tried to describe was supplanted by such a +gaze as that gull would give were it hiding behind a boulder with a +broken wing. A mist of cruel trouble was covering his eyes, and soon +the mist had grown into two bright glittering pearly tears, which, +globing and trembling, larger and larger, were at length big enough +to drown both eyes; big enough to drop, shining, on the grass: big +enough to blot out altogether the most brilliant picture that sea and +sky could make. For that little boy had begun to learn a lesson which +life was going to teach him fully--the lesson that shining sails in +the sunny wind, and black trailing bands of smoke passing here and +there along the horizon, and silvery gulls dipping playfully into the +green and silver waves (nay, all the beauties and all the wonders of +the world), make but a blurred picture to eyes that look through the +lens of tears. However, with a brown hand brisk and angry, he brushed +away these tears, like one who should say, 'This kind of thing will +never do.' + +Indeed, so hardy was the boy's face--tanned by the sun, hardened and +bronzed by the wind, reddened by the brine--that tears seemed +entirely out of place there. The meaning of those tears must be fully +accounted for, and if possible fully justified, for this little boy +is to be the hero of this story. In other words, he is Henry Aylwin; +that is to say, myself: and those who know me now in the full vigour +of manhood, a lusty knight of the alpenstock of some repute, will be +surprised to know what troubled me. They will be surprised to know +that owing to a fall from the cliff I was for about two years a +cripple. + +This is how it came about. Rough and yielding as were the paths, +called 'gangways,' connecting the cliffs with the endless reaches of +sand below, they were not rough enough, or yielding enough, or in any +way dangerous enough for me. + +So I used to fashion 'gangways' of my own; I used to descend the +cliff at whatsoever point it pleased me, clinging to the lumps of +sandy earth with the prehensile power of a spider-monkey. Many a +warning had I had from the good fishermen and sea-folk, that some day +I should fall from top to bottom--fall and break my neck. A laugh was +my sole answer to these warnings; for, with the possession of perfect +health, I had inherited that instinctive belief in good luck which +perfect health will often engender. + +However, my punishment came at last. The coast, which is yielding +gradually to the sea, is famous for sudden and gigantic landslips. +These landslips are sometimes followed, at the return of the tide, by +a further fall, called a 'settlement.' The word 'settlement' explains +itself, perhaps. No matter how smooth the sea, the return of the tide +seems on that coast to have a strange magnetic power upon the land, +and the debris of a landslip will sometimes, though not always, +respond to it by again falling and settling into new and permanent +shapes. + +Now, on the morning after a great landslip, when the coastguard, +returning on his beat, found a cove where, half-an-hour before, he +had left his own cabbages growing, I, in spite of all warnings, had +climbed the heap of _debris_ from the sands, and while I was +hallooing triumphantly to two companions below--the two most +impudent-looking urchins, bare-footed and unkempt, that ever a +gentleman's son forgathered with--a great mass of loose earth +settled, carrying me with it in its fall. I was taken up for dead. + +It was, however, only a matter of broken ribs and a damaged leg. And +there is no doubt that if the local surgeon had not been allowed to +have his own way, I should soon have been cured. As it was I became a +cripple. The great central fact--the very pivot upon which all the +wheels of my life have since been turning--is that for two years +during the impressionable period of childhood I walked with crutches. + +It must not be supposed that my tears--the tears which at this moment +were blotting out the light and glory of the North Sea in the +sun--came from the pain I was suffering. They came from certain +terrible news, which even my brother Frank had been careful to keep +from me, but which had fallen from the lips of my father--the news +that I was not unlikely to be a cripple for life. From that moment I +had become a changed being, solitary and sometimes morose. I would +come and sit staring at the ocean, meditating on tilings in general, +but chiefly on things connected with cripples, asking myself, as now, +whether life would be bearable on crutches. + +At my heart were misery and anger and such revolt as is, I hope, +rarely found in the heart of a child. I had sat down outside the +rails at this most dangerous point along the cliff, wondering whether +or not it would crumble beneath me. For this lameness coming to me, +who had been so active, who had been, indeed, the little athlete and +pugilist of the sands, seemed to have isolated me from my +fellow-creatures to a degree that is inconceivable to me now. A +stubborn will and masterful pride made me refuse to accept a disaster +such as many a nobler soul than mine has, I am conscious, borne with +patience. My nature became soured by asking in vain for sympathy at +home; my loneliness drove me--silent, haughty, and aggressive--to +haunt the churchyard, and sit at the edge of the cliff, gazing +wistfully at the sea and the sands which could not be reached on +crutches. Like a wounded sea-gull, I retired and took my trouble +alone. + +How could I help taking it alone when none would sympathise with me? +My brother Frank called me 'The Black Savage,' and I half began to +suspect myself of secret impulses of a savage kind. Once I heard my +mother murmur, as she stroked Frank's rosy cheeks and golden curls, +'My poor Henry is a strange, proud boy!' Then, looking from my +crutches to Frank's beautiful limbs, she said, 'How providential that +it was not the elder! Providence is kind.' She meant kind to the +House of Aylwin. I often wonder whether she guessed that I heard her. +I often wonder whether she knew how I had loved her. + +This is how matters stood with me on that summer afternoon, when I +sat on the edge of the cliff in a kind of dull, miserable dream. +Suddenly, at the moment when the huge mass of clouds had covered the +entire surface of the water between Flinty Point and Needle Point +with their rich purple shadow, it seemed to me that the waves began +to sparkle and laugh in a joyful radiance which they were making for +themselves. And at that same moment an unwonted sound struck my ear +from the churchyard behind me--a strange sound indeed in that +deserted place--that of a childish voice singing. + +Was, then, the mighty ocean writing symbols for an unhappy child to +read? My father, from whose book, _The Veiled Queen_, the extract +with which this chapter opens is taken, would, unhesitatingly, +have answered 'Yes.' + +'Destiny, no doubt, in the Greek drama concerns itself only with the +great,' says he, in that wonderful book of his. 'But who are the +great? With the unseen powers, mysterious and imperious, who govern +while they seem not to govern all that is seen, who are the great? In +a world where man's loftiest ambitions are to higher intelligences +childish dreams, where his highest knowledge is ignorance, where his +strongest strength is to heaven a derision--who are the great? Are +they not the few men and women and children on the earth who greatly +love?' + + +II + +So sweet a sound as that childish voice I had never heard before. +I held my breath and listened. + +Into my very being that child-voice passed, and it was a new music +and a new joy. I can give the reader no notion of it, because there +is not in nature anything with which I can compare it. The blackcap +has a climacteric note, just before his song collapses and dies, so +full of pathos and tenderness that often, when I had been sitting on +a gate in Wilderness Road, it had affected me more deeply than any +human words. But here was a note sweet and soft as that, and yet +charged with a richness no blackcap's song had ever borne, because no +blackcap has ever felt the joys and sorrows of a young human soul. + +The voice was singing in a language which seemed strange to me then, +but has been familiar enough since: + + Bore o'r cymwl aur, + Eryri oedd dy gaer. + Bren o wyllt a gwar, + Gwawr ysbrydau.[Footnote] + + [Footnote: Morning of the golden cloud, + Eryrl was thy castle, + King of the wild and tame, + Glory of the spirits of air!] + +[Eryri--the Place of Eagles, i.e. Snowdon.] + +Intense curiosity now made me suddenly forget my troubles. I +scrambled back through the trees not tar from that spot and looked +around. There, sitting upon a grassy grave, beneath one of the +windows of the church, was a little girl, somewhat younger than +myself apparently. With her head bent back she was gazing up at the +sky and singing, while one of her little hands was pointing to a tiny +cloud that hovered like a golden feather over her head. The sun, +which had suddenly become very bright, shining on her glossy hair +(for she was bare-headed) gave it a metallic lustre, and it was +difficult to say what was the colour, dark bronze or black. So +completely absorbed was she in watching the cloud to which her +strange song or incantation seemed addressed, that she did not +observe me when I rose and went towards her. Over her head, high up +in the blue, a lark that was soaring towards the same gauzy cloud was +singing, as if in rivalry. As I slowly approached the child, I could +see by her forehead (which in the sunshine gleamed like a globe of +pearl), and especially by her complexion, that she was uncommonly +lovely, and I was afraid lest she should look down before I got close +to her, and so see my crutches before her eyes encountered my face. +She did not, however, seem to hear me coming along the grass (so +intent was she with her singing) until I was close to her, and +throwing my shadow over her. Then she suddenly lowered her head and +looked at me in surprise. I stood transfixed at her astonishing +beauty. No other picture has ever taken such possession of me. In its +every detail it lives before me now. Her eyes (which at one moment +seemed blue grey, at another violet) were shaded by long black +lashes, curving backward in a most peculiar way, and these matched +in hue her eyebrows, and the tresses that were tossed about her +tender throat and were quivering in the sunlight. + +All this picture I did not take in at once; for at first I could see +nothing but those quivering, glittering, changeful eyes turned up +into my face. Gradually the other features (especially the sensitive +full-lipped mouth) grew upon me as I stood silently gazing. Here +seemed to me a more perfect beauty than had ever come to me in my +loveliest dreams of beauty beneath the sea. Yet it was not her beauty +perhaps, so much as the look she gave me, that fascinated me, melted +me. + +As she gazed in my face there came over hers a look of pleased +surprise, and then, as her eyes passed rapidly down my limbs and up +again, her face was not overshadowed with the look of disappointment +which I had waited for--yes, waited for, like a pinioned criminal for +the executioner's uplifted knife; but the smile of pleasure was still +playing about the little mouth, while the tender young eyes were +moistening rapidly with the dews of a kind of pity that was new to +me, a pity that did not blister the pride of the lonely wounded +sea-gull, but soothed, healed, and blessed. + +Remember that I was a younger son--that I was swarthy--that I was a +cripple--and that my mother--had Frank. It was as though my heart +must leap from my breast towards that child. Not a word had she +spoken, but she had said what the little maimed 'fighting Hal' +yearned to hear, and without _knowing_ that he yearned. + +I restrained myself, and did not yield to the feeling that impelled +me to throw my arms round her neck in an ecstasy of wonder and +delight. After a second or two she again threw back her head to gaze +at the golden cloud. + +'Look!' said she, suddenly clapping her hands, 'it's over both of us +now.' + +'What is it?' I said. + +'The Dukkeripen,' she said, 'the Golden Hand. Sinfi and Rhona both +say the Golden Hand brings luck: what _is_ luck?' + +I looked up at the little cloud which to me seemed more like a golden +feather than a golden hand. But I soon bent my eyes down again to +look at her. + +While I stood looking at her, the tall figure of a man came out of +the church. This was Tom Wynne. Besides being the organist of Raxton +'New Church,' Tom was also (for a few extra shillings a week) +custodian of the 'Old Church,' this deserted pile within whose +precincts we now were. Tom's features wore an expression of virtuous +indignation which puzzled me, and evidently frightened the little +girl. He locked the door, and walked unsteadily towards us. He seemed +surprised to see me there, and his features relaxed into a bland +civility. + +'This is (hiccup) Master Aylwin, Winifred,' he said. + +The child looked at me again with the same smile. Her alarm had fled. + +'This is my little daughter Winifred,' said Tom, with a pompous bow. + +I was astonished. I never knew that Wynne had a daughter, for +intimate as he and I had become, he had actually never mentioned his +daughter before. + +'My _only_ daughter,' Tom repeated. + +He then told me, with many hiccups, that, since her mother's death +(that is to say from her very infancy), Winifred had been brought up +by an aunt in Wales. 'Quite a lady, her aunt is,' said Tom proudly, +'and Winifred has come to spend a few weeks with her father.' + +He said this in a grandly paternal tone--a tone that seemed meant to +impress upon her how very much obliged she ought to feel to him for +consenting to be her father; and, judging from the look the child +gave him, she did feel very much obliged. + +Suddenly, however, a thought seemed to come back upon Tom, a thought +which my unexpected appearance on the scene had driven from his +drunken brain. The look of virtuous indignation returned, and staring +at the little girl through glazed eyes, he said with the tremulous +and tearful voice of a deeply injured parent, + +'Winifred, I thought I heard you singing one of them heathen Gypsy +songs that you learnt of the Gypsies in Wales.' + +'No, father,' said she, 'it was the song they sing in Shire-Carnarvon +about the golden cloud over Snowdon and the spirits of the air.' + +'Yes,' said Tom, 'but a little time ago you were singing a Gypsy +song--a downright heathen Gypsy song. I heard it about half an hour +ago when I was in the church.' + +The beautiful little head drooped in shame. + +'I'm s'prised at you, Winifred. When I come to think whose daughter +you are.--mine!--I'm s'prised at you,' continued Torn, whose virtuous +indignation waxed with every word. + +'Oh. I'm so sorry!' said the child. 'I won't do it any more.' + +This contrition of the child's only fanned the flame of Tom's +virtuous indignation. + +'Here am I,' said he, 'the most (hiccup) respectable man in two +parishes,--except Master Aylwin's father, of course,--here am I, the +organ-player for the Christianest of all the Christian churches along +the coast, and here's my daughter sings heathen songs just like a +Gypsy or a tinker. I'm s'prised at you, Winifred.' + +I had often seen Tom in a dignified state of liquor, but the pathetic +expression of injured virtue that again overspread his face so +changed it, that I had some difficulty myself in realising how +entirely the tears filling his eyes and the grief at his heart were +of alcoholic origin. And as to the little girl, she began to sob +piteously. + +'Oh dear, oh dear, what a wicked girl I am !' said she. + +This exclamation, however, aroused my ire against Tom; and as I +always looked upon him as my special paid henchman, who, in return +for such services as supplying me with tiny boxing-gloves, and +fishing-tackle, and bait, during my hale days, and tame rabbits now +that I was a cripple, mostly contrived to possess himself of my +pocket-money, I had no hesitation in exclaiming, + +'Why, Tom, you know you're drunk, you silly old fool!' + +At this Tom turned his mournful and reproachful gaze upon me, and +began to weep anew. Then he turned and addressed the sea, uplifting +his hand in oratorical fashion:-- + +'Here's a young gentleman as I've been more than a father to--yes, +more than a father to--for when did his own father ever give him a +ferret-eyed rabbit, a real ferret-eyed rabbit thoroughbred?' + +'Why, I gave you one of my five-shilling pieces for it,' said I; 'and +the rabbit was in a consumption and died in three weeks.' + +But Tom still addressed the sea. + +'When did his own father give him,' said he, 'the longest thigh-bone +that the sea ever washed out of Raxton churchyard?' + +'Why, I gave you _two_ of my five-shilling pieces for +_that_,' said I, 'and next day you went and borrowed the bone, +and sold it over again to Dr. Munro for a quart of beer.' + + +'When did his own father _give_ him a beautiful skull for a +money-box, and make an oak lid to it, and keep it for him because his +mother wouldn't have it in the house?' + +'Ah, but where's the money that was in it, Tom? Where's the money?' +said I, flourishing one of my crutches, for I was worked up to a +state of high excitement when I recalled my own wrongs and Tom's +frauds, and I forgot his relationship to the little girl. 'Where are +the bright new half-crowns that were _in_ the money-box when I +left it with you--the half-crowns that got changed into pennies, Tom? +Where are they? What's the use of having a skull for a money-box if +it's got no money in it? That's what _I_ want to know, Tom!' + +'Here's a young gentleman,' said Tom, 'as I've done all these things +for, and how does he treat me? He says, "Why, Tom, you know you're +drunk, you silly old fool."' + +At this pathetic appeal the little girl sprang up and turned towards +me with the ferocity of a young tigress. Her little hands were +tightly clenched, and her eyes seemed positively to be emitting blue +sparks. Many a bold boy had I encountered on the sands before my +accident, and many a fearless girl, but such an impetuous antagonist +as this was new. I leaned on my crutches, however, and looked at her +unblenchingly. + +'You wicked English boy, to make my father cry,' said she, as soon as +her anger allowed her to speak. 'If you were not lame I'd--I'd--I'd +hit you.' + +I did not move a muscle, but stood lost in a dream of wonder at her +amazing loveliness. The fiery flush upon her face and neck, the +bewitching childish frown of anger corrugating the brow, the dazzling +glitter of the teeth, the quiver of the full scarlet lips above and +below them, turned me dizzy with admiration. + +Her eyes met mine, and slowly the violet flames in them began to +soften. Then they died away entirely as she murmured, + +'You wicked English boy, if you hadn't--beautiful--beautiful eyes, +I'd kill you.' + +By this time, however, Tom had entirely forgotten his grievance +against me, and gazed upon Winifred in a state of drunken wonderment. + +'Winifred,' he said, in a tone of sorrowful reproach, 'how dare you +speak like that to Master Aylwin, your father's best friend, the only +friend your poor father's got in the world, the friend as I give +ferret-eyed rabbits to, and tame hares, and beautiful skulls? Beg his +pardon this instant, Winifred. Down on your knees and beg my friend's +pardon this instant, Winifred.' + +The poor little girl stood dazed, and was actually sinking down on +her knees on the grass before me. + +I cried out in acute distress, + +'No, no, no, no, Tom, pray don't let her--dear little girl! beautiful +little girl!' + +'Very well, Master Aylwin,' said Tom grandly, 'she sha'n't if you +don't like, but she _shall_ go and kiss you and make it up.' + +At this the child's face brightened, and she came and laid her little +red lips upon mine. Velvet lips, I feel them now, soft and warm--I +feel them while I write these lines. + +Tom looked on for a moment, and then left us, blundering away towards +Raxton, most likely to a beer-house. + +He told the child that she was to go home and mind the house until he +returned. He gave her the church key to take home. We two were left +alone in the churchyard, looking at each other in silence, each +waiting for the other to speak. At last she said, demurely, +'Good-bye; father says I must go home.' + +And she walked away with a business-like air towards the little white +gate of the churchyard, opening upon what was called 'The Wilderness +Road.' When she reached the gate she threw a look over her shoulder +as she passed through. It was that same look again--wistful, frank, +courageous. I immediately began to follow her, although I did not +know why. When she saw this she stopped for me. I got up to her, and +then we proceeded side by side in perfect silence along the dusty +narrow road, perfumed with the scent of wild rose and honeysuckle. +Suddenly she stopped and said, + +'I have left my hat on the tower,' and laughed merrily at her own +heedlessness. + +She ran back with an agility which I thought I had never seen +equalled. It made me sad to see her run so fast, though once how it +would have delighted me! I stood still; but when she reached the +church porch she again looked over her shoulder, and again I +followed her:--I did not in the least know why. That look I think +would have made me follow her through lire and water--it _has_ made +me follow her through fire and water. When I reached her she put the +great black key in the lock. She had some difficulty in turning the +key, but I did not presume to offer such services as mine to so +superior a little woman. After one or two fruitless efforts with both +her hands, each attempt accompanied with a little laugh and a little +merry glance in my face, she turned the key and pushed open the door. +We both passed into the ghastly old church, through the green glass +windows of which the sun was shining, and illuminating the broken +remains of the high-hacked pews on the opposite side. She ran along +towards the belfry, and I soon lost her, for she passed up the stone +steps, where I knew I could not follow her. + +In deep mortification I stood listening at the bottom of the +steps--listening to those little feet crunching up the broken +stones--listening to the rustle of her dress against the narrow stone +walls, until the sounds grew fainter and fainter, and then ceased. + +Presently I heard her voice a long way up, calling out, 'Little boy, +if you go outside you will see something.' I guessed at once that she +was going to exhibit herself on the tower, where, before my accident, +I and my brother Frank were so fond of going. I went outside the +church and stood in the graveyard, looking up at the tower. In a +minute I saw her on it. Her face was turned towards me, gilded by the +golden sunshine. I could, or thought I could, even at that distance, +see the flash of the bright eyes looking at me. Then a little hand +was put over the parapet, and I saw a dark hat swinging by its +strings, as she was waving it to me. Oh! that I could have climbed +those steps and done that! But that exploit of hers touched a strange +chord within me. Had she been a boy, I could have borne it in a +defiant way; or had she been any other girl than this, my heart would +not have sunk as it now did when I thought of the gulf between her +and me. Down I sat upon a grave, and looked at her with a feeling +quite new to me. + +This was a phase of cripplehood I had not contemplated. She soon left +the tower, and made her appearance at the church door again. After +locking it, which she did by thrusting a piece of stick through the +handle of the key, she came and stood over me. But I turned my eyes +away and gazed across the sea, and tried to deceive myself into +believing that the waves, and the gulls, and the sails dreaming on +the sky-line, and the curling clouds of smoke that came now and then +from a steamer passing Dullingham Point were interesting me deeply. +There was a remoteness about the little girl now, since I had seen +her unusual agility, and I was trying to harden my heart against her. +Loneliness I felt was best for me. She did not speak, but stood +looking at me. I turned my eyes round and saw that she was looking at +my crutches, which were lying beside me aslant the green hillock +where I sat. Her face had turned grave and pitiful. + +'Oh! I forgot,' she said. 'I wish I had not run away from you now.' + +'You may run where you like for what I care,' I said. But the words +were very shaky, and I had no sooner said them than I wished them +back. She made no reply for some time, and I sat plucking the +wild-flowers near my hands, and gazing again across the sea. At last +she said, + +'Would you like to come in our garden? It's such a nice garden.' + +I could resist her no longer. That voice would have drawn me had she +spoken in the language of the Toltecs or the lost Zamzummin. To +describe it would of course be impossible. The novelty of her accent, +the way in which she gave the 'h' in 'which,' 'what,' and 'when,' the +Welsh rhythm of her intonation, were as bewitching to me as the +_timbre_ of her voice. And let me say here, once for all, that when I +sat down to write this narrative, I determined to give the English +reader some idea of the way in which, whenever her emotions were +deeply touched, her talk would run into soft Welsh diminutives; but I +soon abandoned the attempt in despair. I found that to use colloquial +Welsh with effect in an English context is impossible without +wearying English readers and disappointing Welsh ones. + +Here, indeed, is one of the great disadvantages under which this book +will go out to the world. While a story-teller may reproduce, by +means of orthographical devices, something of the effect of Scottish +accent, Irish accent, or Manx accent, such devices are powerless to +represent Welsh accent. + +I got up in silence, and walked by her side out of the churchyard +towards her father's cottage, which was situated between the new +church and the old, and at a considerable distance from the town of +Raxton on one side, and the village of Graylingham on the other. Her +eager young limbs would every moment take her ahead of me, for she +was as vigorous as a fawn. But by the time she was half a yard in +advance, she would recollect herself and fall back; and every time +she did so that same look of tenderness would overspread her face. + +At last she said, 'What makes you stare at me so, little boy?' + +I blushed and turned my head another way, for I had been feasting my +eyes upon her complexion, and trying to satisfy myself as to what it +really was like. Indeed, I thought it quite peculiar then, when I had +seen so few lovely faces, as I always did afterwards, when I had seen +as many as most people. It was, I thought, as though underneath the +sunburn the delicate pink tint of the hedge-rose had become mingled +with the bloom of a ripening peach, and yet it was like neither peach +nor rose. But this tone, whatever it was, did not spread higher than +the eyebrows. The forehead was different. It had a singular kind of +pearly look, and her long slender throat was almost of the same tone: +no, not the same, for there was a transparency about her throat +unlike that of the forehead. This colour I was just now thinking +looked something like the inside of a certain mysterious shell upon +my father's library shelf. + +As she asked me her question she stopped, and looked straight at me, +opening her eyes wide and round upon me. This threw a look of +innocent trustfulness over her bright features which I soon learnt +was the chief characteristic of her expression and was altogether +peculiar to herself. I knew it was very rude to stare at people as I +had been staring at her, and I took her question as a rebuke, +although I still was unable to keep my eyes off her. But it was not +merely her beauty and her tenderness that had absorbed my attention. +I had been noticing how intensely she seemed to enjoy the delights of +that summer afternoon. As we passed along that road, where sea-scents +and land-scents were mingled, she would stop whenever the sunshine +fell full upon her face; her eyes would sparkle and widen with +pleasure, and a half-smile would play about her lips, as if some one +had kissed her. Every now and then she would stop to listen to the +birds, putting up her finger, and with a look of childish wisdom say, +'Do you know what that is? That's a blackbird--that's a +thrush--that's a goldfinch. Which eggs do you like best--a +goldfinch's or a bullfinch's? _I_ know which _I_ like best.' + + + +III + +While we were walking along the road a sound fell upon my ears which +in my hale days never produced any very unpleasant sensations, but +which did now. I mean the cackling of the field people of both sexes +returning from their day's work. These people knew me well, and they +liked me, and I am sure they had no idea that when they ran past me +on the road their looks and nods gave me no pleasure, but pain; and I +always tried to avoid them. As they passed us they somewhat modified +the noise they were making, but only to cackle, chatter, and bawl and +laugh at each other the louder after we were left behind. + +'Don't you wish,' said the little girl meditatively, 'that men and +women had voices more like the birds?' The idea had never occurred to +me before, but I understood in a moment what she meant, and +sympathised with her. Nature of course has been unkind to the lords +and ladies of creation in this one matter of voice. + +'Yes, I do.' I said. + +'I'm so glad you do,' said she. 'I've so often thought what a pity it +is that God did not let men and women talk and sing as the birds do. +I believe He did let 'em talk like that in the Garden of Eden, don't +you?' + +'I think it very likely,' I said. + +'Men's voices are so rough mostly and women's voices are so sharp +mostly, that it's sometimes a little hard to love 'em as you love the +birds.' + +'It is,' I said. + +'Don't you think the poor birds must sometimes feel very much +distressed at hearing the voices of men and women, especially when +they all talk together?' + +The idea seemed so original and yet so true that it made me laugh; we +both laughed. At that moment there came a still louder, noisier +clamour of voices from the villagers. + +'The rooks mayn't mind.' said the little girl, pointing upwards to +the large rookery close by. whence came a noise marvellously like +that made by the field-workers. 'But I'm afraid the blackbirds and +thrushes can't like it. I do so wonder what they say about it.' + +After we had left the rookery behind us and the noise of the +villagers had grown fainter, we stood and listened to the blackbirds +and thrushes. She looked so joyous that I could not help saying, +'Little girl, I think you're very happy, ain't you?' + +'Not quite,' she said, as though answering a question she had just +been putting to herself. 'There's not enough wind.' + +'Then do _you_ like wind?' I said in surprise and delight. + +'Oh, I love it!' she said rapturously. 'I can't be quite happy +without wind, can _you_? I like to run up the hills in the wind and +sing to it. That's when I am happiest. I couldn't live long without +the wind.' + +Now it had been a deep-rooted conviction of mine that none but the +gulls and I really and truly liked the wind. 'Fishermen are muffs,' I +used to say; 'they talk about the wind as though it were an enemy, +just because it drowns one or two of 'em now and then. Anybody can +like sunshine; muffs can like sunshine; it takes a gull or a man to +like the wind!' + +Such had been my egotism. But here was a girl who liked it! We +reached the gate of the garden in front of Tom's cottage, and then +we both stopped, looking over the neatly-kept flower-garden and the +white thatched cottage behind it, up the walls of which the +grape-vine leaves were absorbing the brilliance of the sunlight and +softening it. Wynne was a gardener as well as an organist, and had +gardens both in the front and at the back of his cottage, which was +surrounded by fruit-trees. Drunkard as he was, his two passions, +music and gardening, saved him from absolute degradation and ruin. +His garden was beautifully kept, and I have seen him deftly pruning +his vines when in such a state of drink that it was wonderful how he +managed to hold a priming-knife. Winifred opened the gate, and we +passed in. Wynne's little terrier, Snap, came barking to meet us. + +There was an air of delicious peacefulness about the garden. This +also tended to soften that hardness of temper which only cripples who +have once rejoiced in their strength can possibly know, I hope. + +'I like to see you look so,' said the little girl, as I melted +entirely under these sweet influences. 'You looked so cross before +that I was nearly afraid of you.' + +And she took hold of my hand, not hesitatingly, but frankly. The +little fingers clasped mine. I looked at them. They were much more +sun-tanned than her face. The little rosy nails were shaped like +filbert nuts. + +'Why were you not _quite_ afraid of me?' I asked. + +'Because,' said she, 'under the crossness I saw that you had great +love-eyes like Snap's all the while. _I_ saw it!' she said, and +laughed with delight at her great wisdom. Then she said with a sudden +gravity, 'You didn't mean to make my father cry, did you, little +boy?' + +'No,' I said. + +'And you love him?' said she. + +I hesitated, for I had never told a lie in my life. My business +relations with Tom had been of an entirely unsatisfactory character, +and the idea of any one's loving the beery scamp presented itself in +a ludicrous light. I got out of the difficulty by saying, + +'I mean to love Tom very much, if I can.' + +The answer did not appear to be entirely satisfactory to the little +girl, but it soon seemed to pass from her mind. + +That was the most delightful afternoon I had ever spent in my life. +We seemed to become old friends in a few minutes, and in an hour or +two she was the closest friend I had on earth. Not all the little +shoeless friends in Raxton, not all the beautiful sea-gulls I loved, +not all the sunshine and wind upon the sands, not all the wild bees +in Graylingham Wilderness, could give the companionship this child +could give. My flesh tingled with delight. (And yet all the while I +was not Hal the conqueror of ragamuffins, but Hal the cripple!) + +'Shall we go and get some strawberries?' she said, as we passed to +the back of the house. 'They are quite ripe.' + +But my countenance fell at this. I was obliged to tell her that I +could not stoop. + +'Ah! but I can, and I will pluck them and give them to you. I should +like to do it. Do let me, there's a good boy.' + +I consented, and hobbled by her side to the verge of the +strawberry-beds. But when I foolishly tried to follow her, I stuck +ignominiously, with my crutches sunk deep in the soft mould of rotten +leaves. Here was a trial for the conquering hero of the coast. I +looked into her face to see if there was not, at last, a laugh upon +it. That cruel human laugh was my only dread. To everything but +ridicule I had hardened myself; but against that I felt helpless. + +I looked into her face to see if she was laughing at my lameness. No: +her brows were merely knit with anxiety as to how she might best +relieve me. This surpassingly beautiful child, then, had evidently +accepted me--lameness and all--crutches and all--as a subject of +peculiar interest. + +How I loved her as I put my hand upon her firm little shoulders, +while I extricated first one crutch and then another, and at last got +upon the hard path again! + +When she had landed me safely, she returned to the strawberry-bed, +and began busily gathering the fruit, which she brought to me in her +sunburnt hands, stained to a bright pink by the ripe fruit. Such a +charm did she throw over me, that at last I actually consented to her +putting the fruit into my mouth. + +She then told me with much gravity that she knew how to 'cure +crutches.' There was, she said, a famous 'crutches-well' in Wales, +kept by St. Winifred (most likely an aunt of hers, being of the same +name), whose water could 'cure crutches.' When she came from Wales +again she would be sure to bring a bottle of 'crutches-water.' She +told me also much about Snowdon (near which she lived), and how, on +misty days, she used to 'make believe that she was the Lady of the +Mist, and that she was going to visit the Tywysog o'r Niwl, the +Prince of the Mist; it was _so_ nice!' + +I do not know how long we kept at this, but the organist returned and +caught her in the very act of feeding me. To be caught in this +ridiculous position, even by a drunken man, was more than I could +bear, however, and I turned and left. + +As I recall that walk home along Wilderness Road. I live it as +thoroughly as I did then. I can see the rim of the sinking sun +burning fiery red low down between the trees on the left, and then +suddenly dropping out of sight. I can see on the right the lustre of +the high-tide sea. I can hear the 'che-eu-chew, che-eu-chew.' of the +wood-pigeons in Graylingham Wood. I can smell the very scent of the +bean flowers drinking in the evening dews. I did not feel that I was +going home as the sharp gables of the Hall gleamed through the +chestnut-trees. My home for evermore was the breast of that lovely +child, between whom and myself such a strange delicious sympathy had +sprung up. I felt there was no other home for me. + +'Why, child, where _have_ you been?' said my mother, as she saw me +trying to slip to bed unobserved, in order that happiness such as +mine might not he brought into coarse contact with servants. 'Child, +where _have_ you been, and what has possessed you? Your face is +positively shining with joy, and your eyes, they alarm me, they are +so unnaturally bright. I hope you are not going to have an illness.' + +I did not tell her, but went to my room, which now was on the ground +floor, and sat watching the rooks sailing home in the sunset till the +last one had gone, and the voices of the blackbirds grew less +clamorous, and the trees began to look larger and larger in the dusk. + + + +IV + +The next day I was again at Wynne's cottage, and the next, and the +next. We two, Winifred and I, used to stroll out together through the +narrow green lanes, and over the happy fields, and about the +Wilderness and the wood, and along the cliffs, and then down the +gangway at Flinty Point (the only gangway that was firm enough to +support my crutches, Winifred aiding me with the skill of a woman and +the agility of a child), and then along the flints below Flinty +Point. She rapidly fell into my habits. She was an adept in finding +birds' nests and wild honey; and though she would not consent to my +taking the eggs, she had not the same compunction about the honey, +and she only regretted with me that we could not be exactly like St. +John, as Graylingham Wilderness yielded no locusts to eat with the +honey. Winifred, though the most healthy of children, had a passion +for the deserted church on the cliffs, and for the desolate +churchyard. + +It was one of those flint and freestone churches that are sprinkled +along the coast. Situated as it was at the back of a curve cut by the +water into the end of a peninsula running far into the sea, the tower +looked in the distance like a lighthouse. I observed after the first +day of our meeting that Winifred never would mount the tower steps +again. And I knew why. So delicate were her feelings, so acute did +her kind little heart make her, that she would not mount steps which +I could never mount. + +Not that Winifred looked upon me as her little lover. There was not +much of the sentimental in her. Once when I asked her on the sands if +I might be her lover, she took an entirely practical view of the +question, and promptly replied 'certumly,' adding, however, like the +wise little woman I always found her, that she 'wasn't _quite_ sure +she knew what a lover was, but if it was anything _very_ nice she +should certumly like _me_ to be it.' + +It was the child's originality of manner that people found so +captivating. One of her many little tricks and ways of an original +quaintness was her habit of speaking of herself in the third person, +like the merest baby. 'Winifred likes this,' 'Winifred doesn't like +that,' were phrases that had an irresistible fascination for me. + +Another fascinating characteristic of hers was connected with her +superstitions. Whenever on parting with her I exclaimed, as I often +did. 'Oh, what a lovely day we have had, Winifred!' she would look +expectantly in my eyes, murmuring, 'And--and--' This meant that I +was to say. 'And shall have many more such days,' as though there +were a prophetic power in words. + +She talked with entire seriousness of having seen in a place called +Fairy Glen in Wales the Tylwyth Teg. And when I told her of Oberon +and Titania, and _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, whose acquaintance I +had made through Lamb's _Tales from Shakespeare_, she said that one +bright moonlight night she, in the company of two of her Gypsy +playmates, Rhona Boswell and a girl called Sinfi, had visited this +same Fairy Glen, when they saw the Fairy Queen alone on a ledge of +rock, dressed in a green kirtle with a wreath of golden leaves about +her head. + +Another subject upon which I loved to hear her talk was that of the +'Knockers' of Snowdon, the guardians of undiscovered copper mines, +who sometimes by knocking on the rocks gave notice to individuals +they favoured of undiscovered copper, but these favoured ones were +mostly children who chanced to wander up Snowdon by themselves. She +had, she said, not only heard but seen these Knockers. They were +thick-set dwarfs, as broad as they were long. One Knocker, an elderly +female, had often played with her on the hills. Knockers' Llyn, +indeed, was very much on Winifred's mind. When a golden cloud, like +the one on which she was singing her song at the time I first saw +her, shone over a person's head at Knockers' Llyn, it was a sign of +good fortune. She was sure that it was so, because the Welsh people +believed it, and so did the Gypsies. + +Not a field or a hedgerow was unfamiliar to us. We were most learned +in the structure of birds' nests, in the various colours of birds' +eggs, and in insect architecture. In all the habits or the wild +animals of the meadows we were most profound little naturalists. + +Winifred could in the morning, after the dews were gone, tell by the +look of a buttercup or a daisy what kind of weather was at hand, when +the most cunning peasant was deceived by the hieroglyphics of the +sky, and the most knowing seaman could 'make nothing of the wind.' + +Her life, in fact, had been spent in the open air. + +There were people staying at the Hall, and they and Frank engrossed +all my mother's attention. At least, she did not appear to notice my +absence from home. + +My brother Frank, however, was not so unobservant (he was two years +older than myself). Early one morning, before breakfast, curiosity +led him to follow me, and he came upon us in Graylingham Wood as we +were sitting under a tree close to the cliff, eating the wild honey +we had found in the Wilderness. + +He stood there swinging a ground-ash cane, and looking at her in a +lordly, patronising way, the very personification no doubt of boyish +beauty. I became troubled to see him look so handsome. The contrast +between him and a cripple was not fair, I thought, as I observed an +expression of passing admiration on little Winifred's face. Yet I +thought there was not the pleased smile with which she had first +greeted me, and a weight of anxiety was partially removed, for it had +now become quite evident to me that I was as much in love as any +swain of eighteen--it had become quite evident that without Winifred +the poor little shattered sea-gull must perish altogether. She was +literally my world. + +Frank came and sat down with us, and made himself as agreeable as +possible. He tried to enter into our play, but we were too slow for +him; he soon became restless and impatient. 'Oh bother!' he said, and +got up and left us. + +I drew a sigh of relief when he was gone. + +'Do you like my brother, Winifred?' I said. + +'Yes.' she said. + +'Why?' + +'Because he is so pretty and so nimble. I believe he could run +up--' and then she stopped; but I knew what the complete sentence +would have been. She was going to say: 'I believe he could run up the +gangways without stopping to take breath.' + +Here was a stab; but she did not notice the effect of her unfinished +sentence. Then a question came from me involuntarily. + +'Winifred,' I said, 'do you like him as well as you like me?' + +'Oh no,' she said, in a tone of wonderment that such a question +should be asked. + +'But _I_ am not pretty and--' + +'Oh, but you _are_!' she said eagerly, interrupting me. + +'But,' I said, with a choking sensation in my voice, 'I am lame.' and +I looked at the crutches lying among the ferns beside me. + +'Ah, but I like you all the better for being lame,' she said, +nestling up to me. + +'But you like nimble boys,' I said, 'such as Frank.' + +She looked puzzled. The anomaly of liking nimble boys and crippled +boys at the same time seemed to strike her. Yet she felt it _was_ so, +though it was difficult to explain it. + +'Yes, I _do_ like nimble boys,' she said at last, plucking with her +fingers at a blade of grass she held between her teeth. 'But I think +I like lame boys better, that is if they are--if they are--_you_.' + +I gave an exclamation of delight. But she was two years younger than +I, and scarcely, I suppose, understood it. + +'He is very pretty,' she said meditatively, 'but he has not got +love-eyes like you and Snap, and I don't think I could love any +little boy so very, _very_ much now who wasn't lame.' + +She loved me in spite of my lameness; she loved me because I was +lame, so that if I had not fallen from the cliffs, if I had sustained +my glorious position among the boys of Raxton and Graylingham as +'Fighting Hal.' I might never have won little Winifred's love. Here +was a revelation of the mingled yarn of life, that I remember struck +me even at that childish age. + +I began to think I might, in spite of the undoubted crutches, resume +my old place as the luckiest boy along the sands. She loved me +because I was lame! Those who say that physical infirmity does not +feminise the character have not had my experience. No more talk for +me that morning. In such a mood as that there can be no talk. I sat +in a silent dream, save when a sweet sob of delight would come up +like a bubble from the heaving waters of my soul. I had passed into +that rare and high mood when life's afflictions are turned by love to +life's deepest, holiest joys. I had begun early to learn and know the +gamut of the affections. + +'When, you leave me here and go home to Wales you will never forget +me. Winnie?' + +'Never, never!' she said, as she helped me from the ferns which were +still as wet with dew as though it had been raining. 'I will think of +you every night before I go to sleep, and always end my prayers as I +did that first night after I saw you so lonely in the churchyard.' + +'And how is that, Winnie?' I said, as she adjusted my crutches for +me. + +'After I've said "Amen," I always say, "And, dear Lord Jesus, don't +forget to love dear Henry, who can't get up the gangways without me," +and I will say that every night as long as I live.' + +From that morning I considered her altogether mine. Her speaking of +me as the 'dear little English boy,' however, as she did, marred the +delight her words gave me. I had from the first observed that the +child's strongest passion was a patriotism of a somewhat fiery kind. +The word English in her mouth seemed some-times a word of reproach: +it was the name of the race that in the past had invaded her sacred +Snowdonia. + +I afterwards learnt that her aunt was answerable for this senseless +prejudice. + +'Winnie,' I said, 'don't you wish I was a Welsh boy?' + +'Oh yes,' she said.'Don't you?' I made no answer. + +She looked into my face and said, 'And yet I don't think I could love +a Welsh boy as I love you.' + +She then repeated to me a verse of a Welsh song, which of course I +did not understand a word of until she told me what it meant in +English. + +It was an address to Snowdon, and ran something like this-- + + Mountain-wild Snowdon for me! + Sweet silence there for the harp, + Where loiter the ewes and the lambs + In the moss and the rushes, + Where one's song goes sounding up! + And the rocks re-echo it higher and higher + In the height where the eagles live. + +In this manner about six weeks slid away, and Winnie's visit to her +father came to an end. I ask, how can people laugh at the sorrows of +childhood? The bitterness of my misery as I sat with that child on +the eve of her departure for Wales (which to me seemed at the extreme +end of the earth) was almost on a par with anything I have since +suffered, and that is indeed saying a great deal. It was in Wynne's +cottage, and I sat on the floor with her wet cheeks close to mine, +saying, 'She leaves me alone.' Tom tried to console me by telling me +that Winifred would soon come back. + +'But when?' I said. + +'Next year,' said Tom. + +He might as well have said next century, for any consolation it gave +me. The idea of a year without her was altogether beyond my grasp. It +seemed infinite. + +Week after week passed, and month after month, and little Winifred +was always in my thoughts. Wynne's cottage was a sacred spot to me, +and the organist the most interesting man in the world. I never tired +of asking him questions about her, though he, as I soon found, knew +scarcely anything concerning her and what she was doing, and cared +less; for love of drink had got thoroughly hold of him. + +Letters were scarce visitants to him, and I believe he never used to +hear from Wales at all. + + +V + +At the end of the year she came again, and I had about a year of +happiness. I was with her every day, and every day she grew more +necessary to my existence. + +It was at this time that I made the acquaintance of Winnie's friend +Rhona Boswell, a charming little Gypsy girl. Graylingham Wood and +Rington Wood, like the entire neighbourhood, were favourite haunts of +a superior kind of Gypsies called Griengroes, that is to say, +horse-dealers. Their business was to buy ponies in Wales and sell +them in the Eastern Counties and the East Midlands. Thus it was that +Winnie had known many of the East Midland Gypsies in Wales. Compared +with Rhona Boswell, who was more like a fairy than a child, Winnie +seemed quite a grave little person. Rhona's limbs were always on the +move, and the movement sprang always from her emotions. Her laugh +seemed to ring through the woods like silver bells, a sound that it +was impossible to mistake for any other. The laughter of most Gypsy +girls is full of music and of charm, and yet Rhona's laughter was a +sound by itself, and it was no doubt this which afterwards when she +grew up attracted my kinsman, Percy Aylwin, towards her. It seemed to +emanate not from her throat merely, but from her entire frame. If one +could imagine a strain of merriment and fun blending with the +ecstatic notes of a skylark soaring and singing, one might form some +idea of the laugh of Rhona Boswell. Ah, what days they were! Rhona +would come from Gypsy Dell, a romantic place in Rington Manor some +miles off, especially to show us some newly devised coronet of +flowers that she had been weaving for herself. This induced Winnie to +weave for herself a coronet of sea-weeds, and an entire morning was +passed in grave discussion as to which coronet excelled the other. + +A year had made a great difference in Winnie, a much greater +difference than it had made in me. Her aunt, who was no doubt a +well-informed woman, had been attending to her education. In a single +year she had taught her French so thoroughly that Winnie was in the +midst of Dumas' _Monte Cristo_. And apart from education in the +ordinary acceptation of the word, the expansion of her mind had been +rapid and great. + +Her English vocabulary was now far above mine, far above that of most +children of her age. This I discovered was owing to the fact that a +literary English lady of delicate health, Miss Dalrymple, whose +slender means obliged her to leave the Capel Curig Hotel, had been +staying at the cottage as a lodger. She had taken I the greatest +delight in educating Winnie. Of course Winnie lost as well as gained +by this change. She was a little Welsh rustic no longer, but a little +lady unusually well equipped, as far as education went, for taking +her place in the world. + +She understood fully now what I meant when I told her that we were +betrothed, and again showed that mingling of child-wisdom and poetry +which characterised her by suggesting that we should be married on +Snowdon, and that her wedding-dress should be the green kirtle and +wreath of the fairies, and that her bridesmaids should be her Gypsy +friends, Sinfi Lovell and Rhona Boswell. This I acceded to with +alacrity. + +It was now that I fully realised for the first time her extraordinary +gift of observation and her power of describing what she had observed +in the graphic language that can never be taught save by the teacher +Nature herself. In a dozen picturesque words she would flash upon my +very senses the scene that she was describing. So vividly did she +bring before my eyes the scenery of North Wales, that when at last I +went there it seemed quite familiar to me. And so in describing +individuals, her pictures of them were like photographs. + +Graylingham Wood was our favourite haunt. This place and the +adjoining piece of waste land, called the Wilderness, had for us all +the charms of a primeval forest. Here in the early spring we used to +come and watch the first violet uplifting its head from the dark green +leaves behind the mossy boles, and listen for the first note of the +blackcap, the nightingale's herald, and the first coo of the +wood-pigeons among the bare and newly-budding trees. And here, in the +summer, we used to come as soon as breakfast was over with as many +story-books as we could carry, and sit on the grass and revel in the +wonders of the _Arabian Nights_. the _Tales of the Genii_, and the +_Seven Champions of Christendom_, till all the leafy alleys of the +wood were glittering with armed knights and Sinbads and Aladdins. The +story of Camaralzaman and Badoura was, I think, Winnie's chief +favourite. She could repeat it almost word for word. The idea of the +two lovers being carried to each other by genii through the air and +over the mountain tops had an especial fascination for her. I was +Camaralzaman and she Badoura, and the genii would carry me to her as +she sat by Knockers' Llyn, or, as she called it, Llyn Coblynau, on +the lower slopes of Snowdon. + +But above all, there was the sea on the other side of the wood, of +the presence of which we were always conscious--the sea, of which we +could often catch glimpses between the trees, lending a sense of +freedom and wonder and romance such as no landscape can lend. Our +great difficulty of course was in connection with my lameness. Few +children would have tried to convey a pair of crutches and a lame leg +down the cliff to the long level brown sands that lay, farther than +the eye could reach, stretched beneath miles on miles of brown +crumbling cliffs, whose jagged points and indentations had the kind +of spectral look peculiar to that coast. For, alas! the holy water +Winifred brought did not 'cure the crutches.' Yet we used to master +the difficulty, always selecting the firmer gangway at Flinty Point, +and always waiting, before making the attempt, until there was no one +near to see us toiling down. Once down on the hard sands just below +the Point, we were happy, paddling and enjoying ourselves till the +sunset told us that we must begin our herculean labour of hoisting +the leg and crutches up the gangway back to the wood. I have +performed many athletic feats since my cure, but nothing comparable +to the feat of climbing with crutches up those paths of yielding +sand. Once we found on the sand a newly shot gull. She took it in her +lap and mourned over it. I guessed who was the poor bird's +murderer--her father! + +We knew Nature in all her moods. In every aspect we found the sea, +the wood, and the meadows happy and beautiful--in winter as in +summer, in storm as in sunshine. In the foggy days of November, in +the sharp winds of March, in the snows and sleet and rain of +February, we used to hear other people complain of the bad weather; +we used to hear them fret for change. But we despised them for their +ignorance where we were so learned. There was no bad weather for us. +In March, what so delicious as breasting together the brave wind, and +feeling it tingle our cheeks and beat our ears till we laughed at +each other with joy? In rain, what so delicious as to stand under a +tree or behind a hedge and listen to the drops pattering overhead +among the leaves, and see the fields steaming up to meet them? Then +again the soft falling of snow upon the lonely fields, while the very +sheep looked brown against the whiteness gathering round them. All +beautiful to us two, and beloved! + + + +VI + +'But where was this little boy's mother all this time?' you naturally +ask; 'where was his father? In a word, who was he? and what were his +surroundings?' + +I will answer these queries in as brief a fashion as possible. + +My father, Philip Aylwin, belonged to a branch of an ancient family +which had been satirically named by another branch of the same family +'The Proud Aylwins.' + +It is a singular thing that it was the proud Aylwins who had a +considerable strain of Gypsy blood in their veins. My great-grandfather +had married Fenella Stanley, the famous Gypsy beauty, about whom so +much was written in the newspapers and magazines of that period. She +had previously when a girl of sixteen married a Lovell who died and +left a child. Fenella's portrait in the character of the Sibyl of +Snowdon was painted by the great portrait painter of that time. + +This picture still hangs in the portrait gallery of Raxton Hall. + +As a child it had an immense attraction for me, and no wonder, for it +was original to actual eccentricity. It depicted a dark young woman +of dazzling beauty standing at break of day among mountain scenery, +holding a musical instrument of the guitar kind, but shaped like a +violin, upon the lower strings of which she was playing with the +thumb of the left hand. + +Through the misty air were seen all kinds of shadowy shapes, whose +eyes were fixed on the player. I used to stand and look at this +picture by the hour together, fascinated by the strange beauty of the +singer's face and the mysterious, prophetic expression in the eyes. + +And I used to try to imagine what tune it was that could call from +the mountain air the 'flower sprites' and 'sunshine elves' of morning +on the mountain. + +Fenella Stanley seems in her later life to have set up as a positive +seeress, and I infer from certain family papers and diaries in my +possession that she was the very embodiment of the wildest Romany +beliefs and superstitions. + +I first became conscious of the mysterious links which, bound me to +my Gypsy ancestress by reading one of her letters to my +great-grandfather, who had taught her to write: nothing apparently +could have taught her to spell. It was written during a short stay +she was making away from him in North Wales. It described in the +simplest (and often the most uncouth) words that Nature-ecstasy which +the Romanies seem to feel in the woodlands. It came upon me like a +revelation, for it was the first time I had ever seen embodied in +words the sensations which used to come to me in Graylingham Wood or +on the river that ran through it. After long basking among the +cowslips, or beneath the whispering branches of an elm, whose shade I +was robbing from the staring cows around, or lying on my hack in a +boat on the river, listening to the birds and the insect hum and all +the magic music of summer in the woodlands, I used all at once to +feel as though the hand of a great enchantress were being waved +before me and around me. The wheels of thought would stop; all the +senses would melt into one, and I would float on a tide of +unspeakable joy, a tide whose waves were waves neither of colour, nor +perfume, nor melody, but new waters born of the mixing of these; and +through a language deeper than words and deeper than thoughts, I +would seem carried at last close to an actual consciousness--a +consciousness which, to my childish dreams, seemed drawing me close +to the bosom of a mother whose face would brighten into that of +Feuella. + +My father lived upon moderate means in the little seaside town of +Raxton. My mother was his second wife, a distant cousin of the same +name. She was not one of the 'Proud Aylwins,' and yet she must have +had more pride in her heart than all the 'Proud Aylwins' put +together. Her feeling in relation to the strain of Gypsy blood in the +family into which she had married was that of positive terror. She +associated the word 'Gypsy' with everything that is wild, passionate, +and lawless. + +One great cause undoubtedly of her partiality for Frank and her +dislike of me was that Frank's blue-eyed Saxon face showed no sign +whatever of the Romany strain, while my swarthy face did. + +As I write this, she lives before me with more vividness than my +father, for the reason that her character during my childhood, before +I came to know my father thoroughly--before I came to know what a +marvellous man he was--seemed to be a thousand times more vivid than +his. With her bright grey eyes, her patrician features, I shall see +her while memory lasts. The only differences that ever arose between +my father and my other were connected with the fact that my father +had a former wife. Now and then (not often) my mother would lose her +stoical self-command, and there would come from her an explosion of +jealous anger, stormy and terrible. This was on occasions when she +perceived bat my father's memory retained too vividly the impression +left on it of his love for the wife who was dead--dead, but a rival +still. My father lived in mortal fear of this jealousy. Yet my mother +was a devoted and a fond wife. I remember in especial the flash that +would come from her eyes, the fiery flush that would overspread her +face, whenever she saw my father open certain antique silver casket +which he kept in his escritoire when at home, and carried about with +him when travelling. The casket (I soon learned) contained momentos +of his first wife, between whom and himself there seems to have been +a deep natural sympathy such did not exist between my mother and him. +This first wife he had lost under peculiarly painful circum-stances, +which it is necessary that I should briefly narrate. She had been +drowned before his very eyes that cove beneath the church which I +have already described. + +This semicircular indentation at the end of the peninsula or headland +on which the church stood was specially dangerous in two ways. It was +a fatal spot where sea and land were equally treacherous. On the +sands the tide, and on the cliffs the landslip, imperilled the lives +of the unwary. Half, at least, of the churchyard had been condemned +as 'dangerous,' and this very same spot was the only one on the coast +where the pedestrian along the sands ran any serious risk of being +entrapped by the tide; for the peninsula on which the church stood +jutted out for a considerable distance into the sea, and then was +scooped out in the form of a boot-jack, and so caught the full force +of the waves. One corner, as already mentioned, was called Flinty +Point, the other Needle Point, and between these two points there was +no gangway within the semicircle up the wall of cliff. Indeed, within +the cove the cliff was perpendicular, or rather overhanging, as far +as such crumbling earth would admit of its overhanging. To reach a +gangway, a person inside the cove would have to leave the cliff wall +for the open sands, and pass round either Needle Point or Flinty +Point. Hence the cove was sometimes called Mousetrap Cove, because +when the tide reached so high as to touch these two points, a person +on the sands within the cove was caught as in a mousetrap, and the +only means of extrication was by boat from the sea. It was the +irresistible action of the sea upon the peninsula (called Church +Headland) that had doomed church and churchyard to certain +destruction. + +Dangerous as was this cove, there was something peculiarly +fascinating about it. The black, smooth, undulating boulders that +dotted the sand here and there formed the most delightful seats upon +which to meditate or read. It was a favourite spot with my father's +first wife, who had been a Swiss governess. She was a great reader +and student, but it was not till after her death that my father +became one. The poor lady was fond of bringing her books to the cove, +and pursuing her studies or meditations with the sound of the sea's +chime in her ears. My father, at that time I believe a simple, happy +country squire, but showing strong signs of his Romany ancestry, had +often warned her of the risk she ran, and one day he had the agony of +seeing her from the cliff locked in the cove, and drowning before his +eyes ere a boat could be got, while he and the coastguard stood +powerless to reach her. + +The effect of this shock demented my father for a time. How it was +that he came to marry again I could never understand. During my +childhood he had, as far as I could see, no real sympathy with +anything save his own dreams. In after years I came to know the +truth. He was kind enough in disposition, but he looked upon us, his +children, as his second wife's property, his dreams as his own. Once +every year he used to go to Switzerland and stay there for several +weeks; and, as the object of these journeys was evidently to revisit +the old spots made sacred to him by reminiscences of his romantic +love for his first wife, it may he readily imagined that they were +not looked upon with any favour by my mother. She never accompanied +him on these occasions, nor would she let Frank do so--another proof +of the early partiality she showed for my brother. As I was of less +importance, my father (previous to my accident) used to take me, to +my intense delight and enjoyment; but during the period of my +lameness he went to Switzerland alone. + +It was during one of my childish visits to Switzerland that I learnt +an important fact in connection with my father and his first +wife--the fact that since her death he had become a mystic and had +joined a certain sect of mystics founded by Lavater. + +This is how I came to know it. My attention had been arrested by a +book lying on my father's writing-table--a large book called '_The +Veiled Queen_, by Philip Aylwin'--and I began to read it. The +statements therein were of an astounding kind, and the idea of a +beautiful woman behind a veil completely fascinated my childish mind. +And the book was full of the most amazing stories collected from all +kinds of outlandish sources. One story, called 'The Flying Donkey of +the Ruby Hills,' riveted my attention so much that it possessed me, +and even now I feel that I can repeat every word of it. It was a +story of a donkey-driver, who, having lost his wife Alawiyah, went +and lived alone in the ruby hills of Badakhshan, where the Angel of +Memory fashioned for him out of his own sorrow and tears an image of +his wife. This image was mistaken by a townsman named Hasan for his +own wife, and Ja'afar was summoned before the Ka'dee. Afterwards, +when _The Veiled Queen_ came into my possession, I noticed that this +story was quoted for motto on the title-page: + +'Then quoth the Ka'dee, laughing until his grinders appeared: +"Rather, by Allah, would I take all the punishment thou dreadest, +thou most false donkey-driver of the Ruby Hills, than believe this +story of thine--this mad, mad story, that she with whom thou wast +seen was not the living wife of Hasan here (as these four legal +witnesses have sworn), but thine own dead spouse, Alawiyah, +refashioned for thee by the Angel of Memory out of thine own sorrow +and unquenchable fountain of tears." + +'Quoth Ja'afar, bowing low his head: "Bold is the donkey-driver, +O Ka'dee! and bold the Ka'dee who dares say what he will believe, +what disbelieve--not knowing in any wise the mind of Allah--not +knowing in any wise his own heart and what it shall some day +suffer."' + +This story so absorbed me that when my father re-entered the house +I was perfectly unconscious of his presence. He took the book from +me, saying that it was not a book for children. It possessed my mind +for some days. What I had read in it threw light upon certain +conversations in French and German which I had heard between my +father and his Swiss friends, and the fact gradually dawned upon me +that he believed himself to be in direct communication with the +spirit of his dead wife. This so acted upon my imagination that I +began to feel that she was actually alive, though invisible. I told +Frank when I got home that we had another mother in Switzerland, and +that I our father went to Switzerland to see her. + +Having at that time a passionate love for my mother (a love none the +less passionate because somewhat coldly returned), I felt great anger +against this resuscitated rival; but Frank only laughed and called me +a stupid little fool. + +Luckily Frank forgot my story in a minute, and it never reached my +mother's ears. + +I Some years after this an odd incident occurred. The I idea of a +veiled lady had, as I say, fascinated me. One Raxton fair-day I +induced Winnie to be photographed on the sands, wearing a crown of +sea-flowers in imitation of Rhona Boswell's famous wild-flower +coronet, and a necklace of seaweed, with Frank and another boy +lifting from her head a long white veil of my mother's. My father +accidentally saw this photograph, and was so taken with it that he +adorned the title-page of the third edition of _The Veiled Queen_ +with a small woodcut of it. + +These vagaries of my father's had an influence upon my destiny of the +most tragic, yet of the most fantastic kind. + +He had the reputation, I believe, of being one of the most learned +mystics of his time. He was a fair Hebrew scholar, and also had a +knowledge of Sanscrit, Arabic, and Persian. His passion for philology +was deep-rooted. He was a no less ardent numismatist. Moreover, he +was deeply versed in amulet-lore. He wrote a treatise upon 'amulets' +and their inscriptions. All this was after the death of his first +wife. He had a large collection of amulets, Gnostic gems, and +abraxas stones. That he really believed in the virtue of amulets will +be pretty clearly seen as my narrative proceeds. Indeed, the subject +of amulets and love-tokens became a mania with him. After his death +it was said that his collection of amulets, Egyptian, Gnostic, and +other, was rarer, and his collection of St. Helena coins larger, +than any other collection in England. + +Though my mother did not know of the spiritualistic orgies in +Switzerland, she knew that my father was a spiritualist. And this +vexed her, not only because she conceived it to be visionary folly, +but because it was 'low.' She knew that it led him to join a +newly-formed band of Latter-Day mystics which had been organised at +Raxton, but luckily she did not know that through them he believed +himself to be holding communication with his first wife. The members +of this body were tradespeople of the town, and I quite think that in +my mother's eyes all tradespeople were low. + +As to her indifference towards me,--that is easily explained. I was +an incorrigible little bohemian by nature. She despaired of ever +changing me. During several years this indifference distressed me, +though it in no way diminished my affection for her. At last, +however, I got accustomed to it and accepted it as inevitable. But +the remarkable thing was that Frank's affection for his mother was of +the most languid kind. He was an open-hearted boy, and never took +advantage of my mother's favouritism. Thus I was left entirely to my +own resources. My little love-idyl with Winifred was for a long time +unknown to my mother, and no amount of ocular demonstration could +have made it known (in such a dream was he) to my father. + +On one occasion, however, my mother, having been struck by her beauty +at church, told Wynne to bring her to the house, little thinking what +she was doing. Accordingly, Winifred came one evening and charmed my +mother, charmed the entire household, by her grace of manner. My +mother, upon whom what she called 'style' made a far greater +impression than anything else, pronounced her to be a perfect little +lady, and I heard her remark that she wondered how the child of such +a scapegrace as Wynne could have been so reared. + +Unfortunately I was not old enough to disguise the transports of +delight that set my heart beating and my crippled limbs trembling as +I saw Winifred gliding like a fairy about the house and gardens, and +petted even by my proud and awful mother. My mother did not fail to +notice this, and before long she had got from Frank the history of +our little loves, and even of the 'cripple water' from St. Winifred's +Well. I partly heard what Frank was telling her, and I was the only +one to notice the expression of displeasure that overspread her +features. She did not, however, show it to the child, but she never +invited her there again, and from that evening was much more vigilant +over my movements, lest I should go to Wynne's cottage. I still, +however, continued to meet Winifred in Graylingham Wood during her +stay with her father; and at last, when she again left me, I felt +desolate indeed. + +I wrote her a letter, and took it to him to address. He was very fond +of showing his penmanship, which was remarkably good. He had indeed +been well educated, though from his beer-house associations he had +entirely caught the rustic accent. I saw him address it, and took it +myself to the post-office at Rington, where I was not so well known +as at Raxton, but I never got any reply. + +And who was Tom Wynne? Though the organist of the new church at +Raxton, and custodian of the old deserted church on the cliffs, he +was the local ne'er-do-well, drunkard, and scapegrace. He was, +however, a well-connected man, reduced to his present position by +drink. He had lived in Raxton until he returned to Wales, which was +his birthplace--having obtained there some appointment the nature of +which I never could understand. In Wales he had got married; and +there his wife had died shortly after the birth of Winnie. It was no +doubt through his intemperate habits that he lost his post in Wales. +It was then that he again came to Raxton, leaving the child with his +sister-in-law. + +Raxton stands on that part of the coast where the land-springs most +persistently disintegrate the hills and render them helpless against +the ravages of the sea. Perhaps even within the last few centuries +the spot called Mousetrap Cove, scooped out of the peninsula on which +the old church stands, was dry land. The old Raxton church at the end +of this peninsula had, not many years since, to be deserted for a new +one, lest it should some day carry its congregation with it when it +slides, as it soon will slide, into the sea. But as none had dared to +pull down the old church, a custodian had to be found who for a +pittance would take charge of it and of the important monuments it +contains. Such a custodian was found in Wynne, who lived in the +cottage already described on the Wilderness Road. Along this road +(which passed both the new church and the old) I was frequently +journeying, and Wynne's tall burly form and ruddy face were, even +before I knew Winnie, a certain comfort to me. + +He was said to be the last remnant of an old family that once owned +much land in the neighbourhood, and he was still the recipient of a +small pension. My father used to say that Wynne's family was even +exceptionally good, that it laid claim to being descended from a +still older Welsh family. But my mother scorned the idea, and always +treated the organist as belonging to the lower classes. It was Wynne +who had taught me swimming. It was really he, and not my groom, who +had taught me how to ride a horse along the low-tide sands so as not +to distress him or damage his feet. + +It was about this time that my uncle Aylwin of Alvanley, my mother's +brother, who had quarrelled with her, became reconciled to her, and +came to Raxton. He at once recommended that a friend of his, a famous +London surgeon, should he consulted about my lameness. I accordingly +went with him to London to be placed under the treatment of the +eminent man. Had this been done earlier, what a world of suffering +might have been spared me! The man of science pronounced my ailment +to be quite curable. + +He performed an operation upon the leg, and after a long and careful +course of treatment in town, advised that I should go to Margate for +a long stay, and avail myself of that change of air. I went, +accompanied by my mother and brother, and stayed there several +months. My father used to come to see us once a month or so, stay for +a week, and then go back. + +I now wrote another letter to Winifred, and after a long delay, got a +reply, but it consisted mainly of descriptions of the way in which +she paddled in the Welsh brooks and of lessons in the shawl-dance +which she was taking from Shuri Lovell, the mother of her Gypsy +friend. So vividly did she describe these lessons that her pictures +haunted me. I wrote in reply to this a letter burning with my +ever-growing love, but to this I got no reply. + +As the surgeon had prophesied, I made such advance that I was after a +while able to walk with tolerable ease without my crutches, by the +aid of a walking-stick; and as time went on, the tonic effect of +Margate air, aiding the remedies prescribed by the surgeon, worked +such a change in me that I was pronounced well, and the doctor said I +might return home. I returned to Raxton a cripple no longer. + +I returned cured. I say. But how entangled is this web of our life! +How almost impossible is it that good should come unmixed with evil, +or evil unmixed with good! At Margate, where the bracing air did +more, I doubt not, towards my restoration to health than all the +medicines,--at Margate my brother drank in his death-poison. + +During the very last days of our stay he caught scarlet fever. In a +fortnight he was dead. The shock to me was very severe. It laid my +mother prostrate for months. + +I was now by the death of Frank the representative of our branch of +the family, and a little fellow of uncomfortable importance. My uncle +Aylwin of Alvanley. being childless, was certain to leave me his +large estates, for he had dropped entirely away from the Aylwins of +Rington Manor, and also from the branch of the Aylwin family +represented by my kinsman Cyril. + + + +II + +THE MOONLIGHT CROSS OF THE GNOSTICS + + +I + +My mother had some prejudice against a public school, and I was sent +to a large and important private one at Cambridge. + +And go, with Winifred on my mind, I went one damp winter's morning to +Dullingham, our nearest railway station, on my way to Cambridge. + +As concerns my school-days, I feel that all that will interest the +reader is this: as I rode through mile upon mile of the flat, +wide-stretching country, I made to myself a vow in connection with +Winifred,--a vow that when I left school I would do a certain thing +in relation to her, though Fate itself should say, 'This thing shall +not be done.' I did not know then, as I know now, how weak is human +will enmeshed in that web of Circumstance that has been a-weaving +since the beginning of the world. + +I left school without the slightest notion as to what my future +course in life was to be. I was to take my rich uncle's property. +That was understood now. And although my mother never talked of the +matter, I could see in the pensive gaze she bent on me an +ever-present consciousness of a future for me more golden still. + +But now I formed a new intimacy, and one of a very singular kind--an +intimacy with my father, who suddenly woke up to the fact that I was +no longer a child. It occurred on my making some pertinent inquiries +about a certain Gnostic amulet representing the Gorgon's head, a +prize of which he had lately become the happy possessor. On his +telling me that the Arabic word for amulet was _hamalet_, and that +the word meant 'that which is suspended,' I said in a perfectly +thoughtless way that very likely one of the learned societies to +which he belonged might be able to trace some connection between +'hamalet' and the 'Hamlet' of Shakespeare. These idle and ignorant +words of mine fell, as I found, upon a mind ripe to receive them. He +looked straight before him at the bust of Shakespeare on the +bookshelves as he always looked when his rudderless imagination was +once well launched, and I heard him mutter, 'Hamlet--the Amleth of +Saxo-Grammaticus,--hamalet, "that which is suspended." The world, to +Hamlet's metaphysical mind, _was_ "suspended" in the wide region of +Nowhere--in an infinite ocean of Nothing. Why did I not think of this +before? Strange that this child should hit upon it.' Then looking at +me as though he had just seen me for the first time in his life, he +said. 'How old are you, child?' 'Eighteen, father, I said. 'Eighteen +_years_?' he asked. 'Yes, father,' I said with some pique. 'Did you +suppose I meant eighteen months?' 'Only eighteen years,' he muttered, +'a mere baby, in short; and yet he has hit upon what we +Shakespearians have been boggling over for many year?--the symbolical +meaning involved in Hamlet's name. Henry, I prophesy great things for +you.' + +An intimacy was cemented between us at once. One of the results of +this conversation was my father's elaborate paper, read before one of +his societies, in which he maintained that Shakespeare's _Hamlet_ was +a metaphysical poem, the great central idea of which was involved in +the name Hamlet, Amleth, or Hamalet--the idea that the universe, +suspended in the wide region of Nowhere, lies, an amulet, upon the +breast of the Great Latona,--a paper that was the basis of his +reputation in 'the higher criticism.' + +Shortly after this my father and I spent the autumn in various parts +of Switzerland. One night, when we were sitting outside the chalet in +the full light of the moon, I was the witness of a display of passion +on the part of one whom I had always considered to be a dreamy +book-worm--a passionless, eccentric mystic--that simply amazed me. A +flickering tongue from the central fires suddenly breaking up through +the soil of an English vegetable garden could hardly have been a more +unexpected phenomenon to me than what occurred on that memorable +night. + +The incident I am going to relate showed me how rash it is to suppose +that you have really fathomed the personality of any human creature. +The mementos of his first wife, which accompanied him whithersoever +he went, absorbed his attention in Switzerland, and especially in the +little place where she was born, far more than they had done at home. +He was for ever peeping furtively into his escritoire to enjoy the +sight of them, and then looking over his shoulder to see if he was +being watched by my mother, though she was far away in Raxton Hall. +On the night in question he showed me the silver casket containing +certain of these mementos--mementos which I felt to be almost too +intimate to be shown even to his son. + +'And now, Henry,' said he, 'I am going to show you something that no +one else has ever seen since she died--the most sacred possession I +have upon this earth.' He then opened his shirt and his vest, and +showed me lying upon his naked bosom a beautiful jewelled cross of a +considerable size. 'This,' said he, lifting it up, 'is an ancient +Gnostic amulet. It is called the "Moonlight Cross" of the Gnostics. I +gave it to her on the night of our betrothal. She was a Roman +Catholic. It is made of precious stones cut in facets, with rubies +and diamonds and beryls so cunningly set that, when the moonlight +falls on them, the cross flashes almost as brilliantly as when the +sunlight falls on them and is kindled into living fire. These +deep-coloured crimson rubies--almost as clear as diamonds--are not of +the ordinary kind. They are true "Oriental rubies," and the jewellers +would tell you that the mine which produced them has been lost during +several centuries. But look here when I lift it up; the most +wonderful feature of the jewel is the skill with which the diamonds +are cut. The only shapes generally known are what are called the +"brilliant" and the "rose," but here the facets are arranged in an +entirely different way, and evidently with the view of throwing light +into the very hearts of the rubies, and producing this peculiar +radiance.' + +He lifted the amulet again (which was suspended from his neck by a +beautifully worked cord made of soft brown hair) into the rays from +the moon. The light the jewel emitted was certainly of a strange and +fascinating kind. The cross had been worn with the jewelled front +upon his bosom instead of the smooth back, and the sharp facets of +the cross had lacerated the scarred flesh underneath in a most cruel +manner. He saw me shudder and understood why. + +'Oh, I like that!' he said, with an ecstatic smile. 'I like to feel +it constantly on my bosom. It cannot cut deep enough for me. This is +her hair,' he said, taking the hair-cord between his fingers and +kissing it. + +'How do you manage to exist, father,' I said, 'with that heavy +sharp-edged jewel on your breast? you who cannot bear the gout with +patience?' + +'Exist? I could not exist _without_ it. The gout is pain--this is not +pain; it is joy, bliss, heaven! When I am dead it must lie for ever +on my breast as it lies now, or I shall never rest in my grave.' He +had been talking about amulets in the most quiet and matter-of-fact +way during that morning; but the I moment he produced this cross a +strange change came over his face, something like the change that +will come over a dull wood-fire when blown by the wind into a bright +light of flame. + +'Ha!' he muttered to himself, as his eyes widened and sparkled with a +look of intense eagerness and his hand shook, sending the light of +the beautiful jewel all about the room, 'it is a sad pity he was not +her son. How I should have loved him then! I like him now very much; +but how I should have loved him then, for he is a brave boy. Oh, if I +had only been born brave like him!' Then, suddenly recollecting +himself, he closed his vest, and said: 'Don't tell your mother, Hal; +don't tell your mother that I have shown you this.' Then he took it +out again. 'She who is dead cherished it,' he continued, half to +himself--'she cherished it above all things. She died, boy, and I +couldn't help her. She used to wear the cross in the bosom of her +dress; and there she was in the cove kissing it when the tide swept +over her. I ought to have jumped down and died with her. _You_ would +have done it, Hal; your eyes say so. Oh, to be an Aylwin without the +Aylwin courage!' + +After a little time he said: 'This has lain on her bosom, Hal, her +bosom! It has been kissed by her, Hal, oh, a thousand thousand times! +It had her last kiss. When I took it from the cold body which had +been recovered, this cross seemed to be warm with her life and love.' + +And then he wept, and his tears fell thick upon his bosom and upon +the amulet. The truth was clear enough now. The appalling death of +his first wife, his love for her, and his remorse for not having +jumped down the cliff and died with her, had affected his brain. He +was a monomaniac, and all his thoughts were in some way clustered +round the dominant one. He had studied amulets because the 'Moonlight +Cross' had been cherished by her; he came to Switzerland every year +because it was associated with her; he had joined the spiritualist +body in the mad hope that perhaps there might be something in it, +perhaps there might be a power that could call her back to earth. +Even the favourite occupation of his life, visiting cathedrals and +churches and taking rubbings from monumental brasses, had begun +after her death; it had come from the fact (as I soon learned) that +she had taken interest in monumental brasses, and had begun the +collection of rubbings. + +And yet this martyr to a mighty passion bore the character of a +dreamy student; and his calm, un-furrowed face, on common occasions, +expressed nothing but a rather dull kind of content! Here was a +revelation of what, afterwards, was often revealed to me, that human +personality is the crowning wonder of this wonderful universe, and +that the forces which turn fire-mist into stars are not more +inscrutable than is human character. He lifted up his head and gazed +at me through his tears. + +'Hal,' he said, 'do you know why I have shown you this? It _must_, +MUST be buried with me at my death; and there is no one upon whose +energy, truth, courage, and strength of will I can rely as I can upon +yours. You must give me your word, Hal, that you will see it and this +casket containing her letters buried with me.' + +I hesitated to become a party to such an undertaking as this. It +savoured of superstition, I thought. Now, having at that very time +abandoned all the superstitions and all the mystical readings of the +universe which as a child I had inherited from ancestors, Romany and +English, having at that very time begun to take a delight in the +wonderful revelations of modern science, my attitude towards +superstition--towards all super-naturalism--oscillated between anger +and simple contempt. + +'But,' I said, 'you surely will not have this beautiful old cross +buried?' And as I looked at it, and the light fell upon it, there +came from it strange flashes of fire, showing with what extraordinary +skill the rubies and diamonds had been adjusted so that their facets +should catch and concentrate the rays of the moon. + +'Yes,' he said, taking the cross again in his hand and fondling it +passionately, 'it must never be possessed by any one after me.' + +'But it might be stolen, father--stolen from your coffin.' + +'That would indeed he a disaster,' he said with a shudder. Then a +look of deadly vengeance overspread his face and brought out all its +Romany characteristics as he said: 'But with it there will be buried +a curse written in Hebrew and English--a curse upon the despoiler, +which will frighten off any thief who is in his senses.' + +And he showed me a large parchment scroll, folded exactly like a +title-deed, with the following curse and two verses from the 109th +Psalm written upon it in Hebrew and English. The English version +was carefully printed by himself in large letters:-- + + + 'He who shall violate this tomb.--he who shall steal this amulet, + hallowed as a love-token between me and my dead wife,--he who shall + dare to lay a sacrilegious hand upon this cross, stands cursed by + God. cursed by love, and cursed by me. Philip Aylwin, lying here. + + "Let there be no man to pity him, nor to have compassion upon his + fatherless children.... Let his children be vagabonds, and beg + their bread; let them seek it also out of desolate places." Psalm + cix. So saith the Lord. Amen.' + + +'I have printed the English version in large letters,' he said, 'so +that any would-be despoiler must see it and read it at once by the +dimmest lantern light.' + +'But, father,' I said, 'is it possible that you, an educated man, +really believe in the efficacy of a curse?' + +'If the curse comes straight from the heart's core of a man, as this +curse comes from mine, Hal, how can it fail to operate by the mere +force of will? The curse of a man who loved as I love upon the wretch +who should violate a love-token so sacred as this--why, the +disembodied spirits of all who have loved and suffered would combine +to execute it!' + +'Spirits!' I said. 'Really, father, in times like these to talk of +spirits!' + +'Ah, Henry!' he replied, 'I was like you once. I could once be +content with Materialism--I could find it supportable once; but, +should you ever come to love as I have loved (and, for your own +happiness, child, I hope you never may), you will And that +Materialism is intolerable, is hell itself, to the heart that has +known a passion like mine. You will And that it is madness, Hal, +madness, to believe in the word "never"! you will And that you +_dare_ not leave untried any creed, howsoever wild, that offers +the heart a ray of hope. Every object she cherished has become +spiritualised, sublimated, has become alive--alive as this amulet +is alive. See, the lights are no natural lights.' And again he held +it up. + +'If on my death-bed,' he continued, 'I thought that this beloved +cross and these sacred relics would ever get into other hands--would +ever touch other flesh--than mine, I should die a maniac, Hal, and my +spirit would never be released from the chains of earth.' It was the +superstitious tone of his talk that irritated and hardened me. He saw +it, and a piteous expression overspread his features. + +'Don't desert your poor father,' he said. 'What I want is the word +of an Aylwin that those beloved relics shall be buried with me. If I +had _that_, I should be content to live, and content to die. Oh, +Hal!' + +He threw such an imploring gaze into my face as he said 'Oh, Hal!' +that, reluctant as I was to be mixed up with superstition, I promised +to execute his wishes; I promised also to keep the secret from all +the world during his life, and after his death to share it with those +two only from whom, for family reasons, it could not be kept--my +uncle Aylwin of Alvanley and my mother. He then put away the amulet, +and his face resumed the look of placid content it usually wore. He +was feeling the facets of the mysterious 'Moonlight Cross'! + +The most marvellous thing is this, however: his old relations towards +me were at once resumed. He never alluded to the subject of his first +wife again, and I soon found it difficult to believe that the +conversation just recorded ever took place at all. Evidently his +monomania only rose up to a passionate expression when fanned into +sudden flame by talking about the cross. It was as though the shock +of his first wife's death had severed his consciousness and his life +in twain. + + + +II + +Naturally this visit to Switzerland cemented our intimacy, and it +was on our return home that he suggested my accompanying him on one +of his 'rubbing expeditions.' + +'Henry,' he said, 'your mother has of late frequently discussed with +me the question of your future calling in life. She suggests a +Parliamentary career. I confess that I find questions about careers +exceedingly disturbing.' + +'There is only one profession I should like, father,' I said, 'and +that is a painter's.' In fact, the passion for painting had come on +me very strongly of late. My dreams had from the first been of +wandering with Winnie in a paradise of colour, and these dreams had +of late been more frequent: the paradise of colour had been growing +richer and rarer. + +He shook his head gravely and said, 'No, my dear; your mother would +never allow it.' + +'Why not?' I said; 'is painting low too?' + +'Cyril Aylwin is low, at least so your mother and aunt say, especially +your aunt. I have not perceived it myself, but then your mother's +perceptive faculties are extraordinary--quite extraordinary.' + +'Did the lowness come from his being a painter, father?' I asked. + +'Really, child, you are puzzling me. But I have observed you now for +some weeks, and I quite believe that you would make one of the best +rubbers who ever held a ball. I am going to Salisbury next week, and +you shall then make your _debut_.' + +This was in the midst of a very severe winter we had some years ago, +when all Europe was under a coating of ice. + +'But, father,' I said, 'shan't we find it rather cold?' + +'Well,' said my father, with a bland smile, 'I will not pretend that +Salisbury Cathedral is particularly warm in this weather, but in +winter I always rub in knee-caps and mittens. I will tell Hodder to +knit you a full set at once.' + +'But, father,' I said, 'Tom Wynne tells me that rubbing is the most +painful of all occupations. He even goes so far sometimes as to say +that it was the exhaustion of rubbing for you which turned him to +drink.' + +'Nothing of the kind,' said my father. 'All that Tom needed to make +him a good rubber was enthusiasm. I am strongly of opinion that +without enthusiasm rubbing is of all occupations the most irksome, +except perhaps for the quadrumana (who seem more adapted for this +exercise), the most painful for the spine, the most cramping for the +thighs, the most numbing for the fingers. It is a profession, Henry, +demanding, above every other, enthusiasm in the operator. Now Tom's +enthusiasm for rubbing as an art was from the first exceedingly +feeble.' + +I was on the eve of revolting, but I remembered what there was +lacerating his poor breast, and consented. And when I heard hints of +our 'working the Welsh churches' my sudden enthusiasm for the +rubber's art astonished even my father. + +'My dear,' he said to my mother at dinner one day, 'what do you +think? Henry has developed quite a sudden passion for rubbing.' + +I saw an expression of perplexity and mystification overspread my +mother's sagacious face. + +'And in the spring,' continued my father, 'we are going into Wales +to rub.' + +'Into Wales, are you?' said my mother, in a tone of that soft voice +whose meaning I knew so well. + +My thoughts were continually upon Winifred, now that I was alone in +the familiar spots. I had never seen her nor heard from her since we +parted as children. She had only known me as a cripple. What would +she think of me now? Did she ever think of me? She had not answered +my childish letter, and this had caused me much sorrow and +perplexity. + +We did not go into Wales after all. But the result of this +conversation took a shape that amazed me. I was sent to stay with my +Aunt Prue in London in order that I might attend one of the Schools +of Art. Yes, my mother thought it was better for me even to run the +risk of becoming bohemianised like Cyril Aylwin, than to brood over +Winnie or the scenes that were associated with our happy childhood. + +In London I was an absolute stranger. We had no town house. On the +few occasions when the family had gone to London, it was to stay in +Belgrave Square with my Aunt Prue, who was an unmarried sister of my +mother's. + +'Since the death of the Prince Consort, to go no further back,' she +used to say, 'a dreadful change has come over the tone of society; +the love of bohemianism, the desire to take up any kind of people, if +they are amusing, and still more if they are rich, is levelling +everything. However, I'm nobody now; I say nothing.' + +What wonder that from my very childhood my aunt took a prejudice +against me, and predicted for me a career 'as deplorable as Cyril +Aylwin's,' and sympathised with my mother in her terror of the Gypsy +strain in my father's branch of the family? + +Her tastes and instincts being intensely aristocratic, she suffered a +martyrdom from her ever present consciousness of this disgrace. She +had seen very much more of what is called Society than my mother had +ever an opportunity of seeing. It was not, however, aristocracy, but +Royalty that won the true worship of her soul. + +Although she was immeasurably inferior to my mother in everything, +her influence over her was great, and it was always for ill. I +believe that even my mother's prejudice against Tom Wynne was largely +owing to my aunt, who disliked my relations towards Wynne simply +because he did not represent one of the great Wynne families. But the +remarkable thing was that, although my mother thus yielded to my +aunt's influence, she in her heart despised her sister's ignorance +and her narrowness of mind. She often took a humorous pleasure in +seeing my aunt's aristocratic proclivities baffled by some vexing +_contretemps_ or by some slight passed upon her by people of superior +rank, especially by those in the Royal circle. + +There have been so many descriptions of art schools, from the famous +'Gandish's' down to the very moment at which I write, that I do not +intend to describe mine. + +It would be very far from my taste to use a narrative like this, a +narrative made sacred by the spiritual love it records, as a means of +advertising efforts of such modest pretensions as mine when placed in +comparison with the work of the illustrious painters my friendship +with whom has been the great honour of my life. And if I allude here +to the fact of my being a painter, it is in order that I may not be +mistaken for another Aylwin. my cousin Percy, who in some unpublished +poems of his which I have seen has told how a sailor was turned into +a poet by love--love of Rhona Boswell. In the same way, these pages +are written to tell how I was made a painter by love of her whom I +first saw in Raxton churchyard, her who filled my being as Beatrice +filled the being of Dante when 'the spirit of life, which hath its +dwelling in the secretest chamber of the heart, began to tremble so +violently that the least pulses of his body shook therewith.' + + + +III + +Time went by, and I returned to Raxton. Just when I had determined +that, come what would, I would go into Wales, Wynne one day told me +that Winnie was coming to live with him at Raxton, her aunt having +lately died. 'The English lady,' said he, 'who lived with them so +long and eddicated Winifred, has gone to live at Carnarvon to get the +sea air.' + +This news was at once a joy and a perplexity. + +Wynne, though still the handsomest and finest man in Raxton, had sunk +much lower in intemperance of late. He now generally wound up a +conversation with me by a certain stereotyped allusion to the dryness +of the weather, which I perfectly understood to mean that he felt +thirsty, and that an offer of half-a-crown for beer would not be +unacceptable. He was a proud man in everything except in reference to +beer. But he seemed to think there was no degradation in asking for +money to get drunk with, though to have asked for it to buy bread +would, I suppose, have wounded his pride. I did not then see so +clearly as I now do the wrong of giving him those half-crowns. His +annuity he had long since sold. + +Spite of all his delinquencies, however, my father liked him; so did +my uncle Aylwin of Alvanley. But my mother seemed positively to hate +him. It was the knowledge of this that caused my anxiety about +Winifred's return. I felt that complications must arise. + +At this time I used to go to Dullingham every day. The clergyman +there was preparing me for college. + +On the Sunday following the day when I got such momentous news from +Wynne, I was met suddenly, as my mother and I were leaving the church +after the service, by the gaze of a pair of blue eyes that arrested +my steps as by magic, and caused the church and the churchgoers to +vanish from my sight. + +The picture of Winifred that had dwelt in my mind so long was that of +a beautiful child. The radiant vision of the girl before me came on +me by surprise and dazzled me. Tall and slim she was now, but the +complexion had not altered at all; the eyes seemed young and +childlike as ever. + +When our eyes met she blushed, then turned pale, and took hold of the +top of a seat near which she was standing. She came along the aisle +close to us, gliding and slipping through the crowd, and passed out +of the porch. My mother had seen my agitation, and had moved on in a +state of haughty indignation. I had no room, however, at that moment +for considerations of any person but one. I hurried out of the +church, and, following Winifred, grasped her gloved hand. + +'Winifred, you are come,' I said; 'I have been longing to see you.' + +She again turned pale and then blushed scarlet. Next she looked down +me as if she had expected to see something which she did not see, and +when her eyes were upraised again something in them gave me a strange +fancy that she was disappointed to miss my crutches. + +'Why didn't you write to me from Wales, Winifred? Why didn't you +answer my letter years ago?' + +She hesitated, then said, + +'My aunt wouldn't let me, sir.' + +'Wouldn't let you answer it! and why?' + +Again she hesitated-- + +'I--I don't know, sir.' + +'You _do_ know, Winifred. I see that you know, and you shall tell me. +Why didn't your aunt let you answer my letter?' + +Winifred's eyes looked into mine beseechingly. Then that light of +playful humour, which I remembered so well, shot like a sunbeam +across and through them as she replied-- + +'My aunt said we must both forget our pretty dream.' + +Almost before the words were out, however, the sunbeam fled from her +eyes and was replaced by a look of terror. I now perceived that my +mother, in passing to the carriage, had lingered on the gravel-path +close to us, and had, of course, overheard the dialogue. She passed +on with a look of hate. I thought it wise to bid Winifred good-bye +and join my mother. + +As I stepped into the carriage I turned round and saw that Winifred +was again looking wistfully at some particular part of me--looking +with exactly that simple, frank, 'objective' expression with which I +was familiar. + +'I knew it was the crutches she missed,' I said to myself as I sat +down by my mother's side; 'she'll have to love me now because I am +_not_ lame.' + +I also knew something else: I must prepare for a conflict with my +mother. My father, at this time in Switzerland, had written to say +that he had been suffering acutely from an attack of what he called +'spasms.' He had 'been much subject to them of late, but no one +considered them to be really dangerous.' + +During luncheon I felt that my mother's eyes were on me. After it was +over she went to her room to write in answer to my father's letter, +and then later on she returned to me. + +'Henry,' she said, 'my overhearing the dialogue in the churchyard +between you and Wynne's daughter was, I need not pay, quite +accidental, but it is perhaps fortunate that I did overhear it.' + +'Why fortunate, mother? You simply heard her say that her aunt in +Wales had forbidden her to answer a childish letter of mine written +years ago.' + +'In telling you which, the girl, I must say, proclaimed her aunt to +be an exceedingly sensible and well-conducted woman,' said my mother. + +'On that point, mother,' I said, 'you must allow me to hold a +different opinion. I, for my part, should have said that Winifred's +story proclaimed her aunt to be a worthy member of a flunkey society +like this of ours--a society whose structure, political and moral and +religious, is based on an adamantine rock of paltry snobbery.' + +It was impossible to restrain my indignation. + +'I am aware, Henry,' replied my mother calmly, 'that it is one of the +fashions of the hour for young men of family to adopt the language of +Radical newspapers. In a country like this the affectation does no +great harm, I grant, and my only serious objection to it is that it +implies in young men of one's own class a lack of originality which +is a little humiliating. I am aware that your cousin, Percy Aylwin, +of Rington Manor, used to talk in the same strain as this, and ended +by joining the Gypsies. But I came to warn you, Henry, I came to urge +you not to injure this poor girl's reputation by such scenes as that +I witnessed this morning.' + +I remained silent. The method of my mother's attack had taken me by +surprise. Her sagacity was so much greater than mine, her power of +fence was so much greater, her stroke was so much deadlier, that in +all our encounters I had been conquered. + +'It is for the girl's own sake that I speak to you,' continued my +mother. 'She was deeply embarrassed at your method of address, and +well she might be, seeing that it will be, for a long time to come, +the subject of discussion in all the beer-houses which her father +frequents.' + +'You speak as though she were answerable for her father's faults,' I +said, with heat. + +'No,' said my mother; 'but _your_ father is the owner of Raxton Hall, +which to her and her class is a kind of Palace of the Caesars. You +belong to a family famous all along the coast; you are well known to +be the probable heir of one of the largest landowners in England; you +may be something more important still; while she, poor girl, what is +she that you should rush up to her before all the churchgoers of the +parish and address her as Winifred? The daughter of a penniless, +drunken reprobate. Every attention you pay her is but a slur upon her +good name.' + +'There is not a lady in the county worthy to unlace her shoes,' I +cried, unguardedly. Then I could have bitten off my tongue for saying +so. + +'That may be,' said my mother, with the quiet irony peculiar to her; +'but so monstrous are the customs of England, Henry, so barbaric is +this society you despise, that she, whose shoes no lady in the county +is worthy to unlace, is in an anomalous position. Should she once +again be seen talking familiarly with you, her character will have +fled, and fled for ever. It is for you to choose whether you are set +upon ruining her reputation.' + +I felt that what she said was true. I felt also that Winifred herself +had recognised the net of conventions that kept us apart in spite of +that close and tender intimacy which had been the one great fact of +our lives. In a certain sense I was far more of a child of Nature +than Winifred herself, inasmuch as, owing to my remarkable childish +experience of isolation, I had imbibed a scepticism about the +sanctity of conventions such as is foreign to the nature of woman, be +she ever so unsophisticated, as Winifred's shyness towards me had +testified. + +As a child I had been neglected for the firstborn, I had enjoyed +through this neglect an absolute freedom with regard to associating +with fisher-boys and all the shoeless, hatless 'sea-pups' of the +sands, and now, when the time had come to civilise me, my mother had +found that it was too late. I was bohemian to the core. My childish +intercourse with Winifred had been one of absolute equality, and I +could not now divest myself of this relation. These were my thoughts +as I listened to my mother's words. + +My great fear now, however, was lest I should say something to +compromise myself, and so make matter worse. Before another word upon +the subject should pass between my mother and me I must see +Winifred--and then I had something to say to her which no power on +earth should prevent me from saying. So I merely told my mother that +there was much truth in what she had said, and proceeded to ask +particulars about my father's recent illness. After giving me these +particulars she left the room, perplexed, I thought, as to what had +been the result of her mission. + + +IV + +I remained alone for some time. Then I told the servants that I was +going to walk along the cliffs to Dullingham Church, where there was +an evening service, and left the house. I hastened towards the +cliffs, and descended to the sands, in the hope that Winifred might +be roaming about there, but I walked all the way to Dullingham +without getting a glimpse of her. The church service did not interest +me that evening. I heard nothing and saw nothing. When the service +was over I returned along the sands, sauntering and lingering in the +hope that, late as it was now growing, the balmy evening might have +enticed her out. + +The evening grew to night, and still I lingered. The moon was nearly +at the full, and exceedingly bright. The tide was down. The scene was +magical; I could not leave it. I said to myself, 'I will go and stand +on the very spot where Winifred stood when she lisped "certumly" to +the proposal of her little lover.' + +It was not, after all, till this evening that I really knew how +entirely she was a portion of my life. + +I went and stood by the black boulder where I had received the little +child's prompt reply. There was not a grain left, I knew, of that +same sand which had been hallowed by the little feet of Winifred, but +it served my mood just as well as though every grain had felt the +beloved pressure. For that the very sands had loved the child, I half +believed. + +I said to myself, as I sat down upon the boulder, 'At this very +moment she is here, she is in Raxton. In a certain little cottage +there is a certain little room.' And then I longed to leave the +sands, to go and stand in front of Wynne's cottage and dream there. +But that would be too foolish. 'I must get home,' I thought. 'The +night will pass somehow, and in the morning I shall, as sure as fate, +see her flitting about the sands she loves, and then what I have +sworn to say to her I will say, and what I have sworn to do I will +do, come what will.' + +Then came the puzzling question, how was I to greet her when we met? +Was I to run up and kiss her, and hear her say, 'Oh, I'm so pleased!' +as she would sometimes say when I kissed her of yore? No: her +deportment in the morning forbade _that_. Or was I to raise my hat +and walk up to her saying, 'How do you do, Miss Wynne? I'm glad to +see you back, Miss Wynne,' for she was now neither child nor young +woman, she was a 'girl.' Perhaps I had better rush up to her in a +bluff, hearty way, and say: 'How do you do, Miss Winifred? Delighted +to see you back to Raxton.' Finally, I decided that circumstance must +guide me entirely, and I sat upon the boulder meditating. + +After a while I saw, or thought I saw, in the far distance, close to +the waves, a moving figure among the patches of rocks and stones +(some black and some white) that break the continuity of the sand on +that shore at low water. + +When the figure got nearer I perceived it to be a woman, a girl, who, +every now and then, was stooping as if to pick up something from the +pools of water left by the ebbing tide imprisoned amid the encircling +rocks. At first I watched the figure, wondering in a lazy and dreamy +way what girl could be out there so late. + +But all at once I began to catch my breath and gasp The sea-smells +had become laden with a kind of paradisal perfume, ineffably sweet, +but difficult to breathe all of a sudden. My heart too--what was +amiss with that? And why did the muscles of my body seem to melt like +wax?' The lonely wanderer by the sea could be none other than +Winifred. + +'It is she!' I said. 'There is no beach-woman or shore-prowling girl +who, without raising an arm to balance her body, without a totter or +a slip, could step in that way upon stones some of which are as +slippery as ice with gelatinous weed and slime, while others are as +sharp as razors. To walk like that the eye must be my darling's, that +is to say, an eye as sure as a bird's the ball of the foot must be +the ball of a certain little foot I have often had in my hand wet +with sea-water and gritty with sand. For such work a mountaineer or a +cragsman, or Winifred, is needed.' Then I recalled her love of marine +creatures, her delight in seaweed, of which she would weave the most +astonishing chaplets and necklaces coloured like the rainbow. +'seawood boas' and seaweed turbans, calling herself the princess of +the sea (as indeed she was), and calling me her prince. 'Yes,' said +I, 'it is certainly she'; and when at last I espied a little dog by +her side, Tom Wynne's little dog Snap (a descendant of the original +Snap of our never-to-be-forgotten seaside adventures)--when I espied +all these things I said, 'Then the hour is come.' + +By this time my heart had settled down to a calmer throb, the +paradisal scent had become more supportable, and I grew master of +myself again. I was going towards her, when I stayed my steps, for +she was already making her way, entirely unconscious of my presence, +towards the boulder where I sat. + +'I know what I will do.' I said; 'I will fling myself flat on the +sands behind the boulder and watch her. I will observe her without +being myself observed.' + +I was in the mood when one tries sportfully to deceive one's self as +to the depth and intensity of the emotion within. Perhaps I would and +perhaps I would not speak to her at all that night; but if I did +speak, I would say and do what (on that day when I set out for +school) I had sworn to say and do. + +So there I lay hidden by the boulder and watched her. She made the +circuit of each pool that lay across her path towards the +cliffs,--made it apparently for the childish enjoyment of balancing +herself on the stones and snapping her fingers at the dog, who looked +on with philosophic indifference at such a frivolous waste of force. +Yes, though a tall girl of seventeen, she was the same incomparable +child who had coloured my life and stirred the entire air of my +imagination with the breezes of a new heaven. The voice of the +tumbling sea in the distance, the caresses of the tender breeze, the +wistful gaze of the great moon overhead, were companionship enough +for her--for her whose loveliness would have enchanted a world. She +had no idea that there was at this moment stepping round those black +stones the loveliest woman then upon the earth. If she had had that +idea she would still have been the star of all womanhood, but she +would not have been Winifred. A charm superior to all other women's +charm she still would have had; but she would not have been Winifred. + +When she left the rocks and came upon the clear sand, she stopped +and looked at her sweet shadow in the moonlight. Then, with the +self-pleasing playfulness of a kitten, she stood and put herself +into all kinds of postures to see what varying silhouettes they would +make on the hard and polished sand (that shone with a soft lustre +like satin); now throwing up one arm, now another, and at last making +a pirouette, twirling her shawl round, trying to keep it in a +horizontal position by the rapidity of her movements. + +The interest of the philosophic Snap was aroused at last. He began +wheeling and barking round her, tearing up the sand as he went like a +little whirlwind. This induced Winifred to redouble her gymnastic +exertions. She twirled round with the velocity of an engine wheel. At +last, finding the enjoyment it gave to Snap, she changed the +performance by taking off her hat, flinging it high in the air, +catching it, flinging it up again and again, while the moving shadow +it made was hunted along the sand by Snap with a volley of deafening +barks. By this time she had got close to me, but she was too busy to +see me. Then she began to dance--the very same dance with which she +used to entertain me in those happy days. I advanced from my stone, +dodging and slipping behind her, unobserved even by Snap, so intent +were these two friends upon this entertainment, got up, one would +think, for whatsoever sylphs or gnomes or water sprites might be +looking on. + +How could I address in the language of passion which alone would have +expressed my true feelings, a dancing fairy such as this? + +'Bravo!' I said, as she stopped, panting and breathless. 'Why, +Winifred, you dance better than ever!' + +She leaped away in alarm and confusion; while Snap, on the contrary, +welcomed me with much joy. + +'Oh, I beg your pardon, sir,' she said, not looking at me with the +blunt frankness of childhood, as the little woman of the old days +used to do, but drooping her eyes. 'I didn't see you.' + +'But _I_ saw _you_, Winifred; I have been watching you for the last +quarter of an hour.' + +'Oh, you never have!' said she, in distress; 'what could you have +thought? I was only trying to cheer up poor Snap, who is out of +sorts. What a mad romp you must have thought me, sir!' + +'Why, what's the matter with Snap?' + +'I don't know. Poor Snap' (stooping down to fondle him, and at the +same time to hide her face from me, for she was talking against time +to conceal her great confusion and agitation at seeing me. _That_ was +perceptible enough.) + +Then she remembered she was hatless. + +'Oh dear, where's my hat?' said she, looking round. I had picked up +the hat before accosting her, and it was now dangling behind me. I, +too, began talking against time, for the beating of my heart began +again at the thought of what I was going to say and do. 'Hat!' I +said; 'do _you_ wear hats, Winifred? I should as soon have thought of +hearing the Queen of the Tylwyth Teg ask for her hat as you, after +such goings-on as those I have just been witnessing. You see I have +not forgotten the Welsh you taught me.' + +'Oh, but my hat--where is it?' cried she, vexed and sorely ashamed. +So different from the unblenching child who loved to stand hatless +and feel the rain-drops on her bare head! + +'Well, Winifred, I've found a hat on the sand,' I said; 'here it is.' + +'Thank you, sir,' said she, and stretched out her hand for it. + +'No,' said I, 'I don't for one moment believe in its belonging to +you, any more than it belongs to the Queen of the "Fair People." But +if you'll let me put it on your head I'll give you the hat I've +found,' and with a rapid movement I advanced and put it on her head. +I had meant to seize that moment for saying what I had to say, but +was obliged to wait. + +An expression of such genuine distress overspread her face, that I +regretted having taken the liberty with her. Her bearing altogether +was puzzling me. She seemed instinctively to feel as I felt, that +raillery was the only possible attitude to take up in a situation so +extremely romantic--a meeting on the sands at night between me and +her who was neither child nor woman--and yet she seemed distressed at +the raillery. + +Embarrassment was rapidly coming between us. + +There was a brief silence, during which Winifred seemed trying to +move away from me. + +'Did you--did you see me from the cliffs, sir, am; come down?' said +Winifred. + +'Winifred,' said I, 'the polite thing to say would be "Yes"; but you +know "Fighting Hal" never was remarkable for politeness, so I will +say frankly that did not come down from the cliff's on seeing you. +But when I did see you, I wasn't very likely to return without +speaking to you.' + +'I am locked out,' said Winifred, in explanation of her moonlight +ramble. 'My father went off to Dullingham with the key in his pocket +while I and Snap were in the garden, so we have to wait till his +return. Good-night, sir,' and she gave me her hand. I seemed to feel +the fingers around my heart, and knew that I was turning very pale. +'The same little sunburnt fingers.' I said, as I retained them in +mine 'just the same, Winifred! But it's not "good-night" yet. No, no, +it's not good-night yet; and, Winifred if you dare to call me "sir" +again, I declare I'll kiss you where you stand. I will, Winifred. +I'll put my arms right round that slender waist and kiss you under +that moon, as sure as you stand on these sands.' + +'Then I will not call you "sir."' said Winifred laughingly. +'Certainly I will not call you "sir," if that is to be the penalty.' + +'Winifred,' said I, 'the last time that I remember to have heard you +say "certainly" was on this very spot. You then pronounced it +"certumly," and that was when I asked you if I might be your lover. +You said "certumly" on that occasion without the least hesitation.' + +Winifred, as I could see, even by the moonlight, was blushing. 'Ah, +those childish days!' she said. 'How delightful they were, sir!' + +'"Sir" again!' said I. 'Now, Winifred, I am going to execute my +threat--I am indeed.' + +She put up her hands before her face and said, + +'Oh, don't! please don't.' + +The action no doubt might seem coquettish, but the tone of her voice +was so genuine, so serious--so agitated even--that I paused:--I +paused in bewilderment and perplexity concerning us both. I observed +that her fingers shook as she held them before her face. That she +should be agitated at seeing me after so long a separation did not +surprise me, I being deeply agitated myself. It was the _nature_ of +her emotion that puzzled me, until suddenly I remembered my mother's +words. + +I perceived then that, child of Nature as she still was, some one had +given her a careful training which had transfigured my little Welsh +rustic into a lady. She had not failed to apprehend the anomaly of +her present position--on the moonlit sands with me. Though could not +break free from the old equal relations between us. Winifred had been +able to do so. + +'To her,' I thought with shame, 'my offering to kiss her at such a +place and time must have seemed an insult. The very fact of my +attempting to do so must have seemed to indicate an offensive +consciousness of the difference of our social positions. It must +have, seemed to show that I recognised a distinction between the +drunken organist's daughter and a lady.' + +I saw now, indeed, that she felt this keenly; and I knew that it was +nothing but the sweetness of her nature, coupled with the fond +recollection of the old happy days, that restrained that high spirit +of hers, and prevented her from giving expression to her indignation +and disgust. + +All this was shown by the appealing look on her sweet, fond face, and +I was touched to the heart. + +'Winifred--Miss Wynne,' I said, 'I beg your pardon most sincerely. +The shadow-dance has been mainly answerable for my folly. You did +look so exactly the little Winifred, my heart's sister, that I felt +it impossible to treat you otherwise than as that dear child-friend +of years ago.' + +A look of delight broke over her face. + +'I felt sure it was so,' she said. 'But it is a relief that you have +said it.' And the tears came to her eyes. + +'Thank you, Winifred, for having pardoned me. I feel that you would +have forgiven no one else as you have forgiven me. I feel that you +would not have forgiven any one else than your old child-companion, +whom on a memorable occasion you threatened to hit, and then had not +the heart to do so.' + +'I don't think I _could_ hit _you_,' said she, in a meditative tone +of perfect unconsciousness as to the bewitching import of her speech. + +'Don't you think you could?' I said, drawing nearer, but governing my +passion. + +'No,' said she, looking now for the first time with those wide-open +confiding eyes which, as a child, were the chief characteristic of +her face. 'I don't think I could hit you, whatever you did.' + +'Couldn't you, Winifred?' I said, coming still nearer, in order to +drink to the full the wonder of her beauty, the thrill at my heart +bringing, as I felt, a pallor to my cheek. 'Don't you think you could +hit your old playfellow, Winifred?' + +'No,' she said, still gazing in the same dreamy, reminiscent way +straight into my eyes as of yore. 'As a child you were so delightful. +And then you were so kind to me!' + +At that word 'kind' from _her_ to _me_ I could restrain myself no +longer; I shouted with a wild laughter of uncontrollable passion as I +gazed at her through tears of love and admiration and deep +gratitude--gazed till I was blind. My throat throbbed till it ached: +I Could get out no more words; I could only gaze. At my shout +Winifred stood bewildered and confused. She did not understand a mood +like that. Having got myself under control, I said, + +'Winifred, it is not my doing; it is Fate's doing that we meet here +on this night, and that I am driven to say here what I had as a +schoolboy sworn should be said whenever we should meet again.' + +'I think,' said Winifred, pulling herself up with the dignity of a +queen, 'that if you have anything important to say to me it had +better be at a more seasonable time than at this hour of night, and +at a more seasonable place than on these sands.' + +'No, Winifred,' said I, 'the time is _now_, and the place is +here--here on this very spot where, once on a time, you said +"certumly" when a little lover asked your hand. It is now and here, +Winifred, that I will say what I have to say.' + +'And what is that, sir?' said Winifred, much perplexed and disturbed. + +'I have to say, Winifred, that the man does not live and never _has_ +lived,' said I, with suppressed vehemence, who loved a woman as I +love you.' + +Oh, sir! oh, Henry!' returned Winifred, trembling, then standing +still and whiter than the moon. 'And the reason why no man has ever +loved a woman as I love you, Winifred, is because your match, or +anything like your match, has never trod the earth before.' + +'Oh, Henry, my dear Henry! you _must_ not say such things to me, your +poor Winifred.' + +'But that isn't all that I swore I'd say to you, Winifred.' + +'Don't say any more--not to-night, not to-night.' + +'What I swore I would ask you, Winifred, is this: Will you be Henry's +wife?' + +She gave one hysterical sob, and swayed till she nearly fell on the +sand, and said, while her face shone like a pearl, + +'Henry's wife!' + +She recovered herself and stood and looked at me; her lips moved, but +I waited in vain--waited in a fever of expectation--for her answer. +None came. I gazed into her eyes, but they now seemed rilled with +visions--visions of the great race to which she belonged--visions in +which her English lover had no place. Suddenly, and for the first +time, I felt that she who had inspired within me this all-conquering +passion, though the penniless child of a drunken organist, was a +daughter of Snowdon--a representative of the Cymric race that was +once so mighty, and is still more romantic in its associations than +all others. Already in the little talk I had had with her I began to +guess what I realised before the evening was over, that owing to the +influence of the English lady, Miss Dalrymple, who had lodged at the +cottage with her, she was more than my own equal in culture, and +could have held her own with almost any girl of her own age in +England. It was only in her subjection to Cymric superstitions that +she was benighted. + +'Winnie,' I murmured, 'what have you to say?' + +After a while her eyes seemed to clear of the visions, and she said, + +'What changes have come upon us both, Henry. since that childish +betrothal on the sands!' + +'Happy changes for one of the child-lovers,' I said--'happy changes +for the one who was then a lonely cripple shut out from all sympathy +save that which the other child-lover could give.' + +'And yet you then seemed happy, Henry--happy with Winnie to help you +up the gangways. And how happy Winnie was! But now the child-lover is +a cripple no longer: he is very, very strong--he is so strong that he +could carry Winnie up the gangways in his arms, I think.' + +The thrill of natural pride which such recognition of my physical +powers would otherwise have given me was quelled by a something in +the tone in which she spoke. + +'And he is powerful in every way,' she went on, as if talking to +herself. 'He is a great rich Englishman to whom (as auntie was never +tired of saying) that childish betrothal must needs seem a dream--a +quaint and pretty dream.' + +'And so your aunt said that, Winnie. How far from the truth she was +you see to-night.' + +'Yes, she thought you would forget all about me; and yet she could +not have felt quite confident about it, for she made me promise that +if you should not forget me--if you should ever ask me what you have +just asked--she made me promise--' + +'What, Winnie? what? She did not make promise that you would refuse +me?' + +'That is what she asked me to promise.' + +'But you did not.' + +'I did not.' + +'No, no! you did not, Winnie. My darling refused to make any such +cruel, monstrous promise as that.' + +'But I promised her that I would in such an event wait a year--at +least a year--before betrothing myself to you.' + +'Shame! shame! What made her do this cruel thing? A year! wait for a +year!' + +'She brought forward many reasons, Henry, but upon two of them she +was constantly dwelling.' + +'And what were these?' + +'Well, the news of the death of your brother Frank of course reached +us in Shire-Carnarvon, and how well I remember hearing my aunt say, +"Henry Aylwin will be one of the wealthiest landowners in England." +And I remember how my heart sank at her words, for I was always +thinking of the dear little lame boy with the language of suffering +in his eyes and the deep music of sorrow in his voice.' + +'Your heart sank, Winnie, and why?' + +'I felt as if a breath of icy air had blown between us, dividing us +for ever. And then my aunt began to talk about you and your future.' + +After some trouble I persuaded Winnie to tell me what was the homily +that this aunt of hers preached _a propos_ of Frank's death. And as +she talked I could not help observing what, as a child, I had only +observed in a dim, semi-conscious way--a strange kind of double +personality in Winnie. At one moment she seemed to me nothing but the +dancing fairy of the sands, objective and unconscious as a young +animal playing to itself, at another she seemed the mouthpiece of the +narrow world-wisdom of this Welsh aunt. No sooner had she spoken of +herself as a friendless, homeless girl, than her brow began to shine +with the pride of the Cymry. + +'My aunt,' said she, 'used to tell me that until disaster came upon +my uncle, and they were reduced to living upon a very narrow income, +he and she never really knew what love was--they never really knew +how rich their hearts were in the capacity of loving.' + +'Ah, I thought so,' I said bitterly. 'I thought the text was, + + Love in a hut, with water and a crust.' + +'No,' said Winifred firmly, 'that was not the text. She believed that +the wolf must not be very close to the door behind which love is +nestling.' + +'Then what did she believe? In the name of common-sense, Winnie, what +did she believe?' + +'She believed,' said Winnie, her cheek flushing and her eyes +brightening as she went on, 'that of all the schemes devised by man's +evil genius to spoil his nature, to make him self-indulgent, and +luxurious, and tyrannical, and incapable of understanding what the +word "love" means, the scheme of showering great wealth upon him is +the most perfect.' + +'Ah, yes, yes; the old nonsense. Easier for a camel to pass through +the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of love. +And in what way did she enlarge upon this most charitable theme?' + +'She told me dreadful things about the demoralising power of riches +in our time.' + +'Dreadful things! What were they, Winnie?' + +'She told me how insatiable is the greed for pleasure at this time. +She told me that the passion of vanity--"the greatest of all the +human passions," as she used to say--has taken the form of +money-worship in our time, sapping all the noblest instincts of men +and women, and in rich people poisoning even parental affection, +making the mother thirst for the pleasures which in old days she +would only have tried to win for her child. She told me +stories--dreadful stories--about children with expectations of great +wealth who watched the poor grey hairs of those who gave them birth, +and counted the years and months and days that kept them from the +gold which modern society finds to be more precious than honour, +family, heroism, genius, and all that was held precious in less +materialised times. She told me a thousand other things of this kind, +and when I grew older she put into my hand what has been written on +the subject.' + +'Good God! Has the narrow-minded tomfoolery got a literature?' + +Winnie went on with her eloquent account of her aunt's doctrines, and +to my surprise I found that there actually _was_ a literature of the +subject. + +Winnie's bright eyes had actually pored over old and long Chartist +tracts translated into Welsh, and books on the Christian Socialism of +Charles Kingsley, and pamphlets on more' recent kinds of Socialism. + +As she went on I could not help murmuring now and then, 'What +surroundings for my Winnie!' + +'And the result of all this was, Winnie, that your aunt asked you to +promise not to marry a man demoralised by privileges and made +contemptible by wealth.' + +'That is what she wanted me to promise; but as I have said, I did +not. But I did promise to wait for a year and see what effect wealth +would have upon you.' + +'Did your aunt not tell you also that the man who marries you can +never be unmanned by wealth, because he will know that everything he +can give is as dross when set against Winnie's love and Winnie's +beauty: Did she not also tell you that?' + +'Love and beauty!' said Winnie. 'Even if a woman's beauty did not +depend for its existence upon the eyes that look upon it, I should +want to give more to my hero than love and beauty. I should want to +give him help in the battle of life, Henry. I should want to buckle +on his armour, and sharpen the point of his lance, and whet the edge +of his sword; a rich man's armour is bank-notes, and Winnie knows +nothing of such paper. His spear, I am told, is a bullion bar, and +Winnie's fingers scarcely know the touch of gold.' + +'Then you agree, Winnie, with these strange views of your aunt?' + +'I do partly agree with them now. Ever since I saw you to-day in the +churchyard I have partly agreed with them.' + +'And why?' + +'Because already prosperity or bodily vigour or something has changed +your eyes and changed the tone of your voice.' + +'You mean that my eyes are no longer so full of trouble; and as to my +voice--how should my voice not change, seeing that it was the voice +of a child when you last listened to it?' + +'It is impossible for me even now, after I have thought about it so +much, to put into words that expression in your eyes which won me as +a child. All I knew at the time was that it fascinated me. And as I +now recall it, all I know is that your gaze then seemed full of +something which I can give a name to now, though I did not understand +it then--the pathos and tenderness and yearning, which come, as I +have been told, from suffering, and that your voice seemed to have +the same message. That expression and that tone are gone--they will, +of course, never return to you now. Your life is, and will be, too +prosperous for that. But still I hope and believe that in a year's +time prosperity will not have worked in you any of the mischief that +my aunt feared. For you have a noble nature, Henry, and to spoil you +will not be easy. You will never be the dear little Henry I loved, +but you will still be nobler and greater than other men, I think.' + +'Do you really mean that my lameness was a positive attraction to +you? Do you really mean that the very change in me which I thought +would strengthen the bond between us--my restoration to +health--weakens it? That is impossible, Winnie.' + +She remained silent for a time, as though lost in thought, and then +said, 'I do not believe that any woman can understand the movements +of her own heart where love is concerned. My aunt used to say I was a +strange girl, and I am afraid I am strange and perverse. She used to +say that in my affections I was like no other creature in the world.' + +'How should Winifred be like any other creature in the world?' I +said. 'She would not be Winifred if she were. But what did your aunt +mean?' + +'When I was quite a little child she noticed that I was neglecting a +favourite mavis which I used to delight to listen to as he warbled +from his wicker cage. She watched me, and found that my attention was +all given to a wounded bird that I had picked up on the Capel Curig +road. "Winnie," she said, "nothing can ever win your love until it +has first won your pity. A bird with a broken wing would be always +more to you than a sound one!"' + +'Your aunt was right,' I said, 'as no one should know better than I. +For was it not the new kind of pity shining in those eyes of yours +that revealed to me a new heaven in my loneliness? And when my +brother Frank on that day in the wood stood over us in all the pride +of his boyish strength, do I not remember the words you spoke?' + +'What were they? I have quite forgotten them.' + +'You said, "I don't think I could love any one very much who was not +lame."' + + + +V + +I wonder what words could render that love-dream on the dear silvered +sands, with the moon overhead, the dark shadowy cliffs and the old +church on one side, and the North Sea murmuring a love-chime on the +other! + +Suffice it to record that Winifred, with a throb in her throat (a +throb that prevented her from pronouncing her n's with the clarity +that some might have desired), said 'certumly' again to Henry's +suit,--'Certumly, if in a year's time you seek me out in the +mountains, and your eyes and voice show that prosperity has not +spoiled you, but that you are indeed my Henry.' And this being +settled in strict accordance with her aunt's injunctions, she never +tried to disguise how happy she was, but told Henry again and again +in answer to his importunate questions--told him with her frank +courage how she had loved him from the first in the old churchyard as +a child--loved him for what she called his love-eyes; told him--ah! +what did she not tell him? I must not go on. These things should not +be written about at all but for the demands of my story. + +And how soon she forgot that the betrothal was all on one side! I +could write out every word of that talk. I remember every accent of +her voice, every variation of light that came and went in her eyes, +every ripple of love-laughter, every movement of her body, lissome as +a greyhound's, graceful as a bird's. For fully an hour it lasted. And +remember, reader, that it was on the silvered sands, every inch of +which was associated with some reminiscence of childhood; it was +beneath a moon smiling as fondly and brightly as she ever smiled on +the domes of Venice or between the trees of Fiesole; it was by the +margin of waves whose murmurs were soft and perfumed as Winifred's +own breathing's when she slept; and remember that the girl was +Winifred herself, and that the boy--the happy boy--had Winifred's +love. Ah! but that last element of that hour's bliss is just what +the reader cannot realise, because he can only know Winifred through +these poor words. That is the distressing side of a task like mine. +The beloved woman here called Winifred (no phantom of an idle +imagination, but more real to me and dear to me than this soul and +body I call my own)--this Winifred can only live for you, reader, +through my feeble, faltering words; and yet I ask you to listen to +the story of such a love as mine. + +'Winnie,' I said, 'you have often as a child sung songs of Snowdon to +me and told me of others you used to sing. I should love to hear one +of these now, with the chime of the North Sea for an accompaniment +instead of the instrument you tell me your Gypsy friend used to play. +Before we go up the gangway, do sing me a verse of one of those +songs.' + +After some little persuasion she yielded and sang in a soft undertone +the following verse:-- + + 'I met in a glade a lone little maid, + At the foot of y Wyddfa the white; + Oh, lissom her feet as the mountain hind, + And darker her hair than the night; + Her cheek was like the mountain rose, + But fairer far to see, + As driving along her sheep with a song, + Down from the hills came she.' + +[Welsh translation] + + 'Mi gwrddais gynt a morwynig, + Wrth odreu y Wyddfa wen, + Un ysgafn ei throed fel yr ewig + A gwallt fel y nos ar ei phen; + Ei grudd oedd fel y rhosyn, + Un hardd a gwen ei gwawr; + Yn canu can, a'i defaid man, + O'r Wyddfa'n d'od i lawr.' + +'What a beautiful world it is!' said she, in a half-whisper, as we +were about to part at the cottage door, for I had refused to leave +her on the sands or even at the garden-gate. 'I should like to live +for ever,' she whispered; 'shouldn't you, Henry?' + +'Well, that all depends upon the person I lived with. For instance, I +shouldn't care to live for ever with Widow Shales, the pale-faced +tailoress, nor yet with her humpbacked son, whose hump was such a +constant source of wistful wonder and solicitude to you as a child.' + +She gave a merry little laugh of reminiscence. Then she said, 'But you +could live with _me_ for ever, couldn't you, Henry?' plucking a leaf +from the grape-vine on the wall and putting it between her teeth. + +'For ever and ever, Winifred.' + +'It fills me with wonder,' said she, after a while, 'the thought of +being Henry's wife. It is so delightful and yet so fearful.' + +By this I knew she had not forgotten that look of hate on my mother's +face. + +She put her hand on the latch and found that the door was now +unlocked. + +'But where is the fearful part of it, Winifred?' I said. 'I am not a +cannibal.' + +'You ought to marry a great English lady, dear, and I'm only a poor +girl; you seem to forget all about that, you silly fond boy. You +forget I'm only a poor girl--just Winifred,' she continued. + +'Just Winifred,' I said, taking her hand and preventing her from +lifting the latch. + +'I've lived,' said she, 'in a little cottage like this with my aunt +and Miss Dalrymple and done everything.' + +'Everything's a big word, Winifred. What may everything include in +your case?' + +'Include!' said Winifred; 'oh, everything, housekeeping and--' + +'Housekeeping!' said I. 'Racing the winds with Rhona Boswell and +other Gypsy children up and down Snowdon--that's been _your_ +housekeeping.' + +'Cooking,' said Winifred, maintaining her point. + +'Oh, what a fib, Winifred! These sunburnt fingers may have picked +wild fruits, but they never made a pie in their lives.' + +'Never made a pie! I make beautiful pies and things; and when we're +married I'll make your pies--may I, instead of a conceited man-cook?' + +'No, Winifred. Never make a pie or do a bit of cooking in _my_ house, +I charge you.' + +'Oh, why not?' said Winifred, a shade of disappointment overspreading +her face. 'I suppose it's unladylike to cook.' + +'Because,' said I,'once let me taste something made by these tanned +fingers, and how could I ever afterwards eat anything made by a +man-cook, conceited or modest? I should say to that poor cook, "Where +is the Winifred flavour, cook? I don't taste those tanned fingers +here." And then, suppose you were to die first, Winifred, why I +should have to starve, just for want of a little Winifred flavour in +the pie-crust. Now I don't want to starve, and you sha'n't cook.' + +'Oh, Hal, you dear, dear fellow!' shrieked Winifred, in an ecstasy of +delight at this nonsense. Then her deep love overpowered her quite, +and she said, her eyes suffused with tears, 'Henry, you can't think +how I love you. I'm sure I couldn't live even in heaven without you.' + +Then came the shadow of a lich-owl, as it whisked past us towards the +apple-trees. + +'Why, you'd be obliged to live without me, Winifred, if I were still +at Raxton.' + +'No,' said she, 'I'm quite sure I couldn't. I should have to come in +the winds and play round you on the sands. I should have to peep over +the clouds and watch you. I should have to follow you about wherever +you went. I should have to beset you till you said, "Bother Winnie! I +wish she'd keep in heaven."' + +I saw, however, that the owl's shadow had disturbed her, and I lifted +the latch of the cottage door for her. We were met by a noise so loud +that it might have come from a trombone. + +'Why, what on earth is that?' I said. I could see the look of shame +break over Winifred's features as she said, 'Father.' Yes, it was the +snoring of Wynne in a drunken sleep: it filled the entire cottage. + +The poor girl seemed to feel that that brutal noise had, somehow, +coarsened _her_, and she actually half shrank from me as I gave her +a kiss and left her. + +Wondering how I should at such an hour get into the house without +disturbing my mother and the servants, I passed along that same road +where, as a crippled child, I had hobbled on that, bright afternoon +when love was first revealed to me. Ah, what a different love was +this which was firing my blood, and making dizzy my brain! That +child-love had softened my heart in its deep distress, and widened +my soul. This new and mighty passion in whose grasp I was, this +irresistible power that had seized and possessed my entire being, +wrought my soul in quite a different sort, concentrating and +narrowing my horizon till the human life outside the circle of our +love seemed far, far away, as though I were gazing through the wrong +end of a telescope. I had learned that he who truly loves is indeed +born again, becomes a new and a different man. Was it only a few +short hours ago, I asked myself, that I was listening to my mother's +attack upon Winifred? Was it this very evening that I was sitting in +Dullingham Church? + +How far away in the past seemed those events! And as to my mother's +anger against Winifred, that anger and cruel scorn of class which had +concerned me so much, how insignificant now seemed this and every +other obstacle in love's path! I looked up at the moonlit sky; I +leaned upon a gate and looked across the silent fields where Winifred +and I used to gather violets in spring, hedge-roses in summer, +mushrooms in autumn, and I said, '_I_ will marry her; she shall be +mine; she _shall_ be mine, though all the powers on earth, all the +powers in the universe, should say nay.' + +As I spoke I saw that lights were flashing to and fro in the windows +of the Hall. 'My poor father is dead,' I said. I turned and ran up +the road. 'Oh, that I could have seen him once again!' At the hall +door I was met by a servant, and learnt that, while I had been +love-making on the sands, a message had come from the Continent with +news of my father's death. + + + +VI + +There was no meeting Winifred on the next night. + +It was decided that my uncle's private secretary should go to +Switzerland to bring the body to England. I (remembering my promise +about the mementos) insisted on accompanying him. We started on the +morrow, preceded by a message to my father's Swiss friends ordering +an embalmment. Before starting I tried to see Winifred; but she had +gone to Dullingham. + +On our arrival at the little Swiss town, we found that the embalmment +had been begun. The body was still in the hands of a famous +embalmer--an Italian Jew settled at Geneva, the only successful rival +there of Professor Laskowski. He was celebrated for having revived +the old Hebraic method of embalmment in spices, and improving it by +the aid of the modern discoveries in antiseptics of Laskowski, Signer +Franchina of Naples, and Dr. Dupre of Paris. This physician told me +that by his process the body would, without the peculiarly-sealed +coffin used by the Swiss embalmers, last 'firm and white as Carrara +marble for a thousand years.' + +The people at the chalet had naturally been much astonished to find +upon my father's breast a jewelled cross lying. As soon as I entered +the house they handed it to me. + +For some reason or another this amulet and the curse had haunted my +imagination as much as if I believed in amulets and curses, though my +reason told me that everything of the kind was sheer nonsense. I +could not sleep for thinking about it, and in the night I rose from +my bed, and, opening the window, held up the cross in the moonlight. +The facets caught the silvery rays and focussed them. The amulet +seemed to shudder with some prophecy of woe. It was now that, for the +first time, I began to feel the signs of that great struggle between +reason and the inherited instinct of superstition which afterwards +played so important a part in my life. I then took up the parchment +scroll, and opened it and re-read the curse. The great letters in +which the English version was printed seemed to me larger by the +light of the moon than they had seemed by daylight. + +We had to wait for some time in Switzerland. In a locked drawer I +found the casket and a copy of _The Veiled Queen_. I read much in the +book. Every word I found there was in flat contradiction to my own +mode of thought. + +Did the shock of this dreadful catastrophe drive Winifred from my +mind? No, nothing could have done that. My soul seemed, as I have +said, to be new-born, and all emotions, passions, and sentiments that +were not connected with her seemed to be shadowy and distant, like +ante-natal dreams. It would be hypocrisy not to confess this frankly, +regardless of the impression against me it may make on the reader's +mind. Yet I had a real affection for my father. In spite of his +extraordinary obliviousness of my very existence till the last year +of his life, I was strongly attached to him, and his death made me +see nothing but his virtues; yet my soul was so filled with my +passion for Winifred as to have but little room for sorrow. As to my +mother, her attachment to my father knew no bounds, and her grief at +her bereavement knew none. + +A day or two before the funeral my uncle Aylwin of Alvanley arrived, +and his presence was a great comfort to her. Owing to my father's +position in the county a great deal of funereal state was considered +necessary, and there was much hurry and bustle. + +My uncle having known Wynne when quite a young man, before +intemperance had degraded him, took an interest in him still. He had +called at the cottage as he passed along Wilderness Road towards +Raxton, and the result of this was that the organist came to speak to +him at our house upon some matter in connection with the funeral +service. My mother was greatly vexed at this. Her conduct on the +occasion alarmed me. Ever since Frank's death had made it evident not +only that I should succeed to all the property of my uncle Aylwin of +Alvanley, but that I might even succeed to something greater, to the +earldom which was the glory and pride of the Aylwins, my mother had +kept a jealous and watchful eye upon me, being, as I afterwards +learned, not unmindful of the early child-loves of Winifred and +myself; and the advent to Raxton of Winifred, as a beautiful tall +girl, had aroused her fears as well as her wrath. + +The day of the funeral came, and the question of the casket and the +amulet was on my mind. The important thing, of course, was that the +matter should be kept absolutely secret. The valuables must be placed +in secrecy with the embalmed corpse at the last moment, before the +screwing down of the coffin, when servants and undertakers were out +of sight and hearing. + +My mother knew what had been my father's instructions to me, and was +desirous that they should be fulfilled, though she scorned the +superstition. She and I placed the casket and the scroll hearing the +written curse upon it beneath my father's head, and hung the chain of +the amulet around his neck, so that the cross lay with the jewels +uppermost upon his breast. Then the undertakers were called in to +screw down the coffin in my presence. My mother afterwards called me +to her room, and told me that she was much troubled about the cross. +The amulet being of great value, my uncle Aylwin of Alvanley had +tried to dissuade her from carrying into execution what he called +'the absurd whim of a mystic'; but my mother urged my promise, and +there had been warm words between them, as my mother told me--adding, +however, 'and the worst of it is, that scamp Wynne, whom your uncle +introduced into this house without my knowledge or sanction, was +passing the door while your uncle was talking, and if he did not hear +every word about the jewelled cross, drink must have stupefied him +indeed. _He_ is my only fear in connection with the jewels.' Her +dislike of Wynne had made her forget for the moment the effect her +words must have upon me. + +'Mother,' I said, 'your persistent prejudice and injustice towards +this man astonish me. Wynne, though poor and degraded now, is a +gentleman born, and is no more likely to violate a tomb than the best +Aylwin that ever lived.' + +I will not dwell upon the scene at the funeral. I saw my father's +coffin placed in the crypt that spread beneath the deserted church. +It was by the earnest wish of my father that he was buried in a +church already deserted because the grip of the resistless sea was +upon it. At this very time a very large slice of the cliff behind the +church was pronounced dangerous, and I perceived that new rails were +lying on the grass ready to be fixed up, further inland than ever. + + + +VII + +My mother retired to her room immediately on our return to the house. +My uncle stayed till just before dinner, and then left. I seemed to +be alone in a deserted house, so still were the servants, so quiet +seemed everything. But now what was this sense of undefined dread +that came upon me and would not let me rest? Why did I move from room +to room? and what was goading me? Something was stirring like a blind +creature across my brain, and it was too hideous to confront. Why +_should_ I confront it? Why scare one's soul and lacerate one's heart +at every dark fear that peeps through the door of imagination, when +experience teaches us that out of every hundred such dark fears +ninety-nine are sure to turn out mere magic-lantern bogies? + +The evening wore on, and yet I _would_ not face this phantom fear, +though it refused to quit me. + +The servants went to bed quite early that night, and when the butler +came to ask me if I should 'want anything more,' I said 'only a +candle,' and went up to my bedroom. + +'I will turn into bed,' I said, 'and sleep over it. The idea is a +figment of an over-wrought brain. Destiny would never play any man a +trick like that which I have dared to dream of. Among human +calamities it would be at once the most shocking and the most +whimsical--this imaginary woe that scares me. Destiny is merciless, +but who ever heard of Destiny playing mere cruel practical jokes upon +man? Up to now the Fates have never set up as humorists. Now, for a +man to love, to dote upon, a girl whose father is the violator of his +own father's tomb--a wretch who has called down upon himself the most +terrible curse of a dead man that has ever been uttered--_that_ would +be a fate too fantastically cruel to be permitted by Heaven--by any +governing power whose sanctions were not those of a whimsical +cruelty.' + +Yet those words of my mother's about Wynne, and her suspicions of +him, were flitting about the air of the room like fiery-eyed bats. + +The air of the room--ah! it was stifling me. I opened the window and +leant out. But that made matters a thousand times worse, for the moon +was now at the very full, and staring across--staring at +what?--staring across the sea at the tall tower of the old church on +the cliff, where perhaps the sin--the 'unpardonable sin,' according +to Cymric ideas--of sacrilege--sacrilege committed by _her_ father +upon the grave of mine--might at this moment be going on. The body of +the church was hidden from me by the intervening trees, and nothing +but the tall tower shone in the silver light. So intently did the +moon stare at it, that it seemed to me that the inside of the church, +with its silent aisles, arches, and tombs, was reflected on her disc. +The moon oppressed me, and when I turned my eyes away I seemed to see +hanging in the air the silent aisles of a church, through whose +windows the moonlight was pouring, flooding them with a radiance more +ghastly than darkness, concentrating all its light on the chancel, +beneath which I knew that my father was lying in the dark crypt with +a cross on his breast. I turned for relief to look in the room, and +there, in the darkness made by the shadow of the bed, I seemed to +read, written in pale, trembling flame, the words: + + 'LET THERE BE NO MAN TO PITY HIM, NOR TO HAVE COMPASSION UPON HIS + FATHERLESS CHILDREN....LET HIS CHILDREN BE VAGABONDS, AND BEG THEIR + BREAD: LET THEM SEEK IT ALSO OUT OF DESOLATE PLACES.' + + +I returned to the window for relief from the bedroom. + +'Now, let me calmly consider the case in all its bearings, I said to +myself, drawing a chair to the window and sitting down with my elbows +resting on the sill. 'Suppose Wynne really did overhear the +altercation between my mother and my uncle, which seems scarcely +probable, has drink really so demoralised him, so brutalised him, +that for drink he would commit the crime of sacrilege? There are no +signs of his having sunk so low as that. But suppose the crime were +committed, what then? Do I really believe that the curse of my father +and of the Psalmist would fall upon Winifred's pure and innocent +head? Certainly not. I do not believe in the effect of curses at all. +I do not belief in any supernatural interference with the natural +laws of the universe.' + +Ah! but this thought about the futility of the curse, about the folly +of my father's superstitions, brought me no comfort. I knew that, +brave as Winifred was as a child, she was, when confronting the +material world, very superstitious. I remembered that as a child, +whenever I said, 'What a happy day it has been!' she would not rest +until she had made me add, 'and shall have many more,' because of her +feeling of the prophetic power of words. I knew that the +superstitions of the Welsh hills awed her. I knew that it had been +her lot to imbibe, not only Celtic, but Romany superstitions. I knew +that the tribe of Gypsies with whom she had been thrown into contact, +the Lovells and the Boswells, though superior to the rest, of the +Romany race, are the most superstitious of all, and that Winifred had +become an object of strong affection to the most superstitious even +among that tribe, one Sinfi Lovell. I knew from something that had +once fallen from her as a child on the sands, when prattling about +Sinfi Lovell and Rhona Boswell, that especially powerful with her was +the idea (both Romany and Celtic) about the effect of a dead man's +curse. I knew that this idea had a dreadful fascination for her--the +fascination of repulsion. I knew also that reason may strive with +superstition as with the other instincts, but it will strive in vain. +I knew that it would have been worse than idle for me to say to +Winifred, 'There is no curse in the matter. The dreaming mystic who +begot and forgot me, what curse could he call down on a soul like my +Winifred's?' Her reason might partly accept my arguments; but +straightway they would be spurned by her instincts and her +traditional habits of thought. The terrible voice of the Psalmist +would hush every other sound. Her sweet soul would pine under the +blazing fire of a curse, real or imaginary; her life would be +henceforth but a bitter penance. Like the girl in Coleridge's poem of +'The Three Graves,' her very flesh would waste before the fires of +her imagination. 'No,' said I, 'such a calamity as this which I dread +Heaven would not permit. So cruel a joke as this Hell itself would +not have the heart to play.' + +My meditations were interrupted by a sound, and then by a sensation +such as I cannot describe. Whence came that shriek? It was like a +coming from a distance--loud _there_, faint _here_, and yet it seemed +to come from _me_! It was as though I were witnessing some dreadful +sight unutterable and intolerable. And then it seemed the voice of +Winifred, and then it seemed her father's voice, and finally it +seemed the voice of my own father struggling in his tomb. My horror +stopped the pulses of my heart for a moment, and then it passed. + +'It comes from the church or from behind the church,' I said, as the +shriek was followed by an angry murmur as of muffled thunder. All had +occurred within the space of half a second. I quickly but cautiously +opened my bedroom door, extinguishing my light before doing so, and +began to creep downstairs, fearing to wake my mother. My shoes +creaked, so I took them off and carried them. Crossing the hall, I +softly drew the bolts of the front door; then I passed into the +moonlight. The gravel of the carriage-drive cut through my stockings, +and a pebble bruised one of my heels so that I nearly fell. When I +got safely under the shadow of the large cedar of Lebanon in the +middle of the lawn, I stopped and looked up at my mother's window to +see if she were a watcher. The blinds were down, there was no +movement, no noise. Evidently she was asleep. I put on my shoes and +hurried across the lawn towards the high road. I walked at a sharp +pace towards the old church. The bark of a distant dog or the baa of +a waking sheep was the only sound. When I reached the churchyard, I +peered in dread over the lich-gate before I opened it. Neither Wynne +nor any living creature was to be seen in the churchyard. + +The soothing smell of the sea came from the cliffs, making me wonder +at my fears. On the loneliest coast, in the dunnest night, a sense of +companionship comes with the smell of seaweed. At my feet spread the +great churchyard, with its hundreds of little green hillocks and +white gravestones, sprinkled here and there with square, box-like +tombs. All quietly asleep in the moonlight! Here and there an aged +headstone seemed to nod to its neighbour, as though muttering in its +dreams. The old church, bathed in the radiance, seemed larger than it +had ever done in daylight, and incomparably more grand and lonely. + +On the left were the tall poplar trees, rustling and whispering among +themselves. Still, there might be at the back of the church mischief +working. I walked round thither. The ghostly shadows on the long +grass might have been shadows thrown by the ruins of Tadmor, so +quietly did they lie and dream. A weight was uplifted from my soul. +A balm of sweet peace fell upon my heart. The noises I had heard had +been imaginary, conjured up by love and fear; or they might have been +an echo of distant thunder. The windows of the church no doubt looked +ghastly, as I peered in to see whether Wynne's lantern was moving +about. But all was still. I lingered in the churchyard close by the +spot where I had first seen the child Winifred and heard the Welsh +song. + +I went to look at the sea from the cliff. Here, however, there was +something sensational at last. The spot where years ago I had sat +when Winifred's song had struck upon my ear and awoke me to a new +life--_was gone_! 'This then was the noise I heard,' I said; 'the +rumbling was the falling of the earth; the shriek was the tearing +down of trees.' + +Another slice, a slice weighing thousands of tons, had slipped since +the afternoon from the churchyard on to the sands below. 'Perhaps the +tread of the townspeople who came to witness the funeral may have +given the last shake to the soil,' I said. + +I stood and looked over the newly-made gap at the great hungry water. +Considering the little wind, the swell on the North Sea was +tremendous. Far away there had been a storm somewhere. The moon was +laying a band of living light across the vast bosom of the sea, like +a girdle. Only a month had elapsed since that never-to-be-forgotten +moonlight walk with Winifred. But what a world of emotion since then! + + + +VIII + +I walked along the cliff to the gangway behind Flinty Point, and +descended in order to see what havoc the landslip had made with the +graves. + +I looked across the same moonlit sands where I had seen Winifred so +short a time before, when I had a father. To my delight and surprise, +there she was again. There was Winifred, walking thoughtfully towards +Church Cove with Snap by her side, who seemed equally thoughtful and +sedate. The relief of finding that my fears about her father were +groundless added to my joy at seeing her. With my own dead father +lying within a few roods of me, I ran towards her in a state of high +exhilaration, forgetting everything but her. With sympathetic looks +for my bereavement she met me, and we walked hand-in-hand in silence. + +After a little while she said: 'My father told me he was very busy +to-night, and wished me to come on the sands for a walk, but I little +hoped to meet you; I am very pleased we have met, for to-morrow I am +going to London.' + +'To London?' I said, in dismay at the thought of losing her so soon. +'Why are you going to London. Winnie?' + +'Oh,' said she, with the same innocent look of business-like +importance which, at our first meeting as children, had so impressed +me when she pulled out the key to open the church door, 'I'm going on +business.' + +'On business! And how long do you stay?' + +'I don't stay at all; I'm coming back immediately.' + +'Come,' I exclaimed, 'there's a little comfort in that, at least. +Snap and I can wait for one day.' + +'Good-night,' said Winifred. + +'Have you not seen the great landslip at the churchyard?' I asked, +taking her hand and pointing to the new promontory which the _debris_ +of the fall had made. + +'Another landslip?' said she. 'Poor dear old churchyard, it will soon +all be gone! Snap and I must have been far away when that fell. But I +remember saying to him, 'Hark at the thunder. Snap!' and then I heard +a sound like a shriek that appalled me. It recalled a sound I once +heard in Shire-Carnarvon.' + +'What was it, Winnie?' + +'You've heard me when I was a little girl talk of my Gypsy sister +Sinfi?' + +'Often,' I said. + +'She loves me more than anybody else in the whole world,' said +Winifred simply. 'She says she would lay down her life for me, and I +really believe she would. Well, there is not far from where I used to +live a famous cascade called the Swallow Falls, where the water drops +down a chasm of great depth. If you listen to the noise of the +cataract, you may hear mingled with it a peculiar kind of wail as +from a man in great agony. It is said to be the wail of a Sir John +Wynn, of Gwydir, whose spirit is under a curse, and is imprisoned at +the bottom of the falls on account of his cruelty and misdeeds on +earth. On those rare nights when the full moon shines down the +chasm, the wail becomes an agonised shriek. Once on a bright +moonlight night Sinfi and I went to see these falls. The moonlight on +the cascade had exactly the same supernatural appearance that it has +now falling upon these billows. Sinfi sings some of our Welsh songs, +and accompanies herself on a peculiar obsolete Welsh instrument +called a crwth, which she always carries with her. While we were +listening to the cataract and what she called the Wynn wail, she +began to sing the wild old air. Then at once the wail sprang into a +loud shriek; Sinfi said the shriek of a cursed spirit; and the +shriek was exactly like the sound I heard from the cliffs a little +while ago.' + +'I heard the same noise, Winnie. It was simply the rending and +cracking of the poor churchyard trees as they fell.' + +She turned back with me to the water-mark to see the waves come +tumbling in beneath the moon. We sauntered along the sea-margin +again, heedless of the passage of time. + +And again (as on that betrothal night) Winifred prattled on, +while I listened to the prattle, craftily throwing in a word or two, +now and then, to direct the course of the sweet music into such +channels as best pleased my lordly whim,--when suddenly, against my +will and reason, there came into my mind that idea of the sea's +prophecy which was so familiar to my childhood, but which my studies +had now made me despise. + +The sea then threw up to Winifred's feet a piece of seaweed. It was a +long band of common weed, that would in the sunlight have shone a +bright red. And at that very moment--right across the sparkling bar +the moon had laid over the sea--there passed, without any cloud to +cast it, a shadow. And my father's description of his love-tragedy +haunted me, I knew not why. And right across my life, dividing it in +twain like a burn-scar, came and lay for ever that strip of red +seaweed. Why did my father's description of his own love-tragedy +haunt me? + +Before recalling the words that had fallen from my father in +Switzerland, I was a boy: in a few minutes afterwards, I was a man +with an awful knowledge of Destiny in my eyes--a man struggling with +calamity, and fainting in the grip of dread. My manhood, I say, dates +from the throwing up of that strip of seaweed. Winifred picked up the +weed and made a necklace of it, in the old childish way, knowing how +much it would please me. + +'Isn't it a lovely colour?' she said, as it glistened in the +moonlight. 'Isn't it just as beautiful and just as precious as if it +were really made of the jewels it seems to rival?' + +'It is as red as the reddest ruby,' I replied, putting out my hand +and grasping the slippery substance. + +'Would you believe,' said Winnie, 'that I never saw a ruby in my +life? And now I particularly want to know all about rubies.' + +'Why do you want particularly to know?' + +'Because,' said Winifred, 'my father, when he wished me to come out +for a walk, had been talking a great deal about rubies.' + +'Your father had been talking about rubies, Winifred--how very odd!' + +'Yes,' said Winifred, 'and he talked about diamonds too.' + +'THE CURSE!' I murmured, and clasped her to my breast. 'Kiss me, +Winifred!' + +There had come a bite of sudden fire at my heart, and I shuddered +with a dreadful knowledge, like the captain of an unarmed ship, who, +while the unconscious landsmen on board are gaily scrutinising a sail +that like a speck has appeared on the horizon, shudders with the +knowledge of what the speck is, and hears in imagination the yells, +and sees the knives, of the Lascar pirates just starting in pursuit. +As I took in the import of those innocent words, falling from +Winifred's bright lips, falling as unconsciously as water-drops over +a coral reef in tropical seas alive with the eyes of a thousand +sharks, my skin seemed to roughen with dread, and my hair began to +stir. + +At first she resisted my movement, but looking in my eyes and seeing +that something had deeply disturbed me, she let me kiss her. 'What +did you say, Henry?' + +'That I love you so, Winnie, and cannot let you go just yet.' + +'What a dear fellow it is!' she said; 'and all this ado about a poor +girl with scarcely shoes to her feet.' Then, after an instant's +pause, she said: 'But I thought you said something very different. I +thought you said something about a curse, and _that_ scared me.' + +'Scared Winifred!' I said. 'Fancy anything scaring Winnie, who +threatens to hit people when they offend her.' + +'Ah! but I am scared,' said she, 'at things from the other world, and +especially at a curse.' + +'Why, what do you know about curses, Winifred?' + +'Oh, a good deal. I have never forgotten that shriek of a cursed +spirit which I heard at the Swallow Falls. And only a short time ago +Sinfi Lovell nearly frightened me to death by a story of a whole +Gypsy tribe having withered, one after the other--grandfathers, +fathers, and children--through a dead man's curse. But what is the +matter with you, Henry? You surely have turned very pale!' + +'Well, Winnie,' said I, 'I _am_ a little, just a little faint. After +the funeral I could take no dinner. But it will he over in a minute. +Let us go back a few yards and sit down upon the dry sand, and have +a little more chat.' + +We went and sat down, and my heart slowly resumed its function. + +'Let me see, Winnie, what were we talking about? About rubies and +diamonds, I think, were we not? You said that when your father bade +you come out for a walk to-night, he had just been talking about +rubies and diamonds. What was he saying about them, Winnie? But come +and lay your head here while you tell me; lay it on my breast, +Winnie, as you used to do in Graylingham Wood, and on these same +sands.' + +Evidently the earnestness of my manner and the suppressed passion in +my voice drove out of her mind all her wise saws about the perils of +wealth and all her wise determinations about the postponed betrothal, +for she came and sat by my side and laid her head upon my breast. + +'Yes. like _that_,' I said; 'and now tell me what your father was +saying about precious stones; for I, too, take an interest in jewels, +and have a great knowledge of them.' + +'My father,' said Winifred, 'is going to have some diamonds and +rubies given to him to-night by a friend of his, a sailor, who has +come from India, and I am to go to London to-morrow to sell some of +them; for you know, dear, we are very poor. That is why I am +determined to go back to Shire-Carnarvon and see if I can get a +situation as governess. Miss Dalrymple's recommendation will be of +great aid. Poverty afflicts father more than it afflicts most people, +and the rubies and diamonds and things will be of no use to us, you +know.' + +I could make her no answer. + +'It seems a very strange kind of present from my father's friend,' +she continued, meditatively; 'but it is a very kind one for all that. +But, Henry, you surely are still very unwell; your heart is thumping +underneath my ear like a fire-engine.' + +'They are all love-thumps for Winifred,' I said, with pretended +jocosity; 'they are all love-thumps for my Winnie.' + +'But of course,' said she, 'this is quite a secret about the precious +stones. My father enjoined me to tell no one, because the temptation +to people is so great, and the cottage might be robbed, or I might be +waylaid going to London. But of course I may tell you; he never +thought of _you_.' + +'No, Winnie, he never thought of me. You are very fond of him; very +fond of your father, are you not?' + +'Oh yes,' said she, 'I love him more than all the world--next to +you.' + +'Then he is kind to you, Winnie?' 'Ye--yes, as kind as he can +be--considering--' + +'Considering what, Winnie?' + +'Considering that he's often--unwell, you know.' + +'Winnie.' I said, as I gazed in the innocent eyes, 'whom are you +considered to be the most like, your father or your mother?' + +'I never knew my mother, but I am said to be partly like her. Why do +you ask?' + +'Only an idle question. You love me, Winnie?' + +'What a question!' + +'And you will do what I ask you to do, if I ask you very earnestly, +Winnie?' + +'Certumly,' said Winifred, giving, with a forced laugh, the lisp with +which that word had been given on a now famous occasion. + +'Well, Winifred, I told you that I feel an interest in precious +stones, and have some knowledge of them. There are certain stones to +which I have the greatest antipathy: diamonds and rubies are the +chief of these. + +Now I want you to promise that diamonds and rubies and beryls shall +never touch these fingers, these dear fingers, Winnie, which are +mine, you know; they are mine now,' and I drew the smooth nails +slowly along my lips. 'You are mine now, every bit.' + +'Every bit,' said Winifred, but she looked perplexed. + +She saw, however, by my face that, for some reason or other, I was +deeply in earnest. She gave the promise. And I knew at least that +those fingers would not be polluted, come what would. As to her going +to London with the spoil, I knew how to prevent that. + +But what course of action was I now to take? At this very moment +perhaps Winifred's father was violating my father's tomb, unless +indeed the crime might even yet he prevented. There was one hope, +however. The drunken scoundrel whose daughter was my world I knew to +be a procrastinator in everything. His crime might, even yet, be only +a crime in intent; and, if so, I could prevent it easily enough. My +first business was to hurry to the church, and, if not yet too late, +keep guard over the tomb. But to achieve this I must get quit of +Winifred without a moment's delay. Now Winifred's most direct path to +the cottage was the path I myself must take to the church, the +gangway behind Flinty Point. Yet _she_ must not pass the church with +me, lest an encounter with her father should take place. There was +thus but one course open. I must induce her to take the gangway +behind the other point of the cove; and how was this to be compassed? +That was what I was racking my brain about. + +'Winifred,' I said at last, as we sat and looked at the sea, 'I begin +to fear we must be moving.' + +She started up, vexed that the hint to move had come from me. + +'The fact is,' I said, 'I particularly want to go into the old +church.' + +'Into the old church to-night?' said Winifred, with a look of +astonishment and alarm that I could not understand. + +'Yes; something was left undone there this afternoon at the funeral, +and I must go at once. But why do you look so alarmed?' + +'Oh, don't go into the old church to-night,' said Winifred. + +I stood and looked at her, puzzled and strangely disturbed. + +'Henry,' said she, 'I know you will think me very foolish, but I have +not yet got over the fright that shriek gave me, the shriek we both +heard the moment before the landslip. That shriek was not a noise +made by the rending of trees, Henry. No, no; we both know better than +that, Henry.' + +I gave a start; for, try as I would, I had not really succeeded in +persuading myself that what I had heard was anything but a human +voice in terror or in pain. + +'What do you think the noise was, then?' said I. + +'I don't know; but I know what I felt as it came shuddering along the +sand, and then went wailing over the sea.' + +'What did you feel, Winnie?' + +'My heart stood still, for it seemed to me to be the call from the +grave.' + +'The call from the grave! and pray what is that? I feel how sadly my +education has been neglected.' + +'Don't scoff, Henry. It is said that when the fate of an old family +is at stake, there will sometimes come to him who represents it a +call from the grave, and when I saw Snap standing stock still, his +hair bristling with terror, I knew that it was no earthly shriek. I +felt sure it was a call from the grave, and I knelt on the sands and +prayed. Henry, Henry, don't go in the church to-night.' + +That Winifred's words affected me profoundly I need not say. The +shriek, whatever it was, had been responded to by her soul and by +mine in the same mysterious way. But the important thing to do was to +prevent her from imagining that her superstitious terrors had +affected me. + +'Really, Winnie,' I said, 'this double-voiced shriek of yours, which +is at once the shriek of the Welshman at the bottom of the swollen +falls and the Celtic call from the grave, is the most dramatic shriek +I ever heard of. It would make its fortune on the stage. But with all +its power of being the shriek of two different people at once, it +must not prevent my going into the church to do my duty; so we had +better part here at this very spot. You go up the cliffs by Needle +Point, and _I_ will take Flinty Point gangway.' + +'But why not ascend the cliffs together?' said Winifred. + +'Why, the prying coastguard might be passing, and might wonder to +see us in the churchyard on the night of my father's funeral (he +might take us for two ghosts in love, you know). However, we need not +part just yet. We can walk on a little farther into the cove before +our paths diverge.' + +Winifred made no demur, though she looked puzzled, as we were then +much nearer to the gangway I had selected for myself than to the +gangway I had allotted to her. + + +IX + +Winifred and I were in the little horseshoe curve called 'Church +Cove,' but also called sometimes 'Mousetrap Cove,' because, as I have +already mentioned, a person imprisoned in it by the tide could only +escape by means of a boat from the sea. + +Needle Point was at one extremity of the cove and Flinty Point at the +other. In front of us, therefore, at the very centre of the cliff +that surrounded the cove, was the old church, which I was to reach as +soon as possible. To reach a gangway up the cliff it was necessary to +pass quite out of the cove, round either Flinty Point or Needle +Point; for the cliff _within_ the cove was perpendicular, and in some +parts actually overhanging. + +When we reached the softer sands near the back of the cove, where the +walking was difficult, I bade Winifred good-night, and she turned +somewhat demurely to the left on her way to Needle Point, between +which and the spot where we now parted she would have to pass below +the church on the cliff, and close by the great masses of debris from +the new landslip that had fallen from the churchyard. This landslip +(which had taken place since she had left home for her moonlight +walk) had changed the shape of the cove into a figure something like +the Greek epsilon. + +I walked rapidly towards Flinty Point, which I should have to double +before I could reach the gangway I was to take. So feverishly +possessed had I become by the desire to prevent the sacrilege, if +possible, that I had walked some distance away from Winifred before I +observed how high the returning tide had risen in the cove. + +When I now looked at Flinty Point, round which I was to turn, I saw +that it was already in deep water, and that I could not reach the +gangway outside the cove. It was necessary, therefore, to turn back +and ascend by the gangway Winifred was making for, behind Needle +Point, which did not project so far into the sea. So I turned back. +As I did so, I perceived that she had reached the projecting mass of +debris in the middle of the semicircle below the churchyard, and was +looking at it. Then I saw her stoop, pick up what seemed a paper +parcel, open it, and hold it near her face to trace out the letters +by the moonlight. Then I saw her give a start as she read it. I +walked towards her, and soon reached the landslip. Evidently what she +read agitated her much. She seemed to read it and re-read it. When +she saw me she put it behind her back, trying to conceal it from me. + +'What have you picked up, Winifred?' I said, in much alarm; for my +heart told me that it was in some way connected with her father and +the shriek. + +'Oh, Henry!' said she, 'I was in hopes you had not seen it. I am so +grieved for you. This parchment contains a curse written in large +letters. Some sacrilegious wretch has broken into the church and +stolen a cross placed in your father's tomb.' + +God!--It was the very same parchment scroll from my father's tomb on +which was written the curse! I was struck dumb with astonishment and +dismay. The whole terrible truth of the situation broke in upon me at +one flash. The mysterious shriek was explained now. Wynne had +evidently broken open the tomb as soon as his daughter was out of the +way. He had then, in order to reach the cottage without running the +risk of being seen by a chance passenger on the Wilderness Road, +blundered about the edge of the cliff at the very moment when it was +giving way, and had fallen with it. It was his yell of despair amid +the noise of the landslip that Winifred and I had both heard. My sole +thought was for Winifred. She had read the curse; but where was the +dead body of her father that would proclaim upon whose head the curse +had fallen? I stared around me in dismay. She saw how deeply I was +disturbed, but little dreamed the true cause. + +'Oh, Henry,' said she, 'to think that you should have such a grief as +this; your dear father's tomb violated!' and she sat down and sobbed. +'But there is a God in heaven,' she added, rising with great +solemnity. 'Whoever has committed this dreadful crime against God and +man will rue the day he was born:--the curse of a dead man who has +been really wronged no penance or prayer can cure,--so my aunt in +Wales used to say, and so Sinfi says;--it clings to the wrongdoer and +to his children. That cry I heard was the voice of vengeance, and it +came from your father's tomb.' + +'It is a most infamous robbery,' I said; 'but as to the curse, that +is of course as powerless to work mischief as the breath of a baby.' +And again I anxiously looked around to see where was the dead body of +Wynne, which I knew must be close by. + +'Oh, Henry!' said she, 'listen to these words, these awful words of +your dead father, and the words of the Bible too.' + +And she held up to her eyes, as though fascinated by it, the +parchment scroll, and read aloud in a voice so awe-struck that it did +not seem to be her voice at all: + + '_He who shall violate this tomb,--he who shall steal this amulet, + hallowed as a love-token between me and my dead wife,--he who shall + dare to lay a sacrilegious hand upon this cross, stands cursed by + God, cursed by love, and cursed by me, Philip Aylwin, lying here. + "Let there be no man to pity him, nor to have compassion upon his + fatherless children....Let his children be vagabonds, and beg their + bread: let them seek it also out of desolate places."--Psalm cix. + So saith the Lord_. Amen.' + +'I am in the toils,' I murmured, with grinding teeth. + +'What a frightful curse!' she said, shuddering. 'It terrifies me to +think of it. How hard it seems,' she continued, 'that the children +should be cursed for the father's crimes.' + +'But, Winifred, they are NOT so cursed,' I cried. 'It is all a +hideous superstition: one of Man's idiotic lies!' + +'Henry,' said she, shocked at my irreverence, 'it _is_ so; the Bible +says it, and all life shows it. Ah! I wonder what wretch committed +the sacrilege, and why he had no pity on his poor innocent children!' + +While she was talking, I stooped and picked up the casket from which +the letters had been forced by the fall. She had not seen it. I put +it in my pocket. + +'Henry, I am so grieved for you,' said Winifred again, and she came +and wound her fingers in mine. + +Grieved for _me_! But where was her father's dead body? That was the +thought that appalled me. Should we come upon it in the _debris_? +What was to be done? Owing to the tide, there was no turning back now +to Flinty Point. The projecting debris must be passed. There was no +dallying for a moment. If we lingered we should be caught by the tide +in Mousetrap Cove, and then nothing could save us. Suppose in passing +the _debris_ we should come upon her father's corpse. The idea was +insupportable. 'Thank God, however, I murmured, 'she will not even +_then_ know the very worst; she will see the corpse of her father who +has fallen with the cliff, but she need not and will not associate +him with the sacrilege and the curse.' + +As I picked up the letters that had been scattered from the casket, +she said, + +'I cannot get that dreadful curse out of my head; to think that the +children of the despoiler should be cursed by God, and cursed by your +father, and yet they are as innocent as I am.' + +'Best to forget it,' said I, standing still, for I dared not move +towards the _debris_. + +'We must get on, Henry,' said she, 'for look, the tide is unusually +high to-night. You have turned back, I see, because Flinty Point is +already deep in the water.' + +'Yes,' I said, 'I must turn Needle Point with you. But as to the +sacrilege, let us dismiss it from our minds; what cannot be helped +had better be forgotten.' + +I then cautiously turned the corner of the _debris_, leading her +after me in such a way that my body acted as a screen. Then my eyes +encountered a spectacle whose horror chilled my blood, and haunts me +to this day in my dreams. About twelve feet above the general level +of the sand, buried to the breast behind a mass of green sward fallen +from the graveyard, stood the dead body of Wynne, amid a confused +heap of earth, gravestones, trees, shrubs, bones, and shattered +coffins. Bolt upright it stood, staring with horribly distorted +features, as in terror, the crown of the head smashed by a fallen +gravestone. Upon his breast glittered the rubies and diamonds and +beryls of the cross, sparkling in the light of the moon, and seeming +to be endowed with conscious life. It was evident that he had, while +groping his way out of the crypt, slung the cross around his neck, in +order to free his hands. I shudder as I recall the spectacle. The +sight would have struck Winifred dead, or sent her raving mad, on the +spot; but she had not turned the corner, and I had just time to wheel +sharply round, and thrust my body between her and the spectacle. The +dog saw it, and, foaming with terror, pointed at it. + +'I beg your pardon, Winifred,' I said, falling upon her and pushing +her back. + +Then I stood paralysed as the full sinister meaning of the situation +broke in upon my mind. Had the _debris_ fallen in any other way I +might have saved Winifred from seeing the most cruel feature of the +hideous spectacle, the cross, the evidence of her father's sacrilege. +I might, perhaps, on some pretence, have left her on this side the +_debris_, and turning the corner, have mounted the heap and removed +the cross gleaming in hideous mockery on the dead man's breast, and +giving back the moonbeams in a cross of angry fire. One glance, +however, had shown me that before this could be done, there was a +wall of slippery sward to climb, for the largest portion of the +churchyard soil had broken off in one lump. In falling, it had turned +but _half_ over, and then had slid down sideways, presenting to the +climber a facet or sward nearly perpendicular and a dozen feet high. +Wedged in between the jaggy top of this block and the wall of the +cliff was the corpse, showing that Wynne had been standing by the +fissure of the cliff at the moment when it widened into a landslip. + +Nor was that all; between that part of the _debris_ where the corpse +was perched and the sand below was one of those long pools of +sea-water edged by shingles, which are common features of that coast. +It seemed that Destiny or Circumstance, more pitiless than Fate and +Hell, determined on our ruin, had forgotten nothing. + +The contour of the cove; the way in which the debris had been thrown +across the path we now must follow in order to reach the only place +of egress; the way in which the hideous spectacle of Wynne and the +proof of his guilt had been placed, so that to pass it without seeing +it the passenger must go blindfold; the brilliance of the moon, +intensified by being reflected from the sea; the fulness of the high +tide, and the swell--all was complete! As I stood there with clenched +teeth, like a rat in a trap, a wind seemed to come blowing through my +soul, freezing and burning. I cursed Superstition that was slaying us +both. And I should have cursed Heaven but for the touch of Winnie's +clasping fingers, silky and soft as when I first felt them as a child +in the churchyard. + +'What has happened?' asked she, looking into my face. + +'Only a slip of my foot,' I said, recovering my presence of mind. + +'But why do you turn back?' + +'I cannot bring myself to part from you under this delicious moon, +Winnie, if you will stay a few minutes longer. Let us go and sit on +that very boulder where little Hal proposed to you.' + +'But you want to go into the church,' said Winifred, as we moved back +towards the boulder. + +'No, I will leave that till the morning. I would leave _anything_ +till the morning, to have a few minutes longer with you on the sands. +Try to imagine that we are children again, and that I am not the +despised rich man but little Hal the cripple.' + +Winifred's eyes, which had begun to look very troubled, sparkled with +delight. + +'But,' said she with a sigh, as we sat down on the boulder, 'I'm +afraid we sha'n't be able to stay long. See how the tide is rising, +and the sea is wild. The tides just now, father says, come right up +to the cliff in the cove, and once locked in between Flinty Point and +Needle Point there is no escape.' + +'Yes, darling,' I muttered to myself, drawing her to me and burying +my face in her bosom, 'there is one escape, only one.' + +For death seemed to me the only escape from a tragedy far, far worse +than death. + +If she made me any answer I heard it not; for, as I sat there with +closed eyes, schemes of escape fluttered before me and were dismissed +at the rate of a thousand a second. A fiery photograph of the cove +was burning within my brain, my mind was absorbed in examining every +cranny and every protuberance in the semicircular wall of the cliff +there depicted; over and over again I was examining that +brain-picture, though I knew every inch of it, and knew there was not +in the cliff-wall foothold for a squirrel. + + +X + +The moon mocked me, and seemed to say: + +'The blasting spectacle shining there on the other side of that heap +of earth must be passed, or Needle Point can never be reached; and +unless it is reached instantly you and she can never leave the cove.' + +'Then we will never leave it,' I whispered to myself, jumping up. + +As I did so I found for the first time that her forehead had been +resting against my head; for the furious rate at which the wheels of +thought were moving left no vital current for the sense of touch, and +my flesh was numbed. + +'Something has happened,' she said. 'And why did you keep whispering +"yes, yes"? Whom were you whispering to?' + +The truth was that, in that dreadful trance, my conscience had been +saying to me, 'Have you a right to exercise your power over this girl +by leading her like a lamb to death?' and my love had replied, 'Yes, +ten thousand times yes.' + +'Winifred,' I said, 'I would die for you.' + +'Yes, Henry,' said she, 'I know it; but what have we to do with death +now?' + +'To save you from harm this flesh of mine would rejoice at +crucifixion; to save you from death this soul and body of mine would +rejoice to endure a thousand years of hell-fire.' + +She turned pale, amazed at the delirium into which I had passed. + +'To save you from harm, dear, I would,' said I, with a quiet +fierceness that scared her, 'immolate the whole human race--mothers, +and fathers, and children; I would make a hecatomb of them all to +save this body of yours, this sweet body, alive.' + +But I could not proceed. What I had meant to say was this,-- + +'And yet, Winnie, I have brought you here to this boulder to die!' + +But I could not say it--my tongue rebelled and would not say it. + +Winifred was so full of health and enjoyment of life that, courageous +as she was. I felt that the prospect of certain and imminent death +must appal her; and to see the look of terror break over her face +confronting death was what I could not bear. And yet the thing must +be said. But at this very moment, when my perplexity seemed direst, a +blessed thought came to me--a subterfuge holier than truth. I knew +the Cymric superstition about 'the call from the grave,' for had not +she herself just told me of it? + +'I will turn Superstition, accursed Superstition itself, to account,' +I muttered. 'I will pretend that I am enmeshed in a web of Fate, and +doomed to die here myself. Then, if I know my Winifred, she will, of +her own free mind, die with me.' + +'Winnie,' I said, 'I have to tell you something that I know must +distress you sorely on my account--something that must wring your +heart, dear, and yet it must be told.' + +She turned her head sharply round with a look of alarm that almost +silenced me, so pathetic was it. On that courageous face I had not +seen alarm before, and this was alarm for evil coming to me. It shook +my heart--it shook my heart so that I could not speak. + +'I felt,' said she, 'that something awful had happened. And it +affects yourself, Henry?' + +'It affects myself.' + +'And very deeply?' + +'Very deeply, Winnie.' + +Then, pulling from my pocket the silver casket and the parchment +scroll, I said, 'It has relation to these.' + +'_That_ I felt,' said she; 'how could it be otherwise? Oh, the +miscreant! I curse him; I curse him!' + +'Winifred,' I said, 'between me and this casket, and the cross +mentioned in this scroll, there is a mysterious link. The cross is an +amulet, an heirloom of dreadful potency for good and ill. It has been +disturbed; it has been stolen from my father's grave, and there is +but one way of setting right that disturbance. To avert unspeakable +calamity from falling upon two entire families (the family of Aylwin +and that of her to whom this amulet was given) a sacrifice is +demanded.' + +'Henry, you terrify me to death. What is the sacrifice? Oh God! Oh +God!' + +'My father's son must die, Winnie.' + +She turned ashen pale, but struggling to be playful, she said, 'I +fear that the family of Aylwin and the family of somebody else must +even take the calamity and bear it; for I don't mean my Henry to die, +let me assure both families of _that_.' + +'Ah! but, Winnie, I am under a solemn oath and pledge to bear this +penalty; and we part to-night, That shriek which so appalled you--' + +'Well, well, the shriek?' said she, in a frenzy of impatience. + +I made no answer, but she answered herself. + +'That shriek was a call to you,' she cried, and then burst into a +passion of tears. 'It _cannot_ be,' she said. 'It cannot and shall +not be; God is too good to suffer it,' Then she fixed her eyes upon +me, and sobbed: 'Ah, it is _true_! I feel it is all true! Yes, they +are calling you, and that is why my soul answered the call. Ah, when +I saw you just now lift your head from my breast with a face grey and +wizened as an old man's--when I saw you look at me, I knew that +something dreadful had happened. Oh, I knew, I knew! but I thought it +had happened to _me_. The love and pity in your eyes when you opened +them upon me made me think it was my trouble, and not yours, that +disturbed you. And now I know it is yours, and you are going to die! +They are calling you. Yes, you are going to let the tide drown you! +Oh, my love my love!' and her grief was so acute that I knew not at +first whether in this I had done well after all. + +'Winifred,' I said, 'you must bear this. I have always been ready to +take death when it should come. I have at least had one blessed time +with Winifred on the sands--Winifred the beloved and beautiful +girl--one night, as the crown to the happy days that have been mine +with Winifred the beloved and beautiful child. And that night, as we +were walking by the sea, it seemed to me that such happiness as was +ours can come but once--that never again could there be a night equal +to that.' + +Smiles broke through her tears as she listened to me. I had struck +the right chord. + +'And _I_ thought so too,' she said. 'It was indeed a night of bliss. +Indeed, indeed God has been good to us, Henry,' and she fell into my +arms again. + +'And now, Winnie,' I said, 'we must kiss and part--part for ever.' + +Yes, I had struck the right chord. As she lay in my arms I felt her +soft bosom moving with a little hysterical laugh of derision when I +said we must part. And then she rose and sat beside me upon the +boulder, looking calm and fearless at the tide as it got nearer and +nearer to Needle Point. + +'Yes, dear,' I said, looking in the same direction, 'you must be +going; see how the waves are surrounding the Point. You must run, +Winnie--you must run, and leave me.' + +'Yes,' said she, still gazing across to the Point, 'as you say, I +must run, but not yet, dear; plenty of time yet,' and she smiled to +herself as she used to do in the old days, when as a child she had +made up her mind to do something. + +Then without another word she took her shawl from her shoulders, and +pulled it out to see its length. And soon I felt her fingers stealing +my penknife from my waistcoat-pocket, and saw her deftly cut up the +shawl, strip after strip, and weave it and knot it into a rope, and +tie the rope around her waist, and then she stooped to tie it around +me. + +It was when I felt her warm breath about my neck as she stooped over +me to tie that rope, that love was really revealed to me; it was +then, and not till then, that all my previous love for Winifred +seemed as the flicker of a rushlight to Salaman's cloak of fire; and +a feeling of bliss unutterable came upon me, and the night air seemed +full of music, and the sky above seemed opening, as she whispered, +'Henry, Henry, Henry, in a few minutes you will be mine.' But the +very confidence with which she spoke these simple words startled me +as from a dream. 'Suppose,' I thought, 'suppose my last drop of bliss +with Winnie were being tasted now!' In a moment I felt like a coward. +But then there came a loud crash and a thunder from behind the +landslip. + +'The settlement!' I cried. 'The coming in of the tide has made the +landslip settle!' + +When I sat with closed eyes examining my fiery photograph, I had +calculated the 'settlement' at the return of the tide as being among +the chances of escape. But feeling myself to be engaged in a duel +with Circumstance (more cruel than the fiends), I believed that the +settlement would come too late for us, or even if it did not come too +late, it might not hide away the spectacle. The settlement had come; +what had it done for us? This I must know at once. + +'Untie the rope,' I said; 'quick, untie the rope, there is a +settlement of the landslip.' + +'But what has the settlement to do with us?' said Winnie. + +'It _has_ to do with us, dear; untie the rope. It has much to do with +us, Winnie,' I said; for now the determination to save her life came +on me stronger than ever. + +When the rope was untied, I said, 'Wait till I call,' and I ran round +the corner of the _debris_. The great upright wall of earth and +sward, from which had stared the body of Wynne, had fallen, hiding +him and his crime together! + +To return round the corner of the landslip and call Winifred was the +work of an instant, and, quick as she was in answering my call, by +the time she had reached me I had thrown off my coat and boots. + +'Now for a run and a tussle with the waves, Winnie,' I said. + +'Then we are not going to die?' + +'We are going to live. Run; in six more returns of a wave like that +there will he four feet of water at the Point.' + +'Come along, Snap,' said Winifred, and she flew along the sands +without another word. + +Ah, she could run!--faster than I could, with my bruised heel! She +was there first. + +'Leap in, Winnie,' I cried, 'and struggle towards the Point; it will +save time. I shall he with you in a second.' + +Winifred plunged into the tide (Snap following with a bark), and +fought her way so bravely that my fear now was lest she should be out +of her depth before I could reach her, and then, clad as she was, she +would certainly drown. But never tor a moment did her good sense +leave her. When she was nearly waist-high she stopped and turned +round, gazing at me as I tore through the shallow water--gazing with +a wistful, curious look that her face would have worn had we been +playing. + +To get round the Point and pull Winifred round was no slight task, +for the water was nearly up to my breast, and a woman's clothing +seems designed for drowning her. Any other woman than Winifred +_would_ have been drowned, and would have drowned me with her. But in +straits of this kind the only safety lies in courage. + +'What a night's adventures!' said Winifred, after we had turned the +Point, and were walking through the shallow water towards the +gangway. + +We hurried towards the cottage as fast as our wet clothes would +permit. On reaching it we found the door unlocked, and entered. + +'Father has again gone to bed,' said Winifred, 'and left no candle +burning for me.' + +And without seeing her face, I knew by the tremor of the hand I +clasped that she was listening with shame for the drunken snore that +she would never hear again. + +I lighted a match, which with a candle I found on a chair. + +'Your father is no doubt sound asleep,' I said; 'you will scarcely +awake him to-night?' + +'Oh dear, no,' said Winifred. 'Good-night. You look quite ill. Ever +since you lifted up your head from my breast, when you were thinking +so hard, you have looked quite ill.' + +Suddenly I remembered that I must be up and on the sands betimes in +the morning, to see whether the tide had washed away the fallen earth +so as to expose Wynne's body. To prevent Winifred from seeing the +stolen cross was now the one important thing in the world. + +I bade her good-night and walked towards home. + + +XI + +She was right: those few minutes of concentrated agony had in truth +made me ill. My wet clothes clinging round my body began to chill me +now, and as I crept into the house and upstairs to my room, my teeth +were chattering like castanets. + +As I threw off my wet clothes and turned into bed, I was partially +forewarned by the throbbing at my temples, the rolling fire at the +back of my eyeballs, the thirst in my parched throat, that some kind +of illness, some kind of fever, was upon me. And no wonder, after +such a night! + +In that awful trance, when I had sat with my face buried on +Winifred's breast, not only had the physiognomy of the cove, but +every circumstance of our lives together, been photographed in my +brain in one picture of fire. When, after the concentrated agony of +those first moments of tension, I looked up into Winifred's face, as +though awakening from a dream, my flesh had 'appeared,' she told me, +'grey and wizened, like the flesh of an old man.' The mental and +physical effects of this were now gathering around me and upon me. + +From a painful slumber I awoke in about an hour with red-heat at my +brain and with a sickening dread at my heart. 'It is fever,' thought +I; 'I am going to be ill; and what is there to do in the morning at +the ebb of the tide before Winifred can go upon the sands? I ought +not to have come home at all,' I said. 'Suppose illness were to +seize me and prevent my getting there?' The dreadful thought alone +paralysed me quite. Under it I lay as under a nightmare. I scarcely +dared try to get out of bed, lest I should find my fears +well-grounded. At last, cautiously and timorously, I put one leg out +of bed and then the other, till at length I felt the little ridges of +the carpet; but my knees gave way, my head swam, my stomach heaved +with a deadly nausea, and I fell like a log on the floor. + +As I lay there I knew that I was indeed in the grasp of fever. I +nearly went crazed from terror at the thought that in a few minutes I +should perhaps lapse into unconsciousness and be unable to +rise--unable to reach the sands in the morning and seek for Wynne's +body--unable even to send some one there as a substitute to perform +that task. But then whom was I to send? whom could I entrust with +such a commission? I was under a pledge to my dead father never to +divulge the secret of the amulet save to my mother and uncle. And +besides, if I would effectually save Winifred from the harm I +dreaded, the hideous sacrilege committed by her father must be kept a +secret from servants and townspeople. Whom then could I send on this +errand? At the present moment, there were but four people in the +world who knew that the cross and casket had been placed in the +coffin--my mother, my uncle, myself, and now, alas! Winifred. My +mother was the one person who could do what I wanted done. Her +sagacity I knew; her courage I knew. But how could I--how dare I, +broach such a matter to her? I felt it would be sheer madness to do +so, and yet, in my dire strait, in my terror at the illness I was +fighting with, I did it, as I am going to tell. + +By this time the noise of my fall had brought up the servants. They +lifted me into bed and proposed fetching our medical man. But I +forbade them to do so, and said, 'I want to speak to my mother.' + +'She is herself unwell, sir,' said the man to whom I spoke. + +'I know,' I replied. 'Call her maid and tell her that my business +with my mother is very important, or I would not have dreamed of +disturbing her; but see her I must.' + +The man looked dubious, but observing my wet clothes on a chair he +seemed to think that something had happened, and went to do my +bidding. + +In a very short time my mother entered the room. I felt that my +moments of consciousness were brief, and began my story as soon as we +were alone. I told her how the sudden dread that Wynne would steal +the amulet had come upon me; I told her how I had run down to the +churchyard and discovered the landslip; I told her how, on seeing the +landslip, I had descended the gangway and found the body of Wynne, +the amulet, the casket, and the written curse. But I did not tell her +that I had met Winifred on the sands. Excited as I was, I had the +presence of mind not to tell her that. + +As I proceeded with my narrative, with my mother sitting by my +bedside, a look of horror, then a look of loathing, then a look of +scorn, swept over her face. I knew that the horror was of the +sacrilege. I knew that the loathing and the haughty scorn expressed +her feeling towards the despoiler--the father of her whose cause I +might have to plead; and I began to wish from the bottom of my heart +that I had not taken her into my confidence. When I got to the +finding of Tom's body, and the look of terror stamped upon his face, +a new expression broke over hers--an expression of triumphant hate +that was fearful. + +'Thank God at least for that!' she said. Then she murmured, 'But that +does not atone.' + +Ah! how I regretted now that I had consulted her on a subject where +her proud imperious nature must be so deeply disturbed. But it was +too late to retreat. + +'Henry,' she said, 'this is a shocking story you tell me. After +losing my husband this is the worst that could have happened to +me--the violation of his sacred tomb. Had I only hearkened to my own +misgiving about the miscreant! Yet I wonder you did not wait till the +morning before telling me.' + +'Wait till the morning?' I said, forgetting that she did not know +what was at my heart. + +'Doubtless the matter is important, Henry,' said she. 'Still, the +mischief is done, the hideous crime has been committed, and the news +of it could have waited till morning.' + +'But, mother, unless my father's words are idle breath, it is +important, most important, that the amulet should again be buried +with him. I meant to go to the sands in the morning and wait for the +ebbing tide--I meant to take the cross from the breast of the dead +man, and to replace it in my father's coffin. That, mother, was what +I meant to do. But I am too ill to move; I feel that in an hour or +so, or in a few minutes, I shall be delirious. And then, mother! Oh, +_then_!--'My mother looked astonished at my vehemence upon the +subject. + +'Henry,' she said, 'I had no idea that you felt such an interest in +the matter; I have certainly misjudged your character entirely. And +now, what do you want me to do?' + +'Nobody,' I said, 'must know of the cross but ourselves. I want you, +mother, to do what I cannot do: I want you to go on the sands and +wait for the turn of the tide; I want you to take the cross from +Wynne's breast, if the body should be exposed, and secure it in +secret till it can be replaced in the coffin.' + +'_I_ do this, Henry?' said my mother, with a look of bewilderment at +my earnestness. 'Yet there is reason in what you say, and grievous as +the task would be for me, I must consider it.' + +'But will you engage to do it, mother?' + +'Really, Henry, you forget yourself,--you forget your mother too. For +me to go down to the sands and watch the ebbing of the tide, and then +defile myself by touching the body of this wretch, is a task I +naturally shrink from. Still if, on thinking it over, I find it my +duty to do it, it will not be needful for me to enter into a compact +with my son that my duty to my dead husband shall be performed. +Good-night. I quite think you will be better in the morning. I see no +signs myself of the fever you seem to dread, and, alas! I am not, as +you know, ignorant of the way in which a fever begins.' + +She was going out of the room when I exclaimed, in sheer desperation, +'Mother, I have something else to say to you. You remember the little +girl, the little blue-eyed girl, Wynne's daughter, who came here +once, and you were so kind to her, so gracious and so kind'; and I +seized her hand and covered it with kisses, for I was beside myself +with alarm lest my one hope should go.' + +The sudden little laugh of bitter scorn that came from my mother's +lips, the sudden spasm that shook her frame, the sudden shadow as of +night that swept across her features, should at once have hushed my +confession. But I went on: my tongue would not stop now: I felt that +my eloquence, the eloquence of Winifred's danger, must conquer, must +soften even the hard pride of her race. + +'And she has never forgotten your graciousness to her, mother.' + +'Well?' said my mother, in a tone whose velvet softness withered me. + +'Well, mother, she is in all things the very opposite of her father. +This very night she told me'--and I was actually on the verge of +repeating poor Winifred's prattle about her resembling her mother, +and not her father (for already my brain had succumbed to the force +of the oncoming fever, and the catastrophe I was dreading made of me +a frank and confiding child). + +'Well?' said my mother, in a voice softer and more velvety still. +'What did she tell you?' + +That tone ought to have convinced me of the folly, the worse than +folly, of saying another word to her. + +'But I can conquer her,' I thought; 'I can conquer her yet. When she +comes to know all the piteousness of Winifred's case, she _must_ +yield.' + +'Yes, mother,' I cried, 'she is in all things the very opposite of +Tom. She has such a horror of sacrilege; she has such a dread of a +crime and a curse like this; she has such a superstitious belief in +the power of a dead man's curse to cling to the delinquent's +offspring, that, if she knew of what her father had done, she would +go mad--raving mad, mother--she would indeed!' And I fell hack on the +pillow exhausted. + +'Well, Henry, and is this what you summoned me from my bed to tell +me--that Wynne's daughter will most likely object to share the +consequences of her father's crime? A very natural objection, and I +am really sorry for her; but further than that I have certainly no +affair with her.' + +'But, mother, the body of her father lies beneath the _debris_ on the +shore; the ebbing tide may leave it exposed, and the poor girl, +missing her father in the morning, will seek him perhaps on the shore +and find him--find him with the proof of his crime on his breast, and +know that she inherits the curse--my father's curse! Oh, think of +_that_, mother--think of it. And you only can prevent it.' + +For a few moments there was intense silence in the room. I saw that +my mother was reflecting. At last she said: + +'You say that Wynne's daughter told you something to-night. Where did +you see her?' + +'On the sands.' + +'At what hour?' + +'At--at--at--about eleven, or twelve, or one o'clock.' + +I felt that I was getting into a net, but was too ill to know what I +was doing. My mother paused for awhile; I waited as the prisoner +tried for his life waits when the jury have retired to consult. I +clutched the bedclothes to stay the trembling of my limbs. On a chair +by my bedside was my watch, which had been stopped by the sea-water. +I saw her take it up mechanically, look at it, and lay it down again. +In the agony of my suspense I yet observed her smallest movement. + +'And in what capacity am I to undertake this expedition?' said she at +length, in the same quiet tone, that soul-quelling tone she always +adopted when her passion was at white-heat. 'Is it in the capacity of +your father's wife executing his wishes about the amulet? Or is it as +the friend, protectress, and guardian of Miss Wynne?' + +She sat down again by my bedside, and communed with +herself--sometimes fixing an abstracted gaze upon me, sometimes +looking across me at the very spot where in the shadow beside my bed +I bad seemed to see the words of the Psalmist's curse written in +letters of fire. At last she said quietly, 'Henry, I will undertake +this commission of yours.' + +'Dear mother!' I exclaimed in my delight. 'I will undertake it,' +pursued my mother in the same quiet tone, 'on one condition.' + +'Any condition in the world, mother. There is nothing I will not do, +nothing I will not sacrifice or suffer, if you will only aid me in +saving this poor girl. Name your condition, mother; you can name +nothing I will not comply with.' + +'I am not so sure of that, Henry. Let me be quite frank with you. I +do not wish to entrap you into making an engagement you cannot keep. +You have corroborated to-night what I half suspected when I saw you +talking to the girl in the churchyard; there is a very vigorous +flirtation going on between you and this wretched man's daughter.' + +'Flirtation? 'I said, and the incongruity of the word as applied to +such a passion as mine did not vex or wound me; it made me smile. + +'Well, for her sake, I hope it is nothing more,' said my mother. 'In +view of the impassable gulf between her and you, I do for her sake +sincerely hope that it is nothing more than a flirtation.' + +'Pardon me, mother,' I said, 'it was the word "flirtation" that made +me smile.' + +'We will not haggle about words, Henry; give it what name may please +you, it is all the same to me. But flirtations of this kind will +sometimes grow serious, as the case of Percy Aylwin and the Gypsy +girl shows. Now, Henry, I do not accuse you of entertaining the mad +idea of really marrying this girl, though such things, as you know, +have been in our family. But you are my only son, and I do love you, +Henry, whatever may be your opinion on that point; and, because I +love you, I would rather, far rather, be a lonely, childless woman in +the world, I would far rather see you dead on this floor, than see +you marry Winifred Wynne.' + +'Ah! mother, the cruelty of this family pride has always been the +curse of the Aylwins.' + +'It seems cruel to you now, because you are a boy, a generous boy. +You think it the romantic, poetic thing to elevate a low girl to your +own station--perhaps even to show your superiority to conventions by +marrying the daughter of the miscreant who has desecrated your own +father's tomb. But, Henry, I know the race to which you and I belong. +In five years' time--in three years, or perhaps in two--you will +thank me for this; you will say: "My mother's love was not cruel, but +wise."' + +'Oh, mother!' I said, '_any_ condition but that.' + +'I see that you know what my condition is before I utter it. If you +will give me your word--and the word of an Aylwin is an oath--if you +will give me your word that you will never marry Winifred Wynne, I +will do as you desire. I will myself go upon the sands in the +morning, and if the body has been exposed by the tide I will secure +the evidence of her father's guilt, in order to save the girl from +the suffering which the knowledge of that guilt would cause her, as +you suppose.' + +'As I suppose!' + +'Again I say, Henry, we will not quarrel about words.' + +I turned sick with despair. + +'And on no other terms, mother?' + +'On no other terms,' said she. + +'Oh, mercy, mother! mercy! you know not what you do. I could not live +without her; I should die without her.' + +'Better die then!' exclaimed my mother, with an expression of +ineffable scorn, and losing for the first time her self-possession; +'better die than marry like that.' + +'She is my very life now, mother.' + +'Have I not said you had better die then? On no other terms will I go +on those sands. But I tell you frankly what I think about this +matter. I think that you absurdly exaggerate the effect the knowledge +of her father's crime will have upon the girl.' + +'No, no; I do not. Mercy, dear mother, mercy! I am your only child.' + +'That is the very reason why you, who may some day be the heir of one +of the first houses in England, must never marry Winifred Wynne.' + +'But I don't want to be heir of the Aylwins; I don't want my uncle's +property,' I retorted. 'Nor do I want the other bauble prizes of the +Aylwins.' + +'Providence has taken Frank, and says you must stand where you +stand,' replied my mother solemnly. 'You may even some day, should +Cyril be childless, succeed to the earldom, and then what an alliance +would this be!' + +'Earldom! I'd not have it. I'd trample on the coronet. Gingerbread! +I'd trample it in the mud, if it were to sever me from Winifred.' + +'You must succeed to it should Cyril Aylwin, who seems disinclined to +marry, die childless,' said my mother quietly; 'and by that time you +may perhaps have reached man's estate.' + +'Pity, mother, pity!' I cried in despair, as I looked at the strong +woman who bore me. + +'Pity upon whom? Have pity upon me, and upon the family you now +represent. As to all the fearful effects that the knowledge of this +sacrilege will have upon the girl, _that_ is a subject upon which you +must allow me to have my own opinion. God tempers the wind to the +shorn lamb, and provides thick skins for the _canaille_. What will +concern her chiefly, perhaps entirely, will be the loss of her +father, and she will soon know of that, whether she finds the body on +the sands or not. This kind of person is not nearly so sensitive as +my romantic Henry supposes. However, my condition will not be +departed from. If you consent to give up this girl I will go on the +sands; I will defile my fingers; I will secure the stolen amulet at +the ebb of the tide, should the corpse become exposed. If you will +_not_ consent to give her up, there is an end of the matter, and +words are being wasted between us.' + +'Give up Winifred, mother? That is not possible.' + +'Then there is no more to be said. We will not waste our time in +discussing impossibilities. And I am really so depressed and unwell +that I must return to my room. I hope to hear you are better in the +morning, and I think you will be. The excitement of this night and +your anxiety about the girl have unstrung your nerves, and you have +lost that courage and endurance which are yours by birthright.' + +And she left the room. + +But she had no sooner gone than there came before my eyes the +insupportable picture of a slim figure walking along the sands +stooping to look at some object among the _debris_, standing aghast +at the sight of her dead father with the evidence of his hideous +crime on his own breast; there came the sound of a cry to 'Henry' for +help! I beat my head against the bedstead till I was nearly stunned. +I yelled and bellowed like a maniac: 'Mother, come back!' + +When she returned to my bedside my eyes were glaring so that my +mother stood appalled, and (as she afterwards owned to me) was nearly +yielding her point. + +'Mother,' I said,'I consent to your condition: I will give her +up--but oh, save her! Let there be no dallying, let there be no risk, +mother. Let nothing prevent your going upon the sands in the +morning--early, quite early--and every morning at the ebbing of the +tide.' + +'I will keep my word,' she said. + +'You will use the fullest and best means to save her?' + +'I will keep my word,' she said, and left the room. + +'I have saved her!' I cried over and over again, as I sank back on my +pillow. Then the delirium of fever came upon me, and I lay tossing as +upon a sea of fire. + + +XII + +Weak in body and in mind as an infant, I woke again to consciousness. +Through the open window the sunlight, with that tender golden-yellow +tone which comes with morning in England, was pouring between the +curtains, and illuminating the white counterpane. Then a soft breeze +came and slightly moved the curtains, and sent the light and shadows +about the bed and the opposite wall--a breeze laden with the scent I +always associated with Wynne's cottage, the scent of geraniums. I +raised myself on my elbows, and gazed over the geraniums on the +window-sill at the blue sky, which was as free of clouds as though it +were an Italian one, save that a little feathery cloud of a palish +gold was slowly moving towards the west. + +'It is shaped like a hand,' I said dreamily, and then came the +picture of Winifred in the churchyard singing, and pointing to just +such a golden cloud, and then came the picture of Tom Wynne reeling +towards us from the church porch, and then came everything in +connection with him and with her; everything down to the very +last words which I had spoken about her to my mother before +unconsciousness had come upon me. But what I did _not_ know--what I +was now burning to know without delay--was what time had passed since +then. + +I called out 'Mother!' A nurse, who was sitting in the room, but +hidden from me by a large carved and corniced oak wardrobe, sprang up +and told me that she would go and fetch my mother. + +'Mother,' I said, when she entered the room, 'you've been?' + +'Yes,' said she, taking a seat by my bedside, and motioning the nurse +to leave us. + +'And you were in time, mother!' + +'More than in time,' said she. 'There was nothing to do. I have +realised, however, that your extraordinary and horrible story was +true. It was not a fever-dream. The tomb has been desecrated.' + +'But, mother, you went as you promised to the sands in Church Cove, +and you waited for the ebb of the tide?' + +'I did.' + +'And you found--' + +'Nothing; no corpse exposed.' + +'And you went again the next day?' + +'I did.' + +'And you found--' + +'Nothing.' + +'But how many days have passed, mother? How many days have I been +lying here?' + +'Seven.' + +'And no sign of--of the body was to be seen?' + +'None. The wretch must have been buried for ever beneath the great +mass of the fallen cliff. I went no more.' + +'Oh, mother, you should have gone every day. Think of the frightful +risk, mother. On the very day after you ceased your visits the body +might have been turned up by the tide, and she might have gone and +seen it.' + +The picture was too terrible. I fell back exhausted. I revived, +however, in a somewhat calmer mood. When my mother came into the room +again, I returned at once to the subject. I reproached her bitterly +for not having gone every day. She listened to my reproaches in +entire calmness. + +'It was idle to keep repeating these visits every day,' said she, +'and I consider that I have fully performed my part of the compact. I +expect you to fulfil yours.' + +I remained silent, preparing for a deadly struggle with the only +being on earth I had ever really feared. + +'I have fully kept my word, Henry,' said she, 'and have done for you +more than my duty to your father's memory warranted me in doing.' + +'But, mother, you did not do all that you promised to do; you did not +prevent all risk of Winifred's finding it. She may find it even yet.' + +'That is not likely now. I have performed my part of the compact, and +I expect you to perform yours.' + +'You did not use all means to save my Winifred from worse than +death--from madness; you did not use all means to save me from dying +of self-murder or of a broken heart; and the compact is broken. +Whether or not I could have kept my faith with you by breaking troth +with her, it is you who have set me free. Mother,' I said, fiercely, +'in such a compact it must be the letter of the bond.' + +'Mean subterfuge, unworthy of your descent,' said my mother quietly, +but with one of those looks of hers that used to frighten me once. + +'No, no, mother; you have not kept the letter of the bond, and I am +free. You did _not_ take the fullest and best means to save Winifred. +Your compact was to save her from the risk I told you of. And, +mother, mother, listen to me!' I cried, in a state of crazy +excitement now: 'in the darkest moment of my life, when I was +prostrate and helpless, you were pitiless as Pride. Listen, mother: +Winifred Wynne shall be mine. Not all the Aylwins that have ever +eaten of wheat and fattened the worms shall prevent that. She shall +be mine. I say, she shall be mine!' + +'The daughter of the man who desecrated my husband's tomb!' + +'And my father's! That man's daughter shall be my wife,' I said, +sitting up in bed and looking into those eyes, bright and proud, +which had been wont to make all other eyes blink and quail. + +'Cursed by your father, and cursed by God--' + +'That curse--for what it may be worth--I take upon my own head; the +curse shall be mine. Even if I believed the threat about the +"desolate places," I would be there; if bare-footed she had to beg +from door to door, rest assured, mother, that an Aylwin would hold +the wallet--would leave the whole Aylwin brood, their rank, their +money, and their stupid, vulgar British pride, to walk beside the +beggar.' + +The look on my mother's face would have terrified most people. It +would have terrified me once, but in the frenzy into which I had then +passed, nothing would have made me quail. + +'Your services, mother, are no longer needed,' I said. 'Wynne's +corpse might have been washed up by the tide, and your compact was to +be there to see; but now, most likely, it is hidden, not under the +loose fragments as I had feared, but under the great mass of +earth,--hidden for ever.' + +'But you forget,' said my mother, 'that the amulet has to be +recovered.' + +'Mother,' I said, in the state of wild suspiciousness concerning her +and her motives into which I had now passed, 'I know what your words +imply,--that Winifred is not yet out of danger; the evidence of the +curse and the crime can be dug up.' + +'I have no wish to harm the girl, Henry. You mistake me.' + +'Then, mother, we must _not_ mistake each other in this matter,' I +said. 'You have alluded to the word of an Aylwin. With me, as with +the best of us, the word of an Aylwin is an oath. Wynne's corpse is +now hidden; the cross is now hidden; I give you the word of an Aylwin +that the man who digs up that corpse I will kill. I will not consider +that he is an irresponsible agent of yours; I will kill him, and his +blood shall be upon the head of her who sends him, knowing, to his +death.' + +'And be hanged,' said my mother. + +'Perhaps. But after her father's crime has been exposed, the first +thing for me is--to kill!' + +'Why, boy, there's murder in your eyes!' said my mother, taken off +her guard. + +'Oh, mother, mother, can you not see that no wolf with a stolen lamb +in its mouth was ever more pitilessly shot down by the owner of that +lamb than any hireling wolf of yours would be shot down by me?' + +'Boy, are you quite demented?' + +'Listen, mother. To prevent Winifred from knowing that her father had +stolen that amulet, and so brought down upon her the curse, I would +have drowned her with myself in the tide. We sat waiting for the tide +to drown us, when the settlement came at the last moment and buried +it away from her. Is it likely that I should hesitate to kill a +clodhopper, or a score, if only to take my vengeance on you and Fate? +The homicide now will be yours.' + +She left, giving me a glance of defiance; but before our eyes ended +that conflict, I saw which of us had conquered. + +'Hate is strong,' I murmured, as I sank down on my pillow, 'and +destiny is strong; but oh, Winnie, Winnie--stronger than hate, and +stronger than destiny and death, is love. She knows, Winnie, that the +life of the man who should dig up that corpse would not be worth an +hour's purchase; she knows, Winnie, that in the court of conscience +she alone is answerable now for what may befall; and you are safe! +But poor mother! My poor dear mother, whom once I loved so dearly, +was it indeed you I struggled with just now? Mother, mother, was it +you?' + +This interview retarded my recovery, and I had a serious relapse. + +The fever was a severe one. The symptoms were aggravated by these +most painful and trying interviews with my mother, and by my +increasing anxiety about the fate of Winifred. Yet my vigorous +constitution began to show signs of conquering. Of Winifred I could +learn nothing, save what could be gleaned from the servants in +attendance, who seemed merely to have heard that Tom Wynne was +missing, that he had probably fallen drunk over the cliff and been +washed out to sea, and that his daughter was seeking him everywhere. +As the days passed by, however, and no hint reached me that the +corpse had been found on the sands, I concluded that, when the larger +mass finally settled on the night of the landslip, the corpse had +fallen immediately beneath it, and was buried under the main mass. +Yet, from what I had seen of the corpse's position, in the rapid view +I had of it, perched on the upright mass of sward, I did not +understand how this could be. + +And so anxiety after anxiety delayed my progress. Still, on the +whole, I felt that the body would not now be dislodged by the tides, +and that Winifred would at least be spared a misery compared with +which even her uncertainty about her father's fate would be bearable. +But how I longed to be up and with her! + +Dr. Mivart, who attended me, a young medical man of much ability who +had finished his medical education in Paris, and had lately settled +at Raxton, came every day with great punctuality. + +One day, however, he arrived three hours behind his usual time, and +seemed to think that some explanation was necessary. + +'I must apologise,' said he, 'for my unpunctuality to-day, but the +fact is that, at the very moment of starting, I was delayed by one of +the most interesting--one of the most extraordinary cases that ever +came within my experience, even at the Salpetriere Hospital, where we +were familiar with the most marvellous cases of hysteria--a seizure +brought on by terror in which the subject's countenance mimics the +appearance of the terrible object that has caused it. A truly +wonderful case! I have just written to Marini about it.' + +He seemed so much interested in his case, that he aroused a certain +interest in me, though at that time the word 'hysteria' conveyed an +impression to me of a very uncertain and misty kind. + +'Where did it occur?' I asked. + +'Here, in your own town,' said Mivart. 'A most extraordinary case. My +report will delight Marini, our great authority, as you no doubt are +aware, on catalepsy and cataleptic ecstasy.' + +'Strange that I have heard nothing of it!' I said. + +'Oh!' replied Mivart, 'it occurred only this morning. Some fishermen +passing below the old church were attracted, first by a shriek of a +peculiarly frightful and unearthly kind, and then by some unusual +appearance on the sands, at the spot where the last landslip took +place.' + +My pulses stopped in a moment, and I clung to the back of my chair. + +'What--did--the fishermen see?' I gasped. + +'The men landed,' continued Mivart,--too much interested in the case +to observe my emotion,--'and there they found a dead body--the body +of the missing organist here, who had apparently fallen with the +landslip. The face was horribly distorted by terror, the skull +shattered, and around the neck was slung a valuable cross made of +precious stones. But the most interesting feature of the case is +this, that in front of the body, in a fit of a remarkable kind, +squatted his daughter--you may have seen her, an exceedingly pretty +girl lately come from Wales or somewhere--and on her face was +reflected and mimicked, in the most astonishing way, the horrible +expression on the face of the corpse, while the fingers of her right +hand were so closely locked around the cross--' + +I felt that from my mouth there issued a voice not mine--a long +smothered shriek like that which had seemed to issue from my mouth on +that awful night when, looking out of the window, I had heard the +noise of the landslip. Then I felt myself whispering 'The Curse!' +Then I knew no more. + + +XIII + +I had another dangerous relapse, and was delirious for two days, I +think. When I came to myself, the first words I uttered to Mivart, +whom I found with me, were inquiries about Winifred. He was loth at +first to revive the subject, though he supposed that the effect of +his narrative upon me had arisen partly from my weakness and partly +from what he called his 'sensational way' of telling the story. (My +mother had been very careful to drop no hint of the true state of the +case.) At last, however, Mivart told me all he knew about Winifred, +while I hid my face in my pillow and listened. + +'In the seizures (which are recurrent) the girl,' he said, 'mimics +the expression of terror on her father's face. Between the paroxysms +she lapses into a strange kind of dementia. It is as though her own +mind had fled and the body had been entered by the soul of a child. +She will then sing snatches of songs, sometimes in Welsh and +sometimes in English, but with the strange, weird intonation of a +person in a dream. I have known something like this to take place +before, but it has been in seizures of an epileptic kind, very unlike +this case in their general characteristics. The mental processes seem +to have been completely arrested by the shock, as the wheels of a +watch or a musical box are stopped if it falls.' + +He could tell me nothing about her, he said, nor what had become of +her since she had left his hands. + +'The parish officer is taking his holiday,' he added. 'I mean to +inquire about her. I wish I could take her to Paris to the +Salpetriere, where Marini is treating such cases by transmitting +through magnetism the patient's seizure to a healthy subject.' + +'Will she recover?' + +'Without the Salpetriere treatment?' + +'Will she recover?' I asked, maddened beyond endurance by all this +cold-blooded professional enthusiasm about a case which was simply a +case of life and death to Winnie and me. + +'She may, unless the seizures become too frequent for the strength of +the constitution. In that event, of course, she would succumb. She is +entirely harmless, let me tell you.' + +He told me that she was at the cottage, where some good soul was +seeing after her. + +'I'll get up,' I said, trying to rise. + +'Get up!' said the doctor, astonished; 'why do you want to get up? +You are not strong enough to sit in a chair yet.' + +This was, alas! but too true, and my great object now was to conceal +my weakness; for I determined to get out as soon as my legs could +carry me, though I should drop down dead on the road. + +I gathered from the doctor and the servants that the sacrilege had +now become publicly known, and had caused much excitement. Wynne had +evidently been slightly intoxicated when he committed it, and had +taken no care to conceal the proofs that the grave had been tampered +with. At the inquest the amulet had been identified and claimed by my +mother. + +It was some days before I got out, and then I went at once to the +cottage. It was a lovely evening as I walked down Wilderness Road. It +was not till I reached the little garden-gate that I began fully to +feel how weak my illness had left me. The gate was half open, and I +looked over into the garden, which was already forlorn and deserted. +Some instinct told me she was not there. The little flower-beds +looked shaggy, grass-grown, and uncared for. In the centre, among the +geraniums, phlox-beds, and French marigolds, sat a dirty-white hen, +clucking and calling a brood of dirty-white chickens. The +box-bordered gravelled paths, which Wynne, in spite of his +drunkenness, used to keep always so neat, were covered with leaves, +shaken by the wind from the trees surrounding the garden. One of the +dark green shutters was unfastened, and stood out at right-angles +from the wall--a token of desertion. On the diamond panes of the +upper windows, round which the long tendrils of grape-vines were +drooping, the gorgeous sunset was reflected, making the glass gleam +as though a hundred little fires were playing behind it. When I +reached the door, the paint of which seemed far more cracked with the +sun than it had looked a few weeks before, I found on knocking that +the cottage was empty. I did not linger, but went at once into the +town to inquire about her. + +In place of giving me the information I was panting for, the whole +town came cackling round me with comments on the organist and the +sacrilege. I turned into the 'Fishing Smack' inn, a likely place to +get what news was to be had, and found the asthmatical old landlord +haranguing some fishermen who were drinking their ale on a settle. + +'It's my b'lief,' said the old man, 'that Tom was arter somethink +else besides that air jewelled cross. I'm eighty-five year old come +next Dullingham fair, and I regleck as well as if it wur yisterdy +when resur-rectionin' o' carpuses wur carried on in the old +churchyard jes' like one o'clock, and the carpuses sent up to Lunnon +reg'lar, and it's my 'pinion as that wur part o' Tom's game, dang +'im; and if I'd a 'ad _my_ way arter the crouner's quest, he'd never +a' bin buried in the very churchyard as he went and blast-phemed.' + +'Where would you 'a buried 'im, then, Muster Lantoff?' asked a +fisher-boy in a blue worsted jerkin. + +'Buried 'im? why, at the cross-ruds, with a hedge-stake through his +guts, to be sure. If there's a penny agin' 'im on that air slate' +(pointing to a slate hung up on the door) 'there must be ten +shillins, dang 'im.' + +'You blear-eyed, ignorant old donkey,' I cried, coming suddenly +upon him, 'what do you suppose he could have done with a dead body in +these days? Here's your wretched ten shillings,--for which you'd sell +all the corpses in Raxton churchyard.' + +And I gave him half-a-sovereign, feeling, somehow, that I was doing +honour to Winifred. + +'Thankee for the money, Mister Hal, anyhow,' said the old creature. +'You was allus a liberal 'un, you was. But as to what Tom could 'a +dun with the carpus, I'm allus heer'd that you may dew anythink +_with_ any-think, if you on'y send it carriage-paid to Lunnon,' + +I left the house in anger and disgust. No tidings could I get of +Winifred in Raxton or Graylingham. + +By this time I was thoroughly worn out, and obliged to go home. My +anxiety had become nearly insupportable. All night I walked up and +down my bedroom, like a caged animal, cursing Superstition, cursing +Convention, and all the other follies that had combined to destroy +her. It was not till the next day that the true state of the case was +made known to me in the following manner: At the end of the town +lived the widow of Shales, the tailor. Winifred and I had often, in +our childish days, stood and watched old Shales, sitting cross-legged +on a board in the window, at his work, when Winifred would whisper to +me, 'How nice it must be to be a tailor!' + +As I passed this shop I now saw that on the same board was sitting a +person in whom Winifred had taken still stronger interest. This was a +diminutive imitation of the deceased, in the person of his +hump-backed son, a little man of about twenty-four, who might, as far +as appearance went, have been any age from twenty to eighty, with a +pale anxious face like his mother's. He was stitching at a coat with, +apparently, the same pair of scissors by his side that used to +delight us two children. Standing by the side of the board, and +looking on with a skilled intelligence shining from her pale eyes, +was Mrs. Shales, with an infant in her arms--a wasted little +grandchild wrapt in a plaid shawl, apparently smoking a chibouque, +but in reality sucking vigorously at the mouthpiece of a baby's +bottle, which it was clasping deftly with its pink little fingers. + +Mrs. Shales beckoned me mysteriously into her shop, and then into the +little parlour behind it, where she used to sit and watch the +customers through the green muslin blind of the glass door, like a +spider in its web. Young Shales, who left his board, followed us, and +they then gave me some news that at once decided my course of action. +They told me that one morning, after her frightful shock, Winifred +had encountered Shales, who was taking, a holiday, and employing it +in catching young crabs among the stones. Winifred, who had a great +liking for the hump-backed tailor, had come up to him and talked in a +dazed way. Shales, pitying her condition, had induced her to go home +with him; and then it had occurred to him to go and inquire at the +Hall what suggestion could be made concerning her at a house where +her father had been so well known. He could not see me; I was ill in +bed. He saw my mother, who at once suggested that Winifred should be +taken to Wales, to an aunt with whom, according to Wynne, she had +been living. (No one but myself knew anything of Wynne's affairs, and +my mother, though she had heard of the aunt, had not, as I then +believed, heard of her death.) She proposed that Shales himself +should contrive to take Winifred to Wales. 'She had reasons,' she +said, 'for wishing that Winifred should not be handed over to the +local parish officer.' She offered to pay Shales liberally for going. +_I_, however, was to know nothing of this. Her object, of course, +was to get Winifred out of my way. The aunt's address was furnished +by a Mr. Lacon of Dullingham, an old friend of Wynne's, who also, it +seems, was ignorant of the aunt's death. This aunt, a sister of +Winifred's mother, named Davies, the widow of a sea captain who had +once known better days, resided in an old cottage between Bettws y +Coed and Capel Curig. Shales had found no difficulty in persuading +Winifred to go with him, for she had now sunk into a condition of +dazed stupor, and was very docile. + +They started on their long journey across England by rail, and +everything went well till they got into Wales, when Winifred's stupor +seemed to be broken into by the familiar scenery; her wits became +alive again. Then an idea seemed to seize her that she was pursued by +me, as the messenger bearing my dead father's curse. The appearance +of any young man bearing the remotest resemblance to me frightened +her. At last, before they reached Bettws y Coed, she had escaped, and +was lost among the woods. Shales had made every effort to find her, +but without avail, and was compelled at last, by the demands of his +business, to give up the quest. He had returned on the previous +evening, and my mother had enjoined him not to tell me what had been +done, though she seemed much distressed at hearing that Winnie was +lost, and was about to send others into Wales in order to find her, +if possible. Shales, however, had determined to tell me, as the +matter, he said, lay upon his conscience. + +On getting this news I went straight home, ordered a portmanteau to +be packed, and placed in it all my ready cash. Before starting I sat +down to write a letter to my uncle. On hearing of my movements, my +mother came to me in great agitation. In her eyes there was that +haggard expression which I thought I understood. Already she had +begun to feel that she and she alone was responsible for whatsoever +calamities might fall upon the helpless deserted girl she had sent +away. Already she had begun to feel the pangs of that remorse which +afterwards stung her so cruelly that not all Winnie's woes, nor all +mine, were so dire as hers. There are some natures that feel +themselves responsible for all the unforeseen, as well as for all the +foreseen, consequences of their acts. My mother was one of these. I +rose as she entered, offered her a seat, and then sat down again. + +She inquired whither I was going. + +'To North Wales,' I said. + +She stood aghast. But she now understood that grief had made me a +man. + +'You are going,' said she, 'after the daughter of the scoundrel who +desecrated your father's tomb?' + +'I am going after the young lady whom I intend to marry.' + +'Wynne's daughter marry my only son! Never!' + +I proceeded with my letter. + +'I will write to your uncle Aylwin at once. I will tell him you are +going to marry that miscreant's daughter, and he will disinherit +you.' + +'In that case, mother,' I said, rising from the table, 'I need not +trouble myself to finish my letter; for I was writing to him, telling +him the same thing. Still, perhaps I had better send mine too,' I +continued. 'I should like at least to remain on friendly terms with +him, he is so good to me'; and I resumed my seat at the +writing-table. + +'Henry,' said my mother, after a second or two, 'I think you had +better _not_ write to your uncle; it might only make matters worse. +You had better leave it to me.' + +'Thank you, mother, the letter is finished,' I replied as I sealed it +up, 'and will be sent. Good-bye, dear,' I said, taking her hand and +kissing it. 'You knew not what you did, and I know you did it for the +best.' + +'When do you return, Henry?' asked she, in a conquered and sad tone, +that caused me many a pang to remember afterwards. + +'That is altogether uncertain,' I answered. 'I go to follow Winifred. +If I find her alive I shall marry her, if she will marry me, unless +permanent insanity prove a barrier. If she is dead'--(I restrained +myself from saying aloud what I said to myself)--'I shall still +follow her.' + +'The daughter of the scoundrel!' she murmured, her lips grey with +suppressed passion. + +'Mother,' I said, 'let us not part in anger. The sword of Fate is +between us. When I was at school I made a certain vow. The vow was +that I would woo and win but one woman upon earth--the daughter of +the man who has since violated my father's tomb. I have lately made a +second vow, that, until she is found, I shall devote my life to the +quest of Winifred Wynne. If you think that I am likely to be deterred +by fears of being disinherited by your family, open and read my +letter to my uncle. I have there told him whom I intend to marry.' + +'Mad, mad boy!' said my mother. 'Society will--' + +'You have once or twice before mentioned society, mother. If I find +Winifred Wynne, I shall assuredly marry her, unless prevented by the +one obstacle I have mentioned. If I marry her I shall, if it so +please me and her, take her into society.' + +'Into society!' she replied, with ineffable scorn. + +'And I shall say to society, "Here is my wife.'" + +'And when society asks, "Who _is_ your wife?'" + +'I shall reply, "She is the daughter of the drunken organist who +desecrated my father's tomb, though that concerns you not:--her own +speciality, as you see, is that she is the flower of all girlhood."' + +'And when society rejects this earthly paragon?' + +'Then I shall reject society.' + +'Reject society, boy!' said my mother. 'Why, Cyril Aylwin himself, +the bohemian painter who has done his best to cheapen and vulgarise +our name, is not a more reckless, lawless leveller than you. And, +good heavens! to him, and perhaps afterwards to you, will come--the +coronet.' + +And she left the room. + + + +III + +WINIFRED'S DUKKERIPEN + + +I + +I need not describe my journey to North Wales. On reaching Bettws y +Coed I turned into the hotel there--'The Royal Oak'--famished; for, +as fast as trains could carry me, I had travelled right across +England, leaving rest and meals to chance. I found the hotel full of +English painters, whom the fine summer had attracted thither as +usual. The landlord got me a bed in the village. A six-o'clock _table +d'hote_ was going on when I arrived, and I joined it. Save myself, +the guests were, I think, landscape painters to a man. They had been +sketching in the neighbourhood. I thought I had never met so genial +and good-natured a set of men, and I have since often wondered what +they thought of me, who met such courteous and friendly advances as +they made towards me in a temper that must have seemed to them morose +or churlish and stupid. Before the dinner was over another tourist +entered--a fresh-complexioned young Englishman in spectacles, who, +sitting next to me, did at length, by force of sheer good-humour, +contrive to get into a desultory kind of conversation with me, and, +as far as I remember, he talked well. He was not an artist, I found, +but an amateur geologist and antiquary. His hobby was not like that +fatal antiquarianism of my father's, which had worked so much +mischief, but the harmless quest of flint implements. His talk about +his collection of flints, however, sent my mind off to Flinty Point +and the never-to-be-forgotten flint-built walls of Raxton church. +After dinner, coffee, liquors, and tobacco being introduced into the +dining-room, I got up, intending to roam about outside the hotel till +bedtime; but the rain, I found, was falling in torrents. I was +compelled to return to my friend of the 'flints.' At that moment one +of the artists plunged into a comic song, and by the ecstatic look of +the company I knew that a purgatorial time was before me. I resigned +myself to my fate. Song followed song, until at last even my friend +of the flints struck up the ballad of _Little Billee_, whose +lugubrious refrain seemed to 'set the table in a roar'; but to me it +will always be associated with sickening heartache. + +As soon as the rain ceased I left the hotel and went to the room in +the little town the landlord had engaged for me. There, with the roar +in my ears of the mountain streams (swollen by the rains), I went to +bed and, strange to say, slept. + +Next morning I rose early, breakfasted at 'The Royal Oak' as soon as +I could get attended to, and proceeded in the direction in which, +according to what I had gathered from various sources, Mrs. Davies +had lived. This led me through a valley and by the side of a stream, +whose cascades I succeeded, after many efforts, in crossing. After a +while, however, I found that I had taken a wrong track, and was soon +walking in the contrary direction. I will not describe that long +dreary walk in a drenching rain, with nothing but the base of the +mountain visible, all else being lost in clouds and mist. + +After blundering through marshy and boggy hillocks for miles, I found +myself at last in the locality indicated to me. Arriving at a +roadside public-house, I entered it, and on inquiry was vexed to find +that I had again been misdirected. I slept there, and in the morning +started again on my quest. I was now a long way off my destination, +but had at least the satisfaction of knowing that I was on the right +road at last. In the afternoon I reached another wayside inn, very +similar to that in which I had slept. I walked up at once to the +landlord (a fat little Englishman who looked like a Welshman, with +black eyes and a head of hair like a black door-mat), and asked him +if he had known Mrs. Davies. He said he had, but seemed anxious to +assure me that he was a Chester man and 'not a Taffy.' She had died, +he told me, not long since. But he had known more of her niece, +Winifred Wynne (or, as most people called her, Winifred Davies); for, +said he, 'she was a queer kind of outdoor creature that everybody +knew.--as fond of the rain and mist as sensible folk are fond of +sunshine.' + +'Where did she live?' I inquired. + +'You must have passed the very door,' said the man. And then he +indicated a pretty little cottage by the roadside which I had passed, +not far from the lake. Mrs. Davies (he told me) had lived there with +her niece till the aunt died. + +'Then you knew Winifred Wynne?' I said. There was to me a romantic +kind of interest about a man who had seen Winifred in Wales. + +'Knew her well,' said he. 'She was a Carnarvon gal--tremenjus fond o' +the sea--and a rare pretty gal she was.' + +'Pretty gal she _is_, you might ha' said, Mr. Blyth,' a woman's voice +exclaimed from the settle beneath the window. 'She's about in these +parts at this very moment, though Jim Burton there says it's her +ghose. But do ghoses eat and drink? that's what _I_ want to know. +Besides, if anybody's like to know the difference between Winnie +Wynne and Winnie Wynne's ghose, I should say it's most likely me.' + +I turned round. A Gypsy girl, dressed in fine Gypsy costume, very +dark but very handsome, was sitting on a settle drinking from a pot +of ale, and nursing an instrument of the violin kind, which she was +fondling as though it were a baby. She was quite young, not above +eighteen years of age, slender, graceful--remarkably so, even for a +Gypsy girl. Her hair, which was not so much coal-black as blue-black, +was plaited in the old-fashioned Gypsy way, in little plaits that +looked almost as close as plaited straw, and as it was of an +unusually soft and fine texture for a Gypsy, the plaits gave it a +lustre quite unlike that which unguents can give. As she sat there, +one leg thrown over the over, displaying a foot which, even in the +heavy nailed boots, would have put to shame the finest foot of the +finest English lady I have ever seen, I could discern that she was +powerful and tall; her bosom, gently rising and falling beneath the +layers of scarlet and yellow and blue handkerchiefs, which filled up +the space the loose-fitting gown of bright merino left open, was of a +breadth fully worthy of her height. A silk handkerchief of deep +blood-red colour was bound round her head, not in the modern Gypsy +fashion, but more like an Oriental turban. From each ear was +suspended a massive ring of red gold. Round her beautiful, towering, +tanned neck was a thrice-twisted necklace of half-sovereigns and +amber and red coral. She looked me full in the face. Then came a +something in the girl's eyes the like of which I had seen in no +other Gypsy's eyes, though I had known well the Gypsies who used +to camp near Rington Manor, not far from Raxton, for my kinsman +Percy Aylwin, the poet, had lately fallen in love with Winnie's early +friend, Rhona Boswell. It was not exactly an 'uncanny' expression, +yet it suggested a world quite other than this. It was an expression +such as one might expect to see in a 'budding spae-wife,' or in a +Roman Sibyl. And whose expression was it that it now reminded me of? +But the remarkable thing was that this expression was intermittent; +it came and went like the shadows the fleeting clouds cast along the +sunlit grass. Then it was followed by a look of steady self-reliance +and daring. This last variation of expression was what now suddenly +came into her eyes as she said, scrutinising me from head to foot: + +'Reia, you make a good git-up for a Romany-chal. Can you rokkra +Romanes? No, I see you can't. I should ha' took you for the right +sort. I should ha' begun the Romany rokkerpen with you, only you +ain't got the Romany glime in your eyes. It's a pity he ain't got the +Romany glime, ain't it, Jim?' + +She turned to a young Gypsy fellow who was sitting at the other end +of the settle, drinking also from a pot of ale, and smoking a cutty +pipe. + +'Don't ax me about no mumply Gorgio's eyes,' muttered the man, +striking the leather legging of his right leg with a silver-headed +whip he carried. 'You're allus a-takin' intrust in the Gorgios, and +yet you're allus a-makin' believe as you hate 'em.' + +'You say Winifred Wynne is back again?' I cried in an eager voice. + +'That's jist what I _did_ say, and I ain't deaf, my rei. How she +managed to get back here puzzles me, poor thing, for she's jist for +all the world like Rhona's daddy's daddy, Opi Bozzell, what buried +his wits in his dead wife's coffin. She's even skeared at _me_.' + +'Why, you don't mean to say Winnie's back!' cried the landlord. 'To +think that I shouldn't have heard about Winnie Wynne bein' back. When +did you see her, Sinfi?' + +'I see her fust ever so many nights ago. I was comin' down this road, +when what do I see but a gal a-kicking at the door of Mrs. Davies's +emp'y house, and a-sobbin' she was jist fit to break her heart, and I +sez to myself, as I looked at her--"Now, if it was possible for that +'ere gal to be Winifred Wynne, she'd be Winifred Wynne, but as it +ain't possible for her to be Winifred Wynne, it _ain't_ Winifred +Wynne, and any mumply Gorgie [Footnote] as _ain't_ Winifred Wynne may +kick and sob for a blue moon for all me."' + +[Footnote: Gorgio, a man who is not a Gypsy. Gorgie, a woman who is +not a Gypsy.] + +'But it was Winnie Wynne, I s'pose?' said the landlord, in a state +now of great curiosity. + +'It was Winnie Wynne,' replied the Gypsy, handing her companion her +empty beer-pot, and pointing to the landlord as a sign that the man +was to pass it on to him to be refilled. 'Up I goes to her, and I +says, "Why, sister, who's bin a-meddlin' with you? I'll tear the +windpipe out o' anybody wot's been a-meddlin' with you."' + +When the girl used the word 'sister' a light broke in upon me. + +'Are you Sinfi Lovell?' I cried. + +'That jist my name, my rei; but as I said afore, I ain't deaf. Jist +let Jim pass my beer across and don't interrup' me, please.' + +'Don't rile her, sir,' whispered the landlord to me; 'she's got the +real witch's eye, and can do you a mischief in a twink, if she likes. +She's a good sort, though, for all that.' + +'What are you two a-whisperin' about me?' said the girl in a menacing +tone that seemed to alarm the landlord. + +'I was only tellin' the gentleman not to rile you, because you was a +fightin' woman,' said the man. + +The Gypsy looked appeased and even gratified at the landlord's +explanation. + +'But what did Winnie Wynne do then, Sinfi?' asked the landlord. + +'She turns round sharp,' said the Gypsy; 'she looks at me as skeared +as the eyes of a hotchiwitchi [Footnote] as knows he's a-bein' +uncurled for the knife. "_Father!_" she cries, and away she bolts +like a greyhound; and I know'd at oust as she wur under a cuss. Now, +you see, Mr. Blyth, that upset me, _that_ did, for Winnie Wynne was +the only one on 'em, Gorgio or Gorgie, ever I liked. No offence, Mr. +Blyth, it isn't your fault you was born one; but,' continued the +girl, holding up the foaming tankard and admiring the froth as it +dropped from the rim upon her slender brown hand on its way to the +floor, 'Winnie Wynne was the only one on 'em, Gorgio or Gorgie, ever +I liked, and that upset me, _that_ did, to see that 'ere beautiful +cretur a-grinnin' and jabberin' under a cuss. The Romanies is gittin' +too fond by half o' the Gorgios, and will soon be jist like mumply +Gorgios themselves, speckable and silly; but Gorgio or Gorgie, she +was the only one on 'em ever I liked, was Winnie Wynne; and when she +turned round on me like _that_, with them kind eyes o' hern (such +kind eyes _I_ never seed afore) lookin' like _that_ at me (and I +know'd she was under a cuss)--I tell you,' she said, still addressing +the beer, 'that it's made me fret ever since--that's what it's done!' + +[Footnote: Hedgehog.] + +About the truth of this last statement there could be no doubt, for +her face was twitching violently in her efforts to keep down her +emotion. + +'And did you follow her?' said the landlord. + +'Not I; what was the good?' + +'But what did you do, Sinfi?' + +'What did I do? Well, don't you mind me comin' here one night and +buyin' a couple of blankets off you, and some bread and meat and +things?' + +'In course I do, Sinfi, and you said you wanted them for the vans.' + +The Gypsy smiled and said, 'I knowed she was bound to come back, so +I pulls up the window and in I gets, and then opens the door and off +I comes to you, as bein' the nearest neighbour, for the blankets and +things, and I puts 'em in the house, and I leaves the door uncatched, +and I hides myself behind the house, and, sure enough, back she +comes, poor thing! I hears her kick, kick, kickin' at the door, and +then I hears her go in when she finds it give way. So I waits a good +while, till I thinks she's eat some o' the vittles and gone to sleep +maybe, and then round the house I creeps, and in the door I peeps, +and soon I hears her breathin' soft, and then I shuts the door and +goes away to the place.' [Footnote] + +[Footnote: Camping-place.] + +'But why didn't you tell _us_ all this, Sinfi?' asked the landlord. +'My wife would ha' went and seen arter her, and we wouldn't ha' +touched a farthin' for they blankets and things, not we, Sinfi, not +we.' + +'Ah, you _would_, though,' said the girl, ''cause I'd ha' _made_ you +take it. Winnie Wynne was the only one on 'em, Gorgio or Gorgie, ever +I liked, and nobody's got no right to see arter her only me, and +that's why I'm about here _now_, if you _must_ know; but nobody's +got no right to see arter her only me, and nobody sha'n't nuther. +They might go and skear her to run up the hills, and she might dash +herself all to flactions in no time.' + +'Don't take on so, Sinfi,' said the landlord. 'When they are in that +way they allus turns agin them as they was fond on.' + +'Then you noticed as she was fond o' me, Mr. Blyth,' said the girl +with great earnestness. + +'Of course she was fond on you, Sinfi; everybody knows that.' + +'Yes,' said the girl, now much affected, '_every_ body knowed it, +_every_ body knowed as she was fond o' me. And to see her look at me +like _that_--it was a cruel sight, Mr. Blyth, I can tell you. Such a +look you never see'd in all your life, Mr. Blyth.' + +'Then I take it she's in the house now?' said the landlord. + +'She goes prowlin' about all day among the hills, as if she was +a-lookin' for somebody; and she talks to somebody as she calls the +Tywysog o'r Niwl, an' I know that's Welsh for the "Prince o' the +Mist"; but back she comes at night. She talks to herself a good deal; +and she sings to herself the Welsh gillies what Mrs. Davies larnt her +in a v'ice as seems as if she wur a-singin' in her sleep, but it's +very sweet to hear it. Yesterday I crep' near her when she was +a-sittin' down lookin' at herself in that 'ere llyn where the water's +so clear, "Knockers' Llyn," as they calls it, where her and me and +Rhona Boswell used to go. And I heard her say she was "cussed by +Henry's feyther." And then I heard her talk to somebody agin, as she +called the Prince of the Mist; but it's herself as she's a-talkin' +to all the while.' + +'Cursed by Henry's father! What curse could any superstitious mystic +call down upon the head of Winifred? The heaven that would answer a +call of that kind would be a heaven for zanies and tomfools!' I +shouted, in a paroxysm of rage against the entire besotted human +race. '_That_ for the curse!' I cried, snapping my fingers. '_I_ am +Henry, and I am come to share the curse, if there is one.' + +'Young man,' interposed the landlord, 'such blas-pheemous langige as +that must not be spoke here; I ain't a-goin' to have _my_ good beer +turned to vinegar by blasphemin' them as owns the thunder, I can tell +you.' + +But the effect of my words upon the Gypsy was that of a spark in a +powder-mine. + +'Henry?' she said, 'Henry? are _you_ the fine rei as she used to talk +about? Are you the fine cripple as she was so fond on? Yes, Beng te +tassa mandi if you ain't Henry his very self.' + +'Don't,' remonstrated the landlord, 'don't meddle with the gentleman, +Sinfi. He ain't a cripple, as you can see.' + +'Well, cripple or no cripple, he's _Henry_. I half thought it as soon +as he began askin' about her. Now, my fine Gorgio, what do you and +your fine feyther mean by cussin' Winnie Wynne? You've jist about +broke her heart among ye. If you want to cuss you'd better cuss me;' +and she sprang up in an attitude that showed me at once that she was +a skilled boxer. + +The male Gypsy rose and buttoned his coat over his waistcoat. I +thought he was going to attack me. Instead of this, he said to the +landlord: + +'_She's_ in for a set-to agin. She's sure to quarrel with me if I +interferes, so I'll just go on to the place and not spile sport. +Don't let her kill the chap, though, Mr. Blyth, if you can anyways +help it. Anyhows, _I_ ain't a-goin' to be called in for witness.' + +With that he left the house. + +The Gypsy girl looked at me from head to foot, and exclaimed, + +'Lucky for you, my fine fellow, that I'm a duke's chavi, an' mustn't +fight, else I'd pretty soon ask you outside and settle this off in no +time. But you'd better keep clear of Mrs. Davies's cottage, I can +tell you. Every stick in that house is mine.' + +And, forgetting in her rage to pay her score, she picked up her +strange-looking musical instrument, put it into a bag, and stalked +out. + +'She's got a queer temper of her own,' said the landlord; 'but she +ain't a bad sort for all that. She's clever, too: she's the only +woman in Wales, they say, as can play on the crwth now since Mrs. +Davies is dead, what larnt her to do it.' + +'The crwth?' + +'The old ancient Welsh fiddle what can draw the Sperrits o' Snowdon +when it's played by a vargin. I dessay you've often heard the sayin' +"The sperrits follow the crwth." She makes a sight o' money by +playin' on that fiddle in the houses o' the gentlefolk, and she's as +proud as the very deuce. Ain't a bad sort, though, for all that.' + + +II + +That I determined to cultivate the acquaintance of Sinfi Lovell I +need scarcely say. But my first purpose was to see the cottage. The +landlord showed me the way to it. He warned me that a storm was +coming on, but I did not let that stay me. Masses of dark clouds were +gathering, and there was every sign of a heavy rainstorm as I went +out along the road in the direction indicated. + +There was a damp boisterous wind, that seemed blowing from all points +of the compass at once, and in a minute I was caught in a swirl of +blinding rain. I took no heed of it, however, but hurried along the +lonely road till I reached the cottage, which I knew at once was the +one I sought. It was picturesque, but had a deserted look. + +It was not till I stood in front or the door that I began to consider +what I really intended to do in case I found her there. A heedless, +impetuous desire to see her--to get possession of her--had brought me +to Wales. But what was to be my course of action if I found her I had +never given myself time to think. + +If I could only clasp her in my arms and tell her I was Henry, I felt +that she must, even in madness, know me and cling to me. I could not +realise that any insanity could estrange her from me if I could only +get near her. + +I put my thumb upon the old-fashioned latch, and found that the door +was not locked. It yielded to my touch, and with a throbbing of every +pulse, I pushed it open and looked in. + +In front of me rose a staircase, steep and narrow. There was +sufficient evening light to enable me to see up the staircase, and to +distinguish two black bedroom doors, now closed, on the landing. I +stood on the wet threshold till my nerves grew calmer. On my right +and on my left the doors of the two rooms on the ground floor were +open. I could see that the one on my left was stripped of furniture. + +I entered the room on my right--a low room of some considerable +length, with heavy beams across the ceiling, which in that light +seemed black. Two or three chairs and a table were in it. There was a +brisk fire, and over it a tea-kettle of the kind much favoured by +Gypsies, as I afterwards learnt. There was no grate, but an open +hearth, exactly like the one in Wynne's cottage, where Winifred and I +used to stand in summer evenings to see the sky, and the stars +twinkling above the great sooty throat of the open chimney. I now +perceived the crwth and bow upon the table. Sinfi Lovell had +evidently been here since we parted. On the walls hung a few of those +highly coloured prints of Scriptural subjects which, at one time, +used to be seen in English farm-houses, and are still the only works +of art with the Welsh peasants and a few well-to-do Welsh Gypsies who +would emulate Gorgio tastes. + +On the left-hand side of the room was an arched recess, in which, no +doubt, had stood at one time a sideboard, or some such piece of +furniture. There was no occupant of the room, however, and I grew +calmer as I stood before the fire, which drew from my wet clothes a +cloud of steam. The ruddy fingers of the fire-gleam playing upon the +walls made the colours of the pictures seem bright as the tints of +stained glass. The pathetic message of those flickering rays flowed +into my soul. The red mantle of the Prodigal Son, in which he was +feeding the swine, shone as though it had been soaked in sorrow and +blood-red sin. The house was apparently empty; the tension of my +passion became for the first time relaxed, and I passed into a +strange mood of pathos, dreamy, but yet acute, in which Winifred's +fate, and my mother's harshness, and my father's scarred breast, +seemed all a mingled mystery of reminiscent pain. + +I had not stood more than a minute, however, when I was startled into +a very different mood. I thought I heard a sobbing noise, which +seemed to me to come from some one overhead, some one lying upon the +boards of the room above me. I was rooted to the spot where I stood, +for the sob seemed scarcely human, and yet it seemed to be hers. A +new feeling about Winifred's madness came upon me. I recalled +Mivart's horrible description of the mimicry. My God! what was I +about to see? I dared not turn and go upstairs: the fire and the +singing tea-kettle were, at least, companions. But something impelled +me to take the bow and draw it across the crwth-strings. Presently I +thought I heard a door overhead softly open, and this was followed by +the almost inaudible creak of a light footstep descending the stairs. +With paralysed pulses I kept my eyes fixed on the half-open door, in +the certainty of seeing her pass along the little passage leading +from the staircase to the front door. But as I heard the dear +footsteps descend stair after stair my horror left me, and I nearly +began to sob myself. My thoughts now were all for her safety. I +slipped into the recess, fearing to take her by surprise. + +Soon the slim girlish figure passed into the room. And as I saw her +glide along I was stunned, as though I had not expected to see her, +as though I had not known the footstep coming down the stairs. + +With her eyes fixed on the fireplace, she brushed past me without +perceiving me, took a chair, and sat down in front of the fire, her +elbows resting on her knees, and her face meditatively sunk between +her hands. Her sobbing bad ceased, and unless my ears deceived me, +had given place to an occasional soft happy gurgle of childish +laughter. + +I stepped out from the shelter of my archway into the middle of the +room, dubious as to what course to pursue. I thought that, on the +whole, the movement that would startle her least would be to slip +quietly out of the room and out of the house while she was in the +reverie, then knock at the door. She would arouse herself then, +expecting to see some one, and would not be so entirely taken by +surprise at the sight of my face as she would have been at finding +me, without the slightest warning, standing behind her in the room. +I did this: I slipped out at the door and knocked, gently at first, +but got no answer; then a little louder--no answer; then louder and +louder, till at last I thundered at the door in a state of growing +alarm; still no answer. + +'She is stone deaf,' I thought; and now I remembered having noticed, +as she brushed past me, a far-off gaze in her eyes, such as some +stone-deaf people show. + +I re-entered the house. There she was, sitting immovably before the +fire, in the same reverie. I coughed and hemmed, softly at first, +then more loudly, finally with such vigour that I ran the risk of +damaging my throat, and still there was no movement of that head bent +over the fire and resting in the palms of the hands. At last I made a +step forward, then another, finally finding myself on the knitted +cloth hearthrug beside her. I now had the full view of her profile. +That she should be still unconscious of my presence was +unaccountable, for I stood at the end of the rug gazing at her. Again +I coughed and hemmed, but without producing the smallest effect. Then +I determined to address her; but I thought it would be safer to do so +as a stranger than to announce myself at once as Henry. + +'I beg pardon,' I said, 'but is there any one at home?' + +No answer. + +'Is this the way to Capel Curig? + +No answer. + +'Will you give me shelter?' I said; and finally I gave a desperate +'halloo.' + +My efforts had not produced the slightest effect. I was now in a +state of great agitation. That she was stone deaf seemed evident. But +was she not in some kind of fit, though without the contortions of +face Mivart had described to me--contortions which haunted me as much +as though I had seen them? I stooped down and gazed into her face. +There was now no terror there, nor even sorrow. I could see in her +eyes sparks of pleasure, as in the eyes of an infant when it seems to +see in the air pictures or colours to which our eyes are blind. Round +about her cheek and mouth a little dimple was playing, exactly like +the dimple that plays around the mouth of a pleased child. This +marvellous expression on her face recalled to me what Mivart had said +as to the form her dementia assumed between one paroxysm and another. + +'Thank God,' thought I, 'she's not in a fit: she's only deaf.' + +Driven to desperation, however, I seized her shoulder and shook it. +This aroused her. She started up with violence, at the same time +overturning the chair upon which she had been sitting. She stared at +me wildly. The danger of what I had done struck me now. A fortunate +inspiration caused me to say, 'Tywysog o'r Niwl.' Then there broke +over her face a sweet smile of childish pleasure. She made a graceful +curtsey, and said, 'You've come at last; I was thinking about you all +the while.' + +Shall I ever forget her expression? Her eyes were alive with light +and pleasure. It was as though Winifred's soul had fled or the soul +of her childhood had re-entered and taken possession of her body. But +the witchery of her expression no words can describe. Never had I +seen her so lovely as now. Often when a child I had seen the boatmen +on the sands look at us as we passed--seen them stay in the midst of +their toil, their dull faces brightening with admiration, as though a +bar of unexpected sunlight had fallen across them. In the fields I +had seen labourers, sitting at their simple dinner under the hedges, +stay their meal to look after the child--so winning, dazzling, and +strange was her beauty. And when I had first met her again, a child +no longer, in the churchyard, my memory had accepted her at once as +fulfilling, and more than fulfilling, all her childhood's promise. +But never had she looked so bewitching as now--a poor mad girl who +had lost her wits from terror. + +For some time I could only keep murmuring: 'More lovely mad than +sane!' + +'As if I didn't _know_ the Prince!' said she. 'You who, in fine +weather or cloudy, wet or dry, are there on the hills to meet me! As +if I don't know the Prince of the Mist when I see him! But how kind +of you to come down here and see poor Winnie, poor lonely Winnie, at +home!' + +She fetched a chair, placed it in front of the fire, pointed to it +with the same ravishingly childlike smile, indicating that it was for +me, and then, when she saw me mechanically sit down, picked up her +chair and came and sat close beside me. + +In a second she was lost in a reverie as profound as that from which +I had aroused her; and the only sound I heard was the rain on the +window and the fitful gusts of wind playing around the cottage. + +The wind having blown open the door, I got up to shut it. Winifred +rose too, and again taking hold of my hand, she looked up into my +face with a smile, and said, 'Don't go; I'm so lonely--poor Winnie's +so lonely.' + +As I held her hand in mine, and closed my other hand over it, I +murmured to myself, 'If God will only give her to me like this--mad +like this--I will be content.' + +'Dearest,' I said, longing to put my arm round her waist--to kiss her +own passionless lips--but I dared not, lest I might frighten her +away, 'I will not leave you. I will never leave you. You shall never +be lonely any more.' + +I closed the door, and we resumed our seats. + +Can I put into words what passed within my soul as we two sat by the +fire, she holding my hand in her own--holding it as innocently as a +child holds the hand of its mother? Can I put into words my mingled +feelings of love and pity and wild grief, as I sat looking at her and +murmuring, 'Yes; if God will only give her to me like _this_, I will +be content'? + +'Prince,' said she, 'your eyes look very kind!--Sweet, sweet eyes,' +she continued, looking at me. 'The Prince of the Mist has love-eyes,' +she repeated, as she placed the seats before the fire again. + +Then I heard her murmur, 'Love-eyes! love-eyes! Henry's love-eyes!' +Then a terrible change came over her. She sprang up and came and +peered in my face. An indescribable expression of terror overspread +her features, her nostrils expanded, her lips were drawn tightly over +her teeth, her eyes seemed starting from their sockets; her throat +suddenly became fluted like the throat of an aged woman, then veined +with knotted, cruel cords. Then she stood as transfixed, and her face +was mimicking that appalling look on her father's face which I had +seen in the moonlight. With a yell of 'Father!' she leapt from me. +Then she rushed from the house, and I could hear her run by the +window, crying, 'Cursed, cursed, cursed by Henry's father!' + +For an instant the movement took away my breath; but I soon recovered +and sprang after her to the door. + +There, in the distance, I saw her in the rain, running along the +road. My first impulse was to follow her and run her down. But +luckily I considered the effect this might have in increasing her +terror, and stopped. She was soon out of sight. I wandered about the +road calling her name, and calling on Heaven to have a little pity--a +little mercy. + + +III + +I decided to return to the house, but found that I had lost my way in +the obscurity and pelting rain. For hours I wandered about, without +the slightest clue as to where I was. I was literally soaked to the +skin. Several times I fell into holes in a morass, and was up to my +hips in moss and mud and water. Then I began to call out for +assistance till I was hoarse. I might as well have called out on an +uninhabited island. + +The night wore on, and the darkness grew so intense that I could +scarcely see my hand when I held it up. Every star in the heavens was +hid away as by a thick-pall. The darkness was positively benumbing to +the faculties, and added, if possible, to the misery I was in on +account of Winifred. Suddenly my progress was arrested. I had fallen +violently against something. A human body, a woman! I thrust out my +hand and seized a woman's damp arm. + +'Winifred,' I cried, 'it's Henry.' + +'I thought as much.' said the voice of the Gypsy girl I had met at +the wayside inn, and she seized me by the throat with a fearful grip. +'You've been to the cottage and skeared her away, and now she's seed +you there she'll never come back; she'll wander about the hills till +she drops down dead, or falls over the brinks.' + +'O God!' I cried, as I struggled away from her. 'Winifred! Winifred! + +There was silence between us then. + +'You seem mighty fond on her, young man,' said the Gypsy at length, +in a softened voice, 'and you don't strike out at me for grabbin' +your throat.' + +'Winifred! Winifred!' I said, as I thought of her on the hills on a +night like this. + +'You seem mighty fond on her, young man,' repeated the girl's voice +in the darkness. + +But I could afford no words for her, so cruelly was misery lacerating +me. + +'Reia,' said the Gypsy, 'did I hurt your throat just now? I hope I +didn't; but you see she was the only one of 'em ever I liked, Gorgio +or Gorgie, 'cept Mrs. Davies, lad or wench. I know'd her as a child, +and arterwards, when a fine English lady, as poor as a church-mouse, +tried to spile her, a-makin' _her_ a fine lady too, I thought she'd +forget all about me. But not she. I never once called at Mrs. +Davies's house with my crwth, as she taught me to play on, but out +Winnie would come with her bright eyes an' say, "Oh, I'm so glad!" +She meant she was glad to see me, bless the kind heart on her. An' +when I used to see her on the hills, she'd come runnin' up to me, and +she'd put her little hand in mine, she would, an' chatter away, she +would, as we went up an' up. An' one day, when she heard me callin' +one o' the Romany chies sister, she says, "Is that your sister?" an' +when I says, "No; but the Romany chies call each other sister," then +says she, pretending not to know all about our Romany ways, "Sinfi, +I'm very fond on you, may _I_ call you sister?" An' she had sich +ways; an' she's the only Gorgio or Gorgie, 'cept Mrs. Davies, as I +ever liked, lad or wench.' + +The Gypsy's simple words came like a new message of comfort and hope, +but I could not speak. + +'Young man,' she continued, 'are you there?' and she put out her hand +to feel for me. + +I took hold of the hand. No words passed; none were needed. Never had +I known friendship before. After a short time I said, + +'What shall we do, Sinfi?' + +'I shall wait a bit, till the stars are out,' said she. 'I know +they're a-comin' out by the feel o' the wind. Then I shall walk up a +path as Winnie knows. The sun'll be up ready for me by the time I get +to the part I wants to go to. You know, young man, I _must_ find her. +She'll never come back to the cottage no more, now she's been skeared +away from it.' + +'But I must accompany you,' I said. + +'No, no, you mustn't do that,' said the Gypsy; 'she might take fright +and fall and be killed. Besides,' said she, 'Winifred Wynne's under +a cuss; it's bad luck to follow up anybody under a cuss.' + +'But you are following her,' I said. + +'Ah, but that's different. "Gorgio cuss never touched Romany," as my +mammy, as had the seein' eye, used to say.' + +'But,' I exclaimed vehemently, 'I _want_ to be cursed with her. I +have followed her to be cursed with her. I mean to go with you.' + +'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. + +'Well,' said she, when I had stopped to look round, 'it's my belief +as the cuss is a-workin' now, and'll have to spend itself. If it +could ha' spent itself on the feyther as did the mischief, why all +well an' good, but, you see, he's gone, an' left it to spend itself +on his chavi; jist the way with 'em Gorgio feythers an' Romany +daddies. It'll have to spend itself, though, that cuss will, I'm +afeard.' + +'But,' I said, 'you don't mean that you think for her father's crime +she'll have to beg her bread in desolate places.' + +'I do though, wusser luck,' said the Gypsy solemnly, stopping +suddenly, and standing still as a statue. + +'And this,' I ejaculated, 'is the hideous belief of all races in all +times! Monstrous if a lie--more monstrous if true! Anyhow I'll find +her. I'll traverse the earth till I find her. I'll share her lot with +her, whatever it may be, and wherever it may be in the world. If +she's a beggar, I'll beg by her side.' + +'Right you are, brother,' said the Gypsy, breaking in +enthusiastically. 'I likes to hear a man say that. You're liker a +Romany chi nor a Romany chal, the more I see of you. What I says to +our people is:--"If the Romany chals would only stick by the Romany +chies as the Romany chies sticks by the Romany chals, where 'ud the +Gorgios be then? Why, the Romanies would be the strongest people on +the arth." But you see, reia, about this cuss--a cuss has to work +itself out, jist for all the world like the bite of a sap.' +[Footnote] + +[Footnote: _Sap_, a snake.] + +Then she continued, with great earnestness, looking across the +kindling expanse of hill and valley before us: 'You know, the very +dead things round us,--these here peaks, an' rocks, an' lakes, an' +mountains--ay, an' the woods an' the sun an' the sky above our +heads,--cusses us when we do anythink wrong. You may see it by the +way they looks at you. Of course I mean when you do anythink wrong +accordin' to us Romanies. I don't mean wrong accordin' to the +Gorgios: they're two very different kinds o' wrongs.' + +'I don't see the difference,' said I; 'but tell me more about +Winifred.' + +'You don't see the difference?' said Sinfi. 'Well then, I do. It's +wrong to tell a lie to a Romany, ain't it? But is it wrong to tell a +lie to a Gorgio? Not a bit of it. And why? 'Cause most Gorgios is +fools and wants lies, an' that gives the poor Romanies a chance. But +this here cuss is a very bad kind 'o cuss. It's a dead man's cuss, +and what's wuss, him as is cussed is dead and out of the way, and so +it has to be worked out in the blood of his child. But when she's +done that, when she's worked it out of her blood, things'll come +right agin if the cross is put back agin on your father's buzzum.' + +'When she has done what?' I said. + +'Begged her bread in desolate places,' said the Gypsy girl solemnly. +'Then if the cross is put back agin on your feyther's buzzum, I +believe things'll all come right. It's bad the cusser was your +feyther though.' + +'But why?' I asked. + +'There's nobody can't hurt you and them you're fond on as your own +breed can. As my poor mammy used to say, "For good or for ill you +must dig deep to bury your daddy." But you know, brother, the wust o' +this job is that it's a trushul as has been stole.' + +'A trushul?' + +'What you call a cross. There's nothin' in the world so strong for +cussin' and blessin' as a trushul, unless the stars shinin' in the +river or the hand in the clouds is as strong. Why, I tell you there's +nothin' a trushul can't do, whether it's curin' a man as is bit by a +sap, or wipin' the very rainbow out o' the sky by jist layin' two +sticks crossways, or even curin' the cramp in your legs by jist +settin' your shoes crossways; there's nothin' for good or bad a +trushul _can't_ do if it likes. Hav'n't you never heer'd o' the +dukkeripen o' the trushul shinin' in the sunset sky when the light +o' the sinkin' sun shoots up behind a bar o' clouds an' makes a kind +o fiery cross? But to go and steal a trushul out of a dead man's +tomb--why, it's no wonder as the Wynnes is cussed, feyther and +child.' + +I could not have tolerated this prattle about Gypsy superstitions had +I not observed that through it all the Gypsy was on the _qui vive_, +looking for the traces of her path that Winifred had unconsciously +left behind her. Had the Gypsy been following the trail with the +silence of an American Indian, she could not have worked more +carefully than she was now working while her tongue went rattling on. +I afterwards found this to be a characteristic of her race, as I +afterwards found that what is called the long sight of the Gypsies +(as displayed in the following of the _patrin_ [Footnote: Trail]) is +not long sight at all, but is the result of a peculiar faculty the +Gypsies have of observing more closely than Gorgios do everything +that meets their eyes in the woods and on the hills and along the +roads. When we reached the spot indicated by the Gypsy as being +Winifred's haunt, the ledge where she was in the habit of coming for +her imaginary interviews with the 'Prince of the Mist,' we did not +stay there, but for a time still followed the path, which from this +point became rougher and rougher, alongside deep precipices and +chasms. Every now and then she would stop on a ledge of rock, and, +without staying her prattle for a moment, stoop down and examine the +earth with eyes that would not have missed the footprint of a rat. +When I saw her pause, as she sometimes would in the midst of her +scrutiny, to gaze inquiringly down some gulf, which then seemed awful +to my inexperienced eyes, but which later on in the day, when I came +to see the tremendous chasms of that side of Snowdon, seemed +insignificant enough, the circulation of my blood would seem to stop, +and then rush again through my body more violently than before. And +while the 'patrin-chase' went on, and the morning grew brighter and +brighter, the Gypsy's lithe, catlike tread never faltered. The rise +and fall of her bosom were as regular and as calm as in the +public-house. Such agility and such staying power in a woman +astonished me. Finding no trace of Winnie, we returned to the little +plateau by Knockers' Llyn. + +'This is the place,' said the Gypsy; 'it used to be called in old +times the haunted llyn, because when you sings the Welsh dukkerin +gillie here or plays it on a crwth, the Knockers answers it. I dare +say you've heard o' what the Gorgios call the triple echo o' Llyn +Ddu'r Arddu. Well, it's somethin' like that, only bein' done by the +knocking sperrits, it's grander and don't come 'cept when they hears +the Welsh dukkerin gillie. Now, you must hide yourself somewheres +while I go and touch the crwth in her favourite place. I think she'll +come to that. I wish though I hadn't brought ye,' she continued, +looking at me meditatively; 'you're a little winded a-ready, and we +ain't begun the rough climbing at all. Up to this 'ere pool Winnie +and me and Rhona Boswell used to climb when we was children; it +needed longer legs nor ourn to get farther up, and you're winded +a-ready. If she should come on you suddent, she's liker than not to +run for a mile or more up that path where we've just been and then to +jump down one of them chasms you've just seed. But if she does pop +on ye, don't you try to grab her, whatever you do; leave me alone for +that. You ain't got strength enough to grab a hare; you ought to be +in bed. Besides, she won't be skeared at me. But,' she continued, +turning round to look at the vast circuit of peaks stretching away as +far as the eye could reach, 'we shall have to ketch her to-day +somehow. She'll never go back to the cottage where you went and +skeared her; and if she don't have a fall, she'll run about these +here hills till she drops. We shall have to ketch her to-day somehow. +I'm in hopes she'll come to the sound of my crwth, she's so uncommon +fond on it; and if she don't come in the flesh, p'rhaps her livin' +mullo will come, and that'll show she's alive.' + +She placed me in a crevice overlooking the small lake, or pool, which +on the opposite side was enclosed in a gorge, opening only by a cleft +to the east. Then she unburdened herself of a wallet containing the +breakfast, saying, 'When I come back we'll fall to and breakfiss.' +She then, as though she were following the trail, made a circuit of +the pool and disappeared through the gorge. All round the pool there +was a narrow ragged ledge leading to this eastern opening. I stood +concealed in my crevice and looked at the peaks, or rather at the +vast masses of billowy vapours enveloping them, as they sometimes +boiled and sometimes blazed, shaking--when the sun struck one and +then another--from brilliant amethyst to vermilion, shot occasionally +with purple, or gold, or blue. + +A radiance now came pouring through the eastern opening down the +gorge or cwm itself, and soon the light vapours floating about the +pool were turned to sailing gauzes, all quivering with different +dyes, as though a rainbow had become torn from the sky and woven into +gossamer hangings and set adrift. + +Fatigue was beginning to numb my senses and to conquer my brain. The +acuteness of my mental anguish had consumed itself in its own intense +fires. The idea of Winifred's danger became more remote. The +mist-pageants of the morning seemed somehow to emanate from Winnie. + +'No one is worthy to haunt such a scene as this,' I murmured, sinking +against the rock, 'but Winifred--so beautiful of body and pure of +soul. Would that I were indeed her "Prince of the Mist," and that we +could die here together with Sinfi's strains in our ears.' + +Then I felt coming over me strange influences which afterwards became +familiar to me--influences which I can only call the spells of +Snowdon. They were far more intense than those strange, sweet, wild, +mesmeric throbs which I used to feel in Graylingham Wood, and which +my ancestress, Fenella Stanley, seems also to have known, but they +were akin to them. Then came the sound of Sinfi's crwth and song, and +in the distance repetitions of it, as though the spirits of Snowdon +were, in very truth, joining in a chorus. + +At once a marvellous change came over me. I seemed to be listening to +my ancestress, Fenella Stanley, and not to Sinfi Lovell. I was +hearing that strain which in my childhood I had so often tried to +imagine, and it was conjuring up the morning sylphs of the mountain +air and all the 'flower-sprites' and 'sunshine elves' of Snowdon. + + +V + +I shook off the spell when the music ceased; then I began to wonder +why the Gypsy did not return. I was now faint and almost famished for +want of food. I opened the Gypsy's wallet. There was the substantial +and tempting breakfast she had brought from the cottage +cupboard--cold beef and bread, and ale. I spread the breakfast on the +ground. + +Scarcely had I done so when a figure appeared at the opening of the +gorge and caught the ruddy flood of light. It was Winifred, +bare-headed. I knew it was she, and I waited in breathless suspense, +crouching close up into the crevice, dreading lest she should see me +and be frightened away. She stood in the eastern cleft of the gorge +against the sun for fully half a minute, looking around as a stag +might look that was trying to give the hunters the slip. + +'She has seen the Gypsy,' I thought, 'and been scared by her.' Then +she came down and glided along the side of the pool. At first she did +not see me, though she stood opposite and stopped, while the +opalescent vapours from the pool steamed around her, and she shone as +through a glittering veil, her eyes flashing like sapphires. The +palpitation of my heart choked me; I dared not stir, I dared not +speak; the slightest movement or the slightest sound might cause her +to start away. There was she whom I had travelled and toiled to +find--there was she, so close to me, and yet must I let her pass and +perhaps lose her after all--for ever? + +Where was the Gypsy girl? I was in an agony of desire to see her or +hear her crwth, and yet her approach might frighten Winifred to her +destruction. + +But Winifred, who had now seen me, did not bound away with that +heart-quelling yell of hers which I had dreaded. No, I perceived to +my astonishment that the flash of the eyes was not of alarm, but of +greeting to me--pleasure at seeing me! She came close to the water, +and then I saw a smile on her face through the misty film--a flash of +shining teeth. + +'May I come?' she said. + +'Yes, Winifred,' I gasped, scarcely knowing what I said in my +surprise and joy. + +She came slipping round the pool, and in a few seconds was by my +side. Her clothes were saturated with last night's rain, but though +she looked very cold, she did not shiver, a proof that she had not +lain down on the hills, but had walked about during the whole night. +There was no wildness of the maniac--there was no idiotic stare. But +oh the witchery of the gaze! + +If one could imagine the look on the face of a wanderer from the +cloud-palaces of the sylphs, or the gaze in the eyes of a statue +newly animated by the passion of the sculptor who had fashioned it, +or the smile on the face of a wondering Eve just created upon the +earth--any one of these expressions would, perhaps, give the idea +of that on Winifred's face as she stood there. + +'May I sit down, Prince?' said she. + +'Yes, Winnie,' I replied; 'I've been waiting for you.' + +'Been waiting for poor Winnie?' she said, her eyes sparkling anew +with pleasure; and she sat down close by my side, gazing hungrily at +the food--her hands resting on her lap. + +I laid my hand upon one of hers; it was so damp and cold that it made +me shudder. + +'Why, Winifred,' I said, 'how cold you are!' 'The hills are _so_ +cold!' said she, '_so_ cold when the stars go out, and the red +streaks begin to come.' + +'May I warm your hands in mine, Winnie?' I said, longing to clasp the +dear fingers, but trembling lest anything I might say or do should +bring about a repetition of last night's catastrophe. + +'_Will_ you, Prince?' said she. 'How very, very kind!' and in a +moment the hand was between mine. + +Remembering that it was through looking into my eyes that she +recognised me in the cottage, I now avoided looking straight into +hers. All this time she kept gazing wistfully at the food spread out +on the ground. + +'Are you hungry, Winifred?' I said. + +'Oh yes; _so_ hungry!' said she, shaking her head in a sad meditative +way. 'Poor Winifred is so hungry and cold and lonely!' + +'Will you breakfast with the Prince of the Mist, Winifred?' + +'Oh, may I, Prince?' she asked, her face beaming with delight. + +'To be sure you may, Winnie. You may always breakfast with the Prince +of the Mist if you like.' + +'Always? Always?' she repeated. + +'Yes, Winnie,' I said, as I handed her some bread and meat, which she +devoured ravenously. + +'Yes, dear Winnie,' I continued, handing her a foaming horn of +Sinfi's ale, to which she did as full justice as she was doing to the +bread and meat. 'Yes, I want you to breakfast with me and dine with +me always.' + +'Do you mean _live_ with you, Prince?' she asked, looking me dreamily +in the face--'live with you behind the white mist? Is this our +wedding breakfast, Prince?' + +'Yes, Winnie.' + +Then her eyes wandered down over her dress, and she said, 'Ah! how +strange I did not notice my green fairy kirtle before. And I declare +I never felt till this moment the wreath of gold leaves round my +forehead. Do they shine much in the sun?' + +'They quite dazzle me, Winnie,' I said, arching my hand above my +eyes, as if to protect them from the glare. + +'Do you have a nice fire there when it's very cold?' she said. + +'Yes, Winifred,' I said. + +She then sank into silence, while I kept plying her with food. + +After she had appeased her hunger she sat looking into the pool, +quite unconscious, apparently, of my presence by her side, and lost +in a reverie similar to that which I had seen at the cottage. + +The form her dementia had taken was unlike anything that I had ever +conceived. Madness seemed too coarse a word to denote so wonderful +and fascinating a mental derangement. Mivart's comparison to a +musical-box recurred to me, and seemed most apt. She was in a waking +dream. The peril lay in breaking through that dream and bringing her +real life before her. There was a certain cogency of dreamland in all +she said and did. And I found that she sank into silent reverie +simply because she waited, like a person in sleep, for the current of +her thoughts to be directed and dictated by external phenomena. As +she sat there gazing in the pool, her hand gradually warming between +my two hands, I felt that never when sane, never in her most +bewitching moments, had she been so lovable as she was now. This new +kind of spell she exercised over me it would be impossible to +describe. But it sprang from the expression on her face of that +absolute freedom from all self-consciousness which is the great charm +in children, combined with the grace and beauty of her own matchless +girlhood. A desire to embrace her, to crush her to my breast, seized +me like a frenzy. + +'Winifred,' I said, 'you are very cold.' + +But she was now insensible to sound. I knew from experience now that +I must shake her to bring her back to consciousness, for evidently, +in her fits of reverie, the sounds falling upon her ear were not +conveyed to the brain at all. + +I shook her gently, and said, 'The Prince of the Mist.' + +She started back to life. My idea had been a happy one. My words had +at once sent her thoughts into the right direction for me. + +'Pardon me, Prince,' said she, smiling; 'I had forgotten that you +were here.' + +'Winifred, I've warmed this hand, now give me the other.' + +She stretched her other hand across her breast and gave it to me. +This brought her entire body close to me, and I said, 'Winnie, you +are cold all over. Won't you let the Prince of the Mist put his arms +round you and warm you?' + +'Oh, I should like it so much,' she said. 'But are you warm, Prince? +are you really warm?--your mist is mostly very cold.' + +'Quite warm, Winifred,' I said, as with my heart swelling in my +breast, and with eyelids closing over my eyes from very joy, I drew +her softly upon my breast once more. + +'Yes--yes,' I murmured, as the tears gushed from my eyes and dropped +upon the soft hair that I was kissing. 'If God will but let me have +her _thus_! I ask for nothing better than to possess a maniac.' + +As we sat locked in each other's arms the head of Sinfi appeared +round the eastern cliff of the gorge where I had first seen Winifred. +The Gypsy had evidently been watching us from there. I perceived +that she was signalling to me that I was not to grasp Winifred. Then +I saw Sinfi suddenly and excitedly point to the sky over the rock +beneath which we sat. I looked up. The upper sky above us was now +clear of morning mist, and right over our heads, Winifred's and mine, +there hung a little morning cloud like a feather of flickering rosy +gold. I looked again towards the corner of jutting rock, but Sinfi's +head had disappeared. + +'Dear Prince,' said Winifred, 'how delightfully warm you are! How +kind of you! But are not your arms a little too tight, dear Prince? +Poor Winnie cannot breathe. And this thump, thump, thump, like +a--like a--fire-engine--_ah_!' + +Too late I knew what my folly had done. The turbulent action of my +heart had had a sympathetic effect upon hers. It seemed as if her +senses, if not her mind, had remembered another occasion, when, as +she was lying in my arms, the beating of my heart had disturbed her. +In one lightning-flash her real life and all its tragedy broke +mercilessly in upon her. The idea of the 'Prince of the Mist' fled. +She started up and away from me. The awful mimicry of her father's +expression spread over her face. With a yell of 'Fy Nhad,' and then a +yell of 'Father!' she darted round the pool, and then, bounding up +the rugged path like a chamois, disappeared behind a corner of +jutting rock. + +At the same moment the head of the Gypsy girl reappeared round the +eastern cleft of the gorge. Sinfi came quickly up to me and +whispered, 'Don't follow.' + +'I will,' I said. + +'No, you won't,' said she, seizing my wrist with a grip of iron. 'If +you do she's done for. Do you know where she is running to? A couple +of furlongs up that path there's another that branches off on the +right; it ain't more nor a futt-an'-a-half wide along a precipuss +more nor a hundred futt deep. She knows it well. She'll make for +that. The cuss is on her wuss nor ever, judgin' from the gurn and the +flash of her teeth.' + +I waited for two or three seconds in the wildest impatience. + +'Let's follow her now,' I said. + +'No, no,' she whispered, 'not yet, 'less you want to see her tumble +down the cliff.' After a few minutes Sinfi and I went up the main +pathway. Winnie seemed to have slackened her pace when she was out of +sight, for we saw her just turning away on the right at the point +indicated by Sinfi. 'Give her time to get along that path,' said she, +'and then she'll be all right.' + +In a state of agonised suspense I stood there waiting. At last I +said: + +'I must go after her. We shall lose her--I know we shall lose her.' + +Sinfi demurred a moment, then acceded to my wish, and we went up the +main pathway and peered round the corner of the jutting rock where +Winifred had last been visible. There, along a ragged shelf +bordering a yawning chasm--a shelf that seemed to me scarce wide +enough for a human foot--Winifred was running and balancing herself +as surely as a bird over the abyss. + +'Mind she doesn't turn round sharp and see you,' said the Gypsy. 'If +she does she'll lose her head and over she'll fall!' + +I crouched and gazed at Winifred as she glided along towards a vast +mountain of vapour that was rolling over the chasm close to her. She +stood and looked into the floating mass for a moment, and then passed +into it and was lost from view. + + +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 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 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.] + + +VII + +After losing Sinfi I hired some men to assist 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 shaggy 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 Principality. 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! superstition 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 association 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.' + +Holywell grew to have a fascination for me, and in the following +spring I left the fishing-inn beneath Snowdon, and took rooms in this +interesting old town. + + +VIII + +One day, near the rivulet that runs from St. Winifred's Well, I +suddenly encountered Sinfi Lovell. + +'Sinfi,' I said, 'she's dead, she's surely dead.' + +'I tell ye, brother, she ain't got to die!' said Sinfi, as she came +and stood beside me. 'Winnie Wynne's on'y got to beg her bread. She's +alive.' + +'Where is she?' I cried. 'Oh, Sinfi, I shall go mad!' + +'There you're too fast for me, brother,' said she, 'when you ask me +_where_ she is; but she's alive, and I ain't come quite emp'y-handed +of news about her, brother.' + +'Oh, tell me!' said I. + +'Well,' said Sinfi, 'I've just met one of our people, Euri Lovell, as +says that, the very mornin' after we seed her on the hills, he met +her close to Carnarvon at break of day.' + +'Then she _did_ go to Carnarvon,' I said. 'What a distance for those +dear feet!' + +'Euri knowed her by sight,' said Sinfi, 'but didn't know about her +bein' under the cuss, so he jist let her pass, sayin' to hisself, +"She looks jist like a crazy wench this mornin', does Winnie Wynne." +Euri was a-goin' through Carnarvon to Bangor, on to Conway and +Chester, and never heerd a word about her bein' lost till he got +back, six weeks ago.' + +'I must go to Carnarvon at once,' said I. + +'No use, brother,' said Sinfi. 'If _I_ han't pretty well worked +Carnarvon, it's a pity. I've bin there the last three weeks on the +patrin-chase, and not a patrin could I find. It's my belief as she +never went into Carnarvon town at all, but turned off and went into +Llanbeblig churchyard.' + +'Why do you think so, Sinfi?' + +''Cause her aunt, bein' a Carnarvon woman, was buried among her own +kin in Llanbeblig churchyard. + +Leastwise, you won't find a ghose of a trace on her at Carnarvon, and +it'll be a long kind of a wild-goose chase from here; but if you +will go, go you must.' + +She could not dissuade me from starting for Carnarvon at once; and, +as I would go, she seemed to take it as a matter of course that she +must accompany me. Our journey was partly by coach and partly afoot. + +My first impulse on nearing Carnarvon was to go--I could not have +said why--to Llanbeblig churchyard. + +Among a group of graves of the Davieses we easily found that of +Winifred's aunt, beneath a newly-planted arbutus tree. After looking +at the modest mound for some time, and wondering where Winifred had +stood when the coffin was lowered--as I had wondered where she had +stood at St. Winifred's Well--I roamed about the churchyard with +Sinfi in silence for a time. + +At last she said, 'I mind comin' here wonst with Winnie, and I mind +her sayin': "There's no place I should so much like to be buried in +as Llanbeblig churchyard. The graves of them as die unmarried do look +so beautiful."' + +'How did she know the graves of those who die unmarried?' + +Sinfi looked over the churchyard and waved her hand. + +'Wherever you see them beautiful primroses, and them shinin' +snowdrops, and them sweet-smellin' vi'lets, that's allus the grave of +a child or else of a young Gorgie as died a maid; and wherever you +see them laurel trees, and box trees, and 'butus trees, that's the +grave of a pusson as ain't nuther child nor maid, an' the Welsh folk +think nobody else on'y child'n an' maids ain't quite good enough to +be turned into the blessed flowers o' spring.' + +'Next to the sea,' I said, 'she loved the flowers of spring.' + +'And _I_ should like to be buried here too, brother,' said Sinfi, as +we left the churchyard. + +'But a fine strong girl like you, Sinfi, is not very likely to die +unmarried while there are Romany bachelors about.' + +'There ain't a-many Romany chals,' she said, 'as du'st marry Sinfi +Lovell, even supposing as Sinfi Lovell 'ud marry _them_, an' a Gorgio +she'll never marry--an' never can marry. And to lay here aneath the +flowers o 'spring, wi' the Welsh sun a-shinin' on 'em as it's +a-shinin' now, that must be a sweet kind of bed, brother, and for +anythink as I knows on, a Romany chi 'ud make as sweet a bed o' +vi'lets as the beautifullest Gorgie-wench as wur ever bred in +Carnarvon, an' as shinin' a bunch o' snowdrops as ever the Welsh +spring knows how to grow.' + +At any other time this extraordinary girl's talk would have +interested me greatly; now, nothing had any interest for me that did +not bear directly upon the fate of Winifred. + +Little dreaming how this quiet churchyard had lately been one of the +battle-grounds of that all-conquering power (Destiny, or +Circumstance?) which had governed Winnie's life and mine, I went with +Sinfi into Carnarvon, and made inquiry everywhere, but without the +slightest result. This occupied several days, during which time Sinfi +stayed with some acquaintances encamped near Carnarvon, while I +lodged at a little hotel. + +'You don't ask me how you happened to meet me at Holywell, brother,' +said she to me, as we stood looking across the water at Carnarvon +Castle, over whose mighty battlements the moon was fighting with an +army of black, angry clouds, which a wild wind was leading furiously +against her--'you don't ask me how you happened to meet me at +Holywell, nor how long I've been back agin in dear old Wales, nor +what I've been a-doin' on since we parted; but that's nuther here nor +there. I'll tell you what I think about Winnie an' the chances o' +findin' her, brother, and that'll intrust you more.' + +'What is it, Sinfi?' I cried, waking up from the reminiscences, +bitter and sweet, the bright moon had conjured up in my mind. + +'Well, brother, Winnie, you see, was very fond o' me.' + +'She was, and good reason for being fond of you she had.' + +'Well, brother, bein' very fond o' me, _that_ made her very fond o' +_all_ Romanies; and though she took agin me at fust, arter the cuss, +as she took agin you because we was her closest friends (that's what +Mr. Blyth said, you know, they allus do), she wouldn't take agin +Romanies in general. No, she'd take to Romanies in general, and she'd +go hangin' about the different camps, and she'd soon be snapped up, +being so comely, and they'd make a lot o' money out on her jist +havin' her with 'em for the "dukkerin'."' + +'I don't understand you,' I said. + +'Well, you know,' said Sinfi, 'anybody as is under the cuss is half +with the sperrits and half with us, and so can tell the _real_ +"dukkerin'." Only it's bad for a Romany to have another Romany in the +"place" as is under the cuss; but it don't matter a bit about having +a Gorgio among your breed as is under a cuss; for Gorgio cuss can't +never touch Romany.' + +'Then you feel quite sure she's not dead, Sinfi?' + +'She's jist as live as you an' me somewheres, brother. There's two +things as keeps _her_ alive: there's the cuss, as says she's got to +beg her bread, and there's the dukkeripen o' the Golden Hand on +Snowdon, as says she's got to marry you.' + +'But, Sinfi, I mean that, apart from all this superstition of yours, +you have reason to think she's alive? and you think she's with the +Romanies?' + +'I know she's alive, and I think she's with the Romanies. She _must_ +be, brother, with the Shaws, or the Lees, or the Stanleys, or the +Boswells, or some on 'em.' + +'Then,' said I, 'I'll turn Gypsy; I'll be the second Aylwin to own +allegiance to the blood of Fenella Stanley. I'll scour Great Britain +till I find her.' + +'You can jine _us_ if you like, brother. We're goin' all through the +West of England with the gries. You're fond o' fishin' an' shootin', +brother, an' though you're a Gorgio, you can't help bein' a Gorgio, +and you ain't a mumply 'un, as I've said to Jim Burton many's the +time; and if you can't give the left-hand body-blow like me, there +ain't a-many Gorgios nor yit a-many Romanies as knows better nor you +what their fistes wur made for, an' altogether, brother, Beng te +tassa mandi if I shouldn't be right-on proud to see ye jine our +breed. There's a coachmaker down in Chester, and he's got for sale +the beautifullest livin'-waggin in all England. It's shiny +orange-yellow with red window-blinds, an' if there's a colour in any +rainbow as _can't_ be seed in the panels o' the front door, it's a +kind o' rainbow I ain't never seed nowheres. He made it for Jericho +Bozzell, the rich Griengro as so often stays at Raxton and at Gypsy +Dell; but Rhona Bozzell hates a waggin and allus will sleep in a +tent. They do say as the Prince o' Wales wants to buy that +livin'-waggin, only he can't spare the balansers just now--his family +bein' so big an' times bein' so bad. How much money ha' you got? Can +you stan' a hundud an' fifty gold balansers for the waggin besides +the fixins? + +'Shift,' I said. 'I'm prepared to spend more than that in seeking +Winnie.' + +'Dordi, brother, you must be as rich as my dad, an' lie's the richest +Griengro arter Jericho Bozzell. You an' me'll jist go down to +Chester,' she continued, her eyes sparkling with delight at the +prospect of bargaining for the waggon, 'an' we'll fix up sich a +livin'-waggin as no Romany rei never had afore.' + +'Agreed!' I said, wringing her hand. + +'An' now you an' me's right pals,' said Sinfi. + +We went to Chester, and I became owner of the famous 'livin'-waggin' +coveted (according to Sinfi) by the great personage whom, on account +of his name, she always spoke of as a rich, powerful, but mysterious +and invisible Welshman. One of the monthly cheese-fairs was going on +in the Linen Hall. Among the rows of Welsh carts standing in front of +the 'Old Yacht Inn,' Sinfi introduced me to a 'Griengro' (one of the +Gypsy Locks of Gloucestershire), of whom I bought a bay mare of +extraordinary strength and endurance. + + +IX + +It was, then, to find Winifred that I joined the Gypsies. And yet I +will not deny that affinity with the kinsfolk of my ancestress +Fenella Stanley must have had something to do with this passage in my +eccentric life. That strain of Romany blood which, according to my +mother's theory, had much to do with drawing Percy Aylwin and Rhona +Boswell together, was alive and potent in my own veins. + +But I must pause here to say a few words about Sinfi Lovell. Some of +my readers must have already recognised her as a famous character in +bohemian circles. Sinfi's father was a 'Griengro,' that is to say, a +horse-dealer. She was, indeed, none other than that 'Fiddling Sinfi' +who became famous in many parts of England and Wales as a violinist, +and also as the only performer on the old Welsh stringed instrument +called the 'crwth,' or cruth. Most Gypsies are musical, but Sinfi was +a genuine musical genius. Having become, through the good-nature of +Winifred's aunt Mrs. Davies, the possessor of a crwth, and having +been taught by her the unique capabilities of that rarely seen +instrument, she soon learnt the art of fascinating her Welsh patrons +by the strange, wild strains she could draw from it. This obsolete +six-stringed instrument (with two of the strings reaching beyond the +key-board, used as drones and struck by the thumb, the bow only being +used on the other four, and a bridge placed, not at right angles to +the sides of the instrument, but in an oblique direction), though in +some important respects inferior to the violin, is in other respects +superior to it. Heard among the peaks of Snowdon, as I heard them +during our search for Winifred, the notes of the crwth have a +wonderful wildness and pathos. It is supposed to have the power of +drawing the spirits when a maiden sings to its accompaniment a +mysterious old Cymric song or incantation. + +Among her own people it was as a seeress, as an adept in the real +dukkering--the dukkering for the Romanies, as distinguished from the +false dukkering, the dukkering for the Gorgios--that Sinfi's fame was +great. She had travelled over nearly all England--wherever, in short, +there were horse-fairs--and was familiar with London, where in the +studios of artists she was in request as a face model of +extraordinary value. Nor were these all the characteristics that +distinguished her from the common herd of Romany chies: she was one +of the few Gypsies of either sex who could speak with equal fluency +both the English and Welsh Romanes, and she was in the habit +sometimes of mixing the two dialects in a most singular way. Though +she had lived much in Wales, and had a passionate love of Snowdon, +she belonged to a famous branch of the Lovells whose haunt had for +ages been in Wales and also the East Midlands, and she had caught +entirely the accent of that district. + +Among artists in London, as I afterwards learnt, she often went by +the playful name of 'Lady Sinfi Lovell,' for the following reason: + +She was extremely proud, and believed the 'Kaulo Camloes' to +represent the aristocracy not only of the Gypsies, but of the world. +Moreover, she had of late been brought into close contact with a +certain travelling band of Hungarian Gypsy-musicians, who visited +England some time ago. Intercourse with these had fostered her pride +in a curious manner. The musicians are the most intelligent and most +widely-travelled not only of the Hungarian Gypsies, but of all the +Romany race. They are darker than the satoros czijanyok, or tented +Gypsies. The Lovells being the darkest of all the Gypsies of Great +Britain (and the most handsome, hence called Kaulo Camloes), it was +easy to make out an affinity closer than common between the Lovells +and the Hungarian musicians. Sinfi heard much talk among the +Hungarians of the splendours of the early leaders of the continental +Romanies. She was told of Romany kings, dukes, and counts. She +accepted, with that entire faith which characterised her, the stories +of the exploits of Duke Michael, Duke Andreas, Duke Panuel, and the +rest. It only needed a hint from one of her continental friends, that +her father, Panuel Lovell, was probably a descendant of Duke Panuel, +for Sinfi to consider him a Duke. From that moment she felt as +strongly as any Gorgie ever felt the fine sentiment expressed in the +phrase, _noblesse oblige_; and to hear her say, 'I'm a duke's chavi +[daughter], and mustn't do so and so,' was a delightful and +refreshing experience to me. Poor Panuel groaned under these honours, +for Sinfi insisted now on his dressing in a brown velveteen coat, +scarlet waistcoat with gold coins for buttons, and the high-crowned, +ribbon-bedizened hat which prosperous Gypsies once used to wear. She +seemed to consider that her sister Videy (whose tastes were low for a +Welsh Gypsy) did not belong to the high aristocracy, though born of +the same father and mother. Moreover, 'dook' in Romanes means spirit, +ghost, and very likely Sinfi found some power of association in this +fact; for Videy was a born sceptic. + +One of the special charms of Gypsy life is that a man fully admitted +into the Romany brotherhood can be on terms of close intimacy with a +Gypsy girl without awaking the smallest suspicion of love-making or +flirtation; at least it was so in my time. + +Under my father's will, a considerable legacy had come to me, and, +after going to London to receive this, I made the circuit of the West +of England with Sinfi's people. No sign whatever of Winifred did I +find in any of the camps. I was for returning to Wales, where my +thoughts always were; but I could not expect Sinfi to leave her +family, so I started thither alone, leaving my waggon in their +charge. Before I reached Wales, however, I met in the eastern part of +Cheshire, not far from Moreton Hall, some English Lees, with whom I +got into talk about the Hungarian musicians, who were here then on +another flying visit to England. Something that dropped from one of +the Lees as to the traditions and superstitions of the Hungarian +Gypsies with regard to people suffering from dementia set me +thinking; and at last I came to the conclusion that if I really +believed Winifred to have taken shelter among the Romanies, it would +be absurd not to follow up a band like these Hungarians. Accordingly +I changed my course, and followed them up. On coming upon them in a +famous English camping-place I found the Lovells and the Boswells. +Rhona, dressed in gorgeous attire, evidently purchased at some +second-hand shop, was rehearsing the shawl-dance for a great occasion +at a neighbouring fair. But no Winifred. + +My health was now much impaired by sleeplessness (the inevitable +result of my anxiety), and by a narcotic, which from the commencement +of my troubles I had been in the habit of taking in ever-increasing +doses--a terrible narcotic, one of whose multitudinous effects is +that of sending all the patient's thoughts circling around one +central idea like planets round the sun. Painful and agonising as had +been my suspense,--my oscillation between hope and dread,--during my +wanderings with the Lovells, these wanderings had not been without +their moments of comfort, for all of which I had been indebted to +Sinfi. She would sit with me in an English lane, under a hedge or +tree, on a balmy summer evening, or among the primroses, wild +hyacinths, buttercups and daisies of the sweet meadows, chattering +her reminiscences of Winifred. She would mostly end by saying: +'Winnie was very fond on ye, brother, and we shall find her yit. The +Golden Hand on Snowdon wasn't there for nothink. The dukkeripen says +you'll marry her yit; a love like yourn can follow the tryenest +patrin as ever wur laid.' Then she would play on her crwth and say, +'Ah, brother, I shall be able to make this crwth bring ye a sight o' +Winnie's livin' mullo if she's alive, and there ain't a sperrit of +the hills as wouldn't answer to it.' + +Of Gorgios generally, however, Sinfi had at heart a feeling somewhat +akin to dread. I could not understand it. + +'Why do you dislike the Gorgios, Sinfi?' I said to her one day on +Lake Ogwen, after the return of the Lovells to Wales. We were +trout-fishing from a boat anchored to a heavy block of granite which +she had fastened to a rope and heaved overboard with a strength that +would have surpassed that of most Englishwomen. + +'That's nuther here nor there, brother,' she replied mysteriously. So +months and months dragged by, and brought no trace of Winifred. + + + +IV + +THE LEADER OF THE AYLWINIANS + + +I + +One day as Sinfi and I were strolling through the lovely glades +between Capel Curig and Bettws y Coed, on our way to a fishing-place, +we sat down by a stream to eat some bread and cheese we had brought +with us. + +The sunlight, as it broke here and there between the thick foliage, +was playing upon the little cascades in such magical fashion--turning +the water into a torrent that seemed as though molten rubies and +sapphires and opals were ablaze in one dancing faery stream,--that +even the dark tragedy of human life seemed enveloped for a moment in +an atmosphere of poetry and beauty. Sinfi gazed at it silently, then +she said: + +'This is the very place where Winnie wonst tried to save a hernshaw +as wur wounded. She wur tryin' to ketch hold on it, as the water wur +carryin' it along, and he pretty nigh beat her to death wi' his wings +for her pains. It wur then as she come an' stayed along o' us for a +bit, an' she got to be as fond o' my crwth as you be's, an' she used +to say that if there wur any music as 'ud draw her sperrit hack to +the airth arter she wur dead it 'ud be the sound o' my crwth; but +there she wur wrong as wrong could be: Romany music couldn't never +touch Gorgio sperrit; 'tain't a bit likely. But it can draw her +livin' mullo [wraith].' And as she spoke she began to play her crwth +_pizzicato_ and to sing the opening bars of the old Welsh incantation +which I had heard on Snowdon on that never-to-be-forgotten morning. + +This, as usual, sent my mind at once back to the picture of Fenella +Stanley calling round her by the aid of her music the spirits of +Snowdon. And then a strange hallucination came upon me, that made me +clutch at Sinfi's arm. Close by her, reflected in a little glassy +pool divided off from the current by a ring of stones, two blue eyes +seemed gazing. Then the face and the entire figure of Winifred +appeared, but Winifred dressed as a beggar girl in rags, Winifred +standing at a street corner holding out matches for sale. + +'Winifred!' I exclaimed; and then the hallucination passed, and +Sinfi's features were reflected in the water. My exclamation had the +strangest effect upon Sinfi. Her lips, which usually wore a +peculiarly proud and fearless curve, quivered, and were losing the +brilliant rosebud redness which mostly characterised them. The little +blue tattoo rosettes at the corners of her mouth seemed to be growing +more distinct as she gazed in the water through eyes dark and +mysterious as Night's, but, like Night's own eyes, ready, I thought, +to call up the throbbing fires of a million stars. + +'What made you cry out "Winifred"?' she said, as the music ceased. + +'What you told me about the spirits following the crwth was causing +the strangest dream,' I answered. 'I thought I saw Winnie's face +reflected in the water, and I thought she was in awful distress. And +all the time it was your face.' + +'That wur her livin' mullo,' said Sinfi solemnly. + +Convinced though I was that the hallucination was the natural result +of Sinfi's harping upon the literal fulfilment of the curse, it +depressed me greatly. + +Close to this beautiful spot we came suddenly upon two tourists +sketching. And now occurred one of those surprises of which I have +found that real life is far more full than any fiction dares to be. +As we passed the artists, I heard one call out to the other, with a +'burr' which I will not attempt to render, having never lived in the +'Black Country': + +'You have a true eye for composition; what do you think of this +tree?' + +The speaker's remarkable appearance attracted my attention. + +'Well,' said I to Sinfi, 'that's the first time I ever saw a painter +shaven and dressed in a coat like a Quaker's.' + +Sinfi looked across at the speaker through the curling smoke from my +pipe, gave a start of surprise, and then said: 'So you've never seed +_him_? That's because you're a country Johnny, brother, and don't +know nothink about Londra life. That's a friend o' mine from Londra +as has painted me many's the time.' + +'Painted you?' I said; 'the man in black, with the goggle eyes, +squatting there under the white umbrella? What's his name?' + +'That's the cel'erated Mr. Wilderspin, an' he's painted me many's the +time, an' a rare rum 'un he is too. Dordi! it makes me laugh to think +on him. Most Gorgios is mad, more or less, but he's the maddest 'un I +ever know'd.' + +We had by this time got close to the painter's companion, who, +sitting upright on his camp-stool, was busy with his brush. Without +shifting his head to look at us, or removing his eyes from his work, +he said, in a voice of striking power and volume: 'Nothing but an +imperfect experience of life, Lady Sinfi, could have made you +pronounce our friend there to be the maddest Gorgio living.' + +'Dordi!' exclaimed Sinfi, turning sharply round in great +astonishment. 'Fancy seein' both on 'em here!' + +'Mad our friend is, no doubt, Lady Sinfi,' said the painter, without +looking round, 'but not so mad as certain illustrious Gorgios I could +name, some of them born legislators and some of them (apparently) +born. R.A.'s.' + +'Who should ha' thought of seein' 'em both here?' said Sinfi again. + +'That,' said the painter, without even yet turning to look at us or +staying the movement of his brush, 'is a remark I never make in a +little dot of a world like this, Lady Sinfi, where I expect to see +everybody everywhere. But, my dear Romany chi,' he continued, now +turning slowly round, 'in passing your strictures upon the Gorgio +world, you should remember that you belong to a very limited +aristocracy, and that your remarks may probably fall upon ears of an +entirely inferior and Gorgio convolution.' + +'No offence, I hope.' said Sinfi. + +'Offence in calling the Gorgios mad? Not the smallest, save that you +have distinctly plagiarised from me in your classification of the +Gorgio race.' + +His companion called out again. 'Just one moment! Do come and look at +the position of this tree.' + +'In a second, Wilderspin, in a second,' said the other. 'An old +friend and myself are in the midst of a discussion.' + +'A discussion!' said the person addressed as Wilderspin. 'And with +whom, pray?' + +'With Lady Sinfi Lovell,--a discussion as to the exact value of your +own special kind of madness in relation to the tomfooleries of the +Gorgio mind in general.' + +'Kekka! kekka!' said Sinfi, 'you shouldn't have said that.' + +'And I was on the point of proving to her ladyship that in these +days, when Art has become genteel, and even New Grub Street +"decorates" her walls--when success means not so much painting fine +pictures as building fine houses to paint in--the greatest compliment +you can pay to a man of genius is surely to call him either a beggar +or a madman.' + +The peculiarity of this 'chaff' was that it was uttered in a simple +and serious tone, in which not the faintest tinge of ironical intent +was apparent. The other artist looked across and said: 'Dear me! +Sinfi Lovell! I am pleased to see you, Sinfi. I will ask you for a +sitting to-morrow. A study of your head would be very suggestive +among the Welsh hills.' + +The man who had been 'chaffing' Sinfi then rose and walked towards +his Quaker-like companion, and I had an opportunity of observing him +fully. I saw that he was a spare man, wearing a brown velvet coat and +a dark felt hat. The collar of the coat seemed to have been made +carefully larger than usual, in order to increase the apparent width +of his chest. His hair was brown and curly, but close cut. His +features were regular, perhaps handsome. His complexion was +bright,--fair almost,--rosy in hue, and his eyes were brown. + +He shook hands with Sinfi as he passed us, and gave me a glance of +that rapid and all-comprehending kind which seems to take in, at +once, a picture in its every detail. + +'What do you think of him?' said Sinfi to me, as he passed on and we +two sat down on the grass by the side of the stream. + +'I am puzzled,' I replied, 'to know whether he is a young man who +looks like a middle-aged one, or a middle-aged man who looks like a +young one. How's his hair under the hat?' + +'Thinnish atop,' said Sinfi laconically. 'And I'm puzzled,' I added, +still looking at him as he walked over the grass, 'as to whether he's +a little man who looks middle-sized, or a middle-sized man who looks +little.' + +'He's a little big 'un,' said Sinfi; 'about the height o' Rhona +Bozzell's Tarno Rye.' + +'Altogether he puzzles me, Sinfi!' + +'He puzzled me same way at fust.' + +What was it that made me take an interest so strange, strong, and +sudden in this man? Without a hint of hair upon his face, while +juvenile curls clustered thick and short beneath his wide-awake, he +had at first struck me as being not much more than a lad, till, as he +gave me that rapid, searching glance in passing, I perceived the +little crow's-feet round his eyes, and he then struck me immediately +as being probably on the verge of thirty-five. His figure was slim +and thin, his waist almost girlish in its fall. I should have +considered him small had not the unusually deep, loud, manly, and +sonorous voice with which he had accosted Sinfi conveyed an +impression of size and weight such as even big men do not often +produce. This deep voice, coupled with that gaunt kind of cheek which +we associate with the most demure people, produced an effect of +sedateness such as I should have expected to find (and did not find) +in the other man--the man of the shaven cheek and Quaker costume; +but, in the one glance I had got from those watchful, sagacious, +twinkling eyes, there was an expression quite peculiar to them, +quite inscrutable, quite indescribable. + + +II + +'Can you reckon him up, brother?' said Sinfi, taking my meerschaum +from my lips to refill it for me, as she was fond of doing. + +'No.' + +'Nor I nuther,' said Sinfi. 'Nor I can't pen his dukkerin' nuther, +though often's the time I've tried it.' + +During this time the two friends seemed to have finished their +colloquy upon 'composition'; for they both came up to us. Sinfi rose; +I sat still on the grass, smoking my pipe, listening to the chatter +of the water as it rushed over the rocks. By this time my curiosity +in the younger man had died away. My mind was occupied with the +dream-picture of a little blue-eyed girl struggling with a wounded +heron. I had noticed, however, that he of the piercing eyes did not +look at me again, having entirely exhausted at a glance such interest +as I had momentarily afforded him; while his companion seemed quite +unconscious of my presence as he stood there, his large, full, deep, +brown eyes gazing apparently at something over my head, a long way +off. Also I had noticed that 'Visionary' was stamped upon this man's +every feature--that he seemed an inspired baby of forty, talking +there to his companion and to Sinfi, the sun falling upon his long, +brown, curly hair, mixed with grey, which fell from beneath his hat, +and floated around his collar like a mane. + +When my reverie had passed, I found the artists trying to arrange +with Sinfi to give an open-air sitting to one of them, the man +addressed as Wilderspin. Sinfi seemed willing enough to come to +terms; but I saw her look round at me as if saying to herself, 'What +am I to do with you?' + +'I should like for my brother to sit too,' I heard her say. + +'Surely!' said Wilderspin. 'Your brother would be a great gain to my +picture.' + +Sinfi then came to me, and said that the painter wanted me to sit to +him. + +'But,' said I in an undertone, 'the Gorgios will certainly find out +that I am no Romany.' + +'Not they,' said Sinfi, 'the Gorgios is sich fools. Why, bless you, a +Gorgio ain't got eves and ears like a Romany. You don't suppose as a +Gorgio can hear or see or smell like a Romany can?' + +'But you forget, Sinfi, that I am a Gorgio, and there are not many +Romanies can boast of better senses than your brother Hal.' + +'Dordi!' said Sinfi, 'that's jist like your mock-modesty. Your +great-grandmother wur a Romany, and it's my belief that if you only +went back fur enough, you'd find you had jist as good Romany blood in +your veins as I have, and my daddy is a duke, you know, a real, +reg'lar, out-an'-out Romany duke.' + +'I'm afraid you flatter me, sister,' I replied. 'However, let's try +the Gorgios;' and I got up and walked with her close to the two +sketchers. + +Wilderspin was on the point of engaging me, when the other man, +without troubling to look at me again, said: + +'He's no more a Romany than I am.' + +'Ain't a Romany?' said Sinfi. 'Who says my brother ain't a Romany? +Where did you ever see a Gorgio with a skin like that?' she said, +triumphantly pulling up my sleeve and exposing one of my wrists. +'That ain't sunburn, that's the real Romany brown, an' we's twinses, +only I'm the biggest, an' we's the child'n of a duke, a real, +reg'lar, out-an'-out Romany duke.' + +He gave a glance at the exposed wrist. + +'As to the Romany brown,' said he, 'a little soap would often make a +change in the best Romany brown--ducal or other.' + +'Why, look at his neck,' said Sinfi, turning down my neckerchief; 'is +that sunburn, or is it Romany brown, I should like to know?' + +'I assure you,' said the speaker, still addressing her in the same +grave, measured voice, 'that the Romanies have no idea what a little +soap can do with the Romany brown.' + +'Do you mean to say,' cried Sinfi, now entirely losing her temper +(for on the subject of Romany cleanliness she, the most cleanly of +women, was keenly sensitive)--'do you mean to say as the Romany dials +an' the Romany dries don't wash theirselves? I know what you fine +Gorgios _do_ say,--you're allus a-tellin' lies about us Romanies. +Brother,' she cried, turning now to me in a great fury, 'I'm a duke's +chavi, an' mustn't fight no mumply Gorgios; why don't _you_ take an' +make his bed for him?' + +And certainly the man's supercilious impertinence was beginning to +irritate me. + +'I should advise you to withdraw that about the soap,' I said +quietly, looking at him. + +'Oh! and if I don't?' + +'Why, then I suppose I must do as my sister bids,' said I. 'I must +make your bed,' pointing to the grass beneath his feet. 'But I think +it only fair to tell you that I am somewhat of a fighting man, which +you probably are not.' + +'You mean...?' said he (turning round menacingly, but with no more +notion of how to use his fists than a lobster). + +'I mean that we should not be fighting on equal terms,' I said. + +'In other words,' said he, 'you mean...?' and he came nearer. + +'In other words, I mean that, judging from the way in which you are +advancing towards me now, the result of such an encounter might not +tend to the honour and glory of the British artist in Wales.' + +'But,' said he, 'you are no Gypsy. Who are you?' + +'My name is Henry Aylwin,' said I; 'and I must ask you to withdraw +your words about the virtues of soap, as my sister objects to them.' + +'What?' cried he, losing for the first time his matchless +_sang-froid_. 'Henry Aylwin?' Then he looked at me in silent +amazement, while an expression of the deepest humorous enjoyment +overspread his features, making them positively shine as though +oiled. Finally, he burst into a loud laugh, that was all the more +irritating from the manifest effort he made to restrain it. + +'Did I hear His Majesty of Gypsydom aright?' he said, as soon as his +hilarity allowed him to speak. 'Is the humble bed of a mere painter +to be made for him by the representative of the proud Aylwins, the +genteel Aylwins, the heir-presumptive Aylwins--the most respectable +branch of a most respectable family, which, alas! has its ungenteel, +its bohemian, its vulgar offshoots? Did I hear His Majesty of +Gypsydom aright?' + +He leant against a tree, and gave utterance to peal after peal of +laughter. + +I advanced with rapidly rising anger, but his hilarity had so +overmastered him that he did not heed it. + +'Wilderspin,' cried he, 'come here! Pray come here. Have I not often +told you the reason why I threw up my engagement with my theatrical +manager, and missed my high vocation in ungenteel comedy? Have I not +often told you that it sprang from no disrespect to my friends, the +comic actors, but from the feeling that no comedian can hope to be +comic enough to compete with the real thing--the true harlequinade of +everyday life, roaring and screaming around me wherever I go?' + +Then, without waiting for his companion's reply, he turned to me, and +giving an added volume to his sonorous voice, said: + +'And you, Sir King, do you know whose bed Your Majesty was going to +make at the bidding of--well, of a duke's chavi?' + +I advanced with still growing anger. 'Stay, King Bamfylde, stay,' +said he; 'shall the beds of the mere ungenteel Aylwins, "the outside +Aylwins," be made by the high Gypsy-gentility of Raxton?' + +A light began to break in upon me. 'Surely,' I said, 'surely you are +not Cyril Aylwin, the------?' + +'Pray finish your sentence, sir, and say the low bohemian painter, +the representative of the great ungenteel--the successor to the +Aylwin peerage.' + +The other painter, looking in blank amazement at my newly-found +kinsman's extraordinary merriment, exclaimed, 'Bless me! Then you +really can laugh aloud, Mr. Cyril. What has happened? What can have +happened to make my dear friend laugh aloud?' + +'Well he may ask,' said Cyril, turning to me. 'He knows that ever +since I was a boy in jackets I have despised the man who, in a world +where all is so comic, could select any particular point of the farce +for his empty guffaw. But I am conquered at last. Let me introduce +you, Wilderspin, to my kinsman, Henry Aylwin of Raxton Hall, alias +Lord Henry Lovell of Little Egypt--one of Duke Panuel's interesting +twinses.' + +But Wilderspin's astonishment, apparently, was not at the +_rencontre_: it was at the spectacle of his companion's hilarity. +'Wonderful!' he murmured, with his eyes still fastened upon Cyril. +'My dear friend can laugh aloud. Most wonderful! What can have +happened?' + +This is what had happened. By one of those strange coincidences which +make the drama of real life far more wonderful than the drama of any +stage, I, in my character of wandering Gypsy, had been thrown across +the path of the _bete noire_ of my mother and aunt, Cyril Aylwin, a +painter of bohemian proclivities, who (under the name of 'Cyril') had +obtained some considerable reputation. This kinsman of mine had been +held up to me as a warning from my very childhood, though wherein lay +his delinquencies I never did clearly understand, save that he had +once been an actor--before acting had become genteel. Often as I had +heard of this eccentric painter as the representative of the branch +of the family which preceded mine in the succession to the coveted +earldom, I had never seen him before. + +He stood and looked at me in a state of intense amusement, but did +not speak. + +'So you are Cyril Aylwin?' I said. 'Still you must withdraw what you +said to my sister about the soap.' + +'Delicious!' said he, grasping my hand. 'I had no idea that high +gentility numbered chivalry among its virtues. Lady Sinfi,' he +continued, turning to her, 'they say this brother of yours is a +character, and, by Jove! he is. And as to you, dear lady, I am proud +of the family connection. The man who has two Romany Rye kinsmen may +be excused for showing a little pride. I withdraw every word about +the virtues of soap, and am convinced that it can do nothing with the +true Romany-Aylwin brown.' + +On that we shook hands all round. 'But, Sinfi,' said I, 'why did you +not tell me that this was my kinsman?' + +''Cause I didn't know,' said she. 'I han't never seed him since I've +know'd you. I always heerd his friends call him Cyril, and so I used +to call him Mr. Cyril.' + +'But, Lady Sinfi, my Helen of Little Egypt,' said Cyril, 'suppose +that in my encounter with my patrician cousin--an encounter which +would have been entirely got up in honour of you--suppose it had +happened that I had made your brother's bed for him?' + +'You make _his_ bed!' exclaimed Sinfi, laughing. + +'Dordi! how you would ha' went down afore the Swimmin' Rei!' +[Footnote] + +[Footnote: By the Welsh Gypsies, but few of whom can swim, I was +called 'the Swimmin' Rei,' a name which would have been far more +appropriately given to Percy Aylwin (Rhona Boswell's lover), one of +the strongest swimmers in England; but he was simply called the +Tarno Rye (the young gentleman).] + +'But suppose that, on the contrary, he had gone down before me,' said +Cyril; 'suppose I had been the death of your Swimming Rei, I should +have been tried for the wilful murder of a prince of Little Egypt, +the son of a Romany duke. Why, Helen of Troy was not half so +mischievous a beauty as you.' + +'You was safe enough, no fear,' said Sinfi. 'It 'ud take six o' you +to settle the Swimmin' Rei.' + +I found that Cyril and his strange companion were staying at 'The +Royal Oak,' at Bettws y Coed. They asked me to join them, but when I +told them I 'could not leave my people, who were encamped about two +miles off,' Cyril again looked at me with an expression of deepest +enjoyment, and exclaimed 'delightful creature.' + +Turning to Sinfi, he said: 'Then we'll go with you and call upon the +noble father of the twins, my old friend King Panuel.' + +'He ain't a king,' said Sinfi modestly; 'he's only a duke.' + +'You'll give us some tea, Lady Sinfi?' said Cyril. + +'No tea equal to Gypsy tea.' + +'Romany tea, Mr. Cyril,' replied Sinfi, with perfect dignity and +grace. 'My daddy, the duke, will be pleased to welcome you.' + +We all strolled towards the tents. I offered to carry an umbrella and +a camp-stool. Cyril walked briskly away with Sinfi, leaving me to get +on with Wilderspin as best I could. Before the other two were out of +earshot, however, I heard Cyril say, + +'You shouldn't have taken so seriously my chaff about the soap, +Sinfi. You ought to know me better by this time than to think that I +would really insult you.' + +'How you would ha' went down afore the Swimmin' Rei!' replied Sinfi +regretfully. + + +III + +Between my new companion, Wilderspin, and myself there was an awkward +silence for some time. He was evidently in a brown study. I had ample +opportunity for examining his face. Deeply impressed upon his forehead +there was, as I now perceived, an ancient scar of a peculiar shape. At +last, a lovely bit of scenery broke the spell, and conversation began +to flow freely. + +We had nearly got within sight of the encampment when he said, + +'I am in some perplexity, sir, about the various branches of your +family. Aylwin, I need not tell you, was the name of the greatest man +of this age, and I am anxious to know what is exactly your connection +with him.' + +'You surprise me,' I said. 'Out of our own family, in its various +branches, there is, I have been told, no very large number of +Aylwins, and I had no idea that one of them had become famous.' + +'I did not say famous, sir, but great; two very different words. Yet, +in a certain deep sense, it may be said of Philip Aylwin's name that +since his lamented death it has even become famous. The Aylwinians +(of which body I am, as you are no doubt aware, founder and +president) are, I may say, becoming--' + +'Philip Aylwin!' I said. 'Why, that was my father. He famous!' + +The recollection of the essay upon 'Hamalet and Hamlet,' the thought +of the brass-rubbings, the kneecaps and mittens, came before me in an +irresistibly humorous light, and I could not repress a smile. Then +arose upon me the remembrance of the misery that had fallen upon +Winnie and myself from his monomania and what seemed to me his +superstitious folly, and I could not withhold an angry scowl. Then +came the picture of the poor scarred breast, the love-token, and the +martyrdom that came to him who had too deeply loved, and smile and +frown both passed from my face as I murmured,--'Poor father! he +famous! + +'Philip Aylwin's son!' said Wilderspin, staring at me. Then, raising +his hat as reverentially to me as if I had been the son of +Shakespeare himself, he said, 'Mr. Aylwin, since Mary Wilderspin went +home to heaven, the one great event of my life has been the reading +of _The Veiled Queen_, your father's book of inspired wisdom upon the +modern Renascence of Wonder in the mind of Man. To apply his +principles to Art, sir--to give artistic rendering to the profound +idea hinted at in the marvellous vignette on the title-page of his +third edition--has been, for some time past, the proud task of my +life. And you are the great man's son! Astonishing! Although his +great learning overwhelms my mind and appals my soul (whom, indeed, +should it not overwhelm and appal?) there is not a pamphlet of his +that I do not know intimately, almost by heart.' + +'Including the paper on "Hamlet and Hamalet, and the wide region of +Nowhere"?' + +'Including that and everything.' + +'Did you know him, Mr. Wilderspin?' + +'Not in the flesh; in the spirit, who knows him so well? Your mother +I have had the pleasure of meeting at the house of Lord Sleaford, and +indeed I have had the distinguished honour of painting her portrait; +but the great author of _The Veiled Queen_--the inspired designer of +the vignette symbolical of the Renascence of Wonder in Art--I never +had the rapture of seeing. This very day, the anniversary of his +birth,' he continued, 'is a great day in the Aylwinian calendar.' + +'My father's birthday? Why, so it is!' + +'Mr. Aylwin, is it possible that the anniversary of a day so +momentous for the world is forgotten--forgotten by the very issue of +the great man's loins?' + +'The fact is,' said I, in some confusion, 'I have been living with +the Gypsies, and, you see, Mr. Wilderspin, the passage of time--' + +'The son of Philip Aylwin a Gypsy!' murmured Wilderspin meditatively, +and unconscious evidently that he was speaking aloud--'a Gypsy! Still +it would surely be a mistake to suppose,' he continued, perfectly +oblivious now of my presence, 'that the vagaries of his son can +really bring shame upon the head of the father.' + +'But, by God!' I cried, 'it is no mistake that the vagaries of the +father can bring shame and sorrow and misery upon the child. I could +name a couple of fathers--sleeping very close to each other +now--whose vagaries--' + +My sudden anger was carrying me away; but I stopped, recollecting +myself. + +'Doubtless,' said Wilderspin, 'there are fathers and fathers. The son +of Philip Aylwin has assuredly a right to be critical in regard to +all other fathers than his own.' + +I looked in his face; the expression of solemn earnestness was quite +unmistakable. + +'It is not you,' I said, 'it is Heaven, or else it is the blind +jester Circumstance, that is playing this joke upon me!' + +'To your honoured father,' he continued, taking not the slightest +notice of my interjection, 'I owe everything. From his grave he +supports my soul; from his grave he gives me ideas; from his grave +he makes my fame. How should I fail to honour his son, even though +he--' + +Of course he was going to add--'even though he be a vagabond +associating with vagabonds,'--but he left the sentence unfinished. + +'I confess, Mr. Wilderspin,' said I, 'that you speak in such enigmas +that it would be folly for me to attempt to answer you.' + +'I wish,' said Wilderspin, 'that all enigmas were as soluble as this. +Let me ask you a question, sir. When you stood before my picture, +"Faith and Love," in Bond Street, did you not perceive that both it +and the predella were inspired entirely by your father's great work, +_The Veiled Queen_, or rather that they are mere pictorial +renderings and illustrations of that grand effort of man's soul in +its loftiest development?' + +I had never heard of the picture in question. As for the book, my +father, perceiving my great dislike of mysticism, had always shrunk +from showing me any effusion of his that was not of a simply +antiquarian kind. In Switzerland, however, after his death, while +waiting for the embalmer to finish his work, I had become, during a +few days' reading, acquainted with _The Veiled Queen_. It was a new +edition containing an 'added chapter,' full of subtle spiritualistic +symbols. Amid what had seemed to me mere mystical jargon about the +veil of Isis being uplifted, not by Man's reason, not by such +researches as those of Darwin, Huxley, Spencer, and the continental +evolutionists, but by Faith and Love, I had come across passages of +burning eloquence. + +'I am sorry to say,' I replied, 'that my Gypsy wanderings are again +answerable for my shortcomings. I have not yet seen your picture. +When I do see it I--' + +'Not seen "Faith and Love" and the equally wonderful predella at the +foot of it!' he exclaimed incredulously. 'Ah, but you have been +living among the Gypsies. It is the greatest picture of the modern +world; for, Mr. Aylwin, it renders in Art the inevitable attitude of +its own time and country towards the unseen world, and renders it as +completely as did the masterpiece of Polygnotus in the Lesche of the +'Not in the flesh; in the spirit, who knows him so well? Your mother +I have had the pleasure of meeting at the house of Lord Sleaford, and +indeed I have had the distinguished honour of painting her portrait; +but the great author of _The Veiled Queen_--the inspired designer of +the vignette symbolical of the Renascence of Wonder in Art--I never +had the rapture of seeing. This very day, the anniversary of his +birth,' he continued, 'is a great day in the Aylwinian calendar.' + +'My father's birthday? Why, so it is!' + +'Mr. Aylwin, is it possible that the anniversary of a day so +momentous for the world is forgotten--forgotten by the very issue of +the great man's loins?' + +'The fact is,' said I, in some confusion, 'I have been living with +the Gypsies, and, you see, Mr. Wilderspin, the passage of time--' + +'The son of Philip Aylwin a Gypsy!' murmured Wilderspin meditatively, +and unconscious evidently that he was speaking aloud--'a Gypsy! Still +it would surely be a mistake to suppose,' he continued, perfectly +oblivious now of my presence, 'that the vagaries of his son can +really bring shame upon the head of the father.' + +'But, by God!' I cried, 'it is no mistake that the vagaries of the +father can bring shame and sorrow and misery upon the child. I could +name a couple of fathers--sleeping very close to each other +now--whose vagaries--' + +My sudden anger was carrying me away; but I stopped, recollecting +myself. + +'Doubtless,' said Wilderspin, 'there are fathers and fathers. The son +of Philip Aylwin has assuredly a right to be critical in regard to +all other fathers than his own.' + +I looked in his face; the expression of solemn earnestness was quite +unmistakable. + +'It is not you,' I said, 'it is Heaven, or else it is the blind +jester Circumstance, that is playing this joke upon me!' + +'To your honoured father,' he continued, taking not the slightest +notice of my interjection, 'I owe everything. From his grave he +supports my soul; from his grave he gives me ideas; from his grave +he makes my fame. How should I fail to honour his son, even though +he--' + +Of course he was going to add--'even though he be a vagabond +associating with vagabonds,'--but he left the sentence unfinished. + +'I confess, Mr. Wilderspin,' said I, 'that you speak in such enigmas +that it would be folly for me to attempt to answer you.' + +'I wish,' said Wilderspin, 'that all enigmas were as soluble as this. +Let me ask you a question, sir. When you stood before my picture, +"Faith and Love," in Bond Street, did you not perceive that both it +and the predella were inspired entirely by your father's great work, +_The Veiled Queen_, or rather that they are mere pictorial +renderings and illustrations of that grand effort of man's soul in +its loftiest development?' + +I had never heard of the picture in question. As for the book, my +father, perceiving my great dislike of mysticism, had always shrunk +from showing me any effusion of his that was not of a simply +antiquarian kind. In Switzerland, however, after his death, while +waiting for the embalmer to finish his work, I had become, during a +few days' reading, acquainted with _The Veiled Queen_. It was a new +edition containing an 'added chapter,' full of subtle spiritualistic +symbols. Amid what had seemed to me mere mystical jargon about the +veil of Isis being uplifted, not by Man's reason, not by such +researches as those of Darwin, Huxley, Spencer, and the continental +evolutionists, but by Faith and Love, I had come across passages of +burning eloquence. + +'I am sorry to say,' I replied, 'that my Gypsy wanderings are again +answerable for my shortcomings. I have not yet seen your picture. +When I do see it I--' + +'Not seen "Faith and Love" and the equally wonderful predella at the +foot of it!' he exclaimed incredulously. 'Ah, but you have been +living among the Gypsies. It is the greatest picture of the modern +world; for, Mr. Aylwin, it renders in Art the inevitable attitude of +its own time and country towards the unseen world, and renders it as +completely as did the masterpiece of Polygnotus in the Lesche of the +Cnidians at Delphi--as completely as did the wonderful frescoes of +Andrea Orcagna on the walls of the Campo Santo at Pisa.' + +'And you attribute your success to the inspiration you derived from +my father's hook?' + +'To that and to the spirit of Mary Wilderspin in heaven.' + +'Then you are a Spiritualist?' + +'I am an Aylwinian, the opposite (need I say?) of a Darwinian.' + +'Of the school of Blake, perhaps?' I asked. + +'Of the school of Blake? No. He was on the right road; but he was a +writer of verses! Art is a jealous mistress, Mr. Aylwin: the painter +who rhymes is lost. Even the master himself is so much the weaker by +every verse he has written. I never could make a rhyme in my life, +and have faithfully shunned printer's ink, the black blight of the +painter. I am my own school; the school of the spirit world.' + +'I am very curious,' I said, 'to know in what way my father and the +spirits can have inspired a great painter. Of the vignette I may +claim to know something. Of the spirits as artists I have of course +no knowledge, but as regards my father, he, I am certain, could +hardly have told a Raphael from a chromolithograph copy. He was, in +spite of that same vignette, most ignorant of art. Raxton Hall +possesses nothing but family portraits.' + + +IV + +By this time we had reached the encampment, which was close by a +waterfall among ferns and wild-flowers. Little Jerry Lovell, a child +of about four years of age, came running to meet me with a dead +water-wagtail in his hand which he had knocked down. + +'Me kill de Romany Chiriklo,' said he, and then proceeded to tell me +very gravely that, having killed the 'Gypsy magpie,' he was bound to +have a great lady for his sweetheart. + +'Jerry,' said I bitterly, 'you begin with love and superstition +early; you are an incipient "Aylwinian": take care.' + +When I explained to Wilderspin that this was one of the Romany +beliefs, he said that he did not at present see the connection +between a dead water-wagtail and a live lady, but that such a +connection might doubtless exist. Panuel Lovell now came forward to +greet and welcome Wilderspin. Sinfi and Cyril had evidently walked at +a brisk rate, for already tea was spread out on a cloth. The fire was +blazing beneath a kettle slung from the 'kettle-prop.' The party were +waiting for us. Sinfi, however, never idle, was filling up the time +by giving lessons in riding to Euri and Sylvester Lovell, two dusky +urchins in their early teens, while her favourite bantam-cock +Pharaoh, standing on a donkey's back, his wattles gleaming like coral +in the sun, was crowing lustily. Cyril, who lay stretched among the +ferns, his chin resting in his hands and a cigarette in his mouth, +was looking on with the deepest interest. As I passed behind him to +introduce Wilderspin to Videy Lovell (who was making tea), I heard +Cyril say, 'Lady Sinfi, you must and shall teach me how to make an +adversary's bed--the only really essential part of a liberal +education.' + +'Brother,' said Sinfi, turning to me, 'your thoughts are a-flyin' off +agin; keep your spirits up afore all these.' + +The leafy dingle was recalling Graylingham Wilderness and 'Fairy +Dell,' where little Winifred used to play Titania to my childish +Oberon, and dance the Gypsy 'shawl-dance' Sinfi's mother had taught +her! + +So much was I occupied with these reminiscences that I had not +observed that during our absence our camp had been honoured by +visitors. These were Jericho Boswell, christened, I believe, Jasper, +his daughter Rhona, and James Herne, called on account of his +accomplishments as a penman the Scollard. Although Jasper Boswell and +Panuel Lovell were rival Griengroes, there was no jealousy between +them--indeed, they were excellent friends. + +There were many points of similarity between their characters. Each +had risen from comparative poverty to what might be called wealth, +and risen in the same way, that is to say, by straightforward dealing +with the Gorgios, although as regarded Jericho, Rhona was generally +credited with having acted as a great auxiliary in amassing his +wealth. All over the country the farmers and horse-dealers knew that +neither Jasper nor Panuel ever bishoped a gry, or indulged in any +other horse-dealing tricks. Their very simplicity of character had +done what all the crafty tricks of certain compeers of theirs had +failed to do. They were also very much alike in their good-natured +and humorous, way of taking all the ups and downs of life. + +A very different kind of Romany was the Scollard--so different, +indeed, that it was hard to think that he was of the same race: +Romany guile incarnate was the Scollard. He suggested even in his +personal appearance the typical Gypsy of the novel and the stage, +rather than the true Gypsy as he lives and moves. The Scollard was +well known to be half-crazed with a passion for Rhona Boswell, who +was _the fiancee_ of that cousin of mine, Percy Aylwin, before +mentioned. Percy was considered to be a hopelessly erratic character. +Much against the wish of his parents, he had been brought up as a +sailor; but on seeing Rhona Boswell he promptly fell in love with +her, and quitted the sea in order to be near her. And no man who ever +heard Rhona's laugh professed to wonder at Percy's infatuation. As a +Griengro her father, Jericho Boswell, who had no son, was said to +have owed his prosperity to Rhona's instinctive knowledge of +horseflesh. + +While our guests, Romany and Gorgio, were doing justice to the trout, +Welsh brown bread and butter and jam which Videy had spread before +them, Sinfi went to the back of the camp to look at the ponies, and I +got into conversation with Rhona Boswell, whom I remembered so well +as a child. At first she was shy and embarrassed, doubtful, as I +perceived, whether or not she ought to talk about Winnie. She waited +to see whether I introduced the subject, and finding that I did not, +she began to talk about Sinfi and plied me with questions as to what +we two had been doing and where we had been during our wanderings +through Wales. + +When tea was over and Cyril was in lively talk with Sinfi, Wilderspin +grew restless, and I perceived that he wanted to resume his +conversation with me about his picture. I said to him: 'This idea o +f my father's which has inspired you, and resulted in such great +work, what is its nature?' + +'I am a painter, Mr. Aylwin, and nothing more,' he replied. 'I could +only express Philip Aylwin's ideas by describing my picture and the +predella beneath it. Will you permit me to do so?' + +'May I ask you,' I said, 'as a favour to do so?' + +Immediately his face became very bright, and into his eyes returned +the far-off look already described. + +'I will first take the predella, which represents Isis behind the +Veil,' said he. 'Imagine yourself thousands of years away from this +time. Imagine yourself thousands of miles away, among real +Egyptians.' + +'Real 'Gyptians!' cried Sinfi. 'Who says the Romanies ain't real +'Gyptians? Anybody as says my daddy ain't a real 'Gyptian duke'll ha' +to set to with Sinfi Lovell.' + +'Nonsense,' said Cyril, smiling, and playing idly with a coral amulet +dangling from Sinfi's neck; 'he's talking about the ancient +Egyptians: Egyptian mummies, you silly Lady Sinfi. You're not a +mummy, are you?' + +'Well, no, I ain't a mummy as fur as I knows on,' said Sinfi, only +half-appeased; 'but my daddy's a 'Gyptian duke for all that,--ain't +you, dad?' + +'So it seems, Sin,' said Panuel, 'but I ommust begin to wish I +worn't; it makes you feel so blazin' shy bein' a duke all of a +suddent.' + +'Dabla!' said the guest Jericho Boswell. 'What, Pan, has she made a +dook on ye?' + +The Scollard began to grin. + +'Pull that ugly mug o' yourn straight, Jim Herne,' said Sinfi, 'else +I'll come and pull it straight for you.' + +Wilderspin took no notice of the interruption, but addressed me as +though no one else were within earshot. + +'Imagine yourself standing in an Egyptian city, where innumerable +lamps of every hue are shining. It is one of the great lamp-fetes of +Sais, which all Egypt has come to see. There, in honour of the feast, +sits a tall woman, covered by a veil. But the painting is so +wonderful, Mr. Aylwin, that, though you see a woman's face expressed +behind the veil--though you see the warm flesh-tints and the light of +the eyes through the aerial film--you cannot judge of the character +of the face--you cannot see whether it is that of woman in her noblest, +or woman in her basest, type. The eyes sparkle, but you cannot say +whether they sparkle with malignity or benevolence--whether they are +fired with what Philip Aylwin calls "the love-light of the seventh +heaven," or are threatening with "the hungry flames of the seventh +hell"! There she sits in front of a portico, while, asleep, with +folded wings, is crouched on one side of her the figure of Love, with +rosy feathers, and on the other the figure of Faith, with plumage +of a deep azure. Over her head, on the portico, are written the +words:--"I am all that hath been, is, and shall be, and no mortal +hath uncovered my veil." The tinted lights falling on the group are +shed, you see, from the rainbow-coloured lamps of Sais, which are +countless. But in spite of all these lamps, Mr. Aylwin, no mortal can +see the face behind that veil. And why? Those who alone could uplift +it, the figures with folded wings--Faith and Love--are fast asleep at +the great Queen's feet. When Faith and Love are sleeping there, what +are the many-coloured lamps of science?--of what use are they to the +famished soul of man?' + +'A striking idea!' I exclaimed. + +'Your father's,' replied Wilderspin, in a tone of such reverence that +one might have imagined my father's spectre stood before him. 'It +symbolises that base Darwinian cosmogony which Carlyle spits at, and +the great and good John Ruskin scorns. But this design is only the +predella beneath the picture "Faith and Love." Now look at the +picture itself, Mr. Aylwin,' he continued, as though it were upon an +easel before me. 'You are at Sais no longer: you are now, as the +architecture around you shows, in a Greek city by the sea. In the +light of innumerable lamps, torches, and wax tapers, a procession is +moving through the streets. You see Isis, as Pelagia, advancing +between two ranks, one of joyous maidens in snow-white garments, +adorned with wreaths, and scattering from their bosoms all kinds of +dewy flowers; the other of youths, playing upon pipes and flutes, +mixed with men with shaven shining crowns, playing upon sistra of +brass, silver, and gold. Isis wears a Dorian tunic, fastened on her +breast by a tasselled knot,--an azure-coloured tunic bordered with +silver stars,--and an upper garment of the colour of the moon at +moonrise. Her head is crowned with a chaplet of sea-flowers, and +round her throat is a necklace of seaweeds, wet still with sea-water, +and shimmering with all the shifting hues of the sea. On either side +of her stand the awakened angels, uplifting from her face a veil +whose folds flow soft as water over her shoulders and over the wings +of Faith and Love. A symbol of the true cosmogony which Philip Aylwin +gave to the world!' + +'Why, that's esackly like the wreath o' seaweeds as poor Winnie Wynne +used to make,' said Rhona Boswell. + +'The photograph of Raxton Fair!' I cried. 'Frank and Winnie, and +little Bob Milford, and the seaweeds!' The terrible past came upon my +soul like an avalanche, and I leapt up and walked frantically towards +my own waggon. The picture, which was nothing but an idealisation of +the vignette upon the title-page of my father's book--the vignette +taken from the photograph of Winnie, my brother Frank, and one of my +fisher-boy playmates--brought back upon me--all! + +Sinfi came to me. + +'What is it, brother?' said she. + +'Sinfi,' I cried, 'what was that saying of your mother's about +fathers and children?' + +'My poor mammy's daddy, when she wur a little chavi, beat her so +cruel that she was a ailin' woman all her life, and she used to say, +"For good or for ill, you must dig deep to bury your daddy."' + +I went back and resumed my seat by Wilderspin's side, while Sinfi +returned to Cyril. + +Wilderspin evidently thought that I had been overcome by the +marvellous power of his description, and went on as though there had +been no interruption. + +'Isis,' said he,' stands before you; Isis, not matronly and stern as +the mother of Horus, nor as the Isis of the licentious orgies; but +(as Philip Aylwin says) "Isis, the maiden, gazing around her, with +pure but mystic eyes."' + +'And you got from my father's book,--_The Veiled Queen_, all this'--I +was going to add--'jumble of classic story and mediaeval +mysticism,'--but I stopped short in time. + +'All this and more--a thousand times more than could be rendered by +the art of any painter. For the age that Carlyle spits at and the +great and good John Ruskin scorns is gross, Mr. Aylwin; the age is +grovelling and gross. No wonder, then, that Art in our time has +nothing but technical excellence; that it despises conscience, +despises aspiration, despises soul, despises even ideas--that it is +worthless, all worthless.' + +'Except as practised in a certain temple of art in a certain part of +London that shall be nameless, whence Calliope, Euterpe, and all the +rhythmic sisters are banished,' interposed Cyril. + +'But how did you attain to this superlative excellence, Mr. +Wilderspin?' I asked. + +'That would indeed be a long story to tell,' said he. 'Yet Philip +Aylwin's son has a right to know all that I can tell. My dear friend +here knows that, though famous now, I climbed the ladder of Art from +the bottom rung; nay, before I could even reach the bottom rung, what +a toilsome journey was mine to get within sight of the ladder at all! +The future biographer of the painter of "Faith and Love" will have to +record that he was born in a hovel; that he was nursed in a smithy; +that his cradle was a piece of board suspended from the smithy +ceiling by a chain, which his mother--his widowed mother--kept +swinging by an occasional touch in the intervals of her labours at +the forge.' + +I did not even smile at this speech, so entirely was the effect of +its egotism killed by the wonderful way of pronouncing the word +'mother.' + +'You have heard,' he continued in a voice whose intense earnestness +had an irresistible fascination for the ear, like that of a Hindoo +charmer--'you have heard of the mother-bird who feeds her young from +the blood of her own breast; that bird but feebly typifies her whom +God, in His abundant love of me, gave me for a mother. There were ten +of us--ten little children. My mother was a female blacksmith of Old +Hill, who for four shillings and sixpence a week worked sixteen hours +a day for the fogger, hammering hot iron into nails. The scar upon my +forehead--look! it is shaped like the red-hot nail that one day leapt +upon me from her anvil, as I lay asleep in my swing above her head. I +would not lose it for all the diadems of all the monarchs of this +world. She was much too poor to educate us. When the wolf is at the +door, Mr. Aylwin, and the very flesh and blood of the babes in danger +of perishing, what mother can find time to think of education, to +think even of the salvation of the soul,--to think of anything but +food--food? Have you ever wanted food, Mr. Aylwin?' he suddenly said, +in a voice so magnetic from its very earnestness that I seemed for +the moment to feel the faintness of hunger. + +'No, no,' I said, a tide of grief rushing upon me; 'but there is one +who perhaps--there is one I love more dearly than your mother loved +her babes--' + +Sinfi rose, and came and placed her hand upon my shoulder and +whispered, + +'She ain't a-starvin', brother; she never starved on the hills. She's +only jest a-beggin' her bread for a little while, that's all.' + +And then, after laying her hand upon my forehead, soft and soothing, +she returned to Cyril's side. + +'No one who has never wanted food knows what life is,' said +Wilderspin, taking but little heed of even so violent an interruption +as this.'No one has been entirely educated, Mr. Aylwin--no one knows +the real primal meaning of that pathetic word Man--no one knows the +true meaning of Man's position here among the other living creatures +of this world, if he has never wanted food. Hunger gives a new seeing +to the eyes.' + +'That's as true as the blessed stars,' muttered old Mrs. Boswell, +Rhona's beloved granny, who was squatting on a rug next to her son +Jericho, with a pipe in her mouth, weaving fancy baskets, and +listening intently. 'The very airth under your feet seems to be +a-sinkin' away, and the sweet sunshine itself seems as if it all +belonged to the Gorgios, when you're a-follerin' the patrin with the +emp'y belly.' + +'I thank God,' continued Wilderspin, 'that I once wanted food.' + +'More nor I do,' muttered old Mrs. Boswell, as she went on weaving; +'no mammy as ever felt a little chavo [Footnote 1] a-suckin' at her +burk [Footnote 2] never thanked God for wantin' food: it dries the +milk, or else it sp'iles it.' + +[Footnote 1: Child.] + +[Footnote 2: Bosom.] + + +'In no way,' said Wilderspin, 'has the spirit-world neglected the +education of the apostle of spiritual beauty. I became a "blower" in +the smithy. As a child, from early sunrise till nearly midnight, I +blew the bellows for eighteen pence a week. But long before I could +read or write my mother knew that I was set apart for great things. +She knew, from the profiles I used to trace with the point of a nail +on the smithy walls, that, unless the heavy world pressed too heavily +upon me, I should become a great painter. Except anxiety about my +mother and my little brothers and sisters, I, for my part, had no +thought besides this of being some day a painter. Except love for her +and for them, I had no other passion. By assiduous attendance at +night-schools I learnt to read and write. This enabled me to take a +better berth in Black Waggon Street, where I earned enough to take +lessons in drawing from the reduced widow of a once prosperous +fogger. But ah! so eager was I to learn, that I did not notice how my +mother was fading, wasting, dying slowly. It was not till too late +that I learnt the appalling truth, that while the babes had been +nourished, the mother had starved--starved! On a few ounces of bread +a day no woman can work the Oliver and prod the fire. Her last +whispers to me were, "I shall see you, dear, a great painter yet; +Jesus will let me look down and watch my boy." Ah, Sinfi Lovell! that +makes you weep. It is long, long since I ceased to weep at that. +"Whatsoever is not of faith is sin."' + +Rhona Boswell, down whose face also the tears were streaming, nodded +in a patronising way to Wilderspin, and said, 'Reia, my mammy lives +in the clouds, and I'll tell her to show you the Golden Hand, I +will.' + +'From the moment when I left my mother in the grave,' said +Wilderspin, 'I had but one hope, that she who was watching my +endeavours might not watch in vain. Art became now my religion: +success in it my soul's goal. I went to London; I soon began to +develop a great power of design, in illustrating penny periodicals. +For years I worked at this, improving in execution with every design, +but still unable to find an opening for a better class of work. What +I yearned for was the opportunity to exercise the gift of colour. +That I did possess this in a rare degree I knew. At last I got a +commission. Oh! the joy of painting that first picture! My progress +was now rapid. But I had few purchasers till Providence sent me a +good man and great gentleman, my dear friend--' + +'This is a long-winded speech of yours, _mon cher_,' yawned Cyril. +'Lady Sinfi is going to strike up with the Welsh riddle unless you +get along faster.' + +'Don't stop him,' I heard Sinfi mutter, as she shook Cyril angrily; +'he's mighty fond o' that mother o' his'n, an', if he's ever sich a +horn nataral, I likes him.' + +'I never exhibited in the Academy,' continued Wilderspin, without +heeding the interruption, 'I never tried to exhibit; but, thanks to +the dear friend I have mentioned, I got to know the Master himself. +People came to my poor studio, and my pictures were bought from my +easel as fast as I could paint them. I could please my buyers, I +could please my dear friend, I could please the Master himself; I +could please every person in the world but one--myself. For years I +had been struggling with what cripples so many artists--with +ignorance--ignorance, Mr. Aylwin, of the million points of detail +which must be understood and mastered before ever the sweetness, the +apparent lawlessness and abandonment of Nature can be expressed by +Art. But it was now, when I had conquered these,--it was now that I +was dissatisfied, and no man living was so miserable as I. I dare say +you are an artist yourself, Mr. Aylwin, and will understand me when I +say that artists--figure-painters, I mean,--are divided into two +classes--those whose natural impulse is to paint men, and those who +are sent into the world expressly to paint women. My mother's death +taught me that my mission was to paint women, women whom I--being the +son of Mary Wilderspin--love and understand better than other men, +because my soul (once folded in her womb) is purer than other men's +souls.' + +'Is not modesty a Gorgio virtue, Lady Sinfi?' murmured Cyril. + +'Nothin' like a painter for thinkin' strong beer of hisself,' she +replied; 'but I likes him--oh, I likes him.' + +'No man whose soul is stained by fleshly desire shall render in art +all that there is in a truly beautiful woman's face,' said +Wilderspin. 'I worked hard at imaginative painting; I worked for +years and years, Mr. Aylwin, but with scant success. It shames me to +say that I was at last discouraged. Hut, after a time, I began to +feel that the spirit-world was giving me a strength of vision second +only to the Master's own, and a cunning of hand greater than any +vouchsafed to man since the death of Raphael. This was once +stigmatised as egotism; but "Faith and Love," and the predella "Isis +behind the Veil," have told another story. I did not despair, I say; +for I knew the cause of my failure. Two sources of inspiration were +wanting to me--that of a superlative subject and that of a +superlative model. For the first I am indebted to Philip Aylwin; for +the second I am indebted to--' + +'A greater still, Miss Gudgeon, of Primrose Court,' interjected +Cyril. + +'For the second I'm indebted to my mother. And yet something else was +wanting,' continued Wilderspin, 'to enable me for many months to +concentrate my life upon one work--the self-sacrificing generosity of +such a friend as I think no man ever had before. + +'Wilderspin,' said Cyril, rising, 'the Duke of Little Egypt sleeps, +as you see. His Grace of the Pyramids snores, as you hear. The +autobiography of a man of genius is interesting; but I fear that +yours will have to be continued in our next.' + +'But Mr. Aylwin wants to hear--' + +'He and our other idyllic friends are early to bed and early to rise; +they have, in the morning, trout to catch for breakfast, and we have +a good way to walk to-night.' + +'That's just like my friend,' said Wilderspin. 'That's my friend all +over.' + +With this they left us, and we betook ourselves to our usual evening +occupations. + +Next morning the two painters called upon us. Wilderspin sketched +alone, while Sinfi, Rhona, Cyril, and I went trout-fishing in one of +the numerous brooks. + +'What do you think of my friend by this time?' said Cyril to me. + +'He is my fifth mystic,' I replied; 'I wonder what the sixth will be +like. Is he really as great a painter as he takes himself to he, or +does his art begin and end with flowery words?' + +'I believe,' said Cyril, pointing across to where Wilderspin sat at +work, 'that the strange creature under that white umbrella is the +greatest artistic genius now living. The death of his mother by +starvation has turned his head, poor fellow, but turned it to good +purpose: "Faith and Love" is the greatest modern picture in Europe. +To be sure, he has the advantage of painting from the finest model +ever seen, the lovely, if rather stupid, Miss Gudgeon, of Primrose +Court, whom he monopolises.' + +Cyril had already, during the morning, told me that my mother, who +was much out of health, was now staying in London, where he had for +the first time in his life met her at Lord Sleaford's house. +Notwithstanding their differences of opinion, my mother and he +seemed to have formed a mutual liking. He also told me that my uncle +Cecil Aylwin of Alvanley (who in this narrative must not, of course, +be confounded with another important relative, Henry Aylwin, Earl of +Aylwin) having just died and left me the bulk of his property, I had +been in much request. I consequently determined to start for London +on the following day, leaving my waggon in charge of Sinfi, who was +to sit to Wilderspin in the open air. + +During this conversation Sinfi was absorbed in her fishing, and +wandered away up the brook, and I could see that Cyril's eyes were +following her with great admiration. + +Turning to me and looking at me, he said, 'Lucky dog!' and then, +looking again across at Sinfi, he said, 'The finest girl in England.' + + + +V + +HAROUN-AL-RASCHID THE PAINTER + + +I + +On reaching London and finding that it was necessary I should remain +there for some little time, I wrote to Cyril to say so, sending some +messages to Sinfi and her father about my own living-waggon. + +My mother was now staying at my aunt's house, whither I went to call +upon her shortly after my arrival in town. + +Our meeting was a constrained and painful one. It was my mother's +cruelty to Winifred that had, in my view, completely ruined two +lives. I did not know then what an awful struggle was going on in her +own breast between her pride and her remorse for having driven Winnie +away, to be lost in Wales. Afterwards her sad case taught me that +among all the agents of soul-torture that have ever stung mankind to +madness the scorpion Remorse is by far the most appalling. But other +events had to take place before she reached the state when the +scorpion stings to death all other passions, even Pride and even +Vanity, and reigns in the bosom supreme. We could hardly meet without +softening towards each other. She was most anxious to know what had +occurred to me since I left Raxton to search for Winnie. I gave her +the entire story from my first seeing Winnie in the cottage, to my +_rencontre_ with her at Knockers' Llyn. At this time she had +accidentally been brought into contact with Miss Dalrymple, who had +lately received a legacy and was now in better circumstances. Miss +Dalrymple had spoken in high terms of Winnie's intelligence and +culture, little thinking how she was making my mother feel more +acutely than ever her own wrongdoing. Knowing that I was very fond of +music, my mother persuaded me to take her on several occasions to the +opera and the theatre. She with more difficulty persuaded me to +consult a medical man upon the subject of my insomnia; and at last I +agreed, though very reluctantly, to consult Dr. Mivart, late of +Raxton, who was now living in London. Mivart attributed my ailment +(as I, of course, knew he would) to hypochondria, and I saw that he +was fully aware of the cause. I therefore opened my mind to him upon +the subject. I told him everything in connection with Winifred in +Wales. + +He pondered the subject carefully and then said: + +'What you need is to escape from these terrible oscillations between +hope and despair. Therefore I think it best to tell you frankly that +Miss Wynne is certainly dead. Even suppose that she did not fall down +a precipice in Wales, she is, I repeat, certainly dead. So severe a +form of hysteria as hers must have worn her out by this time. It is +difficult for me to think that any nervous system could withstand a +strain so severe and so prolonged.' + +I felt the terrible truth of his words, but I made no answer. + +'But let this be your consolation,' said he. 'Her death is a blessing +to herself, and the knowledge that she is dead will be a blessing to +you.' + +'A blessing to me?' I said. + +'I mean that it will save you from the mischief of these alternations +between hope and despair. You will remember that it was I who saw her +in her first seizure and told you of it. Such a seizure having lasted +so long, nothing could have given her relief but death or magnetic +transmission of the seizure. It is a grievous case, but what concerns +me now is the condition into which you yourself have passed. Nothing +but a successful effort on your part to relieve your mind from the +dominant idea that has disturbed it can save you from--from--' + +'From what?' + +'That drug of yours is the most dangerous narcotic of all. Increase +your doses by a few more grains and you will lose all command over +your nervous system--all presence of mind. Give it up, give it up and +enter Parliament.' + +I left Mivart in anger, and took a stroll through the streets, trying +to amuse myself by looking at the shop windows and recalling the few +salient incidents that were connected with my brief experiences as an +art student. + +Hours passed in this way, until one by one the shops were closed and +only the theatres, public bars, and supper-rooms seemed to be open. + +I turned into a restaurant in the Haymarket, for I had taken no +dinner. I went upstairs into a supper-room, and after I had finished +my meal, taking a seat near the window, I gazed abstractedly over +the bustling, flashing streets, which to me seemed far more lonely, +far more remote, than the most secluded paths of Snowdon. In a +trouble such as mine it is not Man but Nature that can give +companionship. + +I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I did not observe whether +I was or was not now alone in the room, till the name of Wilderspin +fell on my ear and recalled me to myself. I started and looked round. +At a table near me sat two men whom I had not noticed before. The +face of the man who sat on the opposite side of the table confronted +me. + +If I had one tithe of that objective power and that instinct for +description which used to amaze me in Winifred as a child, I could +give here a picture of a face which the reader could never forget. + +If it was not beautiful in detail it was illuminated by an expression +that gave a unity of beauty to the whole. And what was the +expression? I can only describe it by saying that it was the +expression of genius; and it had that imperious magnetism which I had +never before seen in any face save that of Sinfi Lovell. But striking +as was the face of this man, I soon found that his voice was more +striking still. In whatever assembly that voice was heard, its +indescribable resonance would have marked it off from all other +voices, and have made the ear of the listener eager to catch the +sound. This voice, however, was not the one that had uttered the name +of Wilderspin. It was from his companion, who sat opposite to him, +with his great broad back, covered with a smart velvet coat, towards +me, that the talk was now coming. This man was smoking cigarettes in +that kind of furious sucking way which is characteristic of great +smokers. Much smoking, however, had not dried up his skin to the +consistence of blotting paper and to the colour of tobacco ash as it +does in some cases, but tobacco juice, which seemed to ooze from his +face like perspiration, or rather like oil, had made his complexion +of a yellow green colour, something like a vegetable marrow. Although +his face was as hairless as a woman's, there was not a feature in it +that was not masculine. Although his cheek-bones were high and his +jaw was of the mould which we so often associate with the +prizefighter, he looked as if he might somehow be a gentleman. And +when I got for a moment a full view of his face as he turned round, I +thought it showed power and intelligence, although his forehead +receded a good deal, a recession which was owing mainly to the bone +above the eyes. Power and intelligence too were seen in every glance +of his dark bright eyes. In a few minutes Wilderspin's name was again +uttered by this man, and I found he was telling anecdotes of the +eccentric painter--telling them with great gusto and humour, in a +loud voice, quite careless of being overheard by me. Then followed +other anecdotes of other people--artists for the most part--in which +the names of Millais, Ruskin, Watts, Leighton, and others came up in +quick succession. + +That he was a professional anecdote-monger of extraordinary +brilliancy, a _raconteur_ of the very first order, was evident +enough. I found also that as a story-teller he was reckless and +without conscience. He was, I thought, inventing anecdotes to amuse +his companion, whose manifest enjoyment of them rather weakened the +impression that his own personality had been making upon me. + +After a while the name of Cyril Aylwin came up, and I soon found the +man telling a story of Cyril and a recent escapade of his which I +knew must be false. He then went rattling on about other people, +mentioning names which, as I soon gathered, were those of female +models known in the art world. The anecdotes he told of these were +mostly to their disadvantage. I was about to move to another table, +in order to get out of earshot of this gossip, when the name 'Lady +Sinfi' fell upon my ears. + +And then I heard the other man--the man of the musical voice--talk +about Lady Sinfi with the greatest admiration and regard. He wound up +by saying, 'By the bye, where is she now? I should like to use her in +painting my new picture.' + +'She's in Wales; so Kiomi told me.' + +'Ah yes! I remember she has an extraordinary passion for Snowdon.' + +'Her passion is now for something else, though.' + +'What's that?' + +'A man.' + +'I never saw a girl so indifferent to men as Lady Sinfi.' + +'She is living at this moment as the mistress of a cousin of Cyril +Aylwin.' + +My blood boiled with rage. I lost all control of myself. I longed to +feel his face against my knuckles. + +'That's not true,' I said in a rather loud voice. + +He started up, and turned round, saying in a hectoring voice, 'What +was that you said to me? Will you repeat your words?' + +'To repeat one's words,' I said quietly, 'shows a limited +vocabulary, so I will put it thus,--what you said just now about +Sinfi Lovell being the mistress of Cyril Aylwin's cousin is a lie.' + +'You dare to give me the lie, sir? And what the devil do you mean by +listening to our conversation?' + +The threatening look that he managed to put into his face was so +entirely histrionic that it made me laugh outright. This seemed to +damp his courage more than if I had sprung up and shown fight. The +man had a somewhat formidable appearance, however, as regards build, +which showed that he possessed more than average strength. It was the +manifest genuineness of my laugh that gave him pause. And when I sat +with my elbows on the table and my face between my palms, taking +stock of him quietly, he looked extremely puzzled. The man of the +musical voice sat and looked at me as though under a spell. + +'I am a young man from the country,' I said to him. 'To what theatre +is your histrionic friend attached? I should like to see him in a +better farce than this.' + +'Do you hear that, De Castro?' said the other. 'What is your +theatre?' + +'If he is really excited,' I said, 'tell him that people at a public +supper-room should speak in a moderate tone or their conversation is +likely to be overheard.' + +'Do you hear this young man from the country, De Castro?' said he. +'You seem to be the Oraculum of the hay-fields, sir,' he continued, +turning to me with a delightfully humorous expression on his face. +'Have you any other Delphic utterance?' + +'Only this,' I said, 'that people who do not like being given the lie +should tell the truth.' + +'May I be permitted to guess your Christian name, sir? Is it Martin, +perchance?' + +'Yes,' I replied, 'and my surname is Tupper.' He then got up and laid +his hand on the _raconteur's_ shoulder, and said, 'Don't be a fool, +De Castro. When a man looks at another as the author of the +_Proverbial Philosophy_ is looking at you, he knows that he can use +his fists as well as his pen.' + +'He gave me the lie. Didn't you hear?' + +'I did, and I thought the gift as entirely gratuitous, _mon cher_, +as giving a scuttleful of coals to Newcastle.' + +The anecdote-monger stood silent, quelled by this man's voice. + +Then turning to me, the man of the musical voice said, 'I suppose you +know something about my friend Lady Sinfi?' + +'I do,' I said, 'and I am Cyril Aylwin's kinsman, whom you call his +cousin, so perhaps, as every word your friend has said about Sinfi +Lovell and me is false, you will allow me to call him a liar.' + +A look of the greatest glee at the discomfiture of his companion +overspread his face. + +'Certainly,' he said with a loud laugh. 'You may call him that, you +may even qualify the noun you have used with an adjective if the +author of the _Proverbial Philosophy_ can think of one that is +properly descriptive and yet not too unparliamentary. So you are +Cyril Aylwin's kinsman. I have heard him,' he said, with a smile that +he tried in vain to suppress, 'I have heard Cyril expatiate on the +various branches of the Aylwin family.' + +'I belong to the proud Aylwins,' I said. + +The twinkle in his eye made me adore him as he said--'The proud +Aylwins. A man who, in a world like this, is proud and knows it, and +is proud of confessing his pride, always interests me, but I will not +ask you what makes the proud Aylwins proud, sir.' + +'I will tell you what makes me proud,' I said: 'my great-grandmother +was a full-blooded Gypsy, and I am proud of the descent.' + +He came forward and held out his hand and said, 'It is long since I +met a man who interested me'--he gave a sigh--'very long; and I hope +that you and I may become friends.' + +I grasped his hand and shook it warmly. + +The anecdote-monger began talking at once about Sinfi, Wilderspin, +and Cyril Aylwin, speaking of them in the most genial and +affectionate terms. In a few minutes, without withdrawing a word he +had said about either of them, he had entirely changed the spirit of +every word. At first I tried to resist his sophistry, but it was not +to be resisted. I ended by apologising to him for my stupidity in +misunderstanding him. + +'My dear fellow,' said he, 'not a word, not a word. I admired the way +in which you stood up for absent friends. Didn't you, D'Arcy?' + +At this the other broke out into another mellow laugh. 'I did. How's +your kinsman, and how's Wilderspin?' he said, turning to me. 'Did you +leave them well?' + +We soon began, all three of us, to talk freely together. Of course I +was filled with curiosity about my new friends, especially about the +liar. His extraordinary command of facial expression, coupled with +the fact that he wore no hair on his face, made me at first think he +was a great actor; but being at that time comparatively ignorant of +the stage, I did not attempt to guess what actor it was. After a +while his prodigious acuteness struck me more than even his +histrionic powers, and I began to ask myself what Old Bailey +barrister it was. + +Turning at last to the one called D'Arcy, I said. 'You are an artist; +you are a painter?' + +'I have been trying for many years to paint,' he said. + +'And you?' I said, turning to his companion. + +'He is an artist too,' D'Arcy said, 'but his line is not painting--he +is an artist in words.' + +'A poet?' I said in amazement. + +'A romancer, the greatest one of his time unless it be old Dumas.' + +'A novelist?' + +'Yes, but he does not write his novels, he speaks them.' + +De Castro, evidently with a desire to turn the conversation from +himself and his profession, said, pointing to D'Arcy, 'You see before +you the famous painter Haroun-al-Raschid, who has never been known to +perambulate the streets of London except by night, and in me you see +his faithful vizier.' + +It soon became evident that D'Arcy, for some reason or other, had +thoroughly taken to me--more thoroughly, I thought, than De Castro +seemed to like, for whenever D'Arcy seemed to be on the verge of +asking me to call at his studio, De Castro would suddenly lead the +conversation off into another channel by means of some amusing +anecdote. However, the painter was not to be defeated in his +intention; indeed I noticed during the conversation that although +D'Arcy yielded to the sophistries of his companion, he did so +wilfully. While he forced his mind, as it were, to accept these +sophistries there seemed to be all the while in his consciousness a +perception that sophistries they were. He ended by giving me his +address and inviting me to call upon him. + +'I am only making a brief stay in London,' he said; 'I am working +hard at a picture in the country, but business just now calls me to +London for a short time.' + +With this we parted at the door of the restaurant. + + +II + +It was through the merest accident that I saw these two men again. + +One evening I had been dining with my mother and aunt. I think I may +say that I had now become entirely reconciled to my mother. I used to +call upon her often, and at every call I could not but observe how +dire was the struggle going on within her breast between pride and +remorse. She felt, and rightly felt, that the loss of Winifred among +the Welsh hills had been due to her harshness in sending the stricken +girl away from Raxton, to say nothing of her breaking her word with +me after having promised to take my place and watch for the exposure +of the cross by the wash of the tides until the danger was certainly +past. + +But against my aunt I cherished a stronger resentment every day. She +it was, with her inferior intellect and insect soul, who had in my +childhood prejudiced my mother against me and in favour of Frank, +because I showed signs of my descent from Fenella Stanley while Frank +did not. She it was who first planted in my mother's mind the seeds +of prejudice against Winnie as being the daughter of Tom Wynne. + +The influence of such a paltry nature upon a woman of my mother's +strength and endowments had always astonished as much as it had +irritated me. + +I had not learnt then what I fully learnt afterwards, that in this +life it is mostly the dull and stupid people who dominate the clever +ones--that it is, in short, the fools who govern the world. + +I should, of course, never have gone to Belgrave Square at all had it +not been to see my mother. Such a commonplace slave of convention was +my aunt, that, on the evening I am now mentioning, she had scarcely +spoken to me during dinner, because, having been detained at the +solicitor's, I had found it quite impossible to go to my hotel to +dress for her ridiculous seven o'clock dinner. + +When I found that my mother had actually taken this inferior woman +into her confidence in regard to my affairs and told her all about +Winnie and the cross, my dislike of her became intensified, and on +this evening my mother very much vexed me in the drawing-room by +taking the cross from a cabinet and saying to me, + +'What is now to be done with this? All along the coast there are such +notions about its value that to replace it in the tomb would be +simple madness.' I made no reply. 'Indeed,' she continued, looking at +the amulet as she might have looked at a cobra uprearing its head to +spring at her, 'it must really be priceless. And to think that all +this was to be buried in the coffin of--! It is your charge, +however, and not mine.' + +'Yes, mother,' I said, 'it is my charge;' and taking up the cross I +wrapped it in my handkerchief. + +'Take the amulet and guard it well,' she said, as I placed it +carefully in the breast pocket of my coat. + +'And remember,' said my aunt, breaking into the conversation, 'that +the true curses of the Aylwins are and always have been superstition +and love-madness.' + +'I should have added a third curse,--pride, aunt,' I could not help +replying. + +'Henry,' said she, pursing her thin lips, 'you have the obstinacy and +the courage of your race, that is to say, you have the obstinacy and +the courage of ten ordinary men, and yet a man you are not--a man you +will never be, if strength of character, and self-mastery and power +to withstand the inevitable trials of life, go to the making of a +man.' + +'Pardon me, aunt; but such trials as mine are beyond your +comprehension.' + +'Are they, boy?' said she. 'This fancy of yours for an insignificant +girl--this boyish infatuation which with any other young man of your +rank would have long ago exhausted itself and been forgotten--is a +passion that absorbs your life. And I tremble for you: I tremble for +the house you represent.' + +But I saw by the expression on my mother's face that my aunt had now +gone too far. 'Prue,' she said, 'your tremblings concerning my son +and my family are, I assure you, gratuitous. Such trembling as the +case demands you had better leave to me. My heart tells me I have +been very wrong to that poor child, and I would give much to know +that she was found and that she was well.' + +I set out to walk to my hotel, wondering how I was to while away the +long night until sleep should come to relieve me. Suddenly I +remembered D'Arcy, and my promise to call upon him. I changed my +course, and hailing a hansom drove to the address he had given me. + +When I reached the door I found, upon looking at my watch, that it +was late--so late that I was dubious whether I should ring the bell. +I remembered, however, that he told me how very late his hours were, +and I rang. + +On sending in my card I was shown at once into the studio, and after +threading my way between some pieces of massive furniture and +pictures upon easels, I found D'Arcy lolling lazily upon a huge sofa. +Seeing that he was not alone, I was about to withdraw, for I was in +no mood to meet strangers. However, he sprang up and introduced me to +his guest, whom he called Symonds, an elegant-looking man in a +peculiar kind of evening dress, who, as I afterwards learned, was one +of Mr. D'Arcy's chief buyers. This gentleman bowed stiffly to me. + +He did not stay long; indeed, it was evident that the appearance of a +stranger somewhat disconcerted him. + +After he was gone D'Arcy said, 'A good fellow! One of my most +important buyers. I should like you to know him, for you and I are +going to be friends. I hope.' + +He seems very fond of pictures,' I said. A man of great taste, with a +real love of art and music.' + +In a little while after this gentleman's departure in came De Castro, +who had driven up in a hansom. I certainly saw a flash of anger in +his eyes as he recognised me, but it vanished like lightning, and his +manner became cordiality itself. Late as it was (it was nearly +twelve), he pulled out his cigarette case, and evidently intended to +begin the evening. As soon as he was told that Mr. Symonds had been, +he began to talk about him in a disparaging manner. Evidently his +metier was, as I had surmised, that of a professional talker. Talk +was his stock-in-trade. + +The night wore on, and De Castro in the intervals of his talk kept +pulling out his watch. It was evident that he wanted to be going, but +was reluctant to leave me there. For my part, I frequently rose to +go, but on getting a sign from D'Arcy that he wished me to stay I sat +down again. At last D'Arcy said, + +'You had better go now, De Castro, you have kept that hansom outside +for more than an hour and a half; and besides, if you stay till +daylight our friend here will stay longer, for I want to talk with +him alone.' + +De Castro got up with a laugh that seemed genuine enough, and left +us. + +D'Arcy, who was still on the sofa, then lapsed into a silence that +became after a while rather awkward. He lay there, gazing +abstractedly at the fireplace. + +'Some of my friends call me, as you heard De Castro say the other +night, Haroun-al-Raschid, and I suppose I am like him in some things. +I am a bad sleeper, and to be amused by De Castro when I can't sleep +is the chief of blessings. De Castro, however, is not so bad as he +seems. A man may be a scandal-monger without being really malignant. +I have known him go out of his way to do a struggling man a service.' + +'You are a bad sleeper?' I said, in a tone that proclaimed at once +that I was a bad sleeper also. + +'Yes,' said he, 'and so are you, as I noticed the other night. I can +always tell. There is something in the eyes when a man is a bad +sleeper that proclaims it to me.' + +Then springing up from the divan and laying his hand upon my +shoulder, he said, 'And you have a great trouble at the heart. You +have had some great loss the effect of which is sapping the very +fountains of your life. We should be friends. We must be friends. I +asked you to call upon me because we must be friends.' + +His voice was so tender that I was almost unmanned. + +I will not dwell upon this part of my narrative; I will only say that +I told him something of my story, and he told me his. + +I told him that a terrible trouble had unhinged the mind of a young +lady whom I deeply loved, and that she had been lost on the Welsh +hills. I felt that it was only right that I should know more of him +before giving him the more intimate details connected with Winnie, +myself, and the secrets of my family. He listened to every word with +the deepest attention and sympathy. After a while he said, + +'You must not go to your hotel to-night. A friend of mine who +occupies two rooms is not sleeping here to-night, and I particularly +wish for you to take his bed, so that I can see you in the morning. +We shall not breakfast together. My breakfast is a peculiarly +irregular meal. But when you wake ring your bedroom bell and order +your own breakfast; afterwards we shall meet in the studio.' + +I did not in the least object to this arrangement, for I found his +society a great relief. + + +Next morning, after I had finished my solitary breakfast, I asked the +servant if Mr. D'Arcy had yet risen. On being told that he had not, I +went downstairs into the studio where I had spent the previous +evening. After examining the pictures on the walls and the easels, I +walked to the window and looked out at the garden. It was large, and +so neglected and untrimmed as to be a veritable wilderness. While I +was marvelling why it should have been left in this state, I saw the +eyes of some animal staring at me from the distance, and was soon +astonished to see that they belonged to a little Indian bull. My +curiosity induced me to go into the garden and look at the creature. +He seemed rather threatening at first, but after a while allowed me +to go up to him and stroke him. Then I left the Indian bull and +explored this extraordinary domain. It was full of unkempt trees, +including two fine mulberries, and surrounded by a very high wall. +Soon I came across an object which, at first, seemed a little mass of +black and white oats moving along, but I presently discovered it to +be a hedgehog. It was so tame that it did not curl up as I approached +it, but allowed me, though with some show of nervousness, to stroke +its pretty little black snout. As I walked about the garden, I found +it was populated with several kinds of animals such as are never seen +except in menageries or in the Zoological Gardens. Wombats, +kangaroos, and the like, formed a kind of happy family. + +My love of animals led me to linger in the garden. When I returned to +the house I found D'Arcy in the green dining-room, where we talked, +and he read aloud some verses to me. We then went to the studio. He +said, + +'No doubt you are surprised at my menagerie. Every man has one side +of his character where the child remains. I have a love of animals +which, I suppose, I may call a passion. The kind of amusement they +can afford me is like none other. It is the self-consciousness of men +and women that makes them, in a general way, intensely unamusing. I +turn from them to the unconscious brutes, and often get a world of +enjoyment. To watch a kitten or a puppy play, or the funny antics of +a parrot or a cockatoo, or the wise movements of a wombat, will keep +me for hours from being bored.' + +'And children,' I said--'do you like children?' + +'Yes, so long as they remain like the young animals--until they +become self-conscious, I mean, and that is very soon. Then their +charm goes. Has it ever occurred to you how fascinating a beautiful +young girl would be if she were as unconscious as a young animal? +What makes you sigh?' + +My thoughts had flown to Winifred breakfasting with her 'Prince of +the Mist' on Snowdon. And I said to myself, 'How he would have been +fascinated by a sight like that!' + +My experience of men at that time was so slight that the opinion I +then formed of D'Arcy as a talker was not of much account. But since +then I have seen very much of men, and I find that I was right in the +view I then took of his conversational powers. When his spirits were +at their highest he was without an equal as a wit, without an equal +as a humourist. He had more than even Cyril Aylwin's quickness of +repartee, and it was of an incomparably rarer quality. To define it +would be, of course, impossible, but I might perhaps call it poetic +fancy suddenly stimulated at moments by animal spirits into rapid +movements--so rapid, indeed, that what in slower movement would be +merely fancy, in him became wit. Beneath the coruscations of this wit +a rare and deep intellect was always perceptible. + +His humour was also so fanciful that it seemed poetry at play, but +here was the remarkable thing: although he was not unconscious of his +other gifts, he did not seem to be in the least aware that he was a +humourist of the first order; every _jeu d'esprit_ seemed to leap +from him involuntarily, like the spray from a fountain. A dull man +like myself must not attempt to reproduce these qualities here. + +While he was talking he kept on painting, and I said to him, 'I can't +understand how you can keep up a conversation while you are at work.' + +I took care not to tell him that I was an amateur painter. + +'It is only when the work that I am on is in some degree mechanical +that I can talk while at work. These flowers, which were brought to +me this morning for my use in painting this picture, will very soon +wither, and I can put them into the picture without being disturbed +by talk; but if I were at work upon this face, if I were putting +dramatic expression into these eyes, I should have to be silent.' + +He then went on talking upon art and poetry, letting fall at every +moment gems of criticism that would have made the fortune of a critic. + +After a while, however, he threw down the brush and said, + +'Sometimes I can paint with another man in the studio; sometimes I +can't.' + +I rose to go. + +'No, no,' he said; 'I don't want you to go, yet I don't like keeping +you in this musty studio on such a morning. Suppose we take a stroll +together.' + +'But you never walk out in the daytime.' + +'Not often; indeed, I may say never, unless it is to go to the Zoo, +or to Jamrach's, which I do about once in three months.' + +'Jamrach's!' I said. 'Why, he's the importer of animals, isn't he? Of +all places in London that is the one I should most like to see.' He +then took me into a long panelled room with bay windows looking over +the Thames, furnished with remarkable Chinese chairs and tables. And +then we left the house. + +In Maud Street a hansom passed us; D'Arcy hailed it. + +'We will take this to the Bank,' said he, 'and then walk through the +East End to Jamrach's. Jump in.' + +As we drove off, the sun was shining brilliantly, and London seemed +very animated--seemed to be enjoying itself. Until we reached the +Bank our drive was through all the most cheerful-looking and +prosperous streets of London. It acted like a tonic on me, and for +the first time since my trouble I felt really exhilarated. As to +D'Arcy, after we had left behind us what he called the 'stucco world' +of the West End, his spirits seemed to rise every minute, and by the +time we reached the Strand he was as boisterous as a boy on a +holiday. + +On reaching the Bank we dismissed the hansom and proceeded to walk to +Ratcliffe Highway. Before reaching it I was appalled at the +forbidding aspect of the neighbourhood. It was not merely that the +unsavoury character of the streets offended and disgusted me, but the +locality wore a sinister aspect which acted upon my imagination in +the strangest, wildest way. Why was it that this aspect fairly cowed +me, scared me? I felt that I was not frightened on my own account, +and yet when I asked myself why I was frightened I could not find a +rational answer. + +As I saw the sailors come noisily from their boarding-houses; as I +saw the loafers standing at the street corners, smoking their dirty +pipes and gazing at us; as I saw the tawdry girls, bare-headed or in +flaunting hats covered with garish flowers, my thoughts, for no +conceivable reason, ran upon Winnie more persistently than they had +run upon her since I had abandoned all hope of seeing her in Wales. + +The thought came to me that, grievous as was her fate and mine, the +tragedy of our lives might have been still worse. + +'Suppose,' I said, 'that instead of being lost in the Welsh hills she +had been lost here!' I shuddered at the thought. + +Again that picture in the Welsh pool came to me, the picture of +Winnie standing at a street corner, offering matches for sale. D'Arcy +then got talking about Sinfi Lovell and her strange superiority in +every respect to the few Gypsy women he had seen. + +'She has,' said he, 'mesmeric power; it is only semiconscious, but it +is mesmeric. She exercises it partly through her gaze and partly +through her voice.' + +He was still talking about Sinfi when a river-boy, who was whistling +with extraordinary brilliancy and gusto, met and passed us. Not a +word more of D'Arcy's talk did I hear, for the boy was whistling the +very air to which Winnie used to sing the Snowdon song + + I met in a glade a lone little maid + At the foot of y Wyddfa the white. + +I ran after the boy and asked him what tune he was whistling. + +'What tune?' he said, 'blowed if I know.' + +'Where did you hear it?' I asked. + +'Well, there used to be a gal, a kind of a beggar gal, as lived not +far from 'ere for a little while, but she's gone away now, and she +used to sing that tune. I allas remember tunes, but I never could +make out anything of the words.' + +D'Arcy laughed at my eccentricity in running after the boy to learn +where he had got a tune. But I did not tell him why. + +After we had passed some way down Ratcliffe Highway, D'Arcy said, +'Here we are then,' and pointed to a shop, or rather two shops, on +the opposite side of the street. One window was filled with caged +birds; the other with specimens of beautiful Oriental pottery and +grotesque curiosities in the shape of Chinese and Japanese statues +and carvings. + +My brain still rang with the air I had heard the river-boy whistling, +but I felt that I must talk about something. + +'It is here that you buy your wonderful curiosities and porcelain!' I +said. + +'Partly; but there is not a curiosity shop in London that I have not +ransacked in my time.' + +The shop we now entered reminded me of that Raxton Fair which was so +much associated with Winnie. Its chief attraction was the advent of +Wombwell's menagerie. From the first moment that the couriers of that +august establishment came to paste their enormous placards on the +walls, down to the sad morning when the caravans left the +market-place, Winnie and I and Rhona Boswell had talked 'Wombwell.' +It was not merely that the large pictures of the wild animals in +action, the more than brassy sound of the cracked brass band, +delighted our eyes and ears. Our olfactories also were charmed. The +mousy scent of the animals mixed with the scent of sawdust, which to +adults was so objectionable, was characterised by us as delicious. +All these Wombwell delights came back to me as we entered Jamrach's, +and for a time the picture of Winifred prevented my seeing the famous +shop. When this passed I saw that the walls of the large room were +covered from top to bottom with cages, some of them full of wonderful +or beautiful birds, and others full of evil-faced, screeching +monkeys. + +While D'Arcy was amusing himself with a blue-faced rib-nosed baboon, +I asked Mr. Jamrach, an extremely intelligent man, about the singing +girl and the Welsh air. But he could tell me nothing, and evidently +thought I had been hoaxed. + +In a small case by itself was a beautiful jewelled cross, which +attracted D'Arcy's attention very much. + +'This is not much in your line,' he said to Jamrach.'This is +European.' + +'It came to me from Morocco,' said Jamrach, 'and it was no doubt +taken by a Morocco pirate from some Venetian captive.' + +'It is a diamond and ruby cross,' said D'Arcy, 'but mixed with the +rubies there are beryls. I am at this moment describing a beryl in +some verses. The setting of the stones is surely quite peculiar.' + +'Yes,' said Jamrach. 'It is the curiosity of the setting more than +the value of the gems which caused it to be sent to me. I have +offered it to the London jewellers, but they will only give me the +market-price of the stones and the gold.' + +While he was talking I pulled out of my breast pocket the cross, +which had remained there since I received it from my mother the +evening before. + +'They are very much alike,' said Jamrach; 'but the setting of these +stones is more extraordinary than in mine. And of course they are +more than fifty times as valuable.' + +D'Arcy turned round to see what we were talking about, when he saw +the cross in my hand, and an expression of something like awe came +over his face. + +'The Moonlight Cross of the Gnostics!' he exclaimed. 'You carry this +about in your breast pocket? Put it away, put it away! The thing +seems to be alive.' + +In a second, however, and before I could answer him, the expression +passed from his face, and he took the cross from my hands and +examined it. + +'This is the most beautiful piece of jewel work I ever saw in my +life. I have heard of such things. The Gnostic art of arranging +jewels so that they will catch the moon-rays and answer them as +though the light were that of the sun, is quite lost.' + +We then went and examined Jamrach's menagerie. I found that one +source of the interest D'Arcy took in animals was that he was a +believer in Baptista Porta's whimsical theory that every human +creature resembles one of the lower animals, and he found a perennial +amusement in seeing in the faces of animals caricatures of his +friends. + +With a fund of humour that was exhaustless, he went from cage to +cage, giving to each animal the name of some member of the Royal +Academy, or of one of his own intimate friends. + +On leaving Jamrach's he said to me, 'Suppose we make a day of it and +go to the Zoo?' + +I agreed, and we took a hansom as soon as we could get one and drove +across London towards Regent's Park. + +Here the pleasure that he took in watching the movements of the +animals was so great that it seemed impossible but that he was +visiting the Zoo for the first time. I remembered, however, that he +had told me in the morning how frequently he went to these gardens. + +But his interest in the animals was unlike my own, and I should +suppose unlike the interest of any other man. He had no knowledge +whatever of zoology, and appeared to wish for none. His pleasure +consisted in watching the curious expressions and movements of the +animals and in dramatising them. + +On leaving the Zoo, I said, 'The cross you were just now looking at +is as remarkable for its history as for its beauty. It was stolen +from the tomb of a near relative of mine. I was under a solemn +promise to the person upon whose breast it lay to see that it should +never be disturbed. But, now that it has been disturbed, to replace +it in the tomb would, I fear, be to insure another sacrilege. I +wonder what you would do in such a case?' + +He looked at me and said, 'As it is evident that we are going to be +intimate friends, I may as well confess to you at once that I am a +mystic.' + +'When did you become so?' + +'When? Ask any man who has passionately loved a woman and lost her; +ask him at what moment mysticism was forced upon him--at what moment +he felt that he must either accept a spiritualistic theory of the +universe or go mad; ask him this, and he will tell you that it was at +that moment when he first looked upon her as she lay dead, with +Corruption's foul fingers waiting to soil and stain. What are you +going to do with the cross?' + +'Lock it up as safely as I can,' I said; 'what else is there to do +with it?' + +He looked into my face and said, 'You are a rationalist.' + +'I am.' + +'You do not believe in a supernatural world?' + +'My disbelief of it,' I said, 'is something more than an exercise of +the reason. It is a passion, an angry passion. But what should you do +with the cross if you were in my place?' + +'Put it back in the tomb.' + +I had great difficulty in suppressing my ridicule, but I merely said, +'That would be, as I have told you, to insure its being stolen +again.' + +'There is the promise to the dead man or woman on whose breast it +lay.' + +'This I intend to keep in the spirit like a reasonable man--not in +the letter like--' + +'Promises to the dead must be kept to the letter, or no peace can +come to the bereaved heart. You are talking to a man who _knows_!' + +'I will commit no such outrage upon reason as to place a priceless +jewel in a place where I know it will be stolen.' + +'You _will_ replace the cross in that tomb.' + +As he spoke he shook my hands warmly, and said, '_Au revoir_. +Remember, I shall always be delighted to see you.' + +It was not till I saw him disappear amongst the crowd that I could +give way to the laughter which I had so much difficulty in +suppressing. What a relief it was to be able to do this! + + + +VI + +THE SONG OF Y WYDDFA + + +I + +After this I had one or two interviews with our solicitor in +Lincoln's Inn Fields, upon important family matters connected with my +late uncle's property. + +I had been one night to the theatre with my mother and my aunt. The +house had been unusually crowded. When the performance was over, we +found that the streets were deluged with rain. Our carriage had been +called some time before it drew up, and we were standing under the +portico amid a crowd of impatient ladies when a sound fell or seemed +to fall on my ears which stopped for the moment the very movements of +life. Amid the rattle of wheels and horses' feet and cries of +messengers about carriages and cabs, I seemed to distinguish a female +voice singing: + + 'I met in a glade a lone little maid. + At the foot of y Wyddfa the white; + Oh, lissom her feet as the mountain hind, + And darker her hair than the night!' + +It was the voice of Winifred singing as in a dream. + +I heard my aunt say, + +'Do look at that poor girl singing and holding out her little +baskets! She must be crazed to be offering baskets for sale in this +rain and at this time of night.' + +I turned my eyes in the direction in which my aunt was looking, but +the crowd before me prevented my seeing the singer. + +'She is gone, vanished,' said my aunt sharply, for my eagerness to +see made me rude. + +'What was she like?' I asked. + +'She was a young slender girl, holding out a bunch of small fancy +baskets of woven colours, through which the rain was dripping. She +was dressed in rags, and through the rags shone, here and there, +patches of her shoulders; and she wore a dingy red handkerchief round +her head. She stood in the wet and mud, beneath the lamp, quite +unconscious apparently of the bustle and confusion around her.' + +Almost at the same moment our carriage drew up. I lingered on the +step as long as possible. My mother made a sign of impatience at the +delay, and I got into the carriage. Spite of the rain, I put down the +window and leaned out. I forgot the presence of my mother and aunt. I +forgot everything. The carriage moved on. + +'Winifred!' I gasped, as the certainty that the voice was hers came +upon me. + +And the dingy London night became illuminated with scrolls of fire, +whose blinding, blasting scripture seared my eyes till I was fain to +close them: 'Let his children be vagabonds, and beg their bread: let +them seek it also out of desolate places.' + +So rapidly had the carriage rolled through the rain, and so entirely +had my long pain robbed me of all presence of mind, that, by the time +I had recovered from the paralysing shock, we had reached Piccadilly +Circus. I pulled the check-string. + +'Why, Henry!' said my mother, who had raised the window, 'what are +you doing? And what has made you turn so pale?' + +My aunt sat in indignant silence. 'Ten thousand pardons,' I said, as +I stepped out of the carriage, and shook hands with them. 'A sudden +recollection--important papers unsecured at my hotel--business in--in +Lincoln's Inn Fields. I will call on you in the morning.' + +And I reeled down the pavement towards the Haymarket. When I was some +little distance from the carriage, I took to my heels and hurried as +fast as possible towards the theatre, utterly regardless of the +people. I reached the spot breathless. I stood for a moment staring +wildly to right and left of me. Not a trace of her was to be seen. I +heard a thin voice from my lips, that did not seem my own, ask a +policeman, who was now patrolling the neighbourhood, if he had seen a +basket-girl singing. + +'No,' said the man, 'but I fancy you mean the Essex Street Beauty, +don't you? I haven't seen her for a long while now, but her dodge +used to be to come here on rainy nights, and stand bare-headed and +sing and sell just when the theatres was a-bustin'. She gets a good +lot, I fancy, by that dodge.' + +'The Essex Street Beauty?' + +'Oh, I thought you know'd p'raps. She's a strornary pretty +beggar-wench, with blue eyes and black hair, as used to stand at the +corner of Essex Street, Strand, and the money as that gal got +a-holdin' out her matches and a-sayin' texes out of the Bible must +ha' been strornary. So the Essex Street Beauty's bin about here agin +on the rainy-night dodge, 'es she? Well, it must have been the fust +time for many a long day, for I've never seen her now for a long +time. She couldn't ha' stood about here for many minutes; if she had +I must ha' seen her.' + +I staggered away from him, and passed and repassed the spot many +times. Then I extended my beat about the neighbouring streets, +loitering at every corner where a basket-girl or a flower-girl might +be likely to stand. But no trace of her was to be seen. Meantime the +rain had ceased. + +All the frightful stories that I had heard or read of the kidnapping +of girls came pouring into my mind, till my blood boiled and my knees +trembled. Imagination was stinging me to life's very core. Every few +minutes I would pass the theatre, and look towards the portico. + +The night wore on, and I was unconscious how the time passed. It was +not till daybreak that I returned to my hotel, pale, weary, bent. + +I threw myself upon my bed: it scorched me. + +I could not think. At present I could only see--see what? At one +moment a squalid attic, the starlight shining through patched +window-panes upon a lonely mattress, on which a starving girl was +lying; at another moment a cellar damp and dark, in one corner of +which a youthful figure was crouching; and then (most intolerable of +all!) a flaring gin-palace, where, among a noisy crowd, a face was +looking wistfully on, while coarse and vulgar men were clustering +with cruel, wolfish eyes around a beggar-girl. This I saw and +more--a thousand things more. + +It was insupportable. I rose and again paced the street. + + +When I called upon my mother she asked me anxious questions as to +what had ailed me the previous night. Seeing, however, that I +avoided replying to them, she left me after a while in peace. + +'Fancy,' said my aunt, who was writing a letter at a little desk +between two windows,--'fancy an Aylwin pulling the check-string, and +then, with ladies in the carriage and the rain pouring--' + +During that day how many times I passed in front of the theatre I +cannot say; but at last I thought the very men in the shops must be +observing me. Again, though I half poisoned myself with my drug, I +passed a sleepless night. The next night was passed in almost the +same manner as the previous one. + + +II + +From this time I felt working within me a great change. A horrible +new thought got entire possession of me. Wherever I went I could +think of nothing but--the curse. I scorned the monstrous idea of a +curse, and yet I was always thinking about it. I was always seeking +Winifred--always speculating on her possible fate. I saw no one in +society. + +My time was now largely occupied with wandering about the streets of +London. I began by exploring the vicinity of the theatre, and day +after day used to thread the alleys and courts in that neighbourhood. +Then I took the eastern direction, and soon became familiar with the +most squalid haunts. + +My method was to wander from street to street, looking at every +poorly-dressed girl I met. Often I was greeted with an impudent +laugh, that brought back the sickening mental pictures I have +mentioned; and often I was greeted with an angry toss of the head and +such an exclamation as, 'What d'ye take me for, staring like that?' + +These peregrinations I used to carry far into the night, and thus, as +I perceived, got the character at my hotel of a wild young man. The +family solicitor wrote to me again and again for appointments which I +could not give him. + +It had often occurred to me that in a case of this kind the police +ought to be of some assistance. One day I called at Scotland Yard, +saw an official, and asked his aid. He listened to my story +attentively, then said: 'Do you come from the missing party's +friends, sir?' + +'I am her friend,' I answered--'her only friend.' + +'I mean, of course, do you represent her father or mother, or any +near relative?' + +'She is an orphan; she has no relatives,' I said. + +He looked at me steadily and said: 'I am sorry, sir, that neither I +nor a magistrate could do anything to aid you.' + +'You can do nothing to aid me?' I asked angrily. + +'I can do nothing to aid you, sir, in identifying a young woman you +once heard sing in the streets of London, with a lady you saw once on +the top of Snowdon.' + +As I was leaving the office, he said: 'One moment, sir. I don't see +how I can take up this case for you, but I may make a suggestion. I +have an idea that you would do well to pursue inquiries among the +Gypsies.' + +'Gypsies!' I said with great heat, as I left the office. 'If you knew +how I had already "pursued inquiries" among the Gypsies, you would +understand how barren is your suggestion.' + +Weeks passed in this way. My aunt's ill-health became rather serious: +my mother too was still very unwell. I afterwards learnt that her +illness was really the result of the dire conflict in her breast +between the old passion of pride and the new invader remorse. There +were, no doubt, many discussions between them concerning me. I could +see plainly enough they both thought my mind was becoming unhinged. + +One night, as I lay thinking over the insoluble mystery of Winifred's +disappearance, I was struck by a sudden thought that caused me to +leap from my bed. What could have led the official in Scotland Yard +to connect Winifred with Gypsies? I had simply told him of her +disappearance on Snowdon, and her reappearance afterwards near the +theatre. Not one word had I said to him about her early relations +with Gypsies. I was impatient for the daylight, in order that I might +go to Scotland Yard again. When I did so and saw the official, I +asked him without preamble what had caused him to connect the missing +girl I was seeking with the Gypsies. + +'The little fancy baskets she was selling,' said he. 'They are often +made by Gypsies.' + +'Of course they are,' I said, hurrying away. 'Why did I not think of +this?' + +In fact I had, during our wanderings over England and Wales, often +seen Sinfi's sister Videy and Rhona Boswell weaving such baskets. +Winifred, after all, might be among the Gypsies, and the crafty Videy +Lovell might have some mysterious connection with her; for she +detested me as much as she loved the gold 'balansers' she could +wheedle out of me. Moreover, there were in England the Hungarian +Gypsies, with their notions about demented girls, and the Lovells, +owing to Sinfi's musical proclivities, were just now much connected +with a Hungarian troupe. + + + +VII + +SINFI'S DUKKERIPEN + + +I + +The Gypsies I had never seen since leaving them in Wales, and I knew +that by this time they were either making their circuit of the +English fairs or located in a certain romantic spot called Gypsy +Dell, near Rington Manor, the property of my kinsman Percy Aylwin, +whither they often went after the earlier fairs were over. + +The next evening I went to the Great Eastern Railway station, and +taking the train to Rington I walked to Gypsy Dell, where I found the +Lovells and Boswells. + +Familiar as I was with, the better class of Welsh Gypsies, the camp +here was the best display of Romany well-being I had ever seen. It +would, indeed, have surprised those who associate all Gypsy life with +the squalor which in England, and especially near London, marks the +life of the mongrel wanderers who are so often called Gypsies. In a +lovely dingle, skirted by a winding, willow-bordered river, and +dotted here and there with clumps of hawthorn, were ranged the +'living-waggons' of those trading Romanies who had accompanied the +'Griengroes' to the East Anglian and Midland fairs. + +Alongside the waggons was a single large brown tent that for +luxuriousness might have been the envy of all Gypsydom. On the +hawthorn bushes and the grass was spread, instead of the poor rags +that one often sees around a so-called Gypsy encampment, snowy +linen, newly washed. The ponies and horses were scattered about the +Dell feeding. + +I soon distinguished Sinfi's commanding figure near that gorgeous +living-waggon of 'orange-yellow colour with red window-blinds' in +which she had persuaded me to invest my money at Chester. On the +foot-board sat two urchins of the Lovell family, 'making believe' to +drive imaginary horses, and yelling with all their might to Rhona +Boswell, whose laugh, musical as ever, showed that she enjoyed the +game as much as the children did. Sinfi was standing on a patch of +that peculiar kind of black ash which burnt grass makes, busy with a +fire, over which a tea-kettle was hanging from the usual iron +kettle-prop. Among the ashes left by a previous fire her bantam-cock +Pharaoh was busy pecking, scratching, and calling up imaginary hens +to feast upon his imaginary 'finds.' I entered the Dell, and before +Sinfi saw me I was close to her. + +She was muttering to the refractory fire as though it were a live +thing, and asking it why it refused to burn beneath the kettle. A +startled look, partly of pleasure and partly of something like alarm, +came over her face as she perceived me. I drew her aside and told her +all that had happened in regard to Winifred's appearance as a beggar +in London. A strange expression that was new to me overspread her +features, and I thought I heard her whisper to herself, 'I will, I +will.' + +'I knowed the cuss 'ud ha' to ha' its way in the blood, like the bite +of a sap' [snake], she murmured to herself. 'And yit the dukkeripen +on Snowdon said, clear and plain enough, as they'd surely marry at +last. What's become o' the stolen trushul, brother--the cross?' she +inquired aloud. 'That trushul will ha' to be given to the dead man +agin, an' it'll ha' to be given back by his chavo [child] as swore to +keep watch over it. But what's it all to me?' she said in a tone of +suppressed anger that startled me. 'I ain't a Gorgie,' + +'But, Sinfi, the cross cannot be buried again. The reason I have not +replaced it in the tomb,--the reason I never will replace it +there,--is that the people along the coast know now of the existence +of the jewel, and know also of my father's wishes. If it was unsafe +in the tomb when only Winnie's father knew of it, it would be a +thousandfold more unsafe now.' + +'P'raps that's all the better for her an' you: the new thief takes +the cuss.' + +'This is all folly,' I replied, with the anger of one struggling +against an unwelcome half-belief that refuses to be dismissed. 'It is +all moonshine-madness. I'll never do it,--not at least while I retain +my reason. It was no doubt partly for safety as well as for the other +reason that my father wished the cross to be placed in the tomb. It +will be far safer now in a cabinet than anywhere else.' + +'Reia,' said Sinfi, 'you told me wonst as your great-grandmother +was a Romany named Fenella Stanley. I have axed the Scollard +about her, and what do you think he says? He says that she wur my +great-grandmother too, for she married a Lovell as died.' + +'Good heavens, Sinfi! Well, I'm proud of my kinswoman.' + +'And he says that Fenella Stanley know'd more about the true +dukkerin, the dukkerin of the Romanies, than anybody as were ever +heerd on.' + +'She seems to have been pretty superstitious,' I said, 'by all +accounts. But what has that to do with the cross?' + +'You'll put it in the tomb again.' + +'Never!' + +'Fenella Stanley will see arter that.' + +'Fenella Stanley! Why, she's dead and dust.' + +'That's what I mean; that's why she can make you do it, and will.' + +'Well, well! I did not come to talk about the cross; I want to have +a quiet word with you about another matter.' + +She sprang away as if in terror or else in anger. Then recovering +herself she took the kettle from the prop. I followed her to the +tent, which, save that it was made of brown blanket, looked more like +a tent on a lawn than a Gypsy-tent. All its comfort seemed, however, +to give no great delight to Videy, the cashier and female +financier-general of the Lovell family, who, in a state of absorbed +untidiness, sitting at the end of the tent upon a palliasse covered +with a counterpane of quilted cloth of every hue, was evidently +occupied in calculating her father's profits and losses at the recent +horse-fair. The moment Videy saw us she hurriedly threw the coin into +the silver tea-pot by her side, and put it beneath the counterpane, +with that instinctive and unnecessary secrecy which characterised +her, and made her such an amazing contrast both to her sister Sinfi +and to Rhona Boswell. + +After Panuel had received me in his usual friendly manner, we all sat +down, partly inside the tent and partly outside, around the white +table-cloth that had been spread upon the grass. The Scollard took no +note of me; he had no eyes for any one but Rhona Boswell. + +When tea was over Sinfi left the camp, and strode across the Dell +towards the river. I followed her. + + +II + +It was not till we reached a turn in the river that is more secluded +than any other--a spot called 'Gypsy Ring,' a lovely little spot +within the hollow of birch trees and gorse--that she spoke a few +words to me, in a constrained tone. Then I said, as we sat down upon +a green hillock within the Ring: 'Sinfi, the baskets my aunt saw in +Winnie's hand when she was standing in the rain were of the very kind +that Videy makes.' + +'Oh, _that's_ what you wanted to say!' said she; 'you think Videy +knows something about Winnie. But that's all a fancy o' yourn, and +it's of no use looking for Winnie any more among the Romanies. Even +supposin' you did hear the Welsh gillie--and I think it was all a +fancy--you can't make nothin' out o' them baskets as your aunt seed. +Us Romanies don't make one in a hundud of the fancy baskets as is +sold for Gypsy baskets in the streets, and besides, the hawkers and +costers what buys 'em of us sells 'em agin to other hawkers and +costers, and there ain't no tracin' on 'em.' + +I argued the point with her. At last I felt convinced that I was +again on the wrong track. By this time the sun had set, and the stars +were out. I had noticed that during our talk Sinfi's attention would +sometimes seem to be distracted from the matter in hand, and I had +observed her give a little start now and then, as though listening to +something in the distance. + +'What are you listening to?' I inquired at last. 'Reia,' said Sinfi, +'I've been a-listenin' to a v'ice as nobody can't hear on'y me, an' +I've bin a-seein' a face peepin' atween the leaves o' the trees as +nobody can't see on'y me; my mammy's been to me. I thought she would +come here. They say my mammy's mammy wur buried here, an' she wur the +child of Fenella, an' that's why it's called Gypsy Ring. The moment I +sat down in this Ring a mullo [spirit] come and whispered in my ear, +but I can't make out whether it's my mammy or Fenella Stanley, and I +can't make out what she said. It's hard sometimes for them as has to +gnaw their way out o' the groun' to get their words out clear. +[Footnote] Howsomever, this I do know, reia, you an' me must part. I +felt as we must part when we was in Wales togither last time, and now +I knows it.' + +[Footnote: Some Romanies think that spirits rise from the ground.] + +'Part, Sinfi! Not if I can prevent it.' + +'Reia,' replied Sinfi emphatically, 'when I've wonst made up my mind, +you know it's made up for good an' all. When us two leaves this 'ere +Ring to-night, you'll turn your ways and I shall turn mine.' + +I thought it best to let the subject drop. Perhaps by the time we had +left the Ring this mood would have passed. After a minute or so she +said, + +'You needn't see no fear about not marryin' Winifred Wynne. You +_must_ marry her; your dukkeripen on Snowdon didn't show itself there +for nothink. When you two was a-settin' by the pool, a-eatin' the +breakfiss, I was a-lookin' at you round the corner of the rock. I +seed a little kindlin' cloud break away and go floatin' over your +heads, and then it shaped itself into what us Romanies calls the +Golden Hand. You know what the Golden Hand means when it comes over +two sweethearts? You don't believe it? Ask Rhona Boswell! Here she +comes a-singin' to herself. She's trying to get away from that devil +of a Scollard as says she's bound to marry him. I've a good mind to +go and give him a left-hand body-blow in the ribs and settle him for +good and all. He means mischief to the Tarno Rye, and Rhona too. +Brother, I've noticed for a long while that the Romany blood is a +good deal stronger in you than the Gorgio blood. And now mark my +words, that cuss o' your feyther's'll work itself out. You'll go to +his grave and you'll jist put that trushul back in that tomb, and +arter that, and not afore, you'll marry Winnie Wynne.' + +Sinfi's creed did not surprise me: the mixture of guile and +simplicity in the Romany race is only understood by the few who know +it thoroughly: the race whose profession it is to cheat by +fortune-telling, to read the false 'dukkeripen' as being 'good enough +for the Gorgios,' believe profoundly in nature's symbols; but her +bearing did surprise me. + +'Your dukkeripen will come true,' said she; 'but mine won't, for I +won't let it.' + +'And what is yours?' I asked. + +'That's nuther here nor there.' + +Then she stood again as though listening to something, and again I +thought, as her lips moved, that I heard her whisper, 'I will, I +will.' + + +III + +I had intended to go to London at once after leaving Gypsy Dell, but +something that Sinfi told me during our interview impelled me to go +on to Raxton Hall, which was so near. The fact that Sinfi was my +kinswoman opened up new and exciting vistas of thought. + +I understood now what was that haunting sense of recognition which +came upon me when I first saw Sinfi at the wayside inn in Wales. Day +by day had proofs been pouring in upon me that the strain of Romany +blood in my veins was asserting itself with more and more force. Day +by day I had come to realise how closely, though the main current of +my blood was English, I was affined to the strange and mysterious +people among whom I was now thrown--the only people in these islands, +as it seemed to me, who would be able to understand a love-passion +like mine. And there were many things in the great race of my +forefathers which I had found not only unsympathetic to me, but +deeply repugnant. In Great Britain it is the Gypsies alone who +understand nature's supreme charm, and enjoy her largesse as it used +to be enjoyed in those remote times described in Percy Aylwin's poems +before the Children of the Roof invaded the Children of the Open Air, +before the earth was parcelled out into domains and ownerships as it +now is parcelled out. In the mind of the Gorgio, the most beautiful +landscape or the most breezy heath or the loveliest meadow-land is +cut up into allotments, whether of fifty thousand acres or of two +roods, and owned by people. Of ownership of land the Romany is +entirely unconscious. The landscape around him is part of Nature +herself, and the Romany on his part acknowledges no owner. No doubt +he yields to _force majeure_ in the shape of gamekeeper or constable, +but that is because he has no power to resist it. Nature to him is as +free and unowned by man as it was to the North American Indian in his +wigwam before the invasion of the Children of the Roof. + +During the time that I was staying in Flintshire and near Capel +Curig, rambling through the dells or fishing in the brooks, it was +surprising how soon the companionship of a Gorgio would begin to pall +upon me. And here the Cymric race is just as bad as the Saxon. The +same detestable habit of looking upon nature as a paying +market-garden, the same detestable inquiry as to who was the owner of +this or that glen or waterfall, was sure at last to make me sever +from him. But as to Sinfi, her attitude towards nature, though it was +only one of the charms that endeared her to me, was not the least of +them. There was scarcely a point upon which she and I did not touch. + +And what about her lack of education? Was that a drawback? Not in the +least. The fact that she knew nothing of that traditional ignorance +which for ages has taken the name of knowledge--that record of the +foolish cosmogonies upon which have been built the philosophies and +the social systems of the blundering creature Man--the fact that she +knew nothing of these gave an especial piquancy to everything she +said. I had been trying to educate myself in the new and wonderful +cosmogony of growth which was first enunciated in the sixties, and +was going to be, as I firmly believed, the basis of a new philosophy, +a new system of ethics, a new poetry, a new everything. But in +knowledge of nature as a sublime consciousness, in knowledge of the +human heart, Sinfi was far more learned than I. And believing as I +did that education will in the twentieth century consist of +unlearning, of unlading the mind of the trash previously called +knowledge, I could not help feeling that Sinfi was far more advanced, +far more in harmony than I could hope to be With the new morning of +Life of which we are just beginning to see the streaks of dawn. + +'I must go and see Fenella's portrait,' I said, as I Walked briskly +towards Raxton. + +When I reached Raxton Hall I seemed to startle the butler and the +servants, as though I had come from the other world. + +I told the butler that I should sleep there that night, and then went +at once to the picture gallery and stood before Reynolds' famous +picture of Fenella Stanley as the Sibyl. The likeness to Sinfi was +striking. How was it that it had not previously struck me more +forcibly? The painter had evidently seized the moment when Fenella's +eyes expressed that look of the seeress which Sinfi's eyes, on +occasion, so powerfully expressed. I stood motionless before it while +the rich, warm light of evening bathed it in a rosy radiance. And +when the twilight shadows fell upon it, and when the moon again lit +it up, I stood there still. The face seemed to pass into my very +being, and Sinfi's voice kept singing in my ears, 'Fenella Stanley's +dead and dust, and that's why she can make you put that cross in +your feyther's tomb, and she will, she will.' + +I left the picture and went into the library: for I bethought me of +that sheaf of Fenella's letters to my great-grandfather which he had +kept so sacredly, and which had come to me as representative of the +family. My previous slight inspection of them had shown me what a +wonderful woman she was, how full of ideas the most original and the +most wild. The moment a Gypsy-woman has been taught to write there +comes upon her a passion for letter-writing. + +Nothing could be more striking than the contrast between the +illiterate locutions and the eccentric orthography of Fenella's +letters and the subtle remarks and speculations upon the symbols of +nature.--the dukkeripen of the woods, the streams, the stars, and the +winds. But when I came to analyse the theories of man's place in +nature expressed in the ignorant language of this Romany heathen, +they seemed to me only another mode of expressing the mysticism of +the religious enthusiast Wilderspin, the more learned and +philosophic mysticism of my father, and the views of D'Arcy, the +dreamy painter. + +As I rode back to London, I said to myself, 'What change has come +over me? What power has been gradually sapping my manhood? Why do I, +who was so self-reliant, long now so passionately for a friend to +whom to unburthen my soul--one who could give me a sympathy as deep +and true as that I got from Sinfi Lovell, and yet the sympathy of a +mind unclouded by ignorant superstitions?' + +With the exception of D'Arcy, whose advice as to the disposal of the +cross had proclaimed him to be as superstitious as Sinfi herself, not +a single friend had I in all London. Indeed, besides Lord Sleaford (a +tall, burly man with the springy movement of a prize-tighter, with +blue-grey eyes, thick, close-cropped hair, and a flaxen moustache, +who had lately struck up a friendship with my mother) I had not even +an acquaintance. Cyril Aylwin, whom I had not seen since we parted in +Wales, was now on the Continent with Wilderspin. Strange as it may +seem, I looked forward with eagerness to the return of this +light-hearted jester. Cyril's sagacity and knowledge of the world had +impressed me in Wales; but his cynical attitude, whether genuine or +assumed, towards subjects connected with deep passion, had prevented +my confiding in him. He must, I knew, have gathered from Sinfi, and +from other sources, that I was mourning the loss of a Welsh girl in +humble life; but during our very brief intercourse in Wales neither +of us had mentioned the matter to the other. Now, however, in my +present dire strait I longed to call in the aid of his penetrative +mind. + + + +VIII + +ISIS AS HUMOURIST + + +I + +On reaching London I resumed my wanderings through the London +streets. Bitter as these wanderings were, my real misery now did not +begin until I got to bed. Then began the terrible struggle of the +soul that wrestles with its ancestral fleshly prison--that prison +whose warders are the superstitions of bygone ages. 'Have you not +seen the curse literally fulfilled?' ancestral voices of the +blood--voices Romany and Gorgio--seemed whispering in my ears. 'Have +you not heard the voice of his daughter upon whose head the curse of +your dead father has fallen a beggar in the street, while not all +your love can succour her or reach her?' + +And then my soul would cry out in its agony, 'Most true, Fenella +Stanley--most true, Philip Aylwin; but before I will succumb to such +a theory of the universe as yours, a theory which reason laughs at +and which laughs at reason, I will die--die by this hand of mine: +this flesh that imprisons me in a world of mocking delusion shall be +destroyed, but first the symbol itself of your wicked, cruel old +folly shall go.' + +I would then leap from my bed, light a candle, unlock my cabinet, +take out the cross, and holding it aloft prepare to dash it against +the wall, when my hand would be arrested by the same ancestral +voices, Romany and Gorgio, whispering in my ears and at my heart, + +'If you break that amulet, how shall you ever be able to see what +would be the effect upon Winnie's fate of its restoration to your +father's tomb?' + +And then I would laugh aloud and mock the voices of Fenella Stanley +and Philip Aylwin and millions of other voices that echoed or +murmured or bellowed through half a million years, echoed or murmured +or bellowed from European halls and castles, from Gypsy tents, from +caves of palaeolithic man. + +'How shall you stay the curse from working in the blood of the +accursed one?' the voices would say. And then I would laugh again +till I feared the people in the hotel would hear me and take me for a +maniac. + +But then my aunt's picture of a beggar-girl standing in the rain +would fill my eyes and the whispers would grow louder than the voice +of the North Sea in the March wind: 'Look at _that_. How dare you +leave undone anything, howsoever wild, which might seem to any +one--even to an illiterate Gypsy, even to a crazy mystic--a means of +finding Winifred? What is the meaning of the great instinct which has +always conquered the soul in its direst need--which has always driven +man when in the grip of unbearable calamity to believe in powers that +are unseen? What though that scientific reason of yours tells you +that Winifred's misfortunes have nothing to do with any curse? what +though your reason tells you that all these calamities may be read as +being the perfectly natural results of perfectly natural causes? Is +the voice of man's puny reason clothed with such authority that it +dares to answer his heart, which knows nothing but that it bleeds? +The terrible facts of the case may be read in two ways. With an +inscrutable symmetry these facts may and do fit in with the universal +theory of the power of the spirit-world to execute a curse from the +grave. Look at that beggar in the street! How dare you ignore the +theory of the sorrowing soul, the logic of the lacerated heart, even +though your reason laughs it to scorn?' + +And then at last my laughter would turn to moans, and, replacing the +cross in the cabinet, I would creep hack to my bed ashamed, like a +guilty thing--ashamed before myself. + +But the more I felt at my throat the claws of the ancestral ogre +Superstition, the more enraged I became with myself for feeling them +there. And the auger against my ancestors' mysticism grew with the +growing consciousness that I was rapidly yielding to the very same +mysticism myself. And then I would get up again and take from my +escritoire the sheaf of Fenella Stanley's letters which I had brought +from Raxton, and read again those stories about curses, such as that +about the withering of a Romany family under a dead man's curse which +Winnie had described to me that night on the sands. + + +II + +I was delighted to be told by Sleaford, whom I met one afternoon in +Piccadilly, that Cyril had returned to London within the last few +days. 'He is appointed artist-in-chief of the new comic paper, _The +Caricaturist,_ said Sleaford, 'and is in great feather. I have just +been calling upon him.' + +'The very man I want to see,' I replied. Sleaford thereupon directed +me to Cyril's studio 'You'll find him at work,' said he, 'doin' a +caricature of Wilderspin's great picture, "Faith and Love." Mother +Gudgeon is sittin' as his model. He does everything from models, you +know.' + +'Mother Gudgeon?' + +'A female costermonger that he picked up some where in the slums, the +funniest woman in London: haw! haw! I promise you she'll make you +laugh when Cyril draws her out.' + +He then began to talk upon the subject which interested him above all +others, the smartness and swiftness of his yacht. 'I am trying to +persuade your mother and aunt to go for a cruise with me, and I think +I shall succeed.' + +He directed me to the studio, and we parted. + +I found Cyril in a large and lofty studio in Chelsea, filled with the +curiously carved black furniture of Bombay, mixed, for contrast, with +a few Indian cabinets of carved and fretted ivory exquisitely +wrought. He greeted me cordially. The walls were covered with +Japanese drawings. I began by asking him about The Caricaturist. + +'Well,' said he, 'now that the House of Commons has become a +bear-garden, and t'other House a waxwork show, and the intellect and +culture of the country are leaving politics to dummies and cads, how +can the artistic mind condescend to caricature the political world--a +world that has not only ceased to be intelligent, but has even ceased +to be funny? The quarry of _The Caricaturist_ will be literature, +science, and art. Instead of wasting artistic genius upon such small +fry as premiers, diplomatists, and cabinet ministers, our cartoons +will be caricatures of the pictures of Millais, Leighton, +Burne-Jones, Rossetti, Madox Brown, Holman Hunt, Watts, Sandys, +Whistler, Wilderspin: our letterpress will be Aristophanic parodies +of Tennyson, Browning, Meredith, Arnold, Morris, Swinburne; game +worth flying at, my boy! The art-world is in a dire funk, I can tell +you, for the artistic epidermis has latterly grown genteel and thin.' + +Already I was beginning to ask myself whether it was possible to make +a confidant of this inscrutable cynic. 'You are fond of Oriental +things?' I said, wishing to turn the subject. I looked round at the +Chinese, Indian, and Japanese monstrosities scattered about the room. + +'That,' said he, pointing to a picture of a woman (apparently drunk) +who was amusing herself by chasing butterflies, while a number of +broad-faced, mischievous-looking children were teasing her--'that is +the masterpiece of Hokusai. The legend in the corner is "Kiyo-jo cho +ni tawamureru," which, according to the lying Japanese scholars, +means nothing more than "A cracked woman chasing butterflies." It was +left for me to discover that it represents Yoka, the goddess of Fun, +sportively chasing the butterfly souls of men, while the urchins, the +little Yokas, are crying, "Ma! you're screwed."' + +'But what are these quaint figures?' I asked, pointing to certain +drawings of an obese Japanese figure, grinning with lazy good-humour +above several of the cabinets. + +'Hotei, the fat god of enjoyment.' + +'A Japanese god?' I asked. + +'Yes, nothing artistic is quite right now unless it has a savour of +blue mould or Japan. Wonderful people, the Japanese, to have +discovered the Jolly Hotei. And here is Hotei's wife, the +goddess-queen Yoka herself--the real masquerader behind that mystic +veil which has so enveloped and bemuddled the mind of poor +Wilderspin. She is to figure in the first number of _The +Caricaturist_.' + +He pointed to an object I had only partially observed: a broad-faced +burly woman, of about forty-five years of age, in an eccentric dress +of Japanese silks, standing on the model-throne between two lay +figures. 'Good heavens!' I exclaimed, 'why, she's alive.' + +'An' kickin', sir,' said a voice that was at once strident and +unctuous. Owing to the almond shape of her sparkling black eyes and +the flatness of her nose, the bridge of which had been broken (most +likely in childhood), she looked absurdly like a Japanese woman, save +that upon her quaintly-cut mouth, curving slightly upwards horse-shoe +fashion, there was that twitter of humorous alertness which is +perhaps rarely seen in perfection except among the lower orders, +Celtic or Saxon, of London. Her build was that of a Dutch +fisher-woman. The set of her head on her muscular neck showed her to +be a woman of immense strength. But still more was her great physical +power indicated by her hands, the fingers of which seemed to have a +grip like that of an eagle's claws. + +I then perceived upon an easel a large drawing. 'I have not seen +Wilderspin's "Faith and Love,"' I said; 'but this, I see, must be a +caricature of it.' + +In it the woman figured as Isis, grinning beneath a veil held over +her head by two fantastically-dressed figures--one having the face of +Darwin, the other the face of Wilderspin. + +'Allow me,' said Cyril, 'to introduce you to the Goddess Yoka, the +true Isis or goddess of bohemianism and universal joke, who, when she +had the chance of I making a rational and common-sense universe, +preferred amusing herself with flamingoes, dromedaries, ring-taile +monkeys, and men.' + +'Pardon me,' I said; 'I merely called to see you. Good afternoon.' + +'Allow me,' said he, turning to the woman, 'to introduce to your +celestial majesty Mr. Henry Aylwin, a kinsman of mine, whose +possessions in Little Egypt are as brilliant (judging from the +colours of his royal waggon) as are his possessions in Philistia.' + +The woman made me a curtsey of much gravity. 'And allow me to +introduce _you_,' he said, turning to me, 'to the real original +Natura Mystica,--she who for ages upon ages has been trying by her +funny goings-on to teach us that "the _Principium hylarchicum_ of the +cosmos" (to use the simple phraseology of a great spiritualistic +painter) is the benign principle of joke.' + +The woman made me another curtsey. 'You forget your exalted position, +Mrs. Gudgeon,' said Cyril; 'when a mystic goddess-queen is so +condescending as to curtsey she should be careful not to bend too +low. Man is a creature who can never with safety be treated with too +much respect.' + +'We's all so modest in Primrose Court, that's the wust on us,' +replied the woman. 'But, Muster Cyril, sir, I don't think you've +noticed that the queen's _t'other_ eye's got dry now.' + +Cyril gravely poured her out a glass of foaming ale from a bottle +that stood upon a little Indian bamboo-table, and handed it to her +carefully over the silks, saying to me, + +'Her majesty's elegant way of hinting that she likes to wet both +eyes!' + +Such foolery as this and at such a time irritated me sorely; but +there was no help for it now. Whether I should or should not open to +him the subject that had taken me thither, I must, I saw, let him +have his humour till the woman was dismissed. + +'And now, goddess,' said he, 'while I am doing justice to the design +of your nose--' + +'You can't do that, sir,' interjected the creature, 'it's sich a +beauty, ha! ha! I allus say that when I do die, I shall die +a-larfin'. They calls me "Jokin' Meg" in Primrose Court. I shall die +a-larfin', they say in Primrose Court, and so I shall--unless I die +a-cryin',' she added in an utterly different and tragic voice which +greatly struck me. + +'While I am trying to do justice to that beautiful bridge you must +tell my friend about yourself and your daughter, and how you and she +first became two shining lights in the art world of London.' + +'You makes me blush,' said the woman, 'an' blow me if blushin' ain't +bin an' made _t'other_ eye dry.' + +She then took another glass of ale, grinned, shook herself, as though +preparing for an effort, and said, + +'Well you must know, sir, as my name's Meg Gudgeon, leaseways that +was my name till my darter chrissened me Mrs. Knocker, and I lives in +Primrose Court, Great Queen Street, and my reg'lar perfession is +a-sellin' coffee "so airly in the mornin'," and I've got a darter as +ain't quite so 'ansom as me, bein' the moral of her father as is over +the water a-livin' in the fine 'Straley. And you must know, sir, that +one of summer's day there comes a knock at our door as sends my 'eart +into my mouth and makes me cry out, "The coppers, by jabbers!" and +when I goes down and opens the door, lo! and behold, there stan's a +chap wi' great goggle eyes, dressed all in shiny black, jest like a +Quaker.' (Here she made a noise between a laugh and a cough.) 'I +allus say that when I do die I shall die a-larfin'--unless I die +a-cryin',' she added, in the same altered voice that had struck me +before. + +'Well, mother,' said Cyril, 'and what did the shiny Quaker say?' + +'They calls me "Jokin' Meg" in Primrose Court. The shiny Quaker, 'e +axes if my name is Gudgeon. "Well," sez I, "supposin' as my name _is_ +Gudgeon,--I don't say it is," says I, "but supposin' as it is,--what +then?" sez I. "But _is_ that your name?" sez 'e. "Supposin' as it +was," sez I, "what then?" "Will you answer my simple kervestion?" sez +'e. "Is your name Mrs. Gudgeon, or ain't it not?" sez 'e. "An' will +_you_ answer _my_ simple kervestion, Mr. Shiny Quaker?" sez I. +"Supposin' my name was Mrs. Gudgeon,--I don't say it _is_, but +supposin' it was,--what's that to you?" sez I, for I thought my poor +bor Bob what lives in the country had got into trouble agin and had +sent for me.' + +'Go on, mother,' said Cyril, 'what did the shiny Quaker say then?' + +'"Well then," sez 'e, "if your name is Mrs. Gudgeon, there is a +pootty gal as is, I am told, a-livin' along o' you." "Oh, oh, my fine +shiny Quaker gent," sez I, an' I flings the door wide open an' there +I stan's in the doorway, "it's _her_ you wants, is it?" sez I. "And +pray what does my fine shiny Quaker gent want wi' my darter?" "Your +darter?" sez 'e, an opens 'is mouth like this, and shets it agin like +a rat-trap. "Yis, my darter," sez I. "I s'pose," sez I, "you think +she ain't 'ansom enough to be my darter. No more she ain't," sez I; +"but she takes arter her father, an' werry sorry she is for it," sez +I. "I want to put her in the way of 'arnin' some money," sez 'e. "Oh, +_do_ you?" sez I. "How very kind! I'm sure it does a pore woman's +'eart good to see how kind you gents is to us pore women's pootty +darters," sez I,--"even shiny Quaker gents as is generally so quiet. +You're not the fust shiny gent," sez I, "as 'ez followed 'er 'um, I +can tell you,--not the fust by a long way; but up to now," sez I, +"I've allus managed to send you all away with a flea in your ears, +cuss you for a lot of wicious warm exits, young and old," sez I, "an' +if you don't get out," sez I--"My good woman, you mistake my +attentions," sez 'e. "Oh no, I don't," sez I, "not a bit on it. It's +sich ole sinners as you in your shiny black coats," sez I, "as I +never _do_ mistake, and if you don't git out there's a pump-'andle +behind this werry door, as my poor bor Bob brought up from the +country for me to sell for him--" "My good woman," sez 'e, "I am a +hartist," sez 'e. "What's that?" sez I. "A painter," sez 'e. "A +painter, air you? you don't look it," sez I. "P'raps it's holiday +time with ye," sez I, "and that makes you look so varnishy. Well, +and what do painters more nor any other trade want with pore women's +pootty darters?" sez I,--"more nor plumbers nor glaziers, nor +bricklayers, for the matter of that?" sez I. "But I ain't a +'ousepainter," sez 'e; "I paints picturs, and I want this gal to set +as a moral," sez 'e. "A moral! an' what's a moral?" sez I. "You ain't +a-goin' to play none o' your shiny-coat larks wi' my pootty darter," +sez I. "I wants to paint her portrait," sez 'e, "an' then put it in a +pictur." "Oh," sez I, "you wants to paint her portrait 'cause she's +such a pootty gal, an' then you wants to make believe you drawed it +out of your own 'ead, an' sell it," sez I. "Oh, but you're a downy +one, you are, an' no mistake," sez I. "But I likes you none the wuss +for that. I likes a downy chap, an' I don't see no objection to that; +but how much will you give to paint my pootty darter?" sez I. "P'raps +I'd better come in," sez he. "P'raps you 'ad, if we're a-comin' to +bisniss," sez I; "so jest make a long leg an' step over them +dirty-nosed child'n o' Mrs. Mix's, a-settin' on my doorstep, an' I +dessay we sha'n't quarrel over a 'undud p'un' or two," sez I. An' +then I bust out a-larfin' agin--I shall die a-larfin'.' And then she +added suddenly in the same tone of sadness, 'if I don't die +a-cryin'.' + +'Really, mother,' said Cyril, 'it is very egotistical of you to +interrupt your story with prophecies about the mood in which you will +probably shuffle off the Gudgeon coil and take to Gudgeon wings. It +is the shiny Quaker we want to know about.' + +'And then the shiny Quaker comes in,' said the woman, 'and I shets +the door, being be'ind 'im, and that skears _'im_ for a moment, till +I bust out a-larfin': "Oh, you needn't be afeard," sez I;--"when we +burgles a Quaker in Primrose Court we never minces 'im for +sossingers, 'e's so 'ily in 'is flavour." Well, sir, to cut a long +story short, I agrees to take my pootty darter to the Quaker gent's +studero; an' I takes 'er nex' day, an' 'e puts her in a pictur. But +afore long,' continued the old woman, leering round at Cyril, 'lo! +and behold, a young swell, p'raps a young lord in disguise (I don't +want to be pussonal, an' so I sha'n't tell his name), 'e comes into +that studero one day when I was a-settlin' up with the Quaker gent +for the week's pay, an' he sets an' admires me, till I sets an' +blushes as I'm a-blushin' at this werry moment; an' when I gits 'ome, +I sez to Polly Onion (that's a pal o' mine as lives on the ground +floor), I sez, "Poll, bring my best lookin'-glass out o' my bowdore, +an' let's have a look at my old chops, for I'm blowed if there ain't +a young swell, p'raps a young lord in disguise, as 'ez fell 'ead over +ears in love with me." And sure enough when I goes back to the +studero the werry nex' time, my young swell 'e sez to me, "It's your +own pootty face as I wants for _my_ moral. I dessay your darter's a +stunner--I ain't seen her yit--but she cain't be nothin' to you." And +I sez to 'im, "In course she ain't, for she takes arter her father's +family, pore gal, and werry sorry she is for it."' + +At this moment a servant entered and said Mr. Wilderspin was waiting +in the hall. + +All hope having now fled of my getting a private word +with Cyril that afternoon, I was preparing to slip I away; but he +would not let me go. + +'I don't want Wilderspin to know about the caricature till it is +finished,' whispered he to me; 'so I told Bunner never to let him +come suddenly upon me. You'd better be off, mother,' he said to the +old woman, 'and come again to-morrow.' + +She bustled up and, throwing off the Japanese finery, left the room, +while Cyril removed the drawing from the easel and hid it away. + +'Isn't she delightful?' ejaculated Cyril. + +'Delightful! What, that old wretch? All that interests me in her is +the change in her voice after she says she will die laughing.' + +'Oh,' said Cyril, 'she seems to be troubled with a drunken son in the +country somewhere, who is always getting into scrapes. Wilderspin's +in love with her daughter, a wonderfully beautiful girl, the finding +of whom at the very moment when he was in despair for the want of the +right model gave the final turn to his head. He thinks she was sent +to him from Paradise by his mother's spirit! He does, I assure you.' + +'Wilderspin in love with a model!' + +'Oh, not _a la_ Raphael.' + +'If you think Wilderspin to be in love with any woman, you little +know what love is,' I exclaimed. 'He is in love with his art and with +that beautiful memory of his mother's self-sacrifice which has +shattered his reason, but built up his genius. Except as a means +towards the production of those pictures that possess him, no model +is anything more to him than his palette-knife. Shall you be alone +this evening?' + +'This evening I dine at Sleaford's. To-morrow I am due in Paris.' + +Wilderspin, who had now entered the studio, seemed genuinely pleased +to see me again, and told me that in a few days he should be able to +borrow 'Faith and Love' of its owner for the purpose of beginning a +replica of it, and hoped then to have the pleasure of showing it to +me. + +'I observed Mrs. Gudgeon in the hall,' said he to Cyril. 'To think +that so unlovely a woman should, through an illusion of the senses, +seem to be the mere material mother of her who was sent to me from +the spirit-world in the very depths of my despair! Wonderful are the +ways of the spirit-world. Ah, Mr. Aylwin, did it never occur to you +how important is the expression of the model from whom you work?' + +'I am not a painter,' I said, 'only an amateur,' trying to stop a +conversation that might run on for an hour. + +'It has never occurred to you! That is strange. Let me read to you a +passage upon this subject just published in _The Art Review_, written +by the great painter D'Arcy.' + +He then took from Cyril's table a number of _The Art Review_, and +began to read aloud:-- + + It is a curious thing that not only the general public, but the art + connoisseurs and the writers upon art, although they know full well + how a painter goes to work in painting a picture, speak and write + as though they thought that the head of a beautiful woman was drawn + from the painter's inner consciousness, instead of from the real + woman who sits to him as a model. Notwithstanding all the technical + excellence of Raphael, his extraordinary good luck in finding the + model that suited his genius had very much to do with his enormous + success and fame. And with all Michael Angelo's instinct for + grandeur, if he had not been equally lucky in regard to models, he + could never adequately have expressed that genius. It is impossible + to give vitality to the painting of any head unless the artist has + nature before him; this is why no true judge of pictures was ever + deceived as to the difference between an original and a copy. It + stands to reason that in every picture of a head, howsoever the + model's features may be idealised, Nature's own handiwork and + mastery must dominate. + +Here Cyril gently took the magazine from Wilderspin's hand, but did +not silence him. 'As I told you in Wales,' said he to me, 'I had an +abundance of imagination, but I wanted some model in order to realise +it. I could never meet a face that came anything nigh my own ideal of +expression as the purely spiritual side of the beauty of woman; and +until I did that I knew that I should achieve nothing whereby the +world might recognise a new power in art. In vain did I try to +idealise such faces as did not please me. And this was because +nothing could satisfy me but the perfect type of expression which not +even Leonardo nor any other painter in the world had found--the true +Romantic type.' + +'I understand you, Mr. Wilderspin,' I said. 'This I perfect type of +expression you eventually found--' + +'In the daughter,' said Cyril, 'of the goddess Gudgeon.' + +'By the blessing of Mary Wilderspin in heaven,' said Wilderspin. + +And then the talk between the two friends ran upon artistic matters, +and I heard no more, for my mind was wandering up and down the London +streets. + +Wilderspin and I left the house together. As we walked along, side by +side, I said to him: 'You spoke just now of your mother's blessing. +Am I really to understand that you in an age like this believe in the +power of human blessings and human curses?' + +'Do I believe in blessings and curses, Mr. Aylwin?' said Wilderspin +solemnly. 'You are asking me whether I am with or without what your +sublime father calls the "most powerful of the primary instincts of +man." He tells us in _The Veiled Queen_ that "Even in this material +age of ours there is not a single soul that does not in its inner +depths acknowledge the power of the unseen world. The most hardened +materialist," says he, "believes in what he calls sometimes 'luck' +and sometimes 'fortune.'" Let me advise you, Mr. Aylwin, to study the +voice of your inspired father. I will send a set of his writings to +your hotel to-morrow. And, Mr. Aylwin, my duty compels me to speak +very plainly to you upon a subject that has troubled me since I had +the honour of meeting you in Wales. There is but one commandment in +the decalogue to which a distinct promise of reward is attached; it +is that which bids us honour our fathers and our mothers. Good-day, +sir.' + + + +IX + +THE PALACE OF NIN-KI-GAL + + +I + +Shortly after this I met my mother at our solicitor's office +according to appointment. As she was on the eve of departing for the +Continent, it was necessary that various family matters should be +arranged. On the day following, as I was about to leave my hotel to +call at Cyril's studio, rather doubtful, after the frivolity I had +lately witnessed, as to whether or not I should unburden my heart to +such a man, he entered my room in company with Wilderspin, the latter +carrying a parcel of books. + +'I have brought your father's works,' Wilderspin said. + +'Thank you very much,' I replied, taking the books. 'And when am I to +call and see your picture? Have you yet got it back from the owner?' + +'"Faith and Love" is now in my studio,' he replied; 'but I will ask +you not to call upon me yet for a few days. I hope to be too busily +engaged upon another picture to afford a moment to any one save the +model--that is,' he added with a sigh, 'should she make her +appearance.' + +'A picture of his called "Ruth and Boaz,"' interposed Cyril. +'Wilderspin is repainting the face from that favourite model of his +of whom you heard so much in Wales. But the fact is the model is +rather out of sorts at this moment, and Wilderspin is fearful that +she may not turn up to-day. Hence the melancholy you see on his face. +I try to console him, however, by assuring him that the daughter of a +mamma with such a sharp appreciation of half-crowns as the lady you +saw at my studio the other day is sure to turn up in due time as +sound as a roach.' + +Wilderspin shook his head gravely. + +'Good heavens!' I muttered, 'when am I to hear the last of painters' +models?' Then turning to Wilderspin, I said, + +'This is the model to whom you feel so deeply indebted?' + +'Deeply indebted, indeed!' exclaimed he in a fervid tone, taking a +chair and playing with his hat between his knees, in his previous +fashion when beginning one of his monologues. 'When I began "Faith +and Love" I worked for weeks and months and years, having but one +thought, how to give artistic rendering to the great idea of the +Renascence of Wonder in Art symbolised in the vignette in your +father's third edition. I was very poor then; but to live upon bread +and water and paint a great picture, and know that you are being +watched by loving eyes above,--there is no joy like that. I found a +model--a fine and beautiful woman, the same magnificent blonde who +sat for so many of the Master's greatest pictures. For a long time my +work delighted me; but after awhile a suspicion, and then a sickening +dread, came upon me that all was not well with the picture. And then +the withering truth broke in upon me, the scales fell from my +eyes--the model's face was beautiful, but it was not right; the +expression I wanted was as far off as ever; there was but one right +expression in the world, and that I could not find. Ah! is there any +pain like that of discovering that all the toil of years has been in +vain, that the best you can do--the best that the spiritual world +permits you to do--is as far off the goal as when you began?' + +'And so you failed after all, Mr. Wilderspin?' I said, anxious to get +him away so that I might talk to Cyril alone upon the one subject at +my heart. + +'I told the model I should want her no more,' said Wilderspin, 'and +for two days and nights I sat in the studio in a dream, and could get +nothing to pass my lips but bread and water. Then it was that Mary +Wilderspin, my mother, remembered me, blessed me--sent me a +spiritual body--' + +'For God's sake!' I whispered to Cyril, 'take the good madman away; +you don't know how his prattle harrows me just now.' + +'Ah! never,' said Wilderspin, 'shall I forget that sunny morning when +was first revealed to me--' + +'My dear fellow,' said Cyril, 'to tell the adventures of that sunny +morning would, as I know from experience, keep us here for the next +three hours. So, as I must not miss my train, and as you cannot spare +a second from "Ruth and Boaz," come along.' + +While I was accompanying them through the corridors of the hotel, +Cyril said: 'You say he is not in love with his model? Don't you see +the sulky looks he gives me? I was the innocent cause of an unlucky +catastrophe with her. I'll tell you about that, however, another +time. Good-bye; I'm off to Paris.' + +'When you return to London,' I said to Cyril, 'I wish to consult you +upon, a matter that concerns me deeply.' + + +II + +On re-entering my room, as I stood and gazed at my father's book _The +Veiled Queen_, I understood something about that fascination which +the bird feels who goes fluttering to the serpent's jaws from sheer +repulsion. 'Am I indeed,' I asked myself, 'that same Darwinian +student who in Switzerland not long since turned over in scorn these +pages, where are enshrined superstitious stories as gross as any of +those told in Fenella Stanley's ignorant letters?' + +In a chapter on 'Love and Death' certain passages showed me how great +must have been the influence of this book on Wilderspin, and I no +longer wondered at what the painter had told me in Wales. I will give +one passage here, because it had a strange effect on my imagination, +as will be soon seen: + +'There is an old Babylonian tablet of Nin-ki-gal, the Queen of Death, +whose abode the tablet thus describes:-- + + To the house men enter, but cannot depart from; + To the road men go, but cannot return; + The abode of darkness and famine, + Where earth is their food--their nourishment clay. + Light is not seen; in darkness they dwell: + Ghosts, like birds, flutter their wings there; + On the gate and the gate-posts the dust lies undisturbed.' + +Another part of the inscription describes Nin-ki-gal on her throne +scattering over the earth the 'Seeds of Life and Death,' and chanting +her responses to the Sibyl, and to the prayers of the shapes kneeling +around her, the dead gods and the souls of all the sons of men. And I +often wonder whether my ancestress, Fenella Stanley, had any +traditional knowledge of the Queen of Death when she had her portrait +painted as the Sibyl. But whether she had or not, I never think of +this Babylonian Sibyl kneeling before Nin-ki-gal, surrounded by gods +and men, without seeing in the Sibyl's face the grand features of +Fenella Stanley. + + THE SIBYL. + + What answer, O Nin-ki-gal? + What answer, O Nin-ki-gal? + Have pity, O Queen of Queens! + + NIN-KI-GAL + + Life's fountain flows, + And still the drink is Death's; + Life's garden blows, + And still 'tis Ashtoreth's; [Footnote] + But all is Nin-ki-gal's. + I lent the drink of Day + To man and beast; + I lent the drink of Day + To gods for feast; + I poured the river of Night + On gods surceased: + Their blood was Nin-ki-gal's. + +[Footnote: Hathor.] + + THE SIBYL. + + What sowest thou, Nin-ki-gal? + What growest thou, Nin-ki-gal? + Have pity, O Queen of Queens! + + NIN-KI-GAL. + + Life-seeds I sow-- + To reap the numbered breaths; + Fair flowers I grow-- + And hers, red Ashtoreth's; + Yea, all are Nin-ki-gal's! + + THE SIBYL. + + What knowest thou, Nin-ki-gal? + What showest thou, Nin-ki-gal? + Have pity, O Queen of Queens! + + NIN-KI-GAL. + + Nor king nor slave I know, + Nor tribes, nor shibboleths; + But Life-in-Death I know-- + Yea, Nin-ki-gal I know-- + Life's Queen and Death's. + +And what was the effect upon me of these communings with the +ancestors whose superstitions I have, perhaps, been throughout this +narrative treating in a spirit that hardly becomes their descendant? + +The best and briefest way of answering this question is to confess +not what I thought, as I went on studying my father's book, its +strange theories and revelations, but what I did. I read the book all +day long: I read it all the next day. I cannot say what days passed. +One night I resumed my wanderings in the streets for an hour or two, +and then returned home and went to bed,--but not to sleep. For me +there was no more sleep till those ancestral voices could be +quelled--till that sound of Winnie's song in the street could be +stopped in my ears. For very relief from them I again leapt out of +bed, lit a candle, unlocked the cabinet, and taking out the amulet, +proceeded to examine the I facets as I did once before when I heard +in the Swiss cottage these words of my stricken father:-- + +'Should you ever come to love as I have loved, you will find that +materialism is intolerable--is hell itself--to the heart that has +known a passion like mine. You will find that it is madness, Hal, +madness, to believe in the word "never"! You will find that you +_dare_ not leave untried any creed, howsoever wild, that offers the +heart a ray of hope.' + +And then while the candle burnt out dead in the socket I sat in a +waking dream. + + +III + +The bright light of morning was pouring through the window. I gave a +start of horror, and cried, 'Whose face?' Opposite to me there seemed +to be sitting on a bed the figure of a man with a fiery cross upon +his breast. That strange wild light upon the face, as it the pains at +the heart were flickering up through the flesh--where had I seen it? +For a moment when, in Switzerland, my father bared his bosom to me, +that ancestral flame had flashed up into his dull lineaments. But +upon the picture of 'The Sibyl' in the portrait-gallery that +illumination was perpetual! + +'It is merely my own reflex in a looking-glass,' I exclaimed. + +Without knowing it I had slung the cross round my neck. + +And then Sinfi Lovell's voice seemed murmuring in my ears, 'Fenella +Stanley's dead and dust, and that's why she can make you put that +cross in your feyther's tomb, and she will, she will.' + +I turned the cross round: the front of it was now next to my skin. +Sharp as needles were those diamond and ruby points as I sat and +gazed in the glass. Slowly a sensation arose on my breast, of pain +that was a pleasure wild and new. _I was feeling the facet_. But the +tears trickling down, salt, through my moustache tears of laughter; +for Sinfi Lovell seemed again murmuring, 'For good or for ill, you +must dig deep to bury your daddy.' + +What thoughts and what sensations were mine as I sat there, pressing +the sharp stones into my breast, thinking of her to whom the sacred +symbol had come, not as a blessing, but as a curse--what agonies were +mine as I sat there sobbing the one word 'Winnie,'--could be +understood by myself alone, the latest blossom of the passionate +blood that for generations had brought bliss and bale to the Aylwins. + +* * * * * + +I cannot tell what I felt and thought, but only what I did. And while +I did it my reason was all the time scoffing at my heart (for whose +imperious behoof the wild, mad things I am about to record were +done)--scoffing, as an Asiatic malefactor will sometimes scoff at the +executioner whose pitiless and conquering saw is severing his +bleeding body in twain. I arose and murmured ironically to Fenella +Stanley as I wrapped the cross in a handkerchief and placed it in a +hand-valise: 'Secrecy is the first thing for us sacrilegists to +consider, dear Sibyl, in placing a valuable jewel in a tomb in a +deserted church. To take any one into our confidence would be +impossible; we must go alone. But to open the tomb and, close it +again, and leave no trace of what has been done, will require all our +skill. And as burglars' jemmies are not on open sale we must buy, on +our way to the railway-station, screw-drivers, chisels, a hammer, and +a lantern; for who should know better than you, dear Sibyl, that the +palace of Nin-ki-gal is dark?' + + +IV + +As I hurried towards the Great Eastern Railway station, I felt like a +horse drawn by a Gypsy whisperer to do something against his own +will, and yet in the street I stopped to buy the tools. Reaching +Dullingham in the afternoon, I lunched there; and as I walked thence +along the cliff, towards Raxton, I became more calm and collected. I +determined not to go near the Hall, lest my movements should be +watched by the servants. The old churchyard was full of workmen of +the navvy kind, and I learned that for the safety of the public it +had now become necessary to hurl down upon the sands some enormous +masses of the cliff newly disintegrated by the land-springs. I +descended the gangway at Flinty Point, and concealing my implements +behind a boulder in the cliff, ascended Needle Point, and went into +the town. + +I had previously become aware, from conversations with my mother, +that Wynne had been succeeded as custodian of the old church by +Shales, the humpbacked tailor, and I apprehended no difficulty in +getting the keys of the church and crypt from my simple-minded +acquaintance, without arousing his suspicions as to my mission. + +Therefore I went at once to the tailor's shop, but found that Shales +was out, attending an annual Odd-Fellows' carousal at Graylingham. +Consequently I was obliged to open my business to his mother, a far +shrewder person, and one who might be much more difficult to deal +with. However, the fact of the navvies being at work so close to a +church whose chancel belonged to my family afforded an excellent +motive for my visit. But before I could introduce the subject to Mrs. +Shales, I had to listen to an exhaustive chronicle of Raxton and +Graylingham doings since I had left. Hence by the time I quitted her +(with a promise to return the keys in the morning) the sun was +setting. + +But, as I walked along Wilderness Road towards the church, a new and +unexpected difficulty presented itself to my mind. I could not, +without running the risk of an interruption, enter the church till +after the Odd-Fellows had all returned from Graylingham, as Shales +and his companions would have to pass along Wilderness Road, which +skirts the churchyard. Shales himself was as short-sighted as a bat; +but his companions had the usual long-sight of agriculturists, and +would descry the slightest movement in the church-yard, or any +glimmer of light at the church windows. + +I would have postponed my enterprise till the morrow; but another +important appointment at the office of our solicitor with my mother, +precluded the possibility of this. So my visit to the catacomb must +perforce be late at night. + +Accordingly I descended the cliff and waited to hear the return of +the carousers. There I sat down upon the well-remembered boulder, +lost in recollections of all that had passed on those sands, while +over the sea the night spread like the widening, darkening wings of +an enormous spectral bird, whose brooding voice was the drone of the +waves as they came nearer and nearer. Then I began to think of what +lay before me, of the strangeness and wildness of my life. + +Then I recalled, with a shudder I could not repress, those sepulchral +chambers beneath the church, which, owing, I believe, to the +directions in an ancestor's will, had been the means of saving it +from demolition after a large portion of the churchyard bad been +condemned as dangerous. Raxton church is the only one along the coast +that can boast a crypt: all the churches are Perpendicular in style, +too late for crypts; a fact which is supposed to indicate that Raxton +was, in very early times, a seaside town of great importance; for the +crypt is much older than the church, and of an entirely different +kind of architecture. It was once a depository for the bones of +Danish warriors killed before the Norman Conquest; it extends not +only beneath the chancel, as in most cases, but beneath both the +transepts. The vaulting (supported partly on low columns of +remarkable beauty and partly on the basement wall of the church) is +therefore of unusual extent. The external door in the churchyard is +now hidden by drifted sand and mould. Many years ago, to give place +to the tombs and coffins of my family, the bones of the old Danes +were piled together in various corners; and the thought of these +bones called up the picture of the abode of 'Nin-ki-gal,' the Queen +of Death, + + Ghosts, like birds, flutter their wings there; + On the gate and the gate-posts the dust lies undisturbed. + +Then my mind began to make pictures for itself of my father lying in +his coffin. I have, I think, already said that his body had been +embalmed, in order to allow of its being conveyed from Switzerland to +England. Therefore I had no dread of being confronted by that +attribute of Death alluded to by D'Arcy which is the most cruel and +terrible of all--corruption. But then what change should I find in +the _expression_ of those features which on the day of the interment +had looked so calm? A thrill ran through my frame as I pictured +myself raising the coffin-lid, and finding expressed upon the face, +in language more appalling than any malediction in articulate +speech--the curse! + +At about ten o'clock I mounted the gangway and waited behind a +deserted bungalow built for Fenella Stanley till I should hear the +Odd-Fellows returning. In a few minutes I heard them approaching. +They were singing snatches of songs they had been entertained with at +Graylingham, and chatting and laughing as they went down Wilderness +Road towards Raxton. As they passed the bungalow and adjoining mill +there was a silence. + +I heard one man say: ''Ez Tom Wynne's ghooast bin seen here o' late?' + +'Nooa, but the Squoire's 'ez,' said another. + +'_I_ say they've both on 'em bin seed,' exclaimed a third voice, +which I recognised to be that of old Lantoff of the 'Fishing +Smack'--'leaseways, if they ain't bin seed they've bin 'eeared. One +Saturday arternoon old Sal Gunn wur in the church a-cleanin' The Hall +brasses, an' jist afore sundown, as she wur a-comin' away, she +'eeared a awful scrimmage an squealin' in the crypt, and she 'eeared +the v'ice o' the Squoire a-callin' out, and she 'eeared Tom Wynne's +v'ice a-cussin' an' a-swearin' at 'im. And more nor that, Sal told me +that on the night when the Squoire wur buried, she seed Tom +a-draggin' the Squoire's body along the churchyard to the cliff; only +she never spoke on it at the time. And Sal says she larnt in a dream +that the moment as Tom went and laid 'is 'and on that 'ere dimind +cross in the coffin, up springs Squoire and claps 'old o' Tom's +throat, and Tom takes 'old on him, and drags him out o' the church, +meanin' to chuck him over the cliffs, when God o' mighty, as wur +a-keepin' 'is eye on Tom all the time, he jist lets go o' the cliffs +and down they falls, and kills Tom, an' buries him an' Squoire tew.' + +'Did you say Sal seed all that in a dream? or did she see it in ole +ale, Muster Lantoff?' said Shales. + +'Well,' replied Lantoff, as the party turned past the bungalow, +'p'raps it wur ole ale as made me see in this very bungaler when I +wur a bor the ghooast o' the great Gypsy lady whose pictur hangs up +at the Hall, her as they used to call the old Squoire's Witch-wife.' +Soon the singing and laughing were renewed; and I stood and listened +to the sounds till they died away in the distance. Then I unlocked +the church door and entered. + + +V + +As I walked down an aisle, the echoes of my footsteps seemed almost +loud enough to be heard on the Wilderness Road. No one could have a +more contemptuous disbelief in ghosts than I, and yet the man's words +about the ghost of Fenella Stanley haunted me. When I reached the +heavy nailed door leading down to the crypt, I lit the lantern. The +rusty key turned so stiffly in the lock, that, to relieve my hands +(which were burdened with the implements I had brought), I slung the +hair-chain of the cross around my neck, intending merely to raise the +coffin-lid sufficiently high to admit of my slipping the amulet in. + +Having, with much difficulty, opened the door, I entered the crypt. +The atmosphere, though not noisome, was heavy, and charged with an +influence that worked an extraordinary effect upon my brain and +nerves. It was as though my personality were becoming dissipated, +until at last it was partly the reflex of ancestral experiences. +Scarcely had this mood passed before a sensation came upon me of +being fanned as if by clammy bat-like wings; and then the idea seized +me that the crypt scintillated with the eyes of a malignant foe. It +was as if the curse which, until I heard Winnie a beggar singing in +the street, had been to me but a collocation of maledictory words, +harmless save in their effect upon her superstitious mind, had here +assumed an actual corporeal shape. In the uncertain light shed by the +lantern, I seemed to see the face of this embodied curse with an +ever-changing mockery of expression; at one moment wearing the +features of my father; at another those of Tom Wynne; at another the +leer of the old woman I had seen in Cyril's studio. + +'It is an illusion,' I said, as I closed my eyes to shut it out; 'it +is an illusion, born of opiate fumes or else of an over-taxed brain +and an exhausted stomach.' Yet it disturbed me as much as if my +reason had accepted it as real. Against this foe I seemed to be +fighting towards my father's coffin as a dreamer lights against a +nightmare, and At last I fell over one of the heaps of old Danish +bones in a corner of the crypt. The candle fell from my lantern, and +I was in darkness. As I sat there I passed into a semi-conscious +state. I saw sitting at the apex of a towering pyramid, built of +phosphorescent human bones that reached far, far above the stars, the +'Queen of Death, Nin-ki-gal,' scattering seeds over the earth below. +At the pyramid's base knelt the suppliant figure of a Sibyl pleading +with the Queen of Death: + + What answer, O Nin-ki-gal? + Have pity, O Queen of Queens! + +And the Sibyl's face was that of Fenella Stanley--her voice was that +of Sinfi Lovell. + +And then from that dizzy height seemed to come a cackling laugh:-- + +'You makes me blush, an' blow me if blushin' ain't bin an' made +_t'other_ eye dry. I lives in Primrose Court, Great Queen Street, an' +my reg'lar perfession is a-sellin' coffee "so airly in the mornin'," +and I've got a darter as ain't quite so 'ansom as me, bein' the moral +of her father.' + +And now in my vision I perceived that Nin-ki-gal's face was that of +the old woman I had seen in Cyril's studio, and that she was dressed +in the same fantastic in which Cyril had bedizened her. + + +VI + +I sprang up, struck a light and relit the candle, and soon reached +the coffin resting on a stone table. I found, on examining it, that +although it had been screwed down after the discovery of the +violation, the work had been so loosely done that a few turns of the +screwdriver were sufficient to set the lid free. Then I paused; for +to raise the loosened lid (knowing as I did that it was only the +blood's inherited follies that had conquered my rationalism and +induced me to disturb the tomb) seemed to require the strength of a +giant. Moreover, the fantastic terror of old Lantoff's story, which +at another time would have made me smile, also took bodily shape, and +the picture of a dreadful struggle at the edge of the cliff between +Winnie's father and mine seemed to hang in the air--a fascinating +mirage of ghastly horror. + +* * * * * + +At last, by an immense effort of will, I closed my eyes and pushed +the lid violently on one side. + +* * * * * + +The 'sweet odours and divers kinds of spices' of the Jewish embalmer +rose like a gust of incense--rose and spread through the crypt like +the sweet breath of a new-born blessing, till the air of the +charnel-house seemed laden with a mingled odour of indescribable +sweetness. Never had any odour so delighted my senses; never had any +sensuous influence so soothed my soul. + +While I stood inhaling the scents of opobalsam, and cinnamon and +myrrh, and wine of palm and oil of cedar, and all the other spices of +the Pharaohs, mingled in one strange aromatic cloud, my personality +seemed again to become, in part, the reflex of ancestral experiences. + +I opened my eyes. I looked into the coffin. The face (which had been +left by the embalmer exposed) confronted mine. 'Fenella Stanley!' I +cried, for the great transfigurer Death had written upon my father's +brow that self-same message which the passions of a thousand Romany +ancestors had set upon the face of her whose portrait hung in the +picture-gallery. And the rubies and diamonds and beryls of the cross +as it now hung upon my breast, catching the light of the opened +lantern in my left hand, shed over the features an indescribable +reflex hue of quivering rose. + +Beneath his head I placed the silver casket: I hung the hair-chain +round his neck: I laid upon his breast the long-loved memento of his +love and the parchment scroll. + +Then I sank down by the coffin, and prayed. I knew not what or why. +But never since the first human prayer was breathed did there rise to +heaven a supplication so incoherent and so wild as mine. Then I rose, +and laying my hand upon my father's cold brow, I said: 'You have +forgiven me for all the wild words that I uttered in my long agony. +They were but the voice of intolerable misery rebelling against +itself. You, who suffered so much--who know so well those flames +burning at the heart's core--those flames before which all the forces +of the man go down like prairie-grass before the fire and wind--you +have forgiven me. You who knew the meaning of the wild word Love--you +have forgiven your suffering son, stricken like yourself. You have +forgiven me, father, and forgiven him, the despoiler of your tomb: +you have removed the curse, and his child--his innocent child--is +free.' + +I replaced the coffin-lid, and screwing it down left the crypt, so +buoyant and exhilarated that I stopped in the churchyard and asked +myself: 'Do I, then, really believe that she was under a curse? Do I +really relieve that my restoring the amulet has removed it? Have I +really come to this?' + +Throughout all these proceedings--yes, even amidst that prayer to +Heaven, amidst that impassioned appeal to my dead father--had my +reason been keeping up that scoffing at my heart which I have before +described. + +I knocked up the landlord of the 'White Hart,' and, turning into bed, +slept my first peaceful sleep since my trouble. + +To escape awkward questions, I did not in the morning take back the +keys to Shales's house myself, but sent them, and walking to +Dullingham took the train to London. + + + +X + +BEHIND THE VEIL + + +I + +When I met my mother at the solicitor's office next day, she was +astonished at my cheerfulness and at the general change in me. As we +left the office together, she said, + +'Everything is now arranged: your aunt and I have decided to accept +Lord Sleaford's invitation to go for a cruise in his yacht. We leave +to-morrow evening. Lord Sleaford has promised to take me to-morrow +afternoon to Mr. Wilderspin's studio, to see the great painter's +portrait of me, which is now, I understand, quite finished.' + +'Why did you not ask me to accompany you, instead of asking +Sleaford?' + +'I did not know that you would care to do so.' 'Dear mother,' I said, +in a tender tone that startled her, 'you must let me go with you and +Sleaford to the studio.' + +She consented, and on the following afternoon I called at my aunt's +house in Belgrave Square. The hall was full of portmanteaux, boxes, +and packages. Sleaford had already arrived, and was waiting with +stolid patience for my mother, who had gone to her room to dress. He +began to talk to me about the astonishing gifts of Cyril Aylwin. + +'Have you made an appointment with Wilderspin?' I said to my mother, +when she entered the room. 'The last time I saw him he seemed to be +much occupied with some disturbing affairs of his own.' + +'Appointment? No,' said she, with an air that seemed to imply that an +Aylwin, even with Gypsy blood in his veins, in calling upon Art, was +conferring upon it a favour to be welcomed at any time. + +'I have not seen this portrait yet,' said Sleaford, as the carriage +moved off; 'but Cyril Aylwin says it is magnificent, and if anybody +knows what's good and what's bad it's Cyril Aylwin.' + +'Do you know,' said my mother to me, 'I have taken vastly to this +eccentric kinsman of ours? I had really no idea that a bohemian could +be so much like a gentleman; but, of course, an Aylwin must always be +an Aylwin.' + +'Haw, haw!' laughed Sleaford to himself, 'that's good about Cyril +Aylwin though--that's dooced good.' + +'We shall see Wilderspin's great picture, "Faith and Love," at the +same time,' I said, as we approached Chelsea; 'for Wilderspin tells +me that he has borrowed it from the owner to make a replica of it.' + +'That is very fortunate,' said my mother. 'I have the greatest desire +to see this picture and its wonderful predella. Wilderspin is one of +the few painters who revert to the predella of the old masters. He is +said to combine the colour of him whom he calls "his master" with the +draughtsmanship and intellect of Shields, whose stained-glass windows +the owner was showing me the other day at Eaton Hall; and do you +know, Henry, that the painter of this wonderful "Faith and Love" is +never tired of declaring that the subject was inspired by your dear +father?' + +When we reached the studio the servant said that Mr. Wilderspin was +much indisposed that afternoon, and was also just getting ready to go +to Paris, where he was to join Mr. Cyril in his studio; 'but perhaps +he would see us,'--an announcement that brought a severe look to my +mother's face, and another half-suppressed 'Haw, haw!' from +Sleaford's deep chest. + +Mounting the broad old staircase, we found ourselves in the studio of +the famous spiritualist-painter--one of two studios; for Wilderspin +had turned two rooms communicating with each other by folding-doors +into a sort of double studio. One of these rooms, which was of +moderate size, fronted the north-east, the other faced the +south-west. There were (as I soon discovered) easels in both. It was +the smaller of these rooms into which we were now shown by the +servant. The walls were covered with sketches and drawings in various +stages, and photographs of sculpture. + +'By Jove, that's dooced like!' said Sleaford, pointing to my mother's +portrait, which was standing on the floor, as though just returned +from the frame-maker's: 'ask Cyril Aylwin if it ain't when you see +him.' + +It was a truly magnificent painting, but more full of imagination +than of actual portraiture. + +One of the windows was open, and the noise of an anvil from a +blacksmith's shop in Maud Street came into the room. + +'Do you know,' said my mother in an undertone, 'that this strange +genius can only, when in London, work to the sound of a blacksmith's +anvil? Nothing will induce him to paint a portrait out of his own +studio; and I observed, when I was sitting to him here, that +sometimes when the noise from the anvil ceased he laid down his brush +and waited for the hideous din to be resumed. + +Wilderspin now came through the folding-doors, and greeted us in his +usual simple, courteous way. But I saw that he was in trouble. 'The +portrait will look better yet,' he said. 'I always leave the final +glazing till the picture is in the frame.' + +After we had thoroughly examined the portrait, we turned to look at a +large canvas upon an easel. Wilderspin had evidently been working +upon it very lately. + +'That's "Ruth and Boaz," don't you know?' said Sleaford. 'Finest crop +of barley I ever saw in my life, judgin' from the size of the +sheaves. Barley paid better than wheat last year. So the farmers all +say.' + +'Don't look at it,' said Wilderspin. 'I have been taking out part of +Ruth, and was just beginning to repaint her from the shoulders +upwards. It will never be finished now,' he continued with a sigh. + +We asked him to allow us to see 'Faith and Love.' + +'It is in the next room,' said he, 'but the predella is here on the +next easel. I have removed it from underneath the picture to work +upon.' + +'The head of Ruth has been taken out,' said my mother, turning to me: +'but isn't it like an old master? You ought to see the marvellous +Pre-Raphaelite pictures at Mr. Graham's and Mr. Leyland's, Henry.' + +'Pre-Raphaelites?' said Wilderspin, 'the Master rhymes, madam, and +Burne-Jones actually _reads_ the rhymes! However, they are on the +right track in art, though neither has the slightest intercourse with +the spirit world, not the slightest.' + +'My exploits as a painter have not been noticeable as yet,' I said; +'but an amateur may know what a barley-field is. That is one before +us. He may know what a man in love is; Boaz there is in love.' + +'I wish we could see the woman's face,' said Sleaford. 'A woman, you +know, without a face--' + +'Come and see the predella of "Faith and Love,"' said Wilderspin, and +he moved towards an easel where rested the predella, a long narrow +picture without a frame. My mother followed him, leaving me standing +before the picture of 'Ruth and Boaz.' Although the head of Ruth had +been painted out, the picture seemed to throb with life. Boaz had +just discovered the Moabitish maiden in the gleaming barley-field, as +she had risen from stooping to glean the corn. Two ears of barley +were in one hand. In the face of Boaz was an expression of surprise, +and his eyes were alight with admiration. The picture was finished +with the exception of the face of Ruth, which was but newly sketched +in. Wilderspin had contrived to make her attitude and even the very +barley-ears in her hand (one of which was dangling between her +slender fingers in the act of falling) express innocent perturbation +and girlish modesty. + + +II + +At length I joined the others, who were standing before the easel, +looking at the predella which, as Wilderspin again took care to tell +us, had been removed from the famous picture of 'Faith and Love' we +were about to see in the next room--'the culmination and final +expression of the Renascence of Wonder in Art.' + +'Perhaps it is fortunate,' said he, 'that I happen to be working at +this very time upon the predella, which acts as a key to the meaning +of the design. You will now have the advantage of seeing the predella +before you see the picture itself. And really it would be to the +advantage of the picture if every one could see it under like +circumstances; it would add immensely to the effect of the design. +Look well and carefully at the predella first. Try to imagine the +Oriental Queen behind that veil, then observe the way in which the +features are expressed through the veil; and then, but not till then, +come into the adjoining room and see the picture itself, see what +Isis really is (according to the sublime idea of Philip Aylwin) when +Faith and Love, the twin angels of all true art, upraise the veil.' + +He then turned and passed through the folding-doors into a room of +great size, crowded with easels, upon which pictures were resting. + +The predella before me seemed a miracle of imaginative power. At that +time I had not seen the work of the great poet-painter of modern +times whom Wilderspin called 'the Master,' and by whom he had been +unconsciously inspired. + +'Most beautiful!' my mother ejaculated, as we three lingered before +the predella. 'Do look at the filmy texture of the veil.' + +'Looks more like steam than a white veil, don't you know?' said +Sleaford. + +'Like steam, my lord?' exclaimed Wilderspin from the next room. 'The +painter of that veil had peculiar privileges. As a child he had been +in the habit of watching a face through the curtain of steam around a +blacksmith's forge when hot iron is plunged into the water-trench, +and the face, my lord, though begrimed by earthly toil, was an +angel's. No wonder, then, that the painting in that veil is unique in +art. The flesh-tints that are pearly and yet rosy seem, as you +observe, to be breaking through it, and yet you cannot say what is +the actual expression on the face. But now come and see the picture +itself.' + +My mother and Sleaford lingered for a moment longer, and then passed +between the folding-doors. + +But I did not follow them; I could not. For now there was something +in the predella before me which fascinated me, I scarcely knew why. +It was the figure of the queen--the figure between the two sleeping +angels--the figure behind the veil, and expressed by the veil--that +enthralled me. + +There was a turn about the outlined neck and head that riveted my +gaze; and, as I looked from these to the veil falling over the face, +a vision seemed to be rapidly growing before my eyes--a vision that +stopped my breath--a vision of a face struggling to express itself +through that snowy film--_whose_ face? + +* * * * * + +'In the crypt my senses had a kind of license to play me tricks,' I +murmured; 'but now and here my reason _shall_ conquer.' + +And I stood and gazed at the veil. During all the time I could hear +every word of the talk between Wilderspin, Sleaford, and my mother +before the picture in the other room. + +'Awfully fine picture,' said Sleaford, 'but the Queen there--Isis: +more like a European face than an Egyptian. I've been to Egypt a good +deal, don't you know?' + +'This is not an historical painting, my lord. As Philip Aylwin says, +"the only soul-satisfying function of art is to give what Zoroaster +calls 'apparent pictures of unapparent realities.'" Perfect beauty +has no nationality; hers has none. All the perfections of woman +culminate in her. How can she then be disfigured by paltry +characteristics of this or that race or nation? In looking at that +group, my lord, nationality is forgotten, and should be forgotten. +She is the type of Ideal Beauty whose veil can never be raised save +by the two angels of all true art, Faith and Love. She is the type of +Nature, too, whose secret, as Philip Aylwin says, "no science but +that of Faith and Love can read."' + +'Seems to be the type of a good deal; but it's all right, don't you +know? Awfully fine picture! Awfully fine woman!' said Sleaford in a +conciliatory tone. 'She's a good deal fairer, though, than any +Eastern women I've seen; but then I suppose she has worn a veil al +her life up to now. Most of 'em take sly peeps, and let in the hot +Oriental sun, and that tans 'em, don't you know?' + +'And the original of this face?' I heard my mother say in a voice +that seemed agitated; 'could you tell me something about the original +of this remarkable face?' 'The model?' said Wilderspin. 'We are not +often asked about our models, but a model like that would endow +mediocrity itself with genius, for, though apparently, and by way of +beneficent illusion, the daughter of an earthly costermonger, she was +a wanderer from another and a better world. She is not more beautiful +here than when I saw her first in the sunlight on that memorable day, +at the corner of Essex Street, Strand, bare-headed, her shoulders +shining like patches of polished ivory here and there through the +rents in her tattered dress, while she stood gazing before her, +murmuring a verse of Scripture, perfectly unconscious whether she was +dressed in rags or velvet; her eyes--' + +'The eyes--it _is_ the eyes, don't you know--it is the eyes that are +not quite right,' said Sleaford. 'Blue eyes with black eyelashes are +awfully fine; you don't see 'em in Egypt. But I suppose that's the +type of something too. Types always floor me, don't you know?' + +'But the scene is no longer Egypt, my lord; it is Corinth,' replied +Wilderspin. + +During this dialogue I stood motionless before the predella: I could +not stir; my feet seemed fixed in the floor by what can only be +described as a wild passion of expectation. As I stood there a +marvellous change appeared to be coming over the veiled figure of the +predella. The veil seemed to be growing more and more filmy--more and +more like the 'steam' to which Sleaford had compared it, till at last +it resolved itself into a veil of mist--into the rainbow-tinted +vapours of a gorgeous mountain sunrise--and looking straight at me +were two blue eyes sparkling with childish happiness and childish +greeting, through flushed mists across a pool on Snowdon. + +That she was found at last my heart knew, though my brain was dazed. +That in the next room, within a few yards of me, my mother and +Sleaford and Wilderspin were looking at the picture of Winifred's +face unclouded by the veil, my heart knew as clearly as though my +eyes were gazing at it, and yet I could not stir. Yes, I knew that +she was now neither a beggar in the street, nor a prisoner in one of +the dens of London, nor starving in a squalid garret, but was safe +under the sheltering protection of a good man. I knew that I had only +to pass between those folding-doors to see her in Wilderspin's +picture--see her dressed in the 'azure-coloured tunic bordered with +stars,' and the upper garment of the 'colour of the moon at +moonrise,' which Wilderspin had so vividly described in Wales; and +yet, paralysed by expectation, I could not stir. + + +III + +Soon I was conscious that my mother, Sleaford, and Wilderspin were +standing by my side, that Wilderspin's hand was laid on my arm, and +that I was pointing at the predella--pointing and muttering, + +'She lives! She is saved.' + +My mother led me into the other studio, and I stood before the great +picture. Wilderspin and Sleaford, feeling that something had occurred +of a private and delicate nature, lingered out of hearing in the +smaller studio. + +'I must be taken to her at once,' I muttered to my mother; 'at once.' + +So living was the portrait of Winifred that I felt that she must be +close at hand. I looked round to see if she herself were not standing +by me dressed in the dazzling draperies gleaming from Wilderspin's +superb canvas. + +But in place of Winifred the profile of my mother's face, cold, +proud, and white, met my gaze. Again did the stress of overmastering +emotion make of me a child, as it had done on the night of the +landslip. 'Mother!' I said, 'you see who it is?' + +She made no answer: she stood looking steadfastly at the picture; but +the tremor of the nostrils, the long deep breaths she drew, told me +of the fierce struggle waging within her breast between conscience +and pity, with rage and cruel pride. My old awe of her returned. I +was a little boy again, trembling for Winnie. In some unaccountable +and, I believe, unprecedented way I had always felt that she, my own +mother, belonged to some haughty race superior to mine and Winnie's; +and nothing but the intensity of my love for Winnie could ever have +caused me to rebel against my mother. + +'Dear mother,' I murmured, 'all the mischief and sorrow and pain are +ended now; and we shall all be happy; for you have a kind heart, +dear, and cannot help loving poor Winnie, when you come to know her.' + +She made no answer save that her lips slowly reddened again after the +pallor; then came a quiver in them, as though pity were conquering +pride within her breast, and then that contemptuous curl that had +often in the past cowed the heart of the fearless and pugnacious boy +whom no peril of sea or land could appal. + +'She is found,' I said. 'And, mother, there is no longer an +estrangement between you and me. I forgive you everything now.' + +I leapt from her as though I had been stung, so sudden and unexpected +was the look of scorn that came over her face as she said, 'You +forgive me!' It recalled my struggle with her on that dreadful +night: and in a moment I became myself again. The pleading boy +became, at a flash, the stern and angry man that misery had made him. +With my heart hedged once more with points of steel to all the world +but Winnie, I turned away. I did not know then that her attitude +towards me at this moment came from the final struggle in her breast +between her pride and that remorse which afterwards took possession +of her and seemed as though it would make the remainder of her life a +tragedy without a smile in it. At that moment Wilderspin and Sleaford +came in from the smaller studio. 'Where is she?' I said to +Wilderspin. 'Take me to her at once--take me to her who sat for this +picture. It is she whom I and Sinfi Lovell were seeking in Wales.' + +A look of utter astonishment, then one of painful perplexity, came +over his face--a look which I attributed to his having heard part of +the conversation between my mother and myself. + +'You mean the--the--model? She is not here, Mr. Aylwin,' said he. +'The same young lady you were seeking in Wales! Mysterious indeed are +the ways of the spirit world!' and then his lips moved silently as +though in prayer. + +'Where is she?' I asked again. + +'I will tell you all about her soon--when we are alone,' he said in +an undertone. 'Does the picture satisfy you?' + +The picture! He was thinking of his art. Amid all that gorgeous +pageant in which mediaeval angels; were mixed with classic youths and +flower-crowned; maidens, in such a medley of fantastic beauty as +could never have been imagined save by a painter; who was one-third +artist, one-third madman, and one-third seer--amid all the marvels of +that strange, uncanny culmination of the neo-Romantic movement in Art +which had excited the admiration of one set of the London critics and +the scorn of others, I had really and fully seen but one face--the +face of Isis, or Pelagia, or Eve, or _Natura Benigna_, or whosoever +she was looking at me with those dear eyes of Winnie's which were my +very life--looking at me with the same bewitching, indescribable +expression that they wore when she sat with her 'Prince of the Mist' +on Snowdon. I tried to take in the _ensemble_. In vain! Nothing but +the face and figure of Winifred--crowned with seaweed as in the +Raxton photograph--could stay for the thousandth part of a second +upon my eyes. + +'Wilderspin,' I said, 'I cannot do the picture justice at this +moment. I must see it again--after I have seen her. Where is she? Can +I not see her now?' + +'You cannot.' + +'Can I not see her to-day?' + +'You cannot. I will tell you soon, and I have much to tell you,' said +Wilderspin, looking uneasily round at my mother, who did not seem +inclined to leave us. 'I will tell you all about her when--when you +are sufficiently calm.' + +'Tell me now,' I said. + +'Gad! this is a strange affair, don't you know? It would puzzle Cyril +Aylwin himself,' said Sleaford. 'What the dooce does it all mean?' + +'Is she safe?' I cried to Wilderspin. + +There was a pause. + +'Is she safe?' I cried again. + +'Quite safe,' said Wilderspin, in a tone whose solemnity would have +scared me had the speaker been any other person than this eccentric +creature. 'When you are less agitated, I will tell you all about +her.' + +'No! now, now!' + + +IV + +'Well, Mr. Aylwin,' said Wilderspin, 'when I first saw your father's +book, _The Veiled Queen_, it was the vignette on the title-page +that attracted me. In the eyes of that beautiful child-face, even as +rendered by a small reproduction, there was the very expression that +my soul had been yearning after--the expression which no painter of +woman's beauty had ever yet caught and rendered. I felt that he who +could design or suggest to a designer such a vignette must be +inspired, and I bought the book: it was as an artist, not as a +thinker, that I bought the book for the vignette. When, on reading +it, I came to understand the full meaning of the design, such sweet +comfort and hope did the writer's words give me, that I knew at once +who had impressed me to read it--I knew that my mission in life was +to give artistic development to the sublime ideas of Philip Aylwin. +I began the subject of "Faith and Love." But the more I tried to +render the expression that had fascinated me the more impossible did +the task seem to me. Howsoever imaginative may be any design, the +painter who would produce a living picture must paint from life, and +then he has to fight against his model's expression. Do you remember +my telling you the other day how the spirit of Mary Wilderspin in +heaven came upon me in my sore perplexity and blessed me--sent me a +spiritual body--led me out into the street, and--' + +'Yes, yes, I remember; but what happened?' + +'We will sit,' said Wilderspin. + +He placed chairs for us, and I perceived that my mother did not +intend to go. + +'Well,' he continued, 'on that sunny morning I was impressed to +leave my studio and go out into the streets. It was then that I found +what I had been seeking,--the expression in the beautiful child-face +off the vignette.' + +'In the street!' I heard my mother say to herself. 'How did it come +about?' she asked aloud. + +'It had long been my habit to roam about the streets of London +whenever I could afford the time to do so, in the hope of finding +what I sought, the fascinating and indescribable expression on that +one lovely child-face. Sometimes I believed that I had found this +expression. I have followed women for miles, traced them home, +introduced myself to them, told them of my longings; and have then, +after all, come away in bitter disappointment. The insults and +revilings I have, on these occasions, sometimes submitted to I will +narrate to no man, for they would bring me no respect in a cynical +age like this--an age which Carlyle spits at and the great and good +John Ruskin chides. Sometimes my dear friend Mr. Cyril has +accompanied me on these occasions, and he has seen how I have been +humiliated.' + +An involuntary 'haw, haw!' came from Sleaford, but looking towards my +mother and perceiving that she was listening with intense eagerness, +he said: 'Ten thousand pardons, but Cyril Aylwin's droll +stories,--don't you know? they will--hang it all--keep comin' up and +makin' a fellow laugh.' + +'Well,' continued Wilderspin, 'on that memorable morning I was +impressed to walk down the street towards Temple Bar. I was passing +close to the wall to escape the glare of the sun, when I was stopped +suddenly by a sight which I knew could only have been sent to me in +that hour of perplexity by her who had said that Jesus would let her +look down and watch her boy. Moreover, at that moment the noise of +the Strand seemed to cease in my ears, which were rilled with the +music I love best--the only music that I have patience to listen +to--the tinkle of a black-smith's anvil.' + +'Blacksmith's anvil in the Strand?' said Sleaford. + +'It was from heaven, my lord, that the music fell like rain; it was +a sign from Mary Wilderspin who lives there.' + +'For God's sake be quick!' I exclaimed. 'Where was it?' + +'At the corner of Essex Street. A bright-eyed, bright-haired girl in +rags was standing bare-headed, holding out boxes of matches for sale, +and murmuring words of Scripture. This she was doing quite +mechanically, as it seemed, and unobservant of the crowd passing +by,--individuals of whom would stop for a moment to look at her; some +with eyes of pure admiration and some with other eyes. The squalid +attire in which she was clothed seemed to add to her beauty.' + +'My poor Winnie!' I murmured, entirely overcome. + +'She seemed to take as little heed of the heat and glare as of the +people, but stood there looking before her, murmuring texts from +Scripture as though she were communing with the spiritual world. Her +eyes shook and glittered in the sunshine; they seemed to emit lights +from behind the black lashes surrounding them; the ruddy lips were +quivering. There was an innocence about her brow, and yet a mystic +wonder in her eyes which formed a mingling of the child-like with the +maidenly such as--' + +'Man! man! would you kill me with your description?' I cried. Then +grasping Wilderspin's hand, I said, 'But,--but was she begging, +Wilderspin? Not literally begging! My Winnie! my poor Winnie!' + +My mother looked at me. The gaze was full of a painful interest; but +she recognised that between me and her there now was rolling an +infinite sea or emotion, and her eyes drooped before mine as though +she had suddenly invaded the privacy of a stranger. + +'She was offering matches for sale,' said Wilderspin. + +'Winnie! Winnie! Winnie!' I murmured. 'Did she seem emaciated, +Wilderspin? Did she seem as though she wanted food?' + +'Heaven, no!' exclaimed my mother. + +'No,' replied Wilderspin firmly. 'On that point who is a better judge +than the painter of "Faith and Love"? She did not want food. The +colour of the skin was not--was not--such as I have seen--when a +woman is dying for want of food.' + +'God bless you, Wilderspin, God bless you! But what then?--what +followed?' + +'Well, Mr. Aylwin, I stood for some time gazing at her, muttering +thanks to my mother for what I had found. I then went up to her, and +asked her for a box of matches. She held me out a box, mechanically, +as it seemed, and, when I had taken it of her, she held out her hand +just as though she had been a real earthly beggar-girl; but that was +part of the beneficent illusion of Heaven.' + +'That was for the price, don't you know?' said Sleaford. 'What did +you give her?' + +'I gave her a shilling, my lord, which she looked at for some time in +a state of bewilderment. She then began to feel about her as if for +something.' + +'She was feelin' for the change, don't you know?' said Sleaford, not +in the least degree perceiving how these interruptions of a prosaic +mind were maddening me. + +'I told her that I wanted to speak to her,' continued Wilderspin, +'and asked her where she lived. She gave me the same bewildered, +other-world look with which she had regarded the shilling, a look +which seemed to say, "Go away now: leave me alone!" As I did not go, +she began to appear afraid of me, and moved away towards Temple Bar, +and then crossed the street. I followed, as far behind as I could +without running the danger of losing sight of her, to a wretched +place running out of Great Queen Street. Holborn, which I afterwards +found was called Primrose Court, and when I got there she had +disappeared in one of the squalid houses opening into the court. I +knocked at the first door once or twice before an answer came, and +then a tiny girl with the face of a woman opened it. "Is there a +beggar-girl living here?" I asked. "No," answered the child in a +sharp, querulous voice. "You mean Meg Gudgeon's gal wot sings and +does the rainy-night dodge. She lives next house." And the child +slammed the door in my face. I knocked at the next door, and after +waiting for a minute it was opened by a short, middle-aged woman, +with black eyes and a flattened nose, who stared at me, and then +said, "A Quaker, by the looks o' ye." She had the strident voice of a +raven, and she smelt, I thought, of gin.' + +'But, Mr. Wilderspin, Mr. Wilderspin, you said the girl was safe!' + +It was my mother's voice, but so loud, sharp, and agonised was it +that it did not seem to be her voice at all. In that dreadful moment, +however, I had no time to heed it. At the description of the hideous +den and the odious Mrs. Gudgeon, whose face as I had seen it in +Cyril's studio had haunted me in the crypt, a dreadful shudder +passed through my frame; an indescribable sense of nausea stirred +within me; and for a moment I felt as though the pains of +dissolution were on me. And there was something in Wilderspin's +face--what was it?--that added to my alarm. 'Stay for a moment,' I +said to him; 'I cannot yet bear to hear any more.' + +'I know the dread that has come upon you, and upon your kind, +sympathetic mother,' said he; 'but she you are disturbed about was +not a prisoner in the kind of place my words seem to describe.' + +'But the woman?' said my mother. 'How could she be safe in such +hands?' + +'Has he not said she is safe?' I cried, in a voice that startled even +my own ears, so loud and angry it was, and yet I hardly knew why. + +'You forget,' said Wilderspin, turning to my mother, 'that the whole +spiritual world was watching over her.' + +'But was the place very--was it so very squalid?' said my mother. +'Pray describe it to us, Mr. Wilderspin; I am really very anxious.' + +'No!' I said; 'I want no description: I shall go and see for myself.' + +'But; Henry, I am most anxious to know about this poor girl, and I +want Mr. Wilderspin to tell us how and where he found her.' + +'The "poor girl" concerns me alone, mother. Our calamities--Winnie's +and mine--are between us two and God....You engaged her, Wilderspin, +of the woman whom I saw at Cyril's studio, to sit as a model? What +passed when she came?' + +'The woman brought her next day,' said Wilderspin, 'and I sketched in +the face of Pelagia as Isis at once. I had already taken out the face +of the previous model that had dissatisfied me. I now took out the +figure too, for the figure of this new model was as perfect as her +face.' + +'Go on, go on. What occurred?' + +'Nothing, save that she stood dumb, like one who had no language save +that of another world. But at the second sitting she had a fit of a +most dreadful kind.' + +'Ah! Tell me quickly,' I said. Her face became suddenly distorted by +an expression of terror such as I had never seen and never imagined +possible. I have caught it exactly in my picture "Christabel." She +revived and tried to run out of the studio. Her mother and I seized +her, and she then fell down insensible.' + +'What occasioned the fit? What had frightened her?' + +'That is what I am not quite certain about. When she entered the +studio she fixed her eyes upon a portrait which I had been working +upon; but that must have been merely a coincidence.' + +'A portrait!' I cried. And Winifred's scared expression when she +encountered my mother's look of hate in the churchyard came back to +me like a scene witnessed in a flash of lightning. 'The portrait was +my mother's?' + +'It was the face of the kind, tender, and noble lady your mother,' +said Wilderspin gently. + +I gave a hurried glance at my mother, and saw the pallor of her +face,--but to me the world held now only two realities, Winifred and +Wilderspin; all other people were dreams, obtrusive and irritating +dreams. 'Go on, go on,' I said. + +'She recovered,' continued Wilderspin, 'and seemed to have forgotten +all about the portrait, which I had put away.' + +'Did she talk?' + +'Never, Mr. Aylwin,' said Wilderspin solemnly. 'Nor did I invite her +to talk, knowing whence she came--from the spirit-world. At the first +few sittings Mrs. Gudgeon came with her, and would sit looking on +with the intention of seeing that she came to no harm. She said her +daughter was very beautiful, and she, her mother, never trusted her +with men.' + +'God bless the hag, God bless her; but go on!' + +'Gradually Mrs. Gudgeon seemed to acquire more confidence in me; and +one day, on leaving, she lingered behind the girl, and told me that +her daughter, though uncommonly stupid and a little touched in the +head, had now learnt her way to my studio, and that in future she +should let her come alone, as she believed that she could trust her +with me. She warned me earnestly, however, not to "worrit" the girl +by asking her all sorts of questions.' + +'And there she was right,' I cried. 'But you did ask her +questions,--I see you did, you asked her about her father and brought +on another catastrophe.' + +'No,' said Wilderspin with gentle dignity; 'I was careful not to ask +her questions, for her mother told me that she was liable to fits.' + +'Mr. Wilderspin, I beg your pardon,' I said. + +'I see you are deeply troubled,' said he; 'but, Mr. Aylwin, you need +not beg my pardon. Since I saw Mary Wilderspin, my mother, die for +her children, no words of mere Man have been able to give me pain.' + +'Go on, go on. What did the woman say to you?' + +'She said, "The fewer questions you ask her the better, and don't pay +her any money. She'd only lose it; I'll come for it at the proper +times." From that day the model came to the sittings alone, and Mrs. +Gudgeon came at the end of every week for the money.' + +'And did the model maintain her silence all this time?' + +'She did. She would, every few minutes, sink into a reverie, and +appear to be stone-deaf. But sometimes her face would become suddenly +alive with all sorts of shifting expressions. A few days ago she had +another fit, exactly like the former one. That was on the day +preceding my call at your hotel with your father's books. This time +we had much more difficulty in bringing her round. We did so at last; +and when she was gone I gave the final touch to my picture of "The +Lady Geraldine and Christabel." I was at the moment, however, at work +upon "Ruth and Boaz," which I had painted years before--removing the +face of Ruth originally there. I worked long at it; and as she was +not coming for two days I kept steadily at the picture. This was the +day on which I called upon you, wishing you to postpone your visit, +lest you should interrupt me while at work upon the head of Ruth, +which I was hoping to paint. On Thursday I waited for her at the +appointed hour, but she did not come, and I saw her no more.' + + +V + +'Mr. Wilderspin,' I said, as I rose hurriedly, with the intention of +going at once in search of Winifred, 'let me see the picture you +allude to--"Christabel," and then tell me where to find her.' + +'Better not see it!' said Wilderspin solemnly; 'there's something to +tell you yet, Mr. Aylwin.' + +'Yes, yes; but let me see the picture first. I can bear anything now. +Howsoever terrible it may be, I can bear it now; for she's +found--she's safe.' And I rushed into the next room, and began +turning round in a wild manner one after another some dozens of +canvases that were standing on the floor and leaning against the +wall. + +Half the canvases had been turned, and then I came upon what I +sought. + +I stood petrified. But I heard Wilderspin's voice at my side say, 'Do +not let an imaginary scene distress you, Mr. Aylwin. The picture +merely represents the scene in Coleridge's poem where the Lady +Christabel, having secretly and in pity brought to her room to share +her bed the mysterious lady she had met in the forest at midnight, +watches the beautiful witch undress, and is spell-bound and struck +dumb by some "sight to dream of, not to tell," which she sees at the +lady's bosom.' + +* * * * * + +Christabel! It was Winifred sitting there upright in bed, confronted +by a female figure--a tall lady, who with bowed head was undressing +herself beneath a lamp suspended from the ceiling. Christabel! It was +Winifred gazing at this figure--gazing as though fascinated; her dark +hair falling and tumbling down her neck, till it was at last partly +lost between her shining bosom and her nightdress. Yes, and in her +blue eyes there was the same concentration of light, there was the +same uprolling of the lips, there was the same dreadful gleaming of +the teeth, the same swollen veins about the throat that I had seen in +Wales. No wonder that at first I could see only the face and figure +of Winifred. My consciousness had again dwindled to a single point. +In a few seconds, however, I perceived that the scene was an antique +oak-panelled chamber, corniced with large and curiously-carven +figures, upon which played the warm light from a silver lamp +suspended from the middle of the ceiling by a twofold silver chain +fastened to the feet of an angel, quaintly carved in the dark wood of +the ceiling. It was beneath this lamp that stood the majestic figure +of the beautiful stranger, the Lady Geraldine. As she bent her head +to look at her bosom, which she was about fully to uncover, the +lamp-light gleaming among the gems and flashing in her hair and down +her loosened white silken robe to her naked feet, shining, +blue-veined and half-hidden in the green rushes that covered the +floor, she seemed to be herself the source from which the lurid light +was shed about the room. But her eyes were brighter than all. They +were more dreadful by far to look at than Winifred's own--they were +rolling wildly as if in an agony of hate, while she was drawing in +her breath till that marble throat of hers seemed choking. It was not +upon her eyes, however, that Winifred's were fixed: it was upon the +lady's bosom, for out from beneath the partially-loosened robes that +covered that bosom a tiny fork of flame was flickering like a +serpent's tongue ruddy from the fires of a cruel and monstrous hate +within. + +This sight was dreadful enough; but it was not the terror on +Winifred's face that now sent me reeling against Sleaford, who with +my mother had followed me into the smaller room. Whose figure was +that, and whose was the face which at first I had half-recognised in +the Lady Geraldine? My mother's! + +In painting this subject Wilderspin had, without knowing it, worked +with too strong a reminiscence of my mother's portrait, unconscious +that he was but giving expression to the awful irony of Heaven. + +I turned round. Wilderspin was supporting with difficulty my mother's +dead weight. For the first time (as I think) in her life, she whom, +until I came to know Sinfi Lovell, I had believed to be the +strongest, proudest, bravest woman living, had fainted. + +'Dear me!' said Wilderspin, 'I had no idea that Christabel's terror +was so strongly rendered,--no idea! Art should never produce an +effect like this. Romantic art knows nothing of a mere sensational +illusion. Dear me!--I must soften it at once.' + +He was evidently quite unconscious that he had given my mother's +features to Geraldine, and attributed the effect to his own +superlative strength as a dramatic artist. + +I ran to her: she soon recovered, but asked to be taken to Belgrave +Square at once. Wild as I was with the desire to go in quest of +Winifred; goaded as I was by a new, nameless, shapeless dread which +certain words of Wilderspin's had aroused, but which (like the dread +that had come to me on the night of my father's funeral) was too +appalling to confront, I was obliged to leave the studio and take my +mother to the house of my aunt, who was, I knew, waiting to start for +the yacht. + + + +XI + +THE IRONY OF HEAVEN + + +I + +As we stepped into the carriage, Sleaford, full of sympathy, jumped +in. This fortunately prevented a conversation that would have been +intolerable both to my mother and to me. + +'Studio oppressively close,' said Sleaford; 'usual beastly smell of +turpentine and pigments and things. Why the dooce don't these fellows +ventilate their studios before they get ladies to go to see their +paintin's!' This he kept repeating, but got no response from either +of us. + +As to me, let me honestly confess that I had but one thought: how +much time would be required to go to Belgrave Square and back to the +studio, to learn the whereabouts of Winifred. 'But she's safe,' I +kept murmuring, in answer to that rising dread: 'Wilderspin said she +was safe.' + +During that drive to Belgrave Square, he whose bearing towards my +mother was that of the anxious, loving son was not I, the only living +child of her womb, but poor, simple, empty-headed Sleaford. + +When we reached Belgrave Square my mother declared that she had +entirely recovered from the fainting fit, but I scarcely dared to +look into those haggard eyes of hers, which showed only too plainly +that the triumph of remorse in her bosom was now complete. My aunt, +who seemed to guess that something lowering to the family had taken +place, was impatient to get on board the yacht. I saw how my mother +now longed to remain and learn the upshot of events; but I told her +that she was far better away now, and that I would write to her and +keep her posted up in the story day by day. I bade them a hurried +'Good-bye.' + +'How shall I be able to stay out of England until I know all about +her?' said my mother. 'Go back and learn all about her, Henry, and +write to me; and be sure to get and take care of that dreadful +picture, and write to me about that also.' + +When the carriage left I walked rapidly along the Square, looking +for a hansom. In a second or two Sleaford was by my side. He took my +arm. + +'I suppose you're goin' back to cane him, aren't you?' said he. + +'Cane whom?' I said impatiently, for that intolerable thought which +I have hinted at was now growing within my brain, and I must, _must_ +be alone to grapple with it. + +'Cane the d----d painter, of course,' said Sleaford, opening his +great blue eyes in wonder that such a question should be asked. +'Awfully bad form that fellow goin' and puttin' your mother in the +picture. But that's just the way with these fellows.' + +'What do you mean?' I asked again. + +'What do I mean? The paintin' and writin' fellows. You can't make a +silk purse out of a sow's ear, as I've often and often said to Cyril +Aylwin; and by Jove, I'm right for once. I suppose I needn't ask you +if you're going back to cane him.' + +'Wilderspin did what he did quite unconsciously,' I replied, as I +hailed a hansom. 'It was the finger of God.' + +'The finger of--Oh come! That be hanged, old chap.' + +'Good-bye,' I said, as I jumped into the hansom. + +'But you don't mean to say you are goin' to let a man put your mother +into--' + +I heard no more. The terrible idea which had been growing in my +brain, shaping itself out of a nebulous mass of reminiscences of what +had just occurred at the studio, was now stinging me to madness. +Wilderspin's extreme dejection, the strange way in which he had +seemed inclined to evade answering my question as to the safety of +Winifred, the look of pity on his face as at last he answered 'quite +safe'--what did all these indications portend? At every second the +thought grew and grew, till my brain seemed like a vapour of fire, +and my eyeballs seemed to scorch their sockets as I cried aloud: +'Have I found her at last to lose her?' + +On reaching the studio door I rapped: before the servant had time to +answer my summons, I rapped again till the sounds echoed along the +street. When my summons was answered, I rushed upstairs. Wilderspin +stood at the studio door, listening, apparently, to the sound of the +blacksmith's anvil coming in from the back of Maud Street through the +open window. Though his sorrowful face told all, I cried out, +'Wilderspin, she's safe? You said she was safe?' + +'My friend,' said Wilderspin solemnly, 'the news I have to give you +is news that I knew you would rather receive when you could hear it +alone.' + +'You said she was safe!' + +'Yes, safe indeed! She whom you, under some strange but no doubt +beneficent hallucination, believe to be the lady you lost in Wales, +is safe indeed, for she is in the spirit-land with her whose blessing +lent her to me--she has returned to her who was once a female +blacksmith at Oldhill, and is now the brightest, sweetest, purest +saint in Paradise.' + +Dead! My soul had been waiting for the word--expecting it ever since +I left the studio with my mother--but now it sounded more dreadful +than if it had come as a surprise. + +'Tell me all,' I cried, 'at once--at once. She did not return, you +say, on the day following the catastrophe--when did she return?--when +did you next see her?' + +'I never saw her again alive,' answered Wilderspin mournfully; 'but +you are so pale, Mr. Aylwin, and your eyes are so wild, I had better +defer telling you what little more there is to tell until you have +quite recovered from the shock.' + +'No; now, now.' + +Wilderspin looked with a deep sigh at the picture of 'Faith and +Love,' fired by the lights of sunset, where Winnie's face seemed +alive. + +'Well,' said he, 'as she did not come, I worked at my painting of +"Ruth" all day; and on the next morning, as I was starting for +Primrose Court to seek her, Mrs. Gudgeon came kicking frantically at +the street-door. When it was opened, she came stamping upstairs, and +as I advanced to meet her, she shook her fists in my face, shouting +out: "I could tear your eyes out, you vagabones." "Why, what is the +matter?" I asked in great surprise. "You've bin and killed her, +that's all," said the woman, foaming at the mouth. She then told me +that her daughter, almost immediately on reaching home after having +left the studio in the company of my servant, had fallen down in a +swoon. A succession of swoons followed. She never rallied. She was +then lying dead in Primrose Court.' + +'And what then? Answer me quickly.' + +'She asked me to give her money that her daughter might be buried +respectably and not by the parish. I told her it was all +hallucination about the girl being her daughter, and that a spiritual +body could not be buried, but she seemed so genuinely distressed that +I gave her the money.' + +'Spiritual body! Hallucination!' I said. 'I heard her voice in the +London streets, and she was seen selling baskets at the theatre door. +Where shall I find the house?' + +'It is of no use for you to go there,' he said. + +'Nothing shall prevent my going at once.' A feverish yearning had +come upon me to see the body. + +'If you _will_ go,' said Wilderspin, 'it is No. 2 Primrose Court, +Great Queen Street, Holborn. + + +II + +I hurried out of the house, and soon finding a cab I drove to Great +Queen Street. + +My soul had passed now into another torture-chamber. It was being +torn between two warring, maddening forces--the passionate desire to +see her body, and the shrinking dread of undergoing the ordeal. At +one moment I felt--as palpably as I felt it, on the betrothal +night--her slim figure, soft as a twine of flowers in my arms: at the +next I was clasping a corpse--a rigid corpse in rags. And yet I can +scarcely say that I had any thoughts. At Great Queen Street I +dismissed the cab, and had some little difficulty in finding Primrose +Court, a miserable narrow alley. I knocked at a door which, even in +that light, I could see was a peculiarly wretched one. After a +considerable delay the door was opened and a face peered out--the +face of the woman whom I had seen in Cyril's studio. She did not at +first seem to recognise me. She was evidently far gone in liquor, and +looked at me, murmuring, 'You're one o' the cussed body-snatchers; I +know you: you belong to the Rose Alley "Forty Thieves." You'll +swing--every man Jack o' ye'll swing yet, mind if you don't.' + +At the sight of the squalid house in which Winifred had lived and +died I passed into a new world of horror. Dead matter had become +conscious, and for a second or two it was not the human being before +me, but the rusty iron, the broken furniture, the great patches of +brick and dirty mortar where the plaster had fallen from the +walls,--it was these which seemed to have life--a terrible life--and +to be talking to me, telling me what I dared not listen to about the +triumph of evil over good. I knew that the woman was still speaking, +but for a time I heard no sound--my senses could receive no +impressions save from the sinister eloquence of the dead and yet +living matter around me. Not an object there that did not seem +charged with the wicked message of the heartless Fates. + +At length, and as I stood upon the doorstep, a trembling, a mighty +expectance, seized me like an ague-fit; and I heard myself saying, 'I +am come to see the body, Mrs. Gudgeon.' Then I saw her peer, +blinking, into my face, as she said, + +'Oh, oh, it's _you_, is it? It's one o' the lot as keeps the +studeros, is it?--the cussed Chelsea lot as killed her. I recklet yer +a-starin' at the goddess Joker! So you've come to see my poor +darter's body, are you? How werry kind, to be sure! Pray come in, +gentleman, an' pray let the beautiful goddess Joker be perlite an' +show sich a nice kind wisiter the way upstairs.' + +She took a candle, and with a mincing, mocking movement, curtseying +low at every step, she backed before me, and then stood waiting at +the foot of the staircase with a drunken look of satire on her +features. + +'Pray go upstairs fust, gentleman,' said she; 'I can't think o' goin' +up fust, an' lettin' my darter's kind wisiter foller behind like a +sarvint. I 'opes we knows our manners better nor that comes to in +Primrose Court.' + +'None of this foolery now, woman,' said I. 'There's a time for +everything, you know.' + +'How right he is!' she exclaimed, nodding to the flickering candle +in her hand. 'There's a time for everything an' this is the time for +makin' a peep-show of my pore darter's body. Oh, yes!' + +I mounted a shaky staircase, the steps of which were, some of them, +so broken away that the ascent was no easy matter. The miserable +light from the woman's candle, as I entered the room, seemed suddenly +to shoot up in a column of dazzling brilliance that caused me to +close my eyes in pain, so unnaturally sensitive had they been +rendered by the terrible expectance of the sight that was about to +sear them. + +When I re-opened my eyes, I perceived that in the room there was one +window, which looked like a trap-door; on the red pantiles of the +opposite roof lay a smoke-dimmed sheet of moonlight. On the floor at +the further end of the garret, where the roof met the boards at a +sharp angle, a mattress was spread. Then speech came to me. + +'Not there!' I groaned, pointing to the hideous black-looking bed, +and turning my head away in terror. The woman burst into a cackling +laugh. + +'Not there? Who said she _was_ there? _I_ didn't. If you can see +anythink there besides a bed an' a quilt, you've got eyes as can make +picturs out o' nothink, same as my darter's eyes could make 'em, pore +dear.' + +'Ah, what do you mean?' I cried, leaping to the side of the mattress, +upon which I now saw that no dead form was lying. + +For a moment a flash of joy as dazzling as a fork of lightning seemed +to strike through my soul and turn my blood into a liquid fire that +rose and blinded my eyes. + +'Not dead,' I cried; 'no, no, no! The pitiful heavens would have +rained blood and tears at such a monstrous tragedy. She is not +dead--not dead after all! The hideous dream is passing.' + +'Oh, ain't she dead, pore dear?--ain't she? She's dead enough for +one,' said the woman; 'but 'ow can she be there on that mattress, +when she's buried, an' the prayers read over her, like the darter of +the most 'spectable mother as ever lived in Primrose Court! That's +what the neighbours say o' me. The most 'spectable mother as +ever--' + +'Buried!' I said, 'who buried her?' + +'Who buried her? Why the parish, in course.' + +Despair then again seemed to send a torrent of ice-water through my +veins. But after a time the passionate desire to see her body leapt +up within my heart. + +At this moment Wilderspin, who had evidently followed me with +remarkable expedition, came upstairs and stood by my side. + +'I must go and see the grave,' I said to him. 'I must see her face +once more. I must petition the Home Secretary. Nothing can and +nothing shall prevent my seeing her--no, not if I have to dig down to +her with my nails.' + +'An' who the dickens are you as takes on so about my darter?' said +the woman, holding the candle to my face. + +'Drunken brute!' said I. 'Where is she buried?' + +'Well, I'm sure!' said the woman in a mincing, sarcastic voice. 'How +werry unperlite you is all at wonst! how werry rude you speaks to +such a werry 'spectable party as I am! You seem to forgit who I am. +Ain't I the goddess as likes to 'ave 'er little joke, an' likes to +wet both eyes, and as plays sich larks with her flummeringeroes and +drumming-dairies an' ring-tailed monkeys an' men?' + +When I saw the creature whip up the quilt from the mattress, and, +holding it over her head like a veil, leer hideously in imitation of +Cyril's caricature, a shudder went again through my frame--a strange +kind of dementia came upon me; my soul again seemed to leave my +body--seemed to be lifted through the air and beyond the stars, +crying, in agony, 'Shall there be evil in a city, and the Lord hath +not done it?' Yet all the while, though my soul seemed fleeing +through infinite space, where a pitiless universe was waltzing madly +round a ball of cruel fire--all the while I was acutely conscious of +looking down upon the dreadful dream-world below, looking down into a +frightful garret where a dialogue between two dream-figures was going +on--a dialogue between Wilderspin and the woman, each word of which +struck upon my ears like a sharp-edged flint, though it seemed +millions of miles away. + +* * * * * + +'What made you trick me like this? Where is the money I gave you for +the funeral?' + +'That's werry true, about that money, an' where is it? The orkerdest +question about money allus is--"Where is it?" The money for that +funeral I 'ad, I won't deny that. The orkard question ain't that: +it's "Where is it?" But you see, arter I left your studero I sets on +that pore gal's bed a-cryin' fit to bust; then I goes out into +Clement's Alley, and I calls on Mrs. Mix--that's a werry dear friend +of mine, the mother o' seven child'n as are allus a-settin' on my +doorstep, an' she comes out of Yorkshire you must know, an' she's bin +a streaker in her day (for she was well off wonst was Mrs. Mix afore +she 'ad them seven dirty-nosed child'n as sets on her neighbours' +doorsteps)--an' she sez, sez she, "My pore Meg" (meanin' me), "I've +bin the mother o' fourteen beautiful clean-nosed child'n, an' I've +streaked an' buried seven on 'em, so I ought to know somethink about +corpuses, an' I tell you this corpse o' your darter's must be +streaked an' buried at wonst, for she died in a swownd. An' there's +nothink like the parishes for buryin' folk quick, an' I dessay the +coffin's ordered by this time, an' I dessay the gent gev you that +money just to make you comforble like, seein' as he killed your +darter." That's what Mrs. Mix says to me. So the parish comed an' +brought a coffin an' tookt her, pore dear. And I've cried myself +stupid-like, bein' her pore mother as 'es lost her on'y darter--an' +I was just a-tryin' to make myself comfable when this 'ere young toff +as seems so werry drunk comes a-rappin' at my door fit to rap the +'ouse down.' + +'Has she been buried at all? How can a spiritual body be buried?' + +'"Buried at all?" What do you mean by insinivatin' to the pore gal's +conflicted mother as she p'raps ain't buried at all? You're a-makin' +me cry ag'in. She lays comfable enough underneath a lot of other +coffins, in the pauper part of the New North Cimingtary.' + +'Underneath a lot of others; how can that be?' + +'What! ain't you toffs never seed a pauper finneral? Now that's a +pity; and sich nice toffs as they are, a-settin' theirselves up to +look arter the darters o' pore folks. P'raps you never thought how we +was buried. We're buried, when our time comes, and then they're werry +kind to us, the parish toffs is:--It's in a lump--six at a time--as +they buries us, and sich nice deal coffins they makes us, the parish +toffs does, an' sich nice lamp-black they paints 'em with to make 'em +look as if they was covered over with the best black velvid; an' then +sich a nice sarmint--none o' your retail sarmints, but a hulsale +sarmint--they reads over the lot, an' into one hole they packs us one +atop o' the other, jest like a pile o' the werry best Yarmith +bloaters, an' that's a good deal more sociable an' comfable, the +parish toffs thinks, than puttin' us in single; so it is, for the +matter o' that.' + +Then I heard no more; for at the intolerable picture called up by the +woman's words, my soul in its misery seemed to have soared, scared +and trembling, above and beyond the heavens at whose futile gates it +had been moaning, till at last it sank at the feet of the mighty +power that my love had striven with on the sands of Raxton when the +tide was coming in--some pale and cruel ruler whose brow I saw +wrinkled with the woman's mocking smile--some frightful +columbine-queen, wicked, bowelless, and blind, shaking a starry cap +and bells, and chanting-- + + I lent the drink of Day + To gods for feast; + I poured the river of Night + On gods surceased: + Their blood was Nin-ki-gal's. + +And there, at the feet of the awful jesting hag, Circumstance, I +could only cry 'Winnie! my poor Winnie!' while over my head seemed to +pass Necessity and her black ages of despair. + +When I came to myself I said to the woman, + +'You can point out the grave?' + +'Well, yes,' paid slip, turning round sharply; 'but may I ax who the +dickens you are?--an' what makes you so cut up about a pore woman's +darter? It's right-on beautiful to see how kind gentlemen is +nowadays': and she turned and tried, stumbling, to lead the way +downstairs. + +As we left the room I turned round to look at it. The picture of the +mattress, now nearly hidden in the shadows--the picture of the other +furniture in the room--two chairs--or rather one and a part of a +chair, for the rails of the hack were gone--a table, a large brown +jug, the handle of which had been replaced by a piece of string, and +a white washhand-basin, with most of the rim broken away, and a +shallow tub apparently used for a bath--seemed to sink into my flesh +as though bitten in by the etcher's aquafortis. Winifred's +sleeping-room! + +'Of course she wasn't her daughter,' said Wilderspin meditatively, as +we stood on the stairs. + +'Not my darter! Why, in course she was. What an imperent thing to +say, sure_lie_!' + +'There is one thing I wish to say to you,' said he to the woman. +'When I agreed with you as to the sum to be paid for the model's +sittings, it was clearly understood that she was to sit to no other +artist, and that the match-selling was to cease. + +'Well, and 'ave I broke my word?' + +'A person has heard her singing and seen her selling baskets,' I +said. + +'The person tells a lie,' said the woman, with a dogged and sullen +look, and in a voice that grew thicker with every word. 'Ain't there +sich things as doubles?' + +At these last words my heart gave a sudden leap. We left the house, +and neither of us spoke till we got into the Strand. + +'Did you see the--body at all?' I asked Wilderspin. + +'Oh, yes. After I gave her the money for the funeral I went to +Primrose Court. The woman took me upstairs, and there on the mattress +lay--what the poor woman believed to be the earthly body of an +earthly daughter. It was covered with a quilt. Over the face a ragged +shawl had been thrown.' + +'Yes, yes. She raised the shawl?' + +'Yes, the woman went and held the candle over the head of the +mattress and uncovered the face; and there lay she whom the woman +believed to be her daughter, and whom you believe to be the young +lady you seek, but whom I _know_ to be a spiritual body--the perfect +type that was sent to me in order that I might fulfil my mission. You +groan, Mr. Aylwin, but remember that you have lost only a dream, a +beautiful hallucination; I have lost a reality: there is nothing real +but the spiritual world. + + +III + +As I wandered about the streets after parting from Wilderspin, what +were my emotions? If I could put them into words, is there one human +being in ten thousand who would understand me? Happily, no. For there +is not one in ten thousand who, having sounded the darkest depths of +human misery, will know how strong is Hope when at the true +death-struggle with Despair. 'Hope in the human breast,' wrote my +father, 'is a passion, a wild, a lawless, and an indomitable passion, +that almost no cruelty of Fate can conquer.' + +Many a passer-by in the streets of London that night must have asked +himself, What lunatic is this at large? At one moment I would bound +along the pavement as though propelled by wings, scarcely seeming to +touch the pavement with my feet. At the next I would stop in a cold +perspiration and say to myself, 'Idiot, is it possible that you, so +learned in suffering--you, whom Destiny, or Heaven, or Hell, has +taken in hand as a special sport--can befool yourself with Hope now, +after the terrible comedy by which you and the ancestral idiots from +whom you sprang amused Queen Nin-ki-gal in Raxton crypt?' + +Hope and Despair were playing at shuttlecock with my soul. Underneath +my misery there flickered a thought which, wild as it was, I dared +not dismiss--the thought that, after all, it _might_ not be Winifred +who had died in that den. Possible it was--however improbable--that I +_might_ be labouring under a delusion. My imagination _might_ have +exaggerated a resemblance into actual identity, and Winifred and she +whom Wilderspin painted might be two different persons--and there +might be hope even yet. But so momentous was the issue to my soul, +that the mere fact of having clearly marshalled the arguments on the +side of Hope made my reason critical and suspicious of their cogency. +From the sweet sophisms that my reason had called up, I turned, and +there stood Despair, ready for me behind a phalanx of arguments, +which laughed all Hope's 'ragged regiment' to scorn. + +Had not my mother recognised her? Could the infallible perceptive +faculties of my mother be also deceived? + +But to accept the fact that she who died on that mattress was little +Winnie of the sands was to go stark mad, and the very instinct of +self-preservation made me clutch at every sophism Hope could offer. + +'Did not the woman declare that the singing-girl and the model were +_not_ one and the same?' said Hope. 'And if she did not lie, may you +not have been, after all, hunting a shadow through London?' + +'It might not have been Winifred,' I shouted. + +But no sooner had I done so than the scene in the +studio--Wilderspin's story of the model's terror on seeing my +mother's portrait--came upon me, and 'Dead! dead!' rang through me +like a funeral knell: all the superstructure of Hope's sophisms was +shattered in a moment like a house of cards: my imagination flew +away to all the London graveyards I had ever heard of; and there, in +the part divided by the pauper line, my soul hovered over a grave +newly made, and then dived down from coffin to coffin, one piled +above another, till it reached Winifred, lying pressed down by the +superincumbent mass; those eyes staring. + +Yes; that night I was mad! + +I could not walk fatigue into my restless limbs. Morning broke in +curdling billows of fire over the east of London--which even at this +early hour was slowly growing hazy with smoke. I found myself in +Primrose Court, looking at that squalid door, those squalid windows. +I knocked at the door. No answer came to my summons, and I knocked +again and again. Then a window opened above my head, and I heard the +well-known voice of the woman exclaiming, + +'Who's that? Poll Onion's out to-night, and the rooms are emp'y 'cept +mine. Why, God bless me, man, is it you?' + +'Hag! that was not your daughter.' + +She slammed the window down. + +'Let me in, or I will break the door.' + +The window was opened again. + +'Lucky as I didn't leave the front door open to-night, as I mostly +do. What do you want to skear a pore woman for?' she bawled. 'Go +away, else I'll call up the people in Great Queen Street.' + +'Mrs. Gudgeon, all I want to do is to ask you a question.' + +'Ah, but that's what you jis' _won't_ do, my fine gentleman. I don't +let you in again in a hurry.' + +'I will give you a sovereign.' + +'Honour bright?' bawled the old woman; 'let me look at it.' + +'Here it is, in my hand.' + +'Jink it on the stuns.' + +I threw it down. + +'Quid seems to jink all right, anyhow,' she said, 'though I'm more +used to the jink of a tanner than a quid in these cussed times. You +won't skear me if I come down?' + +'No, no.' + +At last I heard her fumbling inside at the lock, and then the door +opened. + +'Why, man alive! your eyes are afire jist like a cat's wi' drownded +kitlins.' + +'She was not your daughter.' + +'Not my darter?' said she, as she stooped to pick up the sovereign. +'You ain't a-goin' to catch me the likes o' that. The Beauty not my +darter! All the court knows she was my own on'y darter. I'll swear +afore all the beaks in London as I'm the mother of my own on'y darter +Winifred, allus' wur 'er mother, and allus wull be; an' if she went +a-beggin' it worn't my fort. She liked beggin', poor dear; some gals +does.' + +'Her name Winifred!' I cried, with a pang at my heart as sharp as +though there had been a reasonable hope till now. + +'In course her name was Winifred.' + +'Liar! How came she to be called Winifred?' + +'Well, I'm sure! Mayn't a Welshman's wife give her own on'y Welsh +darter a Welsh name? Us poor folks is come to somethink! P'raps +you'll say I ain't a Welshman's wife next? It's your own cussed lot +as killed her, ain't it? What did I tell the shiny Quaker when fust I +tookt her to the studero? I sez to the shiny un, "She's jist a bit +touched here," I sez' (tapping her own head), '"and nothink upsets +her so much as to be arsted a lot o' questions," I sez to the shiny +un. "The less you talks to her," I sez, "the better you'll get on +with her," I sez, "and the better kind o' pictur you'll make out on +her," I sez to the shiny un; "an' don't you go an' arst who her +father is," I sez, "for that word 'ull bring such a horful look on +her face," I sez, "as is enough to skear anybody to death. I sha'n't +forget the look the fust time I seed it," I sez. That's what I sez to +the shiny Quaker. An' yit you did go an' worrit 'er, a-arstin' 'er a +lot o' questions about 'er father. You _did_--I know you did! You +_must_ 'a done it--so no lies; for that wur the on'y thing as ever +skeared 'er, arstin' 'er about 'er father, pore dear....Why, man +alive! what _are_ you a-gurnin' at? an' what are you a-smackin' your +forred wi' your 'and like that for, an' a-gurnin' in my face like a +Chessy cat? Blow'd if I don't b'lieve you're drunk. An' who the +dickens are you a-callin' a fool, Mr. Imperance?' + +It was not the woman but myself I was cursing when I cried out, +'Fool! besotted fool!' + +Not till now had the wild hope fled which had led me back to the den. +As I stood shuddering on the doorstep in the cold morning light, +while the whole unbearable truth broke in upon me, I could hear my +lips murmuring, + +'Fool of ancestral superstitions! Fenella Stanley's fool! Philip +Aylwin's fool! Where was the besotted fool and plaything of besotted +ancestors, when the truth was burning so close beneath his eyes that +it is wonderful they were not scorched into recognising it? Where was +he when, but for superstitions grosser than those of the negroes on +the Niger banks, he might have saved the living heart and centre of +his little world? Where was the rationalist when, but for +superstitions sucked in with his mother's milk, he would have gone to +a certain studio, seen a certain picture which would have sent him on +the wings of the wind to find and rescue and watch over the one for +whom he had renounced all the ties of kindred? Where was then the +most worthy descendant of a line of ancestral idiots--Romany and +Gorgio--stretching back to the days when man's compeers, the mammoth +and the cave-bear, could have taught him better? Rushing down to +Raxton church to save her!--to save her by laying a poor little +trinket upon a dead man's breast!' + + +After the paroxysm of self-scorn had partly exhausted itself, I +stood staring in the woman's face. + +'Well,' said she, 'I thought the shiny Quaker was a rum un, but blow +me if you ain't a rummyer. + +'Her name was Winifred, and the word "father" produced fits,' I said, +not to the woman, but to my soul, in mocking answer to its own woe. +'What about my father's spiritualism now? Good God! Is there no other +ancestral tomfoolery, no other of Superstition's patent Aylwinian +soul-salves for the philosophical Nature-worshipper and apostle of +rationalism to fly to? Her name was Winifred. + +'Yis; don't I say 'er name wur Winifred?' said the woman, who thought +I was addressing her. 'You're jist like a poll-parrit with your +"Winifred, Winifred, Winifred." That was 'er name, an' she 'ad a +shock, pore dear, an' it was all along of you at the studero +a-talkin' about 'er father. You _must_ a-talked about 'er father: so +no lies. She 'ad fits arter that, in course she 'ad. Why, you'll make +me die a-larfin' with your poll-parritin' ways, sayin' "a shock, a +shock, a shock," arter me. In course she 'ad a shock; she 'ad it when +she was a little gal o' six. My pore Bill (that's my 'usband as now +lives in the fine 'Straley) was a'most killed a-fightin' a Irishman. +They brought 'im 'um an' laid 'im afore her werry eyes, an' the sight +throw'd 'er into high-strikes, an' arter that the name of "father" +allus throwed her into high-strikes, an' that's why I told 'em at the +studero never to say that word. An' I know you _must_ 'a' said it, +some o' your cussed lot must, or else why should my pore darter 'a' +'ad the high-strikes? Nothin' else never gev 'er no high-strikes only +talkin' to 'er about 'er father. An' as to me a-sendin' 'er +a-beggin', I tell you she liked beggin'. I gev her baskets to sell, +an' flowers to sell, an' yet she _would_ beg. I tell you she liked +beggin'. Some gals does. She was touched in the 'ead, an' she used to +say she _must_ beg, an' there was nothink she used to like so much as +to stan' with a box o' matches a-jabberin' a tex' out o' the Bible +unless it was singin'. There you are, a-larfin' and a-gurnin' ag'in. +If I wur on'y 'arf as drunk as you are the coppers 'ud 'a' run _me_ +in hours ago; cuss 'em, an' their favouritin' ways.' + + +At the truth flashing in upon me through these fantastic lies, I had +passed into that mood when the grotesque wickedness of Fate's awards +can draw from the victim no loud lamentations--when there are no +frantic blows aimed at the sufferer's own poor eyeballs till the +beard--like the self-mutilated Theban king's--is bedewed with a dark +hail-shower of blood. More terrible because more inhuman than the +agony imagined by the great tragic poet is that most awful condition +of the soul into which I had passed--when the cruelty that seems to +work at Nature's heart, and to vitalise a dark universe of pain, +loses its mysterious aspect and becomes a mockery; when the whole +vast and merciless scheme seems too monstrous to be confronted save +by mad peals of derisive laughter--that dreadful laughter which +bubbles lower than the fount of tears--that laughter which is the +heart's last language; when no words can give it the relief of +utterance--no words, nor wails, nor moans. + +'Another quid,' bawled the woman after me, as I turned away, 'another +quid, an' then I'll tell you somethink to your awantage. Out with it, +and don't spile a good mind.' + +What I did and said that morning as I wandered through the streets of +London in that state of tearless despair and mad unnatural merriment, +one hour of which will age a man more than a decade of any woe that +can find a voice in lamentations, remains a blank in my memory. + + +I found myself at the corner of Essex Street, staring across the +Strand, which, even yet, had scarcely awoke into life. Presently I +felt my sleeve pulled, and heard the woman's voice. + +'You didn't know as I was cluss behind you all the while, a-watchin' +your tantrums. Never spile a good mind, my young swell. Out with +t'other quid, an' then I'll tell you somethink about my pootty darter +as is on my mind.' + +I gave her money, but got nothing from her save more incoherent lies +and self-contradictions about the time of the funeral. + +'Point out the spot where she used to stand and beg. No, don't stand +on it yourself, but point it out.' + +'This is the werry spot. She used to hold out her matches like this +'ere,--my darter used,--an' say texes out o' the Bible. She loved +beggin', pore dear!' + +'Texts from the Bible?' I said, staggering under a new thought that +seemed to strike through me like a bar of hot metal. 'Can you +remember any one of them?' + +'It was allus the same tex', an' I ought to remember it well enough, +for I've 'eerd it times enough. She wur like you for poll-parritin' +ways, and used to say the same thing over an' over ag'in. It wur +allus, "Let his children be wagabones and beg their bread; let them +seek it also out of desolate places." Why, you're at it +ag'in--gurnin' ag'in. You _must_ be drunk.' + +Again there came upon me the involuntary laughter of heart-agony at +its tensest. I cried aloud: 'Faith and Love! Faith and Love! That +farce of the Raxton crypt with the great-grandmother's fool on his +knees shall be repeated for the delight of Nin-ki-gal and the Danish +skeletons and the ancestral ghosts from Hugh the Crusader down to the +hero of the knee-caps and mittens; and there shall be a dance of +death and a song, and the burden shall be-- + + As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods: + They kill us for their sport.' + +Misery had made me a maniac at last; my brain swam, and the head of +the woman seemed to be growing before me--seemed once more to be +transfigured before me into a monstrous mountainous representation of +an awful mockery-goddess and columbine-queen, down whose merry +wrinkles were flowing tears that were at once tears of Olympian +laughter and tears of the oceanic misery of Man. + +'Well, you _are_ a rum un, and no mistake,' said the woman. 'But who +the dickens _are_ you? _That's_ what licks me. Who the dickens _are_ +you? Howsomever, if you'll fork out another quid, the Queen of the +Jokes'll tell you some'ink to your awantage, an' if you won't fork +out the Queen o' the Jokes is mum.' + +I stood and looked at her--looked till the street seemed to heave +under my feet and the houses to rock. After this I seem to have +wandered back to Wilderspin's studio, and there to have sunk down +unconscious. + + + + +XII + +THE REVOLVING CAGE OF CIRCUMSTANCE + + +I + +I will not trouble the reader with details of the illness that came +upon me as the result of my mental agony and physical exhaustion. At +intervals I was aware of what was going on around me, but for the +most part I was in a semi-comatose state. I realised at intervals +that a medical man was sitting by my side, as I lay in bed. Then I +had a sense of being moved from place to place; and then of being +rocked by the waves. Slowly the periods of consciousness became more +frequent and also more prolonged. + +My first exclamation was--'Dead! Have I been ill?' and I tried to +raise myself in vain. + +'Yes, very ill,' said a voice, my mother's. + +'Dangerously?' + +'For several days you were in danger. Your recovery now entirely +depends upon your keeping yourself calm.' + +'I am out at sea?' + +'Yes,' said my mother; 'in Lord Sleaford's yacht.' + +'How did I come here?' + +'Well, Henry, I was so anxious to wait for a day or two to learn the +sequel of the dreadful tragedy, that I persuaded Lord Sleaford to +delay sailing. Next day he called at Belgrave Square, and told us he +had heard that you had been taken suddenly ill and were lying +unconscious at the studio. I went at once and saw the medical man, +Mr. Finch, whom Mr. Wilderspin had called in. This gentleman took a +serious view of your case. When I asked him what could be done he +said that nothing would benefit you so much as removal from London, +and recommended a sea voyage. It occurred to me at once to ask Lord +Sleaford if we might take you in his yacht, and he with his usual +good-nature agreed, and agreed also that Mr. Finch should accompany +us as your medical attendant.' + +'You know all?' I said; 'you know that she is dead.' + +'Alas! yes.' + +At that moment the doctor came into the cabin, and my mother retired. + +'When did you last see Wilderspin?' I asked Mr. Finch. + +'Before leaving England to join a friend in Paris he went to Belgrave +Square to get tidings of you, and I was there.' + +'He told you--what had occurred to make me ill?' + +'He told me that it was the death of some one in whom you took an +interest, a model of his, but told it in such a wild and excited way +that I lost patience with him. His addled brains are crammed with the +wildest and most ignorant superstitions.' + +'Did you ask him about her burial?' + +'I did. I gathered from him that she was buried by the parish in the +usual way. But I assure you the man's account of everything that +occurred was so bewildered and so incoherent that I could really make +nothing out of him. What is his creed? Is it Swedenborgianism? He +seems to think that the model he has lost is a spirit (or spiritual +body, to use his own jargon) sent to him by the artistic-minded +spirits for entirely artistic purposes, but snatched from him now by +the mean jealousy of the same spirit-world.' 'But what did he say +about her burial?' 'Well, he seems not to have ignored so completely +the mundane question of burying this spiritual body as his creed +would have warranted, for he gave the mother money to bury it. The +mother, however, seems to have spent the money in gin and to have +left the duty of burying the spiritual body to the parish, who make +short work of all bodies; and, of course, by the parish she was +buried, you may rest assured of that, though the artist seems to +think that she was simply translated to heaven like Elijah.' + +'I must return to England at once,' I said. 'I shall apply to the +Home Secretary to have the body disinterred.' + +'Why, sir?' + +'In order that she may be buried in a proper place, to be sure.' + +'No use. You have no _locus standi_.' + +'What do you mean?' + +'You are not a relative, and to ask for a disinterment for such an +unimportant reason as that you, a stranger, would prefer to see her +buried elsewhere, would be idle.' + +Sleaford now came into the cabin. I thanked him for his kindness, but +told him I must return at once. + +'Even if your health permitted,' he said, 'it is impossible for the +yacht to go back. I have an appointment to meet a yachting friend. +But in any case depend upon it, old fellow, the doctor won't hear of +your returning for a long while yet. He told me not five minutes ago +that nothing but sea air, and keeping your mind tranquil, you know, +will restore you.' + +The feeling of exhaustion that came upon me as he spoke convinced me +that there was only too much truth in his words. I felt that I must +yield to the inevitable; but as to tranquillity of mind, my entire +being was now filled with a yearning to see the New North +Cemetery--to see her grave. I seemed to long for the very pang which +I knew the sight of the grave would give me. + + +It is of course impossible for me to linger over that cruise, or to +record any of the incidents that took place at the ports at which we +touched and landed. My recovery, or rather my partial recovery, was +slower than the doctor had anticipated. Weeks and months passed, and +still there seemed but little improvement in me. + +The result was that I was obliged to yield to the importunities of my +mother, and to the urgent advice of Dr. Finch, to remain on board +Sleaford's yacht during the entire cruise, and afterwards to go with +them to Italy. + +Absence from England gave me not the smallest respite from the grief +that was destroying me. + + +My parting with my mother was a very pathetic one. She was greatly +changed, and I knew why. The furrows Time sets on the face can never +be mistaken for those which are caused by the passions. The struggle +between pride and remorse had been going on apace; her sufferings had +been as great as my own. + +It was in Rome we parted. We were sitting in the cool, perfumed +atmosphere of St. Peter's, and for the moment a soothing wave seemed +to pass over my soul. For some little time there had been silence +between us. At length I said, 'Mother, it seems strange indeed for me +to have to say to you that you blame yourself too much for the part +you took in the tragedy of Winnie. When you sent her into Wales you +didn't know that her aunt was dead; you did it, as you thought, for +her good as well as for mine.' + +She rose as if to embrace me, and then sank down again. + +'But you don't know all, Henry; you don't know all. I knew her aunt +was dead, though Shales did not, or he would never have taken her. +All that concerned me was to get her away before your own recovery. I +thought there might be relatives of hers or friends whom Shales might +find. But I was possessed by a frenzied desire to get her away. For +years my eyes had been fixed on the earldom. I had been told by your +aunt that Cyril was consumptive, and also that he was very unlikely +to marry.' + +I could not suppress a little laugh. 'Ha, ha! Cyril consumptive! No +man's stronger and sounder, I am glad to tell you; but if by +ill-chance he should die and the title should come to me, then, +mother, I'll wear the coronet, and it shall be made of the best +gingerbread gilt and ornamented thus. I'll give public lectures on +the British aristocracy and its origin, and its present relations to +the community, and my audience shall consist of society--that society +which is so much to aunt and the likes of her. Society shall be my +audience, and then, after my course of lectures is over, I will join +the Gypsies. But pray pardon me, mother. I had no idea I should thus +lose my temper. I should not have lost it so entirely had I not +witnessed how you are suffering from the tyranny of this blatant +bugbear called "Society."' + +'My suffering, Henry, has brought me nearer to your line of thought +than you may suppose. It has taught me that when the affections are +deeply touched everything which before had seemed so momentous stands +out in a new light, that light in which the insignificance of the +important stands revealed. In that terrible conflict between you and +me on the night following the landslip, you spoke of my "cruel +pride." Oh, Henry, if you only knew how that cruel pride had been +wiped out of existence by remorse, I believe that even you would +forgive me. I believe that even she would if she were here.' + +'I told you that I had entirely forgiven you, mother, and that I was +sure Winnie would forgive you if she were alive.' + +'You did, Henry, but it did not satisfy me; I felt that you did not +know all.' + +'I fear you have been very unhappy,' I said. + +'I have been constantly thinking of Winifred a beggar in the streets +as described by Wilderspin. Oh, Henry, I used to think of her in the +charge of that woman. And Miss Dalrymple, who educated her, tells me +that in culture she was far above the girls of her own class; and +this makes the degradation into which she was forced through me the +more dreadful for me to think of. I used to think of her dying in the +squalid den, and then the Italian sunshine has seemed darker than a +London fog. Even the comfort that your kind words gave me was +incomplete, for you did not know the worst features of my cruelty.' + +'But have you had no respite, mother? Surely the intensity of this +pain did not last, or it would have killed you.' + +'The crisis did pass, for, as you say, had it lasted in its most +intense form, it would have killed me or sent me mad. After a while, +though remorse was always with me, I seemed to become in some degree +numbed against its sting. I could bear at last to live, but that was +all. Yet there was always one hour out of the twenty-four when I was +overmastered by pathetic memories, such as nearly killed me with +pity--one hour when, in a sudden and irresistible storm, grief would +still come upon me with almost its old power. This was on awaking in +the early morning. I learnt then that if there is trouble at the +founts of life, there is nothing which stirs that trouble like the +twitter of the birds at dawn. At Florence, I would, after spending +the day in wandering with you through picture galleries or about +those lovely spots near Fiesole, go to bed at night tolerably calm; +I would sink into a sleep, haunted no longer by those dreams of the +tragedy in which my part had been so cruel, and yet the very act of +waking in the morning would bring upon me a whirlwind of anguish; and +then would come the struggling light at the window, and the twitter +of the birds that seemed to say, "Poor child, poor child!" and I +would bury my face in my pillow and moan.' + +When I looked in her face, I realised for the first time that not +even such a passion of pity as that which had aged me is so cruel in +its ravages as Remorse. To gaze at her was so painful that I turned +my eyes away. + +When I could speak I said, + +'I have forgiven you from the bottom of my heart, mother, but, if +that does not give you comfort, is there anything that will?' + +'Nothing, Henry, nothing but what is impossible for me ever to +get--the forgiveness of the wronged child herself. _That_ I can never +get in this world. I dare only hope that by prayers and tears I may +get it in the end. Oh, Henry, if I were in heaven I could never rest +until I had sought her out, and found her and thrown myself on her +neck and said, "Forgive your persecutor, my dear, or this is no place +for me."' + + +II + +As soon as I reached London, thinking that Wilderspin was still on +the Continent, I went first to D'Arcy's studio, but was there told +that D'Arcy was away--that he had been in the country for a long +time, busy painting, and would not return for some months. I then +went to Wilderspin's studio, and found, to my surprise and relief, +that he and Cyril had returned from Paris. I learnt from the servant +that Wilderspin had just gone to call on Cyril; accordingly to +Cyril's studio I went. + +'He is engaged with the Gypsy-model, sir,' said Cyril's man, pointing +to the studio door, which was ajar. 'He told me that if ever you +should call you were to be admitted at once. Mr. Wilderspin is there +too.' + +'You need not announce me,' I said, as I pushed open the door. + +Entering the studio, I found myself behind a tall easel where Cyril +was at work. I was concealed from him, and also from Wilderspin and +Sinfi. On my left stood Cyril's caricature of Wilderspin's 'Faith and +Love,' upon which the light from a window was falling aslant! + +Before I could pass round the easel into the open space I was +arrested by overhearing a conversation between Cyril, Sinfi, and +Wilderspin. + +They were talking about _her_! + +With my eyes fixed on Cyril's caricature on my left hand; I stood, +every nerve in my body seeming to listen to the talk, while the veil +of the goddess-queen in the caricature appeared to become +illuminated; the tragedy of our love (from the spectacle of her +father's dead body shining in the moonlight, with a cross on his +breast, down to the hideous-grotesque scene of the woman at the +corner of Essex Street) appeared to be represented on the veil of the +mocking queen in little pictures of scorching flame. These are the +words I heard: + +'Keep your head in that position, Lady Sinfi,' said Cyril, 'and pray +do not get so excited.' + +'I thought I felt the Swimmin' Rei in the room,' said Sinfi. + +'What do you mean?' + +'I thought I felt the stir of him in my burk [bosom]. Howsomever, it +must ha' bin all a fancy o' mine. But you see, Mr. Cyril, she wur +once a friend o' mine. I want to know what skeared her? If it _was_ +her as set for the pictur, she'd never 'a' had the fit if she hadn't, +'a' bin skeared. I s'pose Mr. Wilderspin didn't go an' say the word +"feyther" to her? I s'pose he didn't go an' ax her who her feyther +was?' + +I heard Wilderspin's voice say. 'No, indeed. _I_ would never have +asked who her father was. Ah, Mr. Cyril, I knew how mysteriously she +had come to me; why should I ask who was her father? Her earthly +parentage was not an illusion. But you will remember that I was not +in the studio at the time of the fit. Mr. Ebury had called about a +commission, and I had gone into the next room to speak to him. You +came into the studio at the time, Mr. Cyril. When I returned, I found +her in the fit, and you standing over her.' + +'No, don't get up, Sinfi, my girl,' I heard Cyril say. 'Sit down +quietly, and I will tell you what, passed. There is no doubt I did +ask her about her father, poor thing; but I did it with the best +intentions--did it for her good, as I thought--did it to learn +whether she had been kidnapped, and certainly not from idle +curiosity.' + +'Scepticism, the curse of the age,' said Wilderspin. + +I heard Cyril say, 'Who could have thought it would turn out so? But +you yourself had told me, Wilderspin, of Mother Gudgeon's injunction +not to ask the girl who her father was, and of course it had upon me +the opposite effect the funny hag had intended it to have upon you. +It was hard to believe that such a flower could have sprung from such +a root. I thought it very likely that the woman had told you this to +prevent your getting at the truth about their connection; so I +decided to question the model myself, but determined to wait till you +had had a good number of sittings, lest there should come a quarrel +with the woman.' + +'Well, an' so you asked her?' said Sinfi. + +'I thought the moment had come for me to try to read the puzzle,' +said Cyril. 'So, on that day when Ebury called, when you, Wilderspin, +had left us together, I walked up to her and said, "Is your father +alive?"' + +'Ah!' cried Sinfi, 'it was as I thought. It was the word "feyther" as +killed her! An' what'll become o' _him_?' + +'The word "father" seemed to shoot into her like a bullet,' said +Cyril. 'She shrieked "Father," and her face looked--' + +'No, don't, tell me how she looked!' said Sinfi. 'Mr. Wilderspin's +pictur' o' the witch and the lady shows how she looked--whoever she +was. But if it was Winnie Wynne. what'll become o' _him_?' + +Then I heard. Cyril address Wilderspin again. 'We had great +difficulty, you remember, Wilderspin, in bringing her round, and +afterwards I took her out of the house, put her into a cab, and you +directed your servant whither to take her.' + +'It was scepticism that ruined all.' I heard Wilderspin say. + +'And yet,' said Sinfi, 'the Golden Hand on Snowdon told as he'd marry +Winifred Wynne. Ah! surely the Swimmin' Rei is in the room! I thought +I heard that choke come in his throat as comes when he frets about +Winnie. Howsomever, I s'pose it must ha' bin all a fancy o' mine.' + +'You make _me_ laugh, Sinfi, about this golden hand of yours that is +stronger than the hand of Death,' said Cyril; 'and yet I wish from my +heart I could believe it.' + +'My poor mammy used to say, "The Gorgios believes when they ought to +disbelieve, and they disbelieve when they ought to believe, and that +gives the Romanies a chance."' + +'Sinfi Lovell,' said Wilderspin, 'that saying of your mother's +touches at the very root of romantic art.' + +'Well, if Gorgios don't believe enough, Sinfi,--if there is not +enough superstition among certain Gorgio acquaintances of mine, it's +a pity,' said Cyril. + +'I don't know what you are a-talkin' about with your romantic art an' +sich like, but I _do_ know that nothink can't go ag'in the +dukkeripen o' the clouds; but if I was on Snowdon with my crwth I +could soon tell for sartin whether she's alive or dead,' said Sinfi. + +'And how?' said Cyril. + +'How? By playin' on the hills the old Welsh dukkerin' tune [Footnote +1] as she was so fond on. If she was dead, she wouldn't hear it, but +if she was alive she would, and her livin' mullo [Footnote 2] 'ud +come to it,' said Sinfi. + +[Footnote 1: Incantation song.] + +[Footnote 2: Wraith or fetch.] + +'Do you believe that possible?' said Cyril, turning to Wilderspin. + +'My friend,' said Wilderspin, 'I was at that moment repeating to +myself certain wise and pregnant words quoted from an Oriental book +by the great Philip Aylwin--words which tell us that he is too bold +who dares say what he will believe, what disbelieve, not knowing in +any wise the mind of God--not knowing in any wise his own heart and +what it shall one day suffer.' + +'But,' said Sinfi, 'about her as sat to Mr. Wilderspin; did she never +talk at all, Mr. Cyril?' + +'Never; but I saw her only three times,' said Cyril. + +'Mr. Wilderspin,' said Sinfi, 'did she never talk?' + +'Only once, and that was when the woman addressed her as Winifred. +That name set me thinking about the famous Welsh saint and those +wonderful miracles of hers, and I muttered "St. Winifred." The face +of the model immediately grew bright with a new light, and she spoke +the only words I ever heard her speak.' + +'You never told me of this,' said Cyril. + +'She stooped,' said Wilderspin, 'and went through a strange kind of +movement, as though she were dipping water from a well, and said, +"Please, good St. Winifred, bless the holy water and make it +cure--"' + +'Ah, for God's sake stop!' cried Sinfi. 'Look! the Swimmin' Rei! He's +in the room! There he stan's, and he's a-hearin' every word, an' +it'll kill him outright!' + +I stared at Cyril's picture of Leaena for which Sinfi was sitting. I +heard her say, + +'There ain't nothink so cruel as seein' him take on like that; I've +seed it afore, many's the time, in old Wales. You'll find her yit. +The dukkeripen says you'll marry her yit, and you will. She can't be +dead when the sun and the golden clouds say you'll marry her at last. +Her as is dead _must_ ha' been somebody else.' + +'Sinfi, you know there is no hope.' + +'It might not ha' bin your Winnie, arter all,' said she. 'It might +ha' bin some poor innocent as her feyther used to beat. It's +wonderful how cruel Gorgio feythers is to poor born naterals. And she +might ha' heerd in London about St. Winifred's Well a-curin' people.' + +'Sinfi,' I said, 'you know there is no hope. And I have no friend but +you now--I am going back to the Romanies.' + +'No, no, brother,' she said, 'never no more.' + +She put on her shawl. I rose mechanically. When she bade Cyril and +Wilderspin good-bye and passed out of the studio, I did so too. In +the street she stood and looked wistfully at me, as though she saw me +through a mist, and then bade me good-bye, saying that she must go to +Kingston Vale where her people were encamped in a hired field. We +separated, and I wandered I knew not whither. + + +III + +I found myself inquiring for the New North Cemetery, and after a time +I stood looking through the bars of tall iron gates at long lines of +gravestones and dreary hillocks before me. Then I went in, walking +straight over the grass towards a gravedigger digging in the +sunshine. He looked at me, resting his foot on his spade. + +'I want to find a grave.' + +'What part was the party buried in?' + +'The pauper part,' I said. + +'Oh,' said he, losing suddenly his respectful tone. 'When was she +buried? I suppose it was a she by the look o' you.' + +'When? I don't know the date.' + +'Rather a wide order that, but there's the pauper part.' And he +pointed to a spot at some little distance, where there were no +gravestones and no shrubs. I walked across to this Desert of Poverty, +which seemed too cheerless for a place of rest. I stood and gazed at +the mounds till the black coffins underneath grew upon my mental +vision, and seemed to press upon my brain. Thoughts I had none, only +a sense of being another person. + +The man came slowly towards me, and then looked meditatively into my +face. I shall never forget him. A tall, sallow, emaciated man he was, +with cheek-bones high and sharp as an American Indian's, and +straight black hair. He looked like a wooden image of Mephistopheles, +carved with a jack-knife. + +'Who are you?' The words seemed to come, not from the gravedigger's +mouth, but from those piles of lamp-blacked coffins which were +searing my eyes through four feet of graveyard earth. By the +fever-fires in my brain I seemed to see the very faces of the +corpses. + +'Who am I?' I said to myself, as I thought, but evidently aloud; +'I am the Fool of Superstition. I am Fenella Stanley's Fool, and +Sinfi Lovell's Fool, and Philip Aylwin's Fool, who went and averted +a curse from one of the heads resting down here, averted a curse by +burying a jewel in a dead man's tomb.' + +'Not in this cemetery, so none o' your gammon,' said the +gravedigger, who had overheard me. 'The on'y people as is fools +enough to bury jewels with dead bodies is the Gypsies, and _they_ +take precious good care, as I know, to keep it mum _where_ they bury +'em. There's bin as much diggin' for them thousand guineas as was +buried with Jerry Chilcott in Foxleigh Parish, where I was born, as +would more nor pay for emptying a gold mine; but I never heard o' +Christian folk a-buryin' jewels. But who are you?' + +I felt a hand upon my shoulder, and looking round, I found Sinfi by +my side. + +'Does he belong to you, my gal?' + +'Yis,' said Sinfi, with a strange, deep ring in her rich contralto +voice. 'Yis, he belongs to me now--leastways he's my pal +now--whatever comes on it.' + +'Then take him away, my wench. What's the matter with him? The old +complaint, I s'pose,' he added, lifting his hand to his mouth as +though drinking from a glass. + +Sinfi gently put out her hand and brushed the man aside. + +'I've bin a-followin' on you all the way, brother,' said Sinfi, as +we moved out of the cemetery, 'for your looks skeared me a bit. Let's +go away from this place.' + +'But whither, Sinfi? I have no friend but you; I have no home.' + +'No home, brother? The kairengros [Footnote] has got about +everythink, 'cept the sky an' the wind, an' you're one o' the richest +kairengros on 'em all--leastways so I wur told t'other day in +Kingston Vale. It's the Romanies, brother, as 'ain't got no home +'cept the sky an' the wind. Howsumever, that's nuther here nor there; +we'll jist go to the woman they told me on, an' if there's any truth +to be torn out of her, out it'll ha' to come, if I ha' to tear out +her windpipe with it.' + +[Footnote: The house-dwellers.] + +We took a cab and were soon in Primrose Court. + +The front door was wide open--fastened back. Entering the narrow +common passage, we rapped at a dingy inner door. It was opened by a +pretty girl, whose thick chestnut hair and eyes to match contrasted +richly with the dress she wore--a dirty black dress, with great +patches of lining bursting through holes like a whity-brown froth. + +'Meg Gudgeon?' said the girl in answer to our inquiries; and at first +she looked at us rather suspiciously, 'upstairs, she's very bad--like +to die--I'm a-seein' arter 'er. Better let 'er alone; she bites when +she's in 'er tantrums.' + +'We's friends o' hern,' said Sinfi, whose appearance and decisive +voice seemed to reassure the girl. + +'Oh, if you're friends that's different,' said she. 'Meg's gone off +'er 'ead; thinks the p'leace in plain clothes are after 'er.' + +We went up the stairs. The girl followed us. When we reached a low +door, Sinfi proposed that she should remain outside on the landing, +but within ear-shot, as 'the sight o' both on us, all of a suddent, +might make the poor body all of a dither if she was very ill.' + +The girl then opened the door and went in. I heard the woman's voice +say in answer to her, + +'Friend? Who is it? Are you sure, Poll, it ain't a copper in plain +clothes come about that gal?' + +The girl came out, and signalling me to enter, went leisurely +downstairs. Leaving Sinfi outside on the landing, I entered the room. +There, on a sort of truckle-bed in one corner, I saw the woman. She +slowly raised herself up on her elbows to stare at me. I took for +granted that she would recognise me at once; but either because she +was in drink when I saw her last, or because she had got the idea of +a policeman in plain clothes, she did not seem to know me. Then a +look of dire alarm broke over her face and she said, + +'P'leaceman, I'm as hinicent about that air gal as a new-born babe.' + +'Mrs. Gudgeon,' I said, 'I only want you to tell a friend of mine +about your daughter.' + +'Oh yis! a friend o' yourn! Another or two on ye in plain clothes +behind the door, I dessay. An' pray who said the gal wur my darter? +What for do you want to put words into the mouth of a hinicent dyin' +woman? I comed by 'er 'onest enough. The pore half-starved thing came +up to me in Llanbeblig churchyard.' + +'Llanbeblig churchyard?' I exclaimed, drawing close up to the bed. +'How came you in Llanbeblig churchyard?' But then I remembered that, +according to her own story, she had married a Welshman. + +'How did I come in Llanbeblig churchyard?' said the woman in a tone +in which irony and fear were strangely mingled. 'Well, p'leaceman, I +don't mean to be sarcy: but seein' as all my pore dear 'usband's kith +and kin o' the name o' Goodjohn was buried in Llanbeblig churchyard, +p'raps you'll be kind enough to let me go there sometimes, an' p'raps +be buried there when my time comes.' + +'But what took you there?' I said. + +'What took me to Llanbeblig churchyard?' exclaimed the woman, whose +natural dogged courage seemed to be returning to her. 'What made me +leave every fardin' I had in the world with Poll Onion, when we +ommust wanted bread, an' go to Carnarvon on Shanks's pony? I sha'n't +tell ye. I comed by the gal 'onest enough, an' she never comed to no +'arm through me, less mendin' 'er does for 'er, and bringin' 'er to +London, and bein' a mother to 'er, an' givin' 'er a few baskets an' +matches to sell is a-doin' 'er any 'arm. An' as to beggin' she +_would_ beg, she loved to beg an' say texes.' + +'Old kidnapper!' I cried, maddened by the visions that came upon me. +'How do I know that she came to no harm with a wretch like you?' + +The woman shrank back upon the pillows in a revival of her terror. +'She never comed to no 'arm, p'leaceman. No, no, she never comed to +no 'arm through me. I'd a darter once o' my own, Jenny Gudgeon by +name--p'raps you know'd 'er, most o' the coppers did--as was brought +up by my sister by marriage at Carnarvon, an' I sent for 'er to +London, I did, pl'eaceman--God forgi'e me--an' she went wrong all +through me bein' a drinkin' woman an' not seein' arter 'er, just as +my son Bob tookt to drink, through me bein' a drinkin' woman an' not +seein' arter _him_. She tookt and went from bad to wuss, bad to +wuss; it's my belief as it's allus starvation as drives 'em to it; +an' when she wur a-dyin' gal, she sez to me, "Mother," sez she, +"I've got the smell o' Welsh vi'lets on me ag'in: I wants to be +buried in Llanbeblig churchyard, among the Welsh child'n an' maids, +mother. I wants to feel the snowdrops, an' smell the vi'lets, an' +the primroses, a-growin' over my 'ead," sez she; "but that can't +never be, mother," sez she, a-sobbin' fit to bust; "never, never, +for such as me," sez she. An' I know'd what she meant, though she +never once blamed me, an' 'er words stuck in my gizzard like a thorn, +p'leaceman.' + +'But what has all this to do with the girl you kidnapped?' + +'Ain't I a-tellin' on ye as fast as I can? When my pore gal dropped +off to sleep, I sez to Polly Onion, "Poll," I sez, "to-morrow mornin' +I'll pop every-think as ain't popped a'ready, an' I'll leave you the +money to see arter 'er, an' I'll start for Carnarvon on Shanks's +pony. I knows a good many on the road," sez I, "as won't let Jokin' +Meg want for a crust and a sup, an' when I gits to Carnarvon I'll ax +'er aunt to bury 'er (she sells fish, 'er aunt does,"' sez I, "and +she's got a pot o' money), an' then I'll see the parson or the sexton +or somebody," sez I, "an' I'll tell 'em I've got a darter in London +as is goin' to die, a Carnarvon gal by family, an' I'll tell 'im she +ain't never bin married, an' then they'll bury 'er where she can +smell the primroses and the vi'lets." That's what I sez to Poll +Onion, an' then Poll she begins to pipe, an' sez, "Oh Meg, Meg, ain't +I a Carnarvon gal too? The likes o' us ain't a-goin' to grow no +vi'lets an' snowdrops in Llanbeblig churchyard." An' I sez to her, +"What a d--d fool you are, Poll! You never 'adn't a gal as went wrong +through you a-drinkin', else you'd never say that. If the parson sez +to me, 'Is your darter a vargin-maid?' d'ye think I shall say, 'Oh +no, parson'? I'll swear she is a vargin-maid on all the Bibles in all +the churches in Wales." That's jis' what I sez to Polly Onion, God +forgi'e me. An' Poll sez, "The parson'll be sure to send you to hell, +Meg, if you do that air." An' I sez, "So he may, then, but I _shall_ +do it, no fear." That's what I sez to Poll Onion (she's downstairs at +this werry moment a-warmin' me a drop o' beer); it was 'er as showed +you upstairs, cuss 'er for a fool; an' she can tell you the same +thing as I'm a-tellin' on you.' + +'But what about her you kidnapped? Tell me all about it, or it will +be worse for you.' + +'Ain't I a-tellin' you as fast as I can? Off to Carnarvon I goes, an' +every futt o' the way I walks--Lor' bless your soul, there worn't a +better pair o' pins nowheres than Meg Gudgeon's then, afore the water +got in 'em an' bust 'em; an' I got to Llanbeblig churchyard early one +mornin', and there I seed the pore half-sharp gal. So you see I comed +by 'er 'onest enough, p'leaceman, though she worn't ezzackly my own +darter.' + +'Well, well,' I said; 'go on.' + +'Yes, it's all very well to say "go on," p'leaceman; but if you'd got +as much water in your legs as I've got in mine, an' if you'd got no +more wind in your bellows than I've got in mine, you'd find it none +so easy to go on.' + +'What was she doing in the churchyard?' + +'Well, p'leaceman, I'm tellin' you the truth, s'elp me Bob! I was +a-lookin' over the graves to see if I could find a nice comfortable +place for my pore gal, an' all at once I heered a kind o' sobbin' as +would a' made me die o' fright if it 'adn't a' bin broad daylight, +an' then I see a gal a-layin' flat on a grave an' cryin', an' when I +got up to her I seed as she wur covered with mud, an' I seed as she +wur a-starvin'.' + +'Good God, woman, you are lying! you are lying!' + +'No, I ain't a-lyin'. She tookt to me the moment she clapped eyes on +me; most people does, and them as don't ought, an' she got up an' put +her arms round my neck, and she called me "Knocker."' + +'Called you what?' + +'Ain't I a-tellin' you? She called me "Knocker"; and that's the very +name as she allus called me up to the day of 'er death, pore dear! I +tried to make 'er come along o' me, an' she wouldn't stir, an' so I +left 'er, meanin' to go back; but when I got to my sister's by +marriage, there was a letter for me an' it wur from Polly Onion, +a-sayin' as my pore Jenny died the same day as I left London, +a-sayin', "Mother, vi'lets, vi'lets; mother, vi'lets, vi'lets!" an' +was buried by the parish. An' that upset me, p'leaceman, an' made me +swownd, an' when I comed to, I couldn't hear nothink only my pore +Jenny's voice a-sobbin' on the wind, "Mother, vi'lets, vi'lets; +mother, vi'lets, vi'lets!" an' that sent me off my 'ead a bit, an' I +run out o' the 'ouse, an' there was Jenny's voice a-goin' on before +me a-sobbin', "Mother, vi'lets, vi'lets; mother, vi'lets, vi'lets!" +an' it seemed to lead me back to the churchyard; an' lo an' be'old! +there was the pore half-starved creatur' a-settin' there jist as I'd +left 'er, an' I sez, "God bless you, my gal, you're a-starvin'!" an' +she jumped up, an' she comed an' throwed 'er arms round my waist, an' +there we stood both on us a-cryin' togither, an' then I runned back +into Carnarvon, an' fetched 'er some grub, an' she tucked into the +grub.--But hullo! p'leaceman, what's up now? What the devil are you +a-squeedgin' my 'and like that for? Are you a-goin' to kiss it? It +ain't none so clean, p'leaceman. You're the rummest copper in plain +clothes ever I seed in all my born days. Fust you seem as if you want +to bite me, you looks so savage, an' then you looks as if you wants +to kiss me; you'll make me laugh, I know you will, an' that'll make +me cough.--Hi! Poll Onion, come 'ere. Bring my best lookin'-glass out +o' my bowdore, an' let me look at my ole chops, for I'm blowed if +there ain't a copper in plain clothes this time as is fell 'ead over +ears in love with me, jist as the young swell did at the studero.' + +'Go on, Mrs. Gudgeon,' I said; 'go on. She ate the food?' + +'Oh, didn't she jist! And the pore half-sharp thing took to me, an' I +took to she, an' I thinks to myself, "She's a purty gal, if she's +ever so stupid, an' she'll get 'er livin' a-sellin' flowers o' fine +days, an' a-doin' the rainy-night dodge with baskets when it's wet "; +an' so I took 'er in, an' in the street she'd all of a suddent bust +out a-singin' songs about Snowdon an' sich like, just as if she was +a-singin' in a dream, and folk used to like to 'ear 'er an' gev 'er +money; an' I was a good mother to 'er, I was, an' them as sez I +worn't is cussed liars.' + +'And she never came to any harm?' I said, holding the great muscular +hands between my two palms, unwilling to let them go. 'She never came +to any harm?' + +'Ain't I said so more nor wunst? I swore on the Bible--there's the +very Bible, under the match-box, agin the winder--on that very Bible +I swore as my port Jenny brought from Wales, an' as I've never popped +yit that this pore half-sharp gal should never go wrong through me; +an' then, arter I swore that, my pore Jenny let me alone, an' I never +'eard 'er v'ice no more a-cryin'. "Mother, vi'lets, vi'lets; mother, +vi'lets, vi'lets!" An' many's the chap as 'as come leerin' after 'er +as I've sent away with a flea in 'is ear. Cuss 'em all; they's all +bad alike about purty gals, men is. She's never comed to no wrong +through _me_. Didn't I ammost kill a real sailor capting when I used +to live in the East End 'cause he tried to meddle with 'er? An' +worn't that the reason why I left my 'um close to Radcliffe 'Ighway +an' comed 'ere? Them as killed 'er wur the cussed lot in the +studeros. I'm a dyin' woman; I'm as hinicent as a new-born babe. An' +there ain't nothink o' 'ern in this room on'y a pair o' ole shoes an' +a few rags in that ole trunk under the winder.' + +I went to the trunk and raised the lid. The tattered, stained remains +of the very dress she wore when I last saw her in the mist on +Snowdon! But what else? Pushed into an old worn shoe, which with its +fellow lay tossed among the ragged clothes, was a brown stained +letter. I took it out. It was addressed to 'Miss Winifred Wynne at +Mrs. Davies's.' Part of the envelope was torn away. It bore the +Graylingham post-mark, and its superscription was in a hand which I +did not recognise, and yet it was a hand which seemed half-familiar +to me. I opened it; I read a line or two before I fully realised what +it was--the letter, full of childish prattle, which I had written to +Winifred when I was a little boy--the first letter I wrote to her. + + +I forgot where I was, I forgot that Sinfi was standing outside the +door, till I heard the woman's voice exclaiming, 'What do you want to +set on my bed an' look at me like that for?--you ain't no p'leaceman +in plain clothes, so none o' your larks. Git off o' my bed, will ye? +You'll be a-settin' on my bad leg an' a-bustin' on it in a minit. Git +off my bed, else look another way; them eyes o' yourn skear me.' + +I was sitting on the side of her bed and looking into her face. +'Where did you get this?' I said, holding out the letter. + +'You skears me, a-lookin' like that,' said she. 'I comed by it +'onest. One day when she was asleep, I was turnin' over 'er clothes +to see how much longer they would hold together, when I feels a +somethink 'ard sewed up in the breast; I rips it open, and it was +that letter. I didn't put it back in the frock ag'in, 'cause I +thought it might be useful some day in findin' out who she was. She +never missed it. I don't think she'd 'ave missed anythink, she wur +so oncommon silly. You ain't a-goin' to pocket it, air you?' + +I had put the letter in my pocket, and had seized the shoes and was +going out of the room; but I stopped, took a sovereign from my purse, +placed it in an envelope bearing my own address which I chanced to +find in my pocket, and, putting it into her hand, I said, 'Here is my +address and here is a sovereign. I will tell your friend below to +come for me or send whenever you need assistance.' The woman clutched +at the money with greed, and I left the room, signalling to Sinfi +(who stood on the landing, pale and deeply moved) to follow me +downstairs. When we reached the wretched room on the ground-floor we +found the girl hanging some wet rags on lines that were stretched +from wall to wall. + +'What is your name?' I said. + +'Polly Unwin,' replied she, turning round with a piece of damp linen +in her hand. + +'And what are you?' + +'What am I?' + +'I mean what do you do for a living?' + +'What do I do for a living?' she said. 'All kinds of things--help the +men at the barrows in the New Cut sell flowers, do anything that +comes in my way.' + +'Never mind what she does for a livin', brother,' said Sinfi; 'give +her a gold balanser or two, and tell her to see arter the woman.' + +'Here is some money,' I said to the girl. 'See that Mrs. Gudgeon +upstairs wants for nothing. Is that story of hers true about her +daughter and Llanbeblig churchyard?' + +'That's true enough, though she's a wunner at a lie: that's true +enough.' + +But as I spoke I heard a noise like the laugh or the shriek of a +maniac. It seemed to come from upstairs. + +'She's a-larfin' ag'in,' said the girl. 'It's a very wicked larf, +sir, ain't it? But there's wuss uns nor Meg Gudgeon for all 'er +wicked larf, as I knows. Many a time she's kep' me from starvin'. I +mus' run up an' see 'er. She'll kill herself a-larfin' yit.' + +The girl hurried upstairs and I followed her, leaving Sinfi below. I +re-entered the bedroom. There was the woman, her face buried in the +pillow, rocking and rolling her body half round with the regularity +of a pendulum. Between the peals of half-smothered hysterical +laughter that came from her, I could hear her say: + +'_Dear Lord Jesus, don't forget to love dear Henry who can't git up +the gangways without me_.' + +The words seemed to fall upon my heart like a rain of molten metal +dropping from the merciless and mocking skies. But I had ceased to +wonder at the cruelty of Fate. The girl went to her and shook her +angrily. This seemed to allay her hysterics, for she rolled round +upon her back and stared at us. Then she looked at the envelope +clutched in her hand, and read out the address, + +'Henry, Henry, Henry Halywin, Eskeuer! An' I tookt 'im for a copper +in plain clothes all the while! Henry, Henry, Henry Halywin, Eskeuer! +I shall die a-larfin', I know I shall! I shall die a-larfin', I know +I shall! Poll! don't you mind me a-tellin' you about my pore darter +Winifred--for my darter she _was_, as I'll swear afore all the beaks +in London--don't you mind me a-sayin' that if she wouldn't talk when +she wur awake, she could mag away fast enough when she wur asleep; +an' it were allus the same mag about dear little Henry, an' dear +Henry Halywin as couldn't git up the gangways without 'er. Well, pore +dear Henry was 'er sweet'airt, an' this is the chap, an' if my eyes +ain't stun blind, the werry chap out o' the cussed studeros as killed +'er, pore dear, an' as is a-skearin' me away from my beautiful 'um in +Primrose Court; an' 'ere wur I a-talkin' to 'im all of a muck sweat, +thinkin' he wur a copper in plain clothes!' + +At this moment Sinfi entered the room. She came up to me, and laying +her hand upon my shoulder she said: 'Come away, brother, this is +cruel hard for you to bear. It's our poor sister Winifred as is dead, +and it ain't nobody else.' + +The effect of Sinfi's appearance and of her words upon the woman was +like that of an electric shock. She sat up in her bed open-mouthed, +staring from Sinfi to me, and from me to Sinfi. + +'So my darter Winifred's your _sister_ now, is she?' (turning to me). +'A few minutes ago she was your sweet'airt: an' now she seems to ha' +bin your sister. An' she was _your_ sister, too, was she?' (turning +to Sinfi). 'Well, all I know is, that she was my darter, Winifred +Gudgeon, as is dead, an' buried in the New North Cemetery, pore dear; +an' yet she was sister to both on ye!' + +She then buried her face again in the pillows and resumed the rocking +movement, shrieking between her peals of laughter: 'Well, if I'm the +mother of a six-fut Gypsy gal an' a black-eyed chap as seems jest +atween a Gypsy and a Christian, I never knowed _that_ afore. No, I +never knowed _that_ afore! I allus said I should die a-larfin', an' +so I shall; I'm a-dyin' now--ha! ha! ha!' + +She fell back upon the pillow, exhausted by her own cruel merriment. + +'She always said she'd die a-larfin', an' she will, too--more nor I +shall ever do,' said the girl, after we had gone downstairs. + +'Did you notice what she said about Winnie a-callin' her Knocker?' +said Sinfi. + +'Yes, and couldn't understand it.' + +'_I_ know what it meant. Winnie knowed all about the Knockers of +Snowdon, the dwarfs o' the copper mine, and this woman, bein' so +thick and short, must look ezackly like a Knocker, I should say, if +you could see one.' + +I said to the girl, 'Was she really kind to--to--' + +'To her you were asking about,--the Essex Street Beauty? I should +think she just was. She's a drinker, is poor Meg, and drinking in +Primrose Court means starvation. Meg and the Beauty were often short +enough of grub, but, drunk or sober, Meg would never touch a mouthful +till the Beauty had had her fill. I noticed it many a time--not a +mouthful. When Meg was obliged to send her into the streets to sell +things she was always afraid that the Beauty might come to harm +through the toffs and the chaps. The toffs were the worst looking +after her--as they mostly are--so I was always watching her in the +day-time, and at night Meg was always watching her, and that was what +made me know your face, as soon as ever I clapt eyes on it.' + +'Why, what do you mean?' + +'Well, one rainy night when I was standing by the theatre door, I +heard a toff ask a policeman about the Essex Street Beauty, and I +thought I knew what that meant very well. So I ran off to find Meg. I +had seen her watching the Beauty all the time. But lo and behold! Meg +was gone and the Beauty too. So I run across here, and found Meg and +the Beauty getting their supper as quiet as possible. Meg had heard +the toff talking to the policeman--though I didn't know she was +standing so near--and whisked her off and away as quick as +lightning.' + +'That was I,' I said. 'God! God! If I had only known!' + +'There's the same look now on your face as there was then, and I +should know it among ten thousand.' + +'Polly Onion,' I said, 'there is my address, and if ever you want a +friend, and if you are in trouble, you will know where to find +assistance,' and I gave her another sovereign. + +'You're a good sort,' said she, 'and no mistake.' + +'Good-bye,' I said, shaking her hand. 'See well after Mrs. Gudgeon.' + +'All right,' said she, and a smile broke over her face. 'I think I +ought to tell you now,' she continued, 'that Meg's no more ill of +dropsy than I am; she could walk twenty miles off the reel; there +ain't a bullock in England half as strong as Meg; she's shamming.' + +'Shamming, but why?' + +'Well, she ain't drunk; ever since the Beauty died she's never +touched a drop o' gin. But she's turned quite cranky. She's got it +into her head that the relations of the Beauty are going to send her +to prison for kidnapping; and she thinks that every one that comes +near her is a policeman in plain clothes. She's just lying in bed to +keep herself out of the way till she starts.' + +'Where's she going, then?' + +'She talks about going to see after her son Bob in the country; her +husband is a Welshman. He's over the water.' + +'Did you say she had given up drinking?' I asked. + +'Yes; she seemed to dote on the Beauty, and when the Beauty died she +said, "My darter went wrong through me drinkin', and my son Bob went +wrong through me drinkin'; and I feel somehow that it was through my +drinkin' that I lost the Beauty; and never will you find me touch +another drop o' gin, Poll. Beer I ain't fond on, and it 'ud take a +rare swill o' beer to get up as far as Meg Gudgeon's head."' + +'There ain't much fault to be found with a woman like Meg Gudgeon,' +said Sinfi. 'Was the Beauty fond o' her? She ought to ha' bin.' + +'She used to call her Knocker,' said the girl. 'She seemed very fond +of her when they were together, but seemed to forget her as soon as +they were apart.' + +Sinfi and I then left the house. + +In Great Queen Street she took my hand as if to bid me good-bye. But +she stood and gazed at me wistfully, and I gazed at her. At last she +said, + +'An' now, brother, we'll jist go across to Kingston Vale, an' see my +daddy, an' set your livin'-waggin to rights.' + +'Then, Sinfi,' I said, 'you and I are once more--' + +I stopped and looked at her. The fearless young Amazon and seeress, +who kept a large family of the Kaulo Camloes in awe, was supposed to +have nearly conquered the feminine weakness of tears; but she had +not. There was a chink in the Amazon's armour, and I had found it. + +'Yis,' said she, nodding her head and smiling. 'You an' me's right +pals ag'in.' + +As we were going I told her how I had replaced the jewel in the tomb. + +'I know'd you would do it. Yis, I heer'd you telling the gravedigger +the same thing.' + +'And yet,' said I bitterly, 'in spite of that and in spite of the +Golden Hand, she is dead.' + +Sinfi stood silently looking at me now. Even her prodigious faith +seemed conquered. + + +IV + +For a few days I paced with Sinfi over Wimbledon Common and Richmond +Park, The weather was now unusually brilliant for the time of year. +Sinfi would walk silently by my side. + +But I could not rest with the Gypsies. I must be alone. Soon I left +the camp and returned to London, where I took a suite of rooms in a +house not far from Eaton Square--though to me London was a huge +meaningless maze of houses clustered around Primrose Court--that +horrid, fascinating, intolerable core of pain. Into my lungs poured +the hateful atmosphere of the city where Winifred had perished; +poured hot and stifling as sand-blasts of the desert. Impossible to +stay there!--for the pavement seemed actually to scorch my feet, like +the floor of a fiery furnace. To me the sun above was but the hideous +eye of Circumstance which had stared down pitilessly on that bare +head of hers, and blistered those feet. + +The lamps at night seemed twinkling, blinking in a callous +consciousness of my tragedy--my monstrous tragedy of real life, the +like of which no poet dare imagine. But what aroused my wrath to an +unbearable pitch--what determined me to leave London at once--was the +sight of the unsympathetic faces in the streets. Though sympathy +could have given me no comfort, the myriad unsympathetic eyes of +London infuriated me. + +'Died in beggar's rags--died in a hovel!' I muttered with rage as the +equipages and coarse splendours of the West End rolled insolently by. +'Died in a hovel!--and this London, this vast, ridiculous, swarming +human ant-hill, whose millions of paltry humdrum lives were not worth +one breath from those lips--this London spurned her, left her to +perish alone in her squalor and misery.' + + +Cyril and Wilderspin had returned to the Continent. D'Arcy was still +away. + + +I made application to the Home Secretary to have the pauper grave +opened. On the ground that I was 'not a relative of the deceased,' +the officials refused to institute even preliminary inquiries. + +During this time no news of Mrs. Gudgeon had come to me through Polly +Onion, and I determined to go to Primrose Court and see what had +become of her. + +When I reached Primrose Court I found that the shutters of the house +were up. Knocking and getting no response, I ascertained from a +pot-boy who was passing the corner of the court that Mrs. Gudgeon had +decamped. Neither the pot-boy nor any one in the court could tell me +whither she was gone. + +'But where is Polly Onion?' I asked anxiously; for I was beginning to +blame myself bitterly for having neglected them. + +'I can tell you where poor Polly is,' said the pot-boy. 'She's in the +New North Cemetery. She fell downstairs and broke her neck.' + +'Why, she lived downstairs,' I said. + +'That's true; you seem to be well up in the family, sir. But Poll +couldn't pay her rent, so old Meg took her in. And on the very +morning when Meg and Poll were a-startin' off together into the +country--it was quite early and dark--Poll stumbles over three young +flower-gals as 'ad crep' in the front door in the night time and was +makin' the stairs their bed. Gals as hadn't made enough to pay for +their night's lodgin' often used to sleep on Meg's stairs. Poll was +picked up as nigh dead as a toucher, and she died at the 'ospital.' + + +Toiling in the revolving cage of Circumstance, I strove in vain +against that most appalling form of envy--the envy of one's fellow +creatures that they should live and breathe while there is no breath +of life for the _one_. + + +My uncle Cecil's death had made me a rich man; but what was wealth to +me if it could not buy me respite from the vision haunting me day and +night--the vision of the attic, the mattress, and the woman? + +And as I thought of the powerlessness of wealth to give me one crumb +of comfort, and remembered Winnie's sermon about wealth, I would look +at myself in the mirror above my mantelpiece and smile bitterly at +the sight of the hollow cheeks, furrowed brow, and melancholy eyes, +and recall her words about her hovering near me after she was dead. + +The thought of my wealth and the squalor in which she had died was, I +think, the most maddening thought of all. I had now become the +possessor of Wilderspin's picture 'Faith and Love,' having bought it +of the Bond Street dealer to whom it belonged; and also of the +'Christabel' picture, and these I was constantly looking at as they +hung up on the walls of my room. After a while, however, I destroyed +the 'Christabel' picture, it was too painful. Though I would not see +such friends as I had, I read their letters; indeed, it was these +same letters which alone could draw from me a grim smile now and +then. + +Almost every letter ended by urging me, in order to flee from my +sorrows, to travel! With the typical John Bull travelling seems to be +always the panacea. In sorrow, John's herald of peace is Baedeker: +the dispenser of John's true nepenthe is Mr. Murray. Pity and love +for Winifred pursued me, tortured me nigh unto death, and therefore +did these friends of mine seem to suppose that I wanted to flee from +my pity and sorrow! Why, to flee from my sorrow, to get free of my +pity, to flee from the agonies that went nigh to tearing soul from +body, would have been to flee from all that I had left of +life--memory. + +Did I want to flee from Winnie? Why, memory was Winnie now; and did +I want to flee from _her_? And yet it was memory that was goading me +on to the verge of madness. No doubt the reader thinks me a weak +creature for allowing the passion of pity to sap my manhood in this +fashion. But it was not so much her death as the manner of her death +that withered my heart and darkened my soul. The calamities which +fell upon her, grievous beyond measure, unparalleled, not to be +thought of save with a pallor of cheek and a shudder of the flesh, +were ever before me, mocking me--maddening me. + +'Died in a hovel!' As I gave voice to this impeachment of Heaven, +night after night, wandering up and down the streets, my brain was +being scorched and withered by those same thoughts of anger against +destiny and most awful revolt which had appalled me when first I saw +how the curse of Heaven or the whim of Circumstance had been +fulfilled. + +Then came that passionate yearning for death, which grief such as +mine must needs bring. But if what Materialism teaches were true, +suicide would rob me even of my memory of her. If, on the other hand, +what I had been taught by the supernaturalism of my ancestors were +true, to commit suicide might be but to play finally into the hands +of that same unknown pitiless power with whom my love had all along +been striving. + +'Suicide might sever my soul from hers for ever.' I said, and then +the tragedy would seem too monstrously unjust to be true, and I said: +'It cannot be--such things cannot be: it is a hideous dream. She is +not dead! She is in Wales with friends at Carnarvon, and I shall +awake and laugh at all this imaginary woe!' + +And what were now my feelings towards the memory of my father? Can +a man cherish in his heart at one and the same moment scorn of +another man for believing in the efficacy of a curse, and bitter +anger against him for having left a curse behind him? He can! On my +return to London after my illness I had sent back to Wilderspin the +copy of _The Veiled Queen_ he had lent me. But from the library of +Raxton Hall I brought my father's own copy, elaborately bound in the +tooled black calf my father affected. The very sight of that black +binding now irritated me; never did I pass it without experiencing a +sensation that seemed a blending of scorn and fear: scorn of the +ancestral superstitions the book gave voice to: fear of them. + +One day I took the book from the shelves and then hurled it across +the room. Stumbling over it some days after this, a spasm of +ungovernable rage came upon me, for terribly was my blood struggling +with Fenella Stanley and Philip Aylwin, and thousands of ancestors, +Romany and Gorgio, who for ages upon ages had been shaping my +destiny. I began to tear out the leaves and throw them on the fire. +But suddenly I perceived the leaves to be covered with marginalia in +my father's manuscript, and with references to Fenella Stanley's +letters--letters which my father seemed to have studied as deeply as +though they were the writings of a great philosopher instead of the +scribblings of an ignorant Gypsy. My eye had caught certain written +words which caused me to clutch at the sheets still burning on the +fire. Too late!--I grasped nothing save a little paper-ash. Then I +turned to the pages still left in my hand, and read these words of my +father's: + +'These marginalia are written for the eyes of my dear son, into whose +hands this copy of my book will come. Until he gave me his promise to +bury the amulet with me, I felt alone in the world. But even he +failed to understand what he called "my superstition." He did not +know that by perpetually feeling on my bosom the facets of the +beloved jewel which had long lain warm upon hers--the cross which had +received the last kiss from her lips--I had been able to focus all +the scattered rays of thought--I had been able to vitalise memory +till it became an actual presence. He did not know that out of my +sorrow had been born at last a strange kind of happiness--the +happiness that springs from loving a memory--living with a +memory--till it becomes a presence--an objective reality. He did not +know that, by holding her continually in my thoughts, by means of +the amulet, I achieved at last the miracle described by the Hindoo +poets--the miracle of reshaping from the undulations of "the three +regions of the universe the remembered object by the all-creative +magic of love!"' + + +Then followed some translations from the Kumara-sambhava and other +Sanscrit poems, and then the well-known passage in Lucretius about +dreams, and then a pathetic account of the visions called up within +him by the sensation caused by the lacerations of the facets of the +cherished amulet upon his bosom--visions something akin, as I +imagine, to those experienced by _convulsionnaires_. And then after +all this learning came references to poor ignorant Fenella Stanley's +letters and extracts from them. + +In one of these extracts I was startled to come upon the now familiar +word 'crwth.' + + +'De Welch fok ses as de livin mullos only follow the crwth on Snowdon +wen it is playde by a Welch Chavi, but dat is all a lie. Dey follows +the crwth when a Romany Chi plays it as I nows very wel, but de +chavi wot play on the crwth, shee must love the living mullo she want +for to come, and de living mullo must love her.' + + +And then followed my father's comments on the extract. + + +'_N.B._--To see and hear a crwth, if possible, and ascertain the true +nature of the vibrations. But there are said to be only a few crwths +in existence; and very likely there is no musician who could play +upon them.' + + +Then followed a few sentences written at a later date. + + +'The crwth is now becoming obsolete; on inquiry I learn that it is a +stringed instrument played with a bow like a violin; but as one of +the feet of the bridge passes through one of the sound-holes and +rests on the inside of the back, the vibrations must be quite unique, +if we remember how important a part is played by the back in all +instruments of the violin kind. It must be far more subtle than the +vibrations of the Welsh harp, and even more subtle (if also more +nasal) than those of the violin. + +'The reason why music has in all ages been called in to aid in +evoking the spirits, the reason why it is as potent now as ever it +was in aiding the spirits to manifest themselves, is simple enough: +the rhythmic vibrations of music set in active motion the magnetic +waves through whose means alone the two worlds, spiritual and +material, can hold communication. The quality and the value of these +vibrations depend mainly, no doubt, upon the magnetic power, +conscious or other, of the musician, but partly also upon the kind of +instrument used. The vibrations awakened by stringed instruments have +been long known to be more subtle than any others: instruments of the +violin kind are of course the most subtle of all. Doubtless this is +why among the Welsh hills the old saying used to be "The spirits +follow the crwth."' + +'Which folly is the more besotted,' I said, as I read and re-read the +marginalia--'that of the scholar with his scientific nonsense about +vibrations, or that of the ignorant Gypsy with her living mullos +drawn through the air by music and love?' + +But now my eyes fell upon a very different kind of marginal note +which ran thus:-- + + +'The one important fact of the twentieth century will be the growth +and development of that great Renascence of Wonder which set in in +Europe at the close of the eighteenth century and the beginning of +the nineteenth. + +'The warring of the two impulses governing man (and probably not man +only, but the entire world of conscious life)--the impulse of +acceptance, the impulse to take unchallenged and for granted all the +phenomena of the outer world as they are, and the impulse to confront +these phenomena with eyes of inquiry and wonder--will occupy all the +energies of the next century. + +'The old impulse of wonder which came to the human race in its +infancy has to come back--has to triumph--before the morning of the +final emancipation of man can dawn. + +'But the wonder will be exercised in very different fields from those +in which it was exercised in the past. The materialism which at this +moment seems to most thinkers inseparable from the idea of evolution +will go. Against their own intentions certain scientists are showing +that the spiritual force called life is the maker and not the +creature of organism--is a something outside the material world, a +something which uses the material world as a means of phenomenal +expression. + +'The materialist, with his primitive and confiding belief in the +testimony of the senses, is beginning to be left out in the cold, +when men like Sir W. R. Grove turn round on him and tell him that +"the principle of all certitude" is not and cannot be the testimony +of his own senses; that these senses, indeed, are no absolute tests +of phenomena at all; that probably man is surrounded by beings he can +neither see, feel, hear, nor smell; and that, notwithstanding the +excellence of his own eyes, ears, and nose, the universe the +materialist is mapping out so deftly is, and must be, monophysical, +lightless, colourless, soundless--a phantasmagoric show--a deceptive +series of undulations, which become colour, or sound, or what not, +according to the organism upon which they fall.' + + +These words were followed by a sequence of mystical sonnets about +"the Omnipotence of Love," which showed, beyond doubt, that if my +father was not a scientific thinker, he was, at least, a very +original poet. And this made me perplexed as to what could have drawn +Wilderspin, who scorned the art of poetry, into the meshes of _The +Veiled Queen_. Perhaps, however, it was because Wilderspin's ancestry +was, notwithstanding his English name, largely, if not wholly, Welsh, +as I learnt from Cyril. Welshmen, whether sensitive or not to the +rhythmic expression of the English language, are almost all, I +believe, of the poetic temperament. + +But from this moment my mind began to run upon the picture of Fenella +Stanley, surrounded by those Snowdonian spirits which her music was +supposed to have evoked from the mountain air of the morning. + + + +XIII + +THE MAGIC OF SNOWDON + + +I + +In a few days I left London and went to North Wales. + +Opposite to me in the railway carriage sat an elderly lady, into +whose face I occasionally felt myself to be staring in an unconscious +way. But I was merely communing with myself: I was saying to myself, +'My love of North Wales, and especially of Snowdon, is certainly very +strong; but it is easily accounted for--it is a matter of +temperament. Even had Wales not been associated with Winnie, I still +must have dearly loved it. Much has been said about the effect of +scenery upon the minds and temperaments of those who are native to +it. But temperament is a matter of ancestral conditions: the place of +one's birth is an accident. As some, like my cousin Percy, for +instance are born with a passion for the sea, and some with a passion +for forests, some with a passion for mountains, and some with a +passion for rolling plains. The landscape amid which I was born had, +no doubt, a charm for me, and could bring to me that nature-ecstacy +which I inherited from Fenella Stanley. But with Wales I actually +fell in love the moment I set foot in the country. This is why I am +hurrying there now.' + +And I laughed at myself, and evidently frightened the old lady very +much. She did not know that underneath the soul's direst +struggle--the struggle of personality with the tyranny of the +ancestral blood--there is an awful sense of humour--a laughter +(unconquerable, and yet intolerable) at the deepest of all +incongruities, the incongruity of Fate's game with man. I apologised +to her, and told her that I had been absorbed in reading a droll +story, in which a man believed that the Angel of Memory had +refashioned for him his dead wife out of his own sorrow and +unquenchable fountain of tears. + +'What an extraordinary idea!' said the old lady, in the conciliatory +tone she would have adopted towards a madman whom she found alone +with her in a railway carriage. 'I mean he was very eccentric, wasn't +he?' + +'Who shall say, madam? "Bold is the donkey-driver and bold the ka'dee +who dares say what he will believe, what disbelieve, not knowing in +any wise the mind of Allah, not knowing in any wise his own heart and +what it shall some day suffer."' + +At the next station the old lady left the carriage and entered +another, and I was left alone. + +My intention was to take up my residence at the cottage where +Winifred had lived with her aunt. Indeed, for a few days I did this, +taking with me one of the Welsh peasants with whom I had previously +made friends. But of course a lengthened stay in such a house was +impossible. More than ever now I needed attendance, and good +attendance, for I had passed into a strange state of irritability--I +had no command over my nerves, which were jarred by the most trifling +thing. I went to the hotel at Peri y Gwryd, but there tourists and +visitors made life more intolerable still to a man in my condition. + +At first I thought of building a house as near to the cottage as +possible; but this would take time, and I could not rest out of +Wales. I decided at last to have a wooden bungalow built. By telling +the builders that time was the first consideration with me, the cost +a secondary one, I got a bungalow built in a few weeks. By the +tradesmen of Chester I got it fitted up and furnished to my taste +with equal rapidity. Attending to this business gave real relief. + +When the bungalow was finished I removed into it the picture 'Faith +and Love.' I also got in as much painting material as I might want +and began to make sketches in the neighbourhood. + +Time went on, and there I remained. In a great degree, however, the +habit of grieving was conquered by my application to work. My +moroseness of temper gradually left me. + +Beautiful memories began to take the place of hideous ones--the +picture of the mattress and the squalor gave place to pictures of +Winifred on the sands of Raxton or on Snowdon. Yet so much of habit +is there in grief that even at this time I was subject to recurrent +waves of the old pain--waves which were sometimes as overmastering as +ever. + +I did not neglect the cottage, which was now my property, but kept it +in exactly the same state as that in which it had been put by Sinfi +after Winnie had wandered back to Wales. + +By isolating myself from all society, by surrounding myself with +mementos of Winifred, memory really did at last seem to be working a +miracle such as was worked for the widowed Ja'afar. + +Yet not entirely had memory passed into an objective presence. I +seemed to feel Winnie near me; but that was all. I felt that more +necessary than anything else in perfecting the atmosphere of memory +in which I would live was the society of her in whom alone I had +found sympathy--Sinfi Lovell. Did I also remember the wild theories +of my father and Fenella Stanley about the crwth? To obtain the +company of Sinfi had now become very difficult--her attitude towards +me had so changed. When she allowed me to rejoin the Lovells at +Kingston Vale she did so under the compulsion of my distress. But my +leaving the Gypsies of my own accord left her free from this +compulsion. She felt that she had now at last bidden me farewell +for ever. + +Still, opportunities of seeing her occasionally would, I knew, +present themselves, and I now determined to avail myself of these. +Panuel Lovell and some of the Boswells were not unfrequently in the +neighbourhood, and they were always accompanied by Sinfi and Videy. + + +II + +On a certain occasion, when I learnt that the Lovells were in the +neighbourhood, I sought them out. Sinfi at first was extremely shy, +or distant, or proud, or scared, and it was not till after one or two +interviews that she relaxed. She still was overshadowed by some +mysterious feeling towards me that seemed at one moment anger, at +another dread. However, I succeeded at last. I persuaded Panuel and +his daughters to leave their friends at 'the Place,' and spend a few +days with me at the bungalow. Great was the gaping and wide the +grinning among the tourists to see me inarching along the Capel Curig +road with three Gypsies. But to all human opinion I had become as +indifferent as Wilderspin himself. + +As we walked along the road, Sinfi slowly warmed into her old self, +but Videy, as usual, was silent, preoccupied, and meditative. When we +got within sight of the bungalow, however, the lights flashing from +the windows made the long low building look very imposing. Pharaoh, +the bantam cock which Sinfi was carrying, began to crow, but silence +again fell upon Sinfi. + +Panuel, when we entered the bungalow, said he was very tired and +would like to go to bed. I had perceived by the glossy appearance of +his skin (which was of the colour of beeswaxed mahogany) and the +benevolent dimple in his check that, although far from being +intoxicated, he was 'market-merry'; and as the two sisters also +seemed tired, I took the party at once to their bedrooms. + +'Dordi! what a gran' room,' said Sinfi, in a hushed voice, as I +opened the door of the one allotted to her. 'Don't you mind, Videy, +when you an' me fust slep' like two kairengros?' [Footnote] + +[Footnote: House-dwellers.] + +'No, I don't,' said Videy sharply. + +'It was at Llangollen Fair,' continued Sinfi, her frank face beaming +like a great child's; 'two little chavies we was then. An' don't you +mind, Videy, how we both on us cried when they put us to bed, 'cause +we was afeard the ceilin' would fall down on us?' + +Videy made no answer, but tossed up her head and looked around to see +whether there was a grinning servant within earshot. + +'Good-night, Sinfi,' I said, shaking her hand; 'and now, Videy, I +will show you your room.' + +'Oh, but Videy an' me sleeps togither, don't we?' + +'Certainly, if you wish it,' I replied. + +'She's afeard o' the "mullos,"' said Videy scornfully, as she went +and stood before an old engraved Venetian mirror I had picked up at +Chester, admiring her own perfect little figure reflected therein. +'Ever since she's know'd you she's bin afeard o' mullos, and keeps +Pharaoh with her o' nights; the mullos never come where there's a +crowin' cock.' + +I did not look at Sinfi, but bent my eyes upon the mirror, where, +several inches above the reflex of Videy's sarcastic face, shone the +features of Sinfi, perfectly cut as those of a Greek statue. + +'It's the dukkerin' dook [Footnote] as she's afeard on,' said Videy, +smiling in the glass till her face seemed one wicked glitter of +scarlet lips and pearly teeth. 'An' yit there ain't no dukkerin' +dook, an' there ain't no mullos.' + +[Footnote: The prophesying ghost.] + +Among the elaborately-engraved flowers and stars at the top of the +mirror was the representation of an angel grasping a musical +instrument. + +'Look, look!' said Sinfi, 'I never know'd afore that angels played +the crwth. I wonder whether they can draw a livin' mullo up to the +clouds, same as my crwth can draw one to Snowdon?' + +I bade them good-night, and joined Panuel at the door. + +I was conducting him along the corridor to his room when the door was +reopened and Sinfi's head appeared, as bright as ever, and then a +beckoning hand. + +'Reia,' said she, when I had returned to the door, 'I want to whisper +a word in your ear'; and she pulled my head towards the door and +whispered, 'Don't tell nobody about that 'ere jewelled trushul in the +church vaults at Raxton. We shall be going down there at the fair +time, so don't tell nobody.' + +'But you surely are not afraid of your father,' I whispered in reply. + +'No, no,' said she, bringing her lips so close to my face that I felt +the breath steaming round my ear. 'Not daddy--Videy!--Daddy can't +keep a secret for five minutes. It's her I'm afeared on.' + +I had scarcely left the door two yards behind me when I heard the +voices of the sisters in loud altercation. I heard Sinfi exclaim, 'I +sha'n't tell you what I said to him, so now! It was somethin' atween +him an' me.' + +'There they are ag'in,' said Panuel, bending his head sagely round +and pointing with his thumb over his shoulder to the door; 'at it +ag'in! Them two chavies o' mine are allus a-quarrellin' now, an' it's +allus about the same thing. 'Tain't the quarrellin' as I mind so +much,--women an' sparrows, they say, must cherrup an' quarrel,--but +they needn't allus keep a-nag-naggin' about the same thing.' + +'What's their subject, Panuel?' I asked. + +'Subjick? Why _you_, in course. That's what the subjick is. When +women quarrels you may allus be sure there's a chap somewheres +about.' + +By this time we had entered his bedroom: he went and sat upon the +bed, and without looking round him began unlacing his 'highlows.' I +had often on previous occasions remarked that Panuel, who, when +sober, was as silent as Videy, and looked like her in the face, +became, the moment that he passed into 'market-merriness,' as frank +and communicative as Sinfi, and (what was more inexplicable) _looked_ +as much like Sinfi as he had previously looked like Videy. + +'How can I be the subject of their quarrels?' I said, listlessly +enough, for I scarcely at first followed his words. + +'How? Ain't you a chap?' + +'Undoubtedly, Panuel, I am a chap.' + +'When women quarrels there's allus a chap somewheres about, in course +there is. But look ye here, Mr. Aylwin, the fault ain't Sinfi's, not +a bit of it. It's Videy's, wi' her dog-in-the-manger ways. She's a +back-bred un,' he said, giving me a knowing wink as he pulled off his +calf-skin waistcoat and tossed it on to a chair at the further end of +the room with a certainty of aim that would have been marvellous, +even had he been entirely free from market-merriness. + +I had before observed that Panuel when market-merry always designated +Videy the 'back-bred un, that took a'ter Shuri's blazin' ole dad!' +When sober his views of heredity changed; the 'back-bred un' was +Sinfi. + +After breakfast next morning it was agreed that Panuel and Videy +should walk to the Place to see that everything was going on well, +while Sinfi and I should remain in the bungalow. I observed from the +distance that Videy had loitered behind her father on the Capel Curig +road. I saw a dark shadow of anger pass over Sinfi's face, and I soon +understood what was causing it. The daughter of the well-to-do Panuel +Lovell and my guest was accosting a tourist with, 'Let me tell you +your fortune, my pretty gentleman. Give the poor Gypsy a sixpence for +luck, my gentleman.' + +The bungalow delighted Sinfi. 'It's just like a great livin'-waggin, +only more comfortable,' said she. + +We spent the entire morning and afternoon there, and much of the next +two days. It certainly seemed to me that her mere presence was an +immense stimulus to memory in vitalising its one image. + +'What's the use o' us a-keepin' a-talkin' about Winnie?' Sinfi said +to me one day. 'It on'y makes you fret. You skears me sometimes; for +your eyes are a-gettin' jis' as sad-lookin' as Mr. D'Arcy's eyes, an' +it's all along o' fret-tin'.' + +I persuaded her to stay with me while Panuel and Videy went on to +Chester, for she could both soothe and amuse me. + + +III + +Those who might suppose that Sinfi Lovell's lack of education would +be a barrier against our sympathy, know little or nothing of real +sorrow--little or nothing of the human heart--little or nothing of +the stricken soul that looks out on man and his conventions through +the light of an intolerable pain. + +I now began to read and study as well as paint. But so absorbed was I +in my struggle with Fenella Stanley and Romany superstitions, that +the only subject which could distract me from memory was that of +hereditary influence--prepotency of transmission in relation to +races. Though Sinfi could neither read nor write, she loved to sit by +my side and, caressing Pharaoh, to watch me as I read or wrote. To +her there evidently seemed something mysterious and uncanny in +writing, something like 'penning dukkering.' It seemed to her, I +think, a much more remarkable accomplishment than that of painting. +And as to reading, I am not sure that the satirical Videy was +entirely wrong in saying that Sinfi believed that books 'could talk +jis' like men and women.' Not a word would she speak, save when she +now and then bent down her head to whisper to Pharaoh when that +little warrior was inclined to give a disturbing chuckle, or to shake +his wattles. And when at last she and Pharaoh got wearied by the +prolonged silence, she would begin to murmur in a tone of playful +satire to the restless bird, 'Mum, mum, Pharaoh. He's too hoot of a +mush to rocker a choori chavi.' [Hush, hush, Pharaoh. He's too proud +to speak to a poor child.] + +Of course there was immense curiosity about my life at the bungalow, +not only among the visitors at the Capel Curig Hotel, but among the +Welsh residents; and rarely did the weekly papers come out without +some paragraph about me. As a result of this, some of the London +papers reproduced the paragraphs, and built upon their gossip columns +of a positively offensive nature. In a paper which I will for +convenience call the _London Satirist_ appeared a paragraph which +some one cut out of the columns of the paper and posted to me. It ran +thus: + + +'THE ECCENTRIC AYLWINS.--The power of heredity, which has much +exercised the mind of Balzac, has never been more strikingly +exemplified than in the case of the great family of the Aylwins. It +is matter of common knowledge that some generations ago one of the +Aylwins married a Gypsy. This fact did not, however, prevent his +branch from being respectable, and receiving the name of the proud +Aylwins; and the Gypsy blood remained entirely in abeyance until the +present generation. Mr. Percy Aylwin, it will be remembered, having +been smitten by the charms of a certain Rhona Boswell, actually set +up a tent with the Gypsies; and now Mr. Henry Aylwin, of Raxton Hall +(who, by the bye, has never been seen in that neighbourhood since the +great landslip), is said to be following a good example by living in +Wales with a Gypsy wife, but whether the wedding took place at St. +George's, Hanover Square, or in simpler fashion in an encampment of +Little Egypt, we do not know.' + + +One day in the bungalow, when I was reading the copious marginalia +with which my father had furnished his own copy of _The Veiled +Queen_, I came upon a passage which so completely carried my mind +back to the night of our betrothal that I heard as plainly as I had +then heard Winnie's words at the door of her father's cottage: + +'I should have to come in the winds and play around you in the woods. +I should have to peep over the clouds and watch you. I should have +to follow you about wherever you went. I should have to beset you +till you said: "Bother Winnie, I wish she'd keep in heaven!"' + +The written words of my father that had worked this magical effect +upon me were these: + + +'But after months of these lonely wanderings in Graylingham Wood and +along the sands, not even the reshaping power of memory would suffice +to appease my longing; a new hope, wild as new, was breaking in upon +my soul, dim and yet golden, like the sun struggling through a +sea-fog. While wandering with me along the sands on the eve of that +dreadful day when I lost her, she had declared that even in heaven +she could not rest without me, nor did I understand how she could. +For by this time my instincts had fully taught me that there is a +kind of love so intense that no power in the universe--not death +itself--is strong enough to sever it from its object. I knew that +although true spiritual love, as thus understood, scarcely exists +among Englishmen, and even among Englishwomen is so rare that the +capacity for feeling it is a kind of genius, this genius was hers. +Sooner or later I said to myself, "She will and must manifest +herself!"' + + +I looked up from the book and saw both Sinfi and Pharaoh gazing at +me. + +'Sinfi,' I said, 'what were Winnie's favourite places among the +hills? Where was she most in the habit of roaming when she stayed +with your people?' + +'If I ain't told you that often enough it's a pity, brother,' she +said. 'What do _you_ think, Pharaoh?' + +Pharaoh expressed his acquiescence in the satire by clapping his +wings and crowing at me contemptuously. + +'The place I think she liked most of all wur that very pool where she +and you breakfasted together on that morning.' + +'Were there no other favourite places?' + +'Yes, there wur the Fairy Glen; she wur very fond of that. And there +wur the Swallow Falls; she wur very fond of them. And there wur a +place on the Beddgelert pathway, up from the Carnarvon road, about +two miles from Beddgelert. There is a great bit of rock there where +she used to love to sit and look across towards Anglesey. And talking +about that place reminds me, brother, that our people and the +Boswells and a lot more are camped on the Carnarvon road just where +the pathway up Snowdon begins. And I wur told yesterday by a +'quaintance of mine as I seed outside the bungalow that daddy and +Videy had joined them. Shouldn't we go and see 'em?' + +This exactly fitted in with the thoughts and projects that had +suddenly come to me, and it was arranged that we should start for the +encampment next morning. + +As we were leaving the bungalow the next day, I said to Sinfi, 'You +are not taking your crwth.' + +'Crwth! we sha'n't want that.' + +'Your people are very fond of music, you know. Your father is very +fond of a musical tea.' + +'So he is. I'll take it,' said Sinfi. + + +IV + +When we reached the camping-place on the Carnarvon road we found a +very jolly party. Panuel had had some very successful dealings, and +he was slightly market-merry. He said to Videy, 'Make the tea, Vi, +and let Sinfi hev' hern fust, so that she can play on the Welsh +fiddle while the rest on us are getting ourn. It'll seem jist like +Chester Fair with Jim Burton scrapin' in the dancin' booth to heel +and toe.' + +Sinfi soon finished her tea, and began to play some merry dancing +airs, which set Rhona Boswell's limbs twittering till she spilt her +tea in her lap. Then, laughing at the catastrophe, she sprang up +saying, 'I'll dance myself dry,' and began dancing on the sward. + +After tea was over the party got too boisterous for Sinfi's taste, +and she said to me, 'Let's slip away, brother, and go up the pathway, +and I'll show you Winnie's favourite place.' + +This proposal met my wishes entirely, and under the pretence of going +to look at something on the Carnarvon road we managed to escape from +the party, Sinfi still carrying her crwth and bow. She then led the +way up a slope green with grass and moss. We did not talk till we had +passed the slate quarry. + +The evening was so fine and the scene was so lovely that Sinfi's very +body seemed to drink it in and become intoxicated with beauty. After +we had left the slate quarries behind, the panorama became more +entrancing at every yard we walked. Cwellyn Lake and Valley, Moel +Hebog, y Garnedd, the glittering sea, Anglesey, Holyhead Hill, all +seemed to be growing in gold and glory out of masses of sunset mist. + +When at last we reached the edge of a steep cliff, with the rocky +forehead of Snowdon in front, and the shining llyns of Cwm y Clogwyn +below, Sinfi stopped. + +'This is the place,' said she, sitting down on a mossy mound, 'where +Winnie loved to come and look down.' + +After Sinfi and I had sat on this mound for a few minutes, I asked +her to sing and play one or two Welsh airs which I knew to be +especial favourites of hers, and then, with much hesitancy, I asked +her to play and sing the same song or incantation which had become +associated for ever with my first morning on the hills. + +'You mean the Welsh dukkerin' gillie,' said Sinfi, looking, with an +expression that might have been either alarm or suspicion, into my +face. + +'Yes.' + +'You've been a-thinkin' all this while, brother, that I don't know +why you asked me about Winnie's favourite places on Snowdon, and why +you wanted me to take my crwth to the camp. But I've been a-thinkin' +about it, and I know now why you did, and I know why you wants me to +play the Welsh dukkerin' gillie here. It's because you heerd me say +that if I were to play that dukkerin' gillie on Snowdon in the places +she was fond on, I could tell for sartin whether Winnie wur alive or +dead. If she wur alive her livin' mullo 'ud follow the crwth. But I +ain't a-goin' to do it.' + +'Why not, Sinfi?' + +'Because my mammy used to say it ain't right to make use o' the real +dukkerin' for Gorgios, and I've heerd her say that if them as had the +real dukkerin'--the dukkerin' for the Romanies--used it for the +Gorgios, or if they turned it into a sport and a plaything, it 'ud +leave 'em altogether. And that ain't the wust on it, for when the +real dukkerin' leaves you it turns into a kind of a cuss, and it +brings on the bite of the Romany Sap. [Footnote] Even now, Hal, I +sometimes o' nights feels the bite here of the Romany Sap,' pointing +to her bosom, 'and it's all along o' you, Hal, it's all along o' you, +because I seem to be breaking the promise about Gorgios I made to my +poor mammy.' + +[Footnote: The Romany serpent, Conscience.] + +'The Romany Sap? You mean the Romany conscience, I suppose, Sinfi: +you mean the trouble a Romany feels when he has broken the Romany +laws, when he has done wrong according to the Romany notions of right +and wrong. But you are innocent of all wrong-doing.' + +'I don't know nothin' about conscience,' said she, 'I mean the Romany +Sap. Don't you mind when we was a-goin' up Snowdon arter Winifred +that mornin'? I told you as the rocks, an' the trees, an' the winds, +an' the waters cuss us when we goes ag'in the Romany blood an' ag'in +the dukkerin' dook. The cuss that the rocks, an' the trees, an' the +winds, an' the waters makes, an' sends it out to bite the burk +[Footnote] o' the Romany as does wrong--that's the Romany Sap.' + +[Footnote: Breast.] + +'You mean conscience, Sinfi.' + +'No, I don't mean nothink o' the sort; the Romanies ain't got no +conscience, an' if the Gorgios has, it's precious little good as it +does 'em, as far as I can see. But the Romanies has got the Romany +Sap. Everything wrong as you does, such as killin' a Romany, or +cheatin' a Romany, or playin' the lubbany with a Gorgio, or breakin' +your oath to your mammy as is dead, or goin' ag'in the dukkerin' +dook, an' sich like, every one o' these things turns into the Romany +Sap.' + +'You're speaking of conscience, Sinfi.' + +'Every one o' them wrong things as you does seems to make out o' the +burk o' the airth a sap o' its own as has got its own pertickler +stare, but allus it's a hungry sap, Hal, an' a sap wi' bloody fangs. +An' it's a sap as follows the bad un's feet, Hal--follows the bad +un's feet wheresomever they goes; it's a sap as goes slippin' thro' +the dews o' the grass on the brightest mornin', an' dodges round the +trees in the sweetest evenin', an' goes wriggle, wriggle across the +brook jis' when you wants to enjoy yourself, jis' when you wants to +stay a bit on the steppin'-stuns to enjoy the sight o' the dear +little minnows a-shootin' atween the water-creases. That's what the +Romany Sap is.' + +'Don't talk like that, Sinfi,' I said; 'you make me feel the sap +myself.' + +'It's a sap, Hal, as follows you everywheres, everywheres, till you +feel as you must stop an' face it whatever comes; an' stop you do at +last, an' turn round you must, an' bare your burk you must to the +sharp teeth o' that air wenemous sap.' + +'Well, and what then, Sinfi?' + +'Well then, when you ha' given up to the thing its fill o' your +blood, then the trees, an' the rocks, an' the winds, an' the waters +seem to know, for everythink seems to begin smilin' ag'in, an' you're +let to go on your way till you do somethin' bad ag'in. That's the +Romany Sap, Hal, an' I won't deny as I sometimes feel its bite pretty +hard here' (pointing to her breast) 'when I thinks what I promised my +poor mammy, an' how I kep' my word to her, when I let a Gorgio come +under our tents.' [Footnote] + +[Footnote: To prevent misconceptions, it may be well to say that the +paraphrase of Sinfi's description of the 'Romany Sap,' which appeared +in the writer's reminiscences of George Borrow, was written long +after the main portion of the present narrative.] + +'You don't mean,' I said, 'that it is a real flesh-and-blood sap, but +a sap that you think you see and feel.' + +'Hal,' said Sinfi, 'a Romany's feelin's ain't like a Gorgio's. A +Romany can feel the bite of a sap whether it's made o' flesh an' +blood or not, and the Romany Sap's all the wuss for not bein' a +flesh-and-blood sap, for it's a cuss hatched in the airth; it's +everythink a-cussin' on ye--the airth, an' the sky, an' the dukkerin' +dook.' + +Her manner was so solemn, her grand simplicity was so pathetic, that +I felt I could not urge her to do what her conscience told her was +wrong. But soon that which no persuasion of mine would have effected +the grief and disappointment expressed by my face achieved. + +'Hal,' she said, 'I sometimes feel as if I'd bear the bite o' all the +Romany saps as ever wur hatched to give you a little comfort. +Besides, it's for a true Romany arter all--it's for myself quite as +much as for you that I'm a-goin' to see whether Winnie is alive or +dead. If she's dead we sha'n't see nothink, and perhaps if she's in +one o' them fits o' hern we sha'n't see nothink; but if she's alive +and herself ag'in, I believe I shall see--p'raps we shall both +see--her livin' mullo.' + +She then drew the bow across the crwth. The instrument at first +seemed to chatter with her agitation. I waited in breathless +suspense. At last there came clearly from her crwth the wild air I +had already heard on Snowdon. Then the sound of the instrument ceased +save for the drone of the two bottom strings, and Sinfi's voice leapt +out and I heard the words of what she called the Welsh dukkering +gillie. + +As I listened and looked over the wide-stretching panorama before me, +I felt my very flesh answering to every vibration; and when the song +stopped and I suddenly heard Sinfi call out, 'Look, brother!' I felt +that my own being, physical and mental, had passed into a new phase, +and that resistance to some mighty power governing my blood was +impossible. + +'Look straight afore you, brother, and you'll see Winnie's face. +She's alive, brother, and the dukkeripen of the Golden Hand will come +true, and mine will come true. Oh, mammy, mammy!' + +At first I saw nothing, but after a while two blue eyes seemed gazing +at me as through a veil of evening haze. They were looking straight +at me, those beloved eyes--they were sparkling with childish +happiness as they had sparkled through the vapours of the pool when +she walked towards me that morning on the brink of Knockers' Llyn. + +Starting up and throwing up my arms, I cried, 'My darling!' The +vision vanished. Then turning round, I looked at Sinfi. She seemed +listening to a voice I could not hear--her face was pale with +emotion. I could hear her breath coming and going heavily; her bosom +rose and fell, and the necklace of coral and gold coins around her +throat trembled like a shuddering snake while she murmured, 'My +dukkeripen! Yes, mammy, I've gone ag'in you and broke my promise, +and this is the very Gorgio as you meant.' + +'Call the vision back,' I said; 'play the air again, dear Sinfi.' + +She sprang in front of me, and seizing one of my wrists, she gazed in +my face, and said, 'Yes, it's "dear Sinfi"! You wants dear Sinfi to +fiddle the Gorgie's livin' mullo back to you.' + +I looked into the dark eyes, lately so kind. I did not know them. +They were dilated and grown red-brown in hue, like the scorched +colour of a North African lion's mane, and along the eyelashes a +phosphorescent light seemed to play. What did it mean? Was it indeed +Sinfi standing there, rigid as a column, with a clenched brown fist +drawn up to the broad, heaving breast, till the knuckles shone white, +as if about to strike me? What made her throw out her arms as if +struggling desperately with the air, or with some unseen foe who was +binding her with chains? + +I stood astounded, watching her, as she gradually calmed down and +became herself again; but I was deeply perplexed and deeply troubled. + + +After a while she said, 'Let's go back to "the Place,"' and without +waiting for my acquiescence, she strode along down the path towards +Beddgelert. + +I was quickly by her side, but felt as little in the mood for talking +as she did. Suddenly a small lizard glided from the grass. + +'The Romany Sap!' cried Sinfi, and she--the fearless woman before +whom the stoutest Gypsy men had quailed--sobbed wildly in terror. She +soon recovered herself, and said: 'What a fool you must think me, +Hal! It wur all through talkin' about the Romany Sap. At fust I +thought it wur the Romany Sap itself, an' it wur only a poor little +effet arter all. There ain't a-many things made o' flesh and blood as +can make Sinfi Lovell show the white feather; but I know you'll think +the wuss o' me arter this, Hal. But while the pictur were a-showin' I +heard my dear mammy's whisper: "Little Sinfi, little Sinfi, beware o' +Gorgios! This is the one."' + + +V + +By the time we reached the encampment it was quite dark. Panuel, and +indeed most of the Gypsies, had turned into the tents for the night; +but both Videy Lovell and Rhona Boswell were moving about as briskly +as though the time was early morning, one with guile expressed in +every feature, the other shedding that aura of frankness and sweet +winsomeness which enslaved Percy Aylwin, and no wonder. + +Rhona was in a specially playful mood, and came dancing round us more +like a child of six than a young woman with a Romany Rye for a lover. + +But neither Sinfi nor I was in the mood for frolic. My living-waggon, +which still went about wherever the Lovells went, had been carefully +prepared for me by Rhona, and I at once went into it, not with the +idea of getting much sleep, but in order to be alone with my +thoughts. What was I to think of my experiences of that evening? Was +I really to take the spectacle that had seemed to fall upon my eyes +when listening to Sinfi's crwth, or rather when listening to her +song, as evidence that Winifred was alive? Oh, if I could, if I +could! Was I really to accept as true this fantastic superstition +about the crwth and the spirits of Snowdon and the 'living mullo'? +That was too monstrous a thought even for me to entertain. +Notwithstanding all that had passed in the long and dire struggle +between my reason and the mysticism inherited with the blood of two +lines of superstitious ancestors, which circumstances had conspired +to foster, my reason had only been baffled and thwarted; it had not +really been slain. + +What, then, could be the explanation of the spectacle that had seemed +to fall upon my eyes? 'It is hallucination,' I said, 'and it is the +result of two very powerful causes--my own strong imagination, +excited to a state of feverish exaltation by the long strain of my +suffering, and that power in Sinfi which D'Arcy had described as her +"half-unconscious power as a mesmerist." At a moment when my will, +weakened by sorrow and pain, lay prostrate beneath my own fevered +imagination, Sinfi's voice, so full of intense belief in her own +hallucination, had leapt, as it were, into my consciousness and +enslaved my imagination, which in turn had enslaved my will and my +senses.' + +For hours I argued this point with myself, and I ended by coming +to the conclusion that it was 'my mind's eye' alone that saw the +picture of Winifred. + +But there was also another question to confront. What was the cause +of Sinfi's astonishing emotion after the vision vanished? Such a +mingling of warring passions I had never seen before. I tried to +account for it. I thought about it for hours, and finally fell +asleep without finding any solution of the enigma. + +I had no conversation of a private nature with Sinfi until the next +evening, when the camp was on the move. + +'You had no sleep last night, Sinfi; I can see it by the dark circles +round your eyes.' + +'That's nuther here nor there, brother,' she said. + + +I found to my surprise that the Gypsies were preparing to remove the +camp to a place not far from Bettws y Coed. I suggested to Sinfi that +we two should return to the bungalow. But she told me that her stay +there had come to an end. The firmness with which she made this +announcement made me sure that there was no appeal. + +'Then,' said I, 'my living-waggon will come into use again. The +camping place is near some of the best trout streams in the +neighbourhood, and I sadly want some trout-fishing.' + +'We part company to-day, brother,' she said. 'We can't be pals no +more--never no more.' + +'Sister, I will not be parted from you: I shall follow you.' + +'Reia--Hal Aylwin--you knows very well that any man, Gorgio or +Romany, as followed Sinfi Lovell when she told him not, 'ud ketch +a body-blow as wouldn't leave him three hull ribs, nor a ounce o' +wind to bless hisself with.' + +'But I am now one of the Lovells, and I shall go with you. I am a +Romany myself--I mean I am becoming more and more of a Romany every +day and every hour. The blood of Fenella Stanley is in us both.' + +She looked at me, evidently astonished at the earnestness and the +energy of my tone. Indeed at that moment I felt an alien among +Gorgios. + +'I am now one of the Lovells,' I said, 'and I shall go with you.' + +'We part company to-night, brother, fare ye well,' she said. + +As she stood delivering this speech--her head erect, her eyes +flashing angrily at me, her brown fists tightly clenched, I knew that +further resistance would be futile. + +'But now I wants to be left alone,' she said. + +She bent her head forward in a listening attitude, and I heard her +murmur, 'I knowed it 'ud come ag'in. A Romany sperrit likes to come +up in the evenin' and smell the heather an' see the shinin' stars +come out.' + +While she was speaking, she began to move off between the trees. But +she turned, took hold of both my hands, and gazed into my eyes. Then +she moved away again, and I was beginning to follow her. She turned +and said: 'Don't follow me. There ain't no place for ye among the +Romanies. Go the ways o' the Gorgios, Hal Aylwin, an' let Sinfi +Lovell go hern.' + +As I leaned against a tree and watched Sinfi striding through the +grass till she passed out of sight, the entire panorama of my life +passed before me. + +'She has left me with a blessing after all,' I said; 'my poor Sinfi +has taught me the lesson that he who would fain be cured of the +disease of a wasting sorrow must burn to ashes Memory. He must flee +Memory and never look back.' + + +VI + +And did I flee Memory? When I re-entered the bungalow next day it was +my intention to leave it and Wales at once and for ever, and indeed +to leave England at once--perhaps for ever, in order to escape from +the unmanning effect of the sorrowful brooding which I knew had +become a habit. 'I will now,' I said, 'try the nepenthe that all my +friends in their letters are urging me to try--I will travel. Yes, I +will go to Japan. My late experiences should teach me that Ja'afar's +"Angel of Memory," who refashioned for him his dead wife out of his +own sorrow and tears, did him an ill service. He who would fain be +cured of the disease of a wasting sorrow should try to flee the +"Angel of Memory," and never look back.' + +And so fixed was my mind upon travelling that I wrote to several of +my friends, and told them of my intention. But I need scarcely say +that as I urged them to keep the matter secret it was talked about +far and wide. Indeed, as I afterwards found to my cost, there were +paragraphs in the newspapers stating that the eccentric amateur +painter and heir of one branch of the Aylwins had at last gone to +Japan, and that as his deep interest in a certain charming beauty of +an un-English type was proverbial, it was expected that he would +return with a Japanese, or perhaps a Chinese wife. + +But I did not go to Japan; and what prevented me? + +My reason told me that what I had just seen near Beddgelert was an +optical illusion. I had become very learned on the subject of optical +illusions ever since I had known Sinfi Lovell, and especially since I +had seen that picture of Winnie in the water near Bettws y Coed, +which I have described in an earlier chapter. Every book I could get +upon optical illusions I had read, and I was astonished to find how +many instances are on record of illusions of a much more powerful +kind than mine. + +And yet I could not leave Snowdon. The mountain's very breath grew +sweeter and sweeter of Winnie's lips. As I walked about the hills I +found myself repeating over and over again one of the verses which +Winnie used to sing to me as a child at Raxton. + + Eryri fynyddig i mi, + Bro dawel y delyn yw, + Lle mae'r defaid a'r wyn, + Yn y mwswg a'r brwyn, + Am can inau'n esgyn i fyny, + A'r gareg yn ateb i fyny, i fyny, + O'r lle bu'r eryrod yn byw. [Footnote] + +[Footnote: + + Mountain-wild Snowdon for me! + Sweet silence there for the harp, + Where loiter the ewes and the lambs, + In the moss and the rushes, + Where one's song goes sounding up + And the rocks re-echo it higher and higher + In the height where the eagles live.] + +But then I felt that Sinfi was the mere instrument of the mysterious +magic of y Wyddfa, that magic which no other mountain in Europe +exercises. I knew that among all the Gypsies Sinfi was almost the +only one who possessed that power which belonged once to her race, +that power which is expressed in a Scottish word now universally +misused, 'glamour,' the power which Johnnie Faa and his people +brought into play when they abducted Lady Casilis. + + Soon as they saw her well-faured face + They cast the glamour oure her. + +'Yes,' I said, 'I am convinced that my illusion is the result of two +causes, my own brooding over Winnie's tragedy and the glamour that +Sinfi sheds around her, either consciously or unconsciously; that +imperious imagination of hers which projects her own visions upon the +senses of another person either with or without an exercise of her +own will. This is the explanation, I am convinced.' + +Wheresoever I now went, Snowdon's message to my heart was, 'She +lives,' and my heart accepted the message. And then the new blessed +feeling that Winnie was not lying in a pauper grave had an effect +upon me that a few who read these pages will understand--only a few. +Perhaps, indeed, even those I am thinking of, those who, having lost +the one being they loved, feel that the earth has lost all its +beauty--perhaps even these may not be able to sympathise fully with +me in this matter, never having had an experience remotely comparable +with mine. + +When I thought of Winifred lying at the bottom of some chasm in +Snowdon, my grief was very great, as these pages show. Yet it was not +intolerable; it did not threaten to unseat my reason, for even then, +when I knew so little of the magic of y Wyddfa, I felt how close was +the connection between my darling and the hills that knew her and +loved her. But during the time that her death, amidst surroundings +too appalling to contemplate, hung before my eyes in a dreadful +picture--during the time when it seemed certain that her death in a +garret, her burial in a pauper pit six coffins deep, was a hideous +truth and no fancy, all the beauty with which Nature seemed at one +time clothed was wiped away as by a sponge. The earth was nothing +more than a charnel-house, the skies above it were the roof of the +Palace of Nin-ki-gal. But now that Snowdon had spoken to me, the old +life which had formerly made the world so beautiful and so beloved +came back. + +All nature seemed rich and glowing with the deep expectance of my +heart. The sunrise and the sunset seemed conscious of Winnie, and the +very birds seemed to be warbling at times 'She's alive.' + +I think, indeed, that I had passed into that sufistic ecstasy +expressed by a writer often quoted by my father, an Oriental writer, +Ferridoddin-- + + With love I burn: the centre is within me; + While in a circle everywhere around me + Its Wonder lies-- + +that exalted mood, I mean, described in the great chapter on the +Renascence of Wonder which forms the very core and heart-thought of +the strange book so strangely destined to govern the entire drama of +my life, _The Veiled Queen_. + +The very words of the opening of that chapter came to me: + +'The omnipotence of love--its power of knitting together the entire +universe--is, of course, best understood by the Oriental mind. Just +after the loss of my dear wife I wrote the following poem called "The +Bedouin Child," dealing with the strange feeling among the Bedouins +about girl children, and I translated it into Arabic. Among these +Bedouins a father in enumerating his children never counts his +daughters, because a daughter is considered a disgrace. + + 'Ilyas the prophet, lingering 'neath the moon, + Heard from a tent a child's heart-withering wail, + Mixt with the message of the nightingale, + And, entering, found, sunk in mysterious swoon, + A little maiden dreaming there alone. + She babbled of her father sitting pale + 'Neath wings of Death--'mid sights of sorrow and bale, + And pleaded for his life in piteous tone. + + '"Poor child, plead on," the succouring prophet saith, + While she, with eager lips, like one who tries + To kiss a dream, stretches her arms and cries + To Heaven for help--"Plead on; such pure love-breath, + Beaching the Throne, might stay the wings of Death + That, in the Desert, fan thy father's eyes." + + 'The drouth-slain camels lie on every hand; + Seven sons await the morning vultures' claws; + 'Mid empty water-skins and camel maws + The father sits, the last of all the band. + He mutters, drowsing o'er the moonlit sand, + "Sleep fans my brow: sleep makes us all pashas; + Or, if the wings are Death's, why Azraeel draws + A childless father from an empty land." + + '"Nay," saith a Voice, "the wind of Azraeel's wings + A child's sweet breath has stilled: so God decrees:" + A camel's bell comes tinkling on the breeze. + Filling the Bedouin's brain with bubble of springs + And scent of flowers and shadow of wavering trees, + Where, from a tent, a little maiden sings. + +'Between this reading of Nature, which makes her but "the superficial +film" of the immensity of God, and that which finds a mystic heart of +love and beauty beating within the bosom of Nature herself, I know no +real difference. Sufism, in some form or another, could not possibly +be confined to Asia. The Greeks, though strangers to the mystic +element of that Beauty-worship which in Asia became afterwards +sufism, could not have exhibited a passion for concrete beauty such +as theirs without feeling that, deeper than Tartarus, stronger than +Destiny and Death, the great heart of Nature is beating to the tune +of universal love and beauty.' + +This was followed by a still more mystical poem called 'The Persian +Slave Girl's Progress to Paradise,' showing the Omnipotence of Love. +[Footnote] + +[Footnote: This poem of Philip Aylwin's appears now in the present +writer's volume, _The Coming of Love_.] + + + +XIV + +SINFI'S COUP DE THEATRE + + +I + +Weeks passed by. I visited all the scenes that were in the least +degree associated with Winnie. + +The two places nearest to me--Fairy Glen and the Swallow Falls--which +I had always hitherto avoided on account of their being the +favourite haunts of tourists--I left to the last, because I +specially desired to see them by moonlight. With regard to Fairy +Glen, I had often heard Winnie say how she used to go there by +moonlight and imagine the Tylwyth Teg or the fairy scenes of the +_Midsummer Night's Dream_ which I had told her of long ago--imagine +them so vividly that she could actually see, on a certain projecting +rock in the cliffs that enclose the dell, the figure of Titania +dressed in green, with a wreath of leaves round her head. And with +regard to the Swallow Falls, I remembered only too well her telling +me, on the night of the landslip, the Welsh legend of Sir John Wynn, +who died in the seventeenth century, and whose ghost, imprisoned at +the bottom of the Falls on account of his ill deeds in the flesh, was +heard to shriek amid the din of the waters. On that fatal night she +told me that on certain rare occasions, when the moon shines straight +down the chasm, the wail will become an agonised shriek. I had often +wondered what natural sound this was which could afford such pabulum +to my old foe, Superstition. So one night, when the moon was shining +brilliantly--so brilliantly that the light seemed very little +feebler than that of day--I walked in the direction of the Swallow +Falls. + +Being afraid that I should not get much privacy at the Falls, I +started late. But I came upon only three or four people on the road. +I had forgotten that my own passion for moonlight was entirely a +Romany inheritance. I had forgotten that a family of English +tourists will carefully pull down the blinds and close the shutters, +in order to enjoy the luxury of candlelight, lamp-light, or gas, +when a Romany will throw wide open the tent's mouth to enjoy the +light he loves most of all--'chonesko dood,' as he calls the +moonlight. As I approached the Swallow Falls Hotel, I lingered to +let my fancy feast in anticipation on the lovely spectacle that +awaited me. When I turned into the wood I encountered only one +person, a lady, and she hurried back to the hotel as soon as I +approached the river. + +Following the slippery path as far as it led down the dell, I +stopped at the brink of a pool about a dozen yards, apparently, +from the bottom, and looked up at the water. Bursting like a vast +belt of molten silver out of an eerie wilderness of rocks and trees, +the stream, as it tumbled down between high walls of cliff to the +platform of projecting rocks around the pool at the edge of which I +stood, divided into three torrents, which themselves were again +divided and scattered by projecting boulders into cascades before +they fell into the gulf below. The whole seemed one wide cataract of +living moonlight that made the eyes ache with beauty. + +Amid the din of the water I listened for the wail which had so deeply +impressed Winifred, and certainly there was what may be described as +a sound within a sound, which ears so attuned to every note of +Superstition's gamut as Winifred's might easily accept as the wail of +Sir John Wynn's ghost. + +There was no footpath down to the bottom, but I descended without any +great difficulty, though I was now soaked in spray. Here the +mysterious human sound seemed to be less perceptible amid the din of +the torrent than from the platform where I had stayed to listen to +it. But when I climbed up again to the spot by the mid-pool where I +had originally stood, a strange sensation came to me. My recollection +of Winnie's words on the night of the landslip came upon me with such +overmastering power that the noise of the cataract seemed changed to +the sound of billows tumbling on Raxton sands, and the 'wail' of Sir +John Wynn seemed changed to that shriek from Raxton cliff which +appalled Winnie as it appalled me. + + +The following night I passed into a moonlight as bright as that which +had played me such fantastic tricks at the Swallow Falls. + +It was not until I had crossed the bridge over the Conway, and was +turning to the right in the direction of Fairy Glen, that I fully +realised how romantic the moonlight was. Every wooded hill and every +precipice, whether craggy and bald or feathered with pines, was +bathed in light that would have made an Irish bog, or an Essex marsh, +or an Isle of Ely fen, a land of poetry. + +When I reached Pont Llyn-yr-Afange (Beaver Pool Bridge) I lingered to +look down the lovely lane on the left, through which I was to pass in +order to reach the rocky dell of Fairy Glen, for it was perfumed, not +with the breath of the flowers now asleep, but with the perfume I +love most of all, the night's floating memory of the flowery breath +of day. + +Suddenly I felt some one touching my elbow. I turned round. It was +Rhona Boswell. I was amazed to see her, for I thought that all my +Gypsy friends, Boswells, Lovells, and the rest, were still attending +the horse-fairs in the Midlands and Eastern Counties. + +'We've only just got here,' said Rhona; 'wussur luck that we got here +at all. I wants to get back to dear Gypsy Dell and Rington Wood; +that's what I wants to do.' + +'Where is the camp?' I asked. + +'Same place, twix Bettws and Capel Curig.' + +She had been to the bungalow, she told me, with a message from Sinfi. +This message was that she particularly wished to meet me at Mrs. +Davies's cottage--'not at the bungalow'--on the following night. + +'She'll go there to-morrow mornin',' said Rhona, 'and make things +tidy for you; but she won't expect you till night, same time as she +met you there fust. She's got a key o' the door, she says, wot you +gev her.' + +I was not so surprised at Sinfi's proposed place of meeting as I +should have been had I not remembered her resolution not to return +to the bungalow, and not to let me return to the camp. + +'You must be sure to go to meet her at the cottage to-morrow night, +else you'll be too late.' + +'Why too late?' I asked. + +'Well,' said Rhona, 'I can't say as I knows why ezackly. But +I know she's bin' an' bought beautiful dresses at Chester, or +somewheres,--an' I think she's goin' to be married the day arter +to-morrow.' + +'Married to whom?' + +'Well, I can't say as I rightly knows,' said Rhona. + +'Do you know whether Mr. Cyril is in Wales?' I asked. + +'Yes,' said Rhona, 'him and the funny un are not far from Capel +Curig. Now I come to think on't, it's mose likely Mr. Cyril as she's +a-goin' to marry, for I know it ain't no Romany chal. It _can't_ be +the funny un,' added she, laughing. + +'But where's the wedding to take place?' + +'I can't say as I knows ezackly,' said Rhona; 'but I thinks it's by +Knockers' Llyn if it ain't on the top o' Snowdon.' + +'Good heavens, girl!' I said. 'What on earth makes you think that? +That pretty little head of yours is stuffed with the wildest +nonsense. I ran make nothing out of you, so good-night. Tell her I'll +be there.' + +And I was leaving her to walk down the lane when I turned back and +said, 'How long has Sinfi been at the camp?' + +'On'y jist come. She's bin away from us for a long while,' said +Rhona. + +And then she looked as if she was tempted to reveal some secret that +she was bound not to tell. + +'Sinfi's been very bad,' she went on, 'but she's better now. Her +daddy says she's under a cuss. She's been a-wastin' away like, but +she's better now.' + +'So it's Sinfi who is under a curse now,' I said to myself. 'I +suppose Superstition has at last turned her brain. This perhaps +explains Rhona's mad story.' + +'Does anybody but you think she's going to be married?' I asked her. +'Does her father think so?' + +'Her daddy says it ain't Sinfi as is goin' to be married; but I think +it's Sinfi! An' you'll know all about it the day arter to-morrow.' +And she tripped away in the direction of the camp. + +Lost in a whirl of thoughts and speculations, I turned into Fairy +Glen. And now, below me, lay the rocky dell so dearly beloved by +Winnie; and there I walked in such a magic web of light and shade as +can only be seen in that glen when the moon hangs over it in a +certain position. + +I descended the steps to the stream and sat down for a time on one +of the great boulders and asked myself if this was the very boulder +on which Winnie used to sit when she conjured up her childish +visions of fairyland. And by that sweet thought the beauty of the +scene became intensified. There, while the unbroken torrent of +the Conway--glittering along the narrow gorge of the glen between +silvered walls of rock as upright as the turreted bastions of a +castle--seemed to flash a kind of phosphorescent light of its own +upon the flowers and plants and sparsely scattered trees along the +sides, I sat and passed into Winifred's own dream, and the Tylwyth +Teg, which to Winnie represented Oberon and Titania and the whole +group of fairies, swept before me. + +Awaking from this dream, I looked up the wall of the cliff to enjoy +one more sight of the magical beauty, when there fell upon my eyes, +or seemed to fall, a sight that, though I felt it must be a delusion, +took away my breath. Standing on a piece of rock that was flush with +one of the steps by which I had descended was a slender girlish +figure, so lissom that it might have been the famous 'Queen of the +Fair People.' + +'Never,' I said to myself, 'was there an optical illusion so perfect. +I can see the moonlight playing upon her hair. But the hair is not +golden, as the hair of the Queen of the Tylwyth Teg should be; it is +dark as Winnie's own.' + +Then the face turned and she looked at the river, and then I +exclaimed 'Winifred!' And then Fairy Glen vanished and I was at +Raxton standing by a cottage door in the moonlight. I was listening +to a voice--that one voice to whose music every chord of life within +me was set for ever, which said, + +'I should have to come in the winds, and play around you on the +sands. I should have to peep over the clouds and watch you. I should +have to follow you about wherever you went.' + + +The sight vanished. Although I had no doubt that what I had seen was +an hallucination, when I moved farther on and stood and gazed at the +stream as it went winding round the mossy cliffs to join the Lledr, I +felt that Winnie was by my side, her hand in mine, and that we were +children together. And when I mounted the steps and strolled along +the path that leads to the plantation where the moonlight, falling +through the leaves, covered the ground with what seemed symbolical +arabesques of silver and grey and purple, I felt the pressure of +little fingers that seemed to express 'How beautiful!' And when I +stood gazing through the opening in the landscape, and saw the rocks +gleaming in the distance and the water down the Lledr valley, I saw +the sweet young face gazing in mine with the smile of the delight +that illumined it on the Wilderness Road when she discoursed of birds +and the wind. + +The vividness of the vision of Fairy Glen drove out for a time all +other thoughts. The livelong night my brain seemed filled with it. + + 'My eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, + Or else worth all the rest,' + +I said to myself as I lay awake. So full, indeed, was my mind of this +one subject that even Rhona's strange message from Sinfi was only +recalled at intervals. While I was breakfasting, however, this +incident came fully back to me. Either Rhona's chatter about Sinfi's +reason for wanting to see me was the nonsense that had floated into +Rhona's own brain, the brain of a love-sick girl to whom everything +spelt marriage--or else poor Sinfi's mind had become unhinged. + + +II + +As I was to sleep at the cottage, and as I knew not what part I might +have to play in Sinfi's wild frolic, I told the servants that any +letters which might reach the bungalow next morning were to be sent +at once to the cottage, should I not have returned thence. + + +At about the hour, as far as I could guess, when I had first knocked +at the cottage door at the beginning of my search for Winnie, I stood +there again. The door was on the latch. I pushed it open. + +The scene I then saw was so exact a repetition of what had met my +eyes when for the first time I passed under that roof, that it did +not seem as though it could be real; it seemed as though it must be a +freak of memory: the same long low room, the same heavy beams across +the ceiling, the same three chairs, standing in the same places where +they stood then, the same table, and upon it the crwth and bow. There +was a brisk fire, and over it hung the kettle--the same kettle as +then. There were on the walls the same pictures, with the ruddy +fingers of the fire-gleam playing upon them and illuminating them in +the same pathetic way, and in front of the fire sitting upon the same +chair, was a youthful female figure--not Winnie's figure, taller than +hers, and grander than hers--the figure of Sinfi, her elbows resting +upon her knees, and her face sunk meditatively between her hands. + +After standing for fully half a minute gazing at her, I went up to +her, and laying my hand upon her shoulder, I said, 'This is a good +sight for the Swimming Rei, Sinfi.' + +At the touch of my hand a thrill seemed to dart through her frame; +she leaped up and stared wildly in my face. Her features became +contorted by terror--as horribly contorted as Winnie's had been in +the same spot and under the same circumstances. Exactly the same +terrible words fell upon my ear:-- + +'Let his children be vagabonds and beg their bread: let them seek it +also out of desolate places. So saith the Lord. Amen.' + +Then she fell on the floor insensible. + +At first I was too astonished, awed, and bewildered to stir from the +spot where I was standing. Then I knelt down, and raising her +shoulders, placed her head on my knee. For a time the expression of +horror on her pale features was fixed as though graven in marble. A +jug of water, from which the kettle had been supplied, stood on the +floor in the recess. I sprinkled some water over her face. The +muscles relaxed, she opened her eyes; the seizure had passed. She +recognised me, and at once the old brave smile I knew so well passed +over her face. Rhona's words about the curse and the purchase of the +dresses seemed explained now. Long brooding over Winnie's terrible +fate had unhinged her mind. + +'My girl, my brave girl,' I said, 'have you, then, felt our sorrow so +deeply? Have you so fully shared poor Winnie's pain that your nerves +have given way at last? You are suffering through sympathy, Sinfi; +you are suffering poor Winnie's great martyrdom.' + +'Oh, it ain't that!' she said, 'but how I must have skeared you!' + +She got up and sat upon the chair in a much more vigorous way than I +could have expected after such a seizure. + +'I am so sorry,' she said. 'It was the sudden feel o' your hand on my +shoulder that done it. It seemed to burn me like, and then it made my +blood seem scaldin' hot. If I'd only 'a' seed you come through the +door I shouldn't have had the fit. The doctor told me the fits wur +all gone now, and I feel sure as this is the last on 'em. You must go +to Knockers' Llyn with me to-morrow mornin' early. I want you to go +at the same time that we started when we tried that mornin' to find +Winnie.' + +'Then Rhona's story is true,' I thought. 'Her delusion is that she is +going to Knockers' Llyn to be married.' + +'The weather's goin' to be just the same as it was then,' she said, +'and when we get to Knockers' Llyn where you two breakfasted +together, I want to play the crwth and sing the song just as I did +then.' + +She made no allusion to a wedding. Getting up and pouring the boiling +water from the kettle into the teapot, 'Something tells me,' she went +on, 'that when I touch my crwth to-morrow, and when I sing them words +by the side of Knockers' Llyn, you'll see the picture you want to +see, the livin' mullo o' Winnie.' + +'Still no allusion to a wedding, but no doubt that will soon come,' I +murmured. + +'I want to go the same way we went that day, and I want for you and +me to see everythink as we seed it then from fust to last.' + +I was haunted by Rhona Boswell's words, and wondered when she would +begin talking about the wedding at Knockers' Llyn. + +She never once alluded to it; but at intervals when the talk between +us flagged I could hear her muttering, 'He must see everythink just +as he seed it then from fust to last, and then it's good-bye for +ever.' + +At last she said, 'I've had both the rooms upstairs made tidy to +sleep in--one for you and one for me. I'll call you in the mornin' at +the proper time. Goodnight.' + +I was not sorry to get this summary dismissal and be alone with my +thoughts. When I got to bed I was kept awake by recalling the sight I +saw on entering the cottage. There seemed no other explanation of it +than this, the tragedy of Winifred had touched Sinfi's sympathetic +soul too deeply. Her imagination had seized upon the spectacle of +Winifred in one of her fits, and had caused so serious a disturbance +of her nervous system that through sheer fascination of repulsion her +face mimicked it exactly as Winifred's face had mimicked the original +spectacle of horror on the sands. + + +III + +It was not yet dawn when I was aroused from the fitful slumber into +which I had at last fallen by a sharp knocking at the door. When I +answered the summons by 'All right, Sinfi,' and heard her footsteps +descend the stairs, the words of Rhona Boswell again came to me. + + +I found that I must return to the bungalow to get my bath. + +The startled servant who let me in asked if there was anything the +matter. I explained my early rising by telling him that I was merely +going to Knockers' Llyn to see the sunrise. He gave me a letter which +had come on the previous evening, and had been addressed by mistake +to Carnarvon. As the handwriting was new to me, I felt sure that it +was only an unimportant missive from some stranger, and I put it into +my pocket without opening it. + +On my return I found Sinfi in the little room where we had supped. I +guessed that an essential part of her crazy project was that we +should breakfast at the llyn. + +On the table was a basket filled with the materials for the +breakfast. + +Another breakfast was spread for us two on the table, and the teapot +was steaming. Sinfi saw me look at the two breakfasts and smile. + +'We've got a good way to walk before we get to the pool where we are +goin' to breakfast,' she said, 'so I thought we'd take a snack before +we start.' + + +As we went along I noticed that the air of Snowdon seemed to have its +usual effect on Sinfi. In taking the path that led to Knockers' Llyn +we saw before us Cwm-Dyli, the wildest of all the Snowdonian +recesses, surrounded by frowning precipices of great height and +steepness. We then walked briskly on towards our goal. When the three +peaks that she knew so well--y Wyddfa, Lliwedd, and Crib Goch--stood +out in the still grey light she stopped, set down her basket, clapped +her hands, and said, 'Didn't I tell you the mornin' was a-goin' to be +ezackly the same as then? No mists to-day. By the time we get to the +llyn the colours o' the vapours, what they calls the Knockers' flags, +will come out ezackly as they did that mornin' when you and me first +went arter Winnie.' + +All the way Sinfi's eyes were fixed on the majestic forehead of y +Wyddfa and the bastions of Lliwedd which seemed to guard it as though +the Great Spirit of Snowdon himself was speaking to her and drawing +her on, and she kept murmuring 'The two dukkeripens.' + +But still she said nothing about her wedding, though that some such +mad idea as that suggested by Rhona possessed her mind was manifest +enough. + + +'Here we are at last,' she said, when we reached the pool for which +we were bound; and setting down her little basket she stood and +looked over to the valley beneath. + +The colours were coming more quickly every minute, and the entire +picture was exactly the same as that which I had seen on the morning +when we last saw Winifred on the hills, so unlike the misty panorama +that Snowdon usually presents. Y Wyddfa was silhouetted against the +sky, and looked as narrow and as steep as the sides of an acorn. Here +we halted and set down our basket. + +As we did so she said, 'Hark! the Knockers! Don't you hear them? +Listen, listen!' + +I did listen, and I seemed to hear a peculiar sound as of a distant +knocking against the rocks by some soft substance. She saw that I +heard the noise. + +'That's the Snowdon spirits as guards more copper mines than ever +yet's been found. And they're dwarfs. I've seed 'em, and Winnie has. +They're little, fat, short folk, somethin' like the woman in Primrose +Court, only littler. Don't you mind the gal in the court said Winnie +used to call the woman Knocker? Sometimes they knock to show to some +Taffy as has pleased 'em where the veins of copper may be found, and +sometimes they knock to give warnin' of a dangerous precipuss, and +sometimes they knock to give the person as is talkin' warnin' that +he's sayin' or doin' somethin' as may lead to danger. They speaks to +each other too, but in a v'ice so low that you can't tell what words +they're a-speakin', even if you knew their language. My crwth and +song will rouse every spirit on the hills.' + +I listened again. This was the mysterious sound that had so +captivated Winnie's imagination as a child. + +The extraordinary lustre of Sinfi's eyes indicated to me, who knew +them so well, that every nerve, every fibre in her system, was +trembling under the stress of some intense emotion. I stood and +watched her, wondering as to her condition, and speculating as to +what her crazy project could be. + +Then she proceeded to unpack the little basket. + +'This is for the love-feast,' said Sinfi. + +'You mean betrothal feast,' I said. 'But who are the lovers?' + +'You and the livin' mullo that you made me draw for you by my crwth +down by Beddgelert--the livin' mullo o' Winnie Wynne.' + +'At last then,' I said to myself, 'I know the form the mania has +taken. It is not her own betrothal, but mine with Winnie's wraith, +that is deluding her crazy brain. How well I remember telling her how +I had promised Winnie as a child to be betrothed by Knockers' Llyn. +Poor Sinfi! Mad or sane, her generosity remains undimmed.' + +Before the breakfast cloth could be laid--indeed before the basket +was unpacked--she asked me to look at my watch, and on my doing so +and telling her the time, she jumped up and said, 'It's later than I +thought. We must lay the cloth arterwards.' She then placed me in +that same crevice overlooking the tarn whence Winnie had come to me +on that morning. + +Knockers' Llyn, it will perhaps be remembered, is enclosed in a +little gorge opening by a broken, ragged fissure at the back to the +east. Leading to this opening there is on one side a narrow, jagged +shelf which runs half-way round the pool. Sinfi's movements now were +an exact repetition of everything she did on that first morning of +our search for Winnie. + +While I stood partially concealed in my crevice, Sinfi took up her +crwth, which was lying on the rock. + +'What are you going; to do, Sinfi?' I said. + +'I'm just goin' to bring back old times for you. You remember that +mornin' when my crwth and song called Winnie to us at this very llyn? +I'm goin' to play on my crwth and sing the same song now. It's to +draw her livin' mullo, as I did at Bettws and Beddgelert, so that the +dukkeripen of the "Golden Hand" may come true.' + +'But how can it come true, Sinfi?' I said. + +'The dukkeripen allus does come true, whether it's good or whether +it's bad.' + +'Not always,' I said. + +'No, not allus,' she cried, starting up, while there came over her +face that expression which had so amazed me at Beddgelert. When at +last breath came to her she was looking towards y Wyddfa through the +kindling haze. + +'There you're right, Hal Aylwin. It ain't every dukkeripen as comes +true. The dukkeripen allus comes true, unless it's one as says a +Gorgio shall come to the Kaulo Camloes an' break Sinfi Lovell's +heart. Before that dukkeripen shall come true Sinfi Lovell 'ud cut +her heart out. Yes, my fine Gorgio, she'd cut it out--she'd cut it +out and fling it in that 'ere llyn. She did cut it out when she took +the cuss on herself. She's a-cuttin' it out now.' + +Then without saying another word Sinfi took up her crwth and moved +towards the llyn. + +'You'll soon come back, Sinfi?' I said. + +'We've got to see about that,' she replied, still pale and trembling +from the effects of that sudden upheaval of the passion of a +Titaness. 'If the livin' mullo does come you can't have a love-feast +without company, you know, and I sha'n't be far off if you find you +want me.' + +She then took up her crwth, went round the llyn, and disappeared +through the eastern cleft. In a few minutes I heard her crwth. But +the air she played was not the air of the song she called the 'Welsh +dukkerin' gillie' which I had heard by Beddgelert. It was the air of +the same idyll of Snowdon that I first beard Winifred sing on the +sands of Raxton. Then I heard in the distance those echoes, magical +and faint, which were attributed by Winifred and Sinfi to the +Knockers or spirits of Snowdon. + + +IV + +There I stood again, as on that other morning, in the crevice +overlooking the same llyn, looking at what might well have been the +same masses of vapour enveloping the same peaks, rolling as then, +boiling as then, blazing as then, whenever the bright shafts of +morning struck them. There I stood again, listening to the wild notes +of Sinfi's crwth in the distance, as the sun rose higher, pouring a +radiance through the eastern gate of the gorge, and kindling the +aerial vapours moving about the llyn till their iridescent sails +suggested the wings of some enormous dragon-fly of every hue. + +'Her song does not come,' I said, 'but, this time, when it does come, +it will not befool my senses. Sinfi's own presence by my side--that +magnetism of hers which D'Arcy spoke of--would be required before the +glamour could be cast over me, now that I know she is crazy. Poor +Sinfi! Her influence will not to-day be able to cajole my eyes into +accepting her superstitious visions as their own.' + +But as I spoke a sound fell, not upon my ears alone, but upon every +nerve of my body, the sound of a voice singing, a voice that was not +Sinfi's, but another's, + + 'I met in a glade a lone little maid, + At the foot of y Wyddfa the white; + Oh, lissom her feet as the mountain hind, + And darker her hair than the night; + Her cheek was like the mountain rose, + But fairer far to see. + As driving along her sheep with a song, + Down from the hills came she.' + +It was the same voice that I heard singing the same song on Raxton +Sands. It was the same voice that I heard singing the same song in +the London streets--Winnie's! + +And then there appeared in the eastern cleft of the gorge on the +other side of the llyn, illuminated as by a rosy steam, Winnie! Amid +the opalescent vapours gleaming round the llyn, with eyes now +shimmering as through a veil--now flashing like sapphires in the +sun--there she stood gazing through the film, her eyes expressing a +surprise and a wonder as great as my own. + + +'It is no phantasm--it is no hallucination,' I said, while my +breathing had become a spasmodic, choking gasp. + +But when I remembered the vision of Fairy Glen, I said, 'Imagination +can do that, and so can the glamour cast over me by Sinfi's music. It +does not vanish; ah, if the sweet madness should remain with me for +ever! It does not vanish--it is gliding along the side of the llyn: +it is moving towards me. And now those sudden little ripples in the +llyn--what do they mean? The trout are flying from her shadow. The +feet are grating on the stones. And hark! that pebble which falls +into the water with a splash; the glassy llyn is ribbed and rippled +with rings. Can a phantom do that? It comes towards me still. +Hallucination!' + +Still the vision came on. + + +When I felt the touch of her body, when I felt myself clasped in soft +arms, and felt falling on my face warm tears, and on my lips the +pressure of Winnie's lips--lips that were murmuring, 'At last, at +last!'--a strange, wild effect was worked within me. The reality of +the beloved form now in my arms declared itself; it brought back the +scene where I had last clasped it. + +Snowdon had vanished; the brilliant morning sun had vanished. The +moon was shining on a cottage near Raxton Church, and at the door two +lovers were standing, wet with the sea-water--with the sea-water +through which they had just waded. All the misery that had followed +was wiped out of my brain. It had not even the cobweb consistence of +a dream. + + +When, after a while, Snowdon and the drama of the present came back +to me, my brain was in such a marvellous state that it held two +pictures of the same Winnie as though each hemisphere of the brain +were occupied with its own vision. I was kissing Winnie's sea-salt +lips in the light of the moon at the cottage door, and I was kissing +them in the morning radiance by Knockers' Llyn. And yet so +overwhelming was the mighty tide of bliss overflowing my soul that +there was no room within me for any other emotion--no room for +curiosity, no room even for wonder. + +Like a spirit awakening in Paradise, I accepted the heaven in which +I found myself, and did not inquire how I got there. + +This did not last long, however. Suddenly and sharply the moonlight +scene vanished, and I was on Snowdon, and there came a burning +curiosity to know the meaning of this new life--the meaning of the +life of pain that had followed the parting at the cottage door. + + +V + +'Winnie,' I said, 'tell me where we are. I have been very ill since +we parted in your father's cottage. I have had the wildest +hallucinations concerning you; dreams, intolerable dreams. And even +now they hang about me; even now it seems to me that we are far away +from Raxton, surrounded by the hills and peaks of Snowdon. If they +were real _you_ would be the dream, but you are real; this waist is +real.' + +'Of course we are on Snowdon, Henry!' said she. 'You must indeed have +been ill--you must now be very ill--to suppose you are at Raxton.' + +'But what are we doing here?' I said. 'How did we come here?' + +'Let Badoura speak for herself only,' she said, with that arch smile +of hers. She was alluding to the old days at Raxton, when she hoped +that some day her little Camaralzaman would be carried by genii to +her as she sat thinking of him by the magic llyn. 'The genie who +brought me was Sinfi Lovell. But who brought Camaralzaman? That is a +question,' she said, 'I am dying to have answered.' + +At the name of Sinfi Lovell the past came flowing in. + +'Then there _is_ a Sinfi Lovell, Winnie! And yet she is one of the +figures in the dream. There was no Sinfi Lovell with us at Raxton.' + +'Of course there is a Sinfi Lovell! You begin to make me as dazed as +yourself. You have known her well; you and she were seeking me when I +was lost.' + +'Then you _were_ lost?' I said. 'That, then, is no dream. And yet if +you were lost you have been--But you are alive, Winnie. Let me +feel the lips on mine again. You are alive! Snowdon told me at last +that you were alive, but I dared not believe it, my darling. I dared +not believe that my misery would end thus--thus.' + +There came upon her face an expression of distressed perplexity which +did more than anything else to recall me to my senses. + +'Winnie,' I said, 'my brain is whirling. Let us sit down.' + +She sat down by my side. + +'You thought your Winnie was dead, Henry. Sinfi Lovell has told me +all about it.' Then, looking intently at me, she said, 'And how your +sorrow has changed you, dear!' + +'You mean it has aged me, Winnie. I have observed it myself, and +people tell me it has made me look older than I am by many years. +These furrows around the eyes--these furrows on my brow--you are +kissing them, dear.' + +'Oh, I love them; how I love them!' she said. 'I am not kissing them +to smooth them away. To me every line tells of your love for Winnie.' + +'And the hair, Winnie--look, it is getting quite grizzled.' Then, as +the lovely head sank upon my breast. I whispered in her ears, 'Is +there at last sorrow enough in the eyes, Winnie? Has the hardening +effect of wealth coarsened my expression? Can a rich man for once +enter the kingdom of love? Is the betrothal now complete? Are we both +betrothed now?' + +I stopped, for bliss and love were convulsing her with sobs until you +might have supposed her heart was breaking. + + +While she lay silent thus, I was able in some degree to call my wits +around me. And the difficulty of knowing in what course I ought to +direct conversation presented itself, and seemed to numb my faculties +and paralyse me. + +After a while she became more composed, and sat in a trance, so to +speak, of happiness. + +But she remained silent. The conversation, I perceived, would have to +be directed entirely by me. With the appalling seizures ever present +in my mind, I felt that every word that came from my lips was +dangerous. + +'Look,' I said, 'the colours of the vapours round the llyn are as +rich as they were when we breakfasted here together.' + +'We breakfasted here together! Why, what do you mean?' she said, +looking in my face. 'You forget, Henry, you never knew me in Wales at +all; it was only at Raxton that you ever saw me.' + +'I mean when you breakfasted with the Prince of the Mist. I was the +Prince of the Mist, dear.' + +She gave me a puzzled look which scared while it warned me. How cruel +it seemed of Sinfi, who had planned this meeting, not to have told me +how much and how little Winnie knew of the past. + +'You know nothing about the Prince of the Mist except what I told you +on Raxton sands,' she said. 'But you have been very ill; you will be +well now.' + +'Yes,' I said; 'I have found the life I had lost, and these dreams of +mine will soon pass.' + +As the conversation went on I began to see that she remembered our +meetings on the sands--remembered everything up to a certain point. +What was that point? This was the question that kept me on +tenterhooks. + +Every word she uttered, however, shed light into my mind, and served +as a warning that I must feel my way cautiously. It was evident to me +that in some unaccountable way Sinfi at some time after she left me +at Beddgelert had discovered that Winnie was not really dead, and had +brought her back to me--brought her back to me restored in mind, but +with all memory of what had passed during her dementia erased from +her consciousness. Everything depended now upon my learning how much +of her past she did remember. A single ill-judged word of mine--a +single false move--might ruin all, and bring back the life of misery +which I seemed at last to have left behind me. + + +VI + +'Winnie,' I said, 'you have not yet told me how you came here. You +have not yet told me how it is that you meet me on Snowdon--meet me +in this wonderful way.' + +'Oh,' said she with a smile, 'Badoura has been a mere puppet in the +play. She had no idea she was going to meet her prince. Sinfi was +suddenly seized with a desire that she and I should come back, and +visit the dear old places we knew together. I was nothing loth, as +you may imagine, but I could not understand what had made her set +her heart upon it. When we reached Carnarvonshire I found that +Sinfi's people were all encamped near to Bettws y Coed, and we went +and stayed there. We visited all the places in the neighbourhood that +were associated with her childhood and mine.' + +'You went to Fairy Glen?' I said. + +'Yes; we went there the night before last and saw it in the +moonlight.' + +'I was there, and I saw you.' + +'Ah! Then the man sitting on the boulder at the bottom was you! How +wonderful! Sinfi was there on the step round the corner; she must +have seen you. I know now why she suddenly hurried me away. She had +told me that she wanted to see the Glen by moonlight' + +'Then you did not know that you would meet me here?' + +'My dear Henry, do you suppose that if I had known, I could have been +induced to take part in anything so theatrical? When I saw you +standing here my amazement and joy were so great that I forgot the +strange way in which I stood exhibited.' + +I felt that the longer she chatted about such matters as these the +more opportunities I should get of learning how much and how little +she knew of her own story, so I said, + +'But tell me how Sinfi contrived to trick you.' + +'Well, this morning was the time fixed for our visiting Llyn +Coblynau, as we call Knockers' Lynn, which was my favourite place as +a child. We were to see it when the colours of the morning were upon +it. Then we were to go right to the top of Snowdon and take a mid-day +meal at the hut there, and in the evening go down to Llanberis and +sleep there. To-morrow morning we were to go to dear old Carnarvon +and see again the beloved sea. I find now that her plan was to bring +you and me together in this sensational way.' + +'Will she join us?' I asked. + +'I know no more than you what will be Sinfi's next whim. At the last +moment yesterday I was surprised to find that I was not to come with +her here, as she was not to sleep in the camp last night because she +had promised to see a friend at Capel Curig. And now, shall I tell +you how she inveigled me into taking my part in this Snowdon play she +was getting up? She told me that she had the greatest wish to +discover how the "Knockers' echoes," as they are called, would sound +if, in the early morning, she were to play her crwth in one spot and +I were to answer it from another spot with a verse of a Welsh song. +It seemed a pretty idea, and it was agreed that when I reached the +llyn I was to go round it to the opening at the east, pass through +the crevice, and wait there till I heard her crwth.' + +'Well, Winnie, I must say that the way in which our Gypsy friend +manipulated you, and the way in which she manipulated me, shows a +method that would have done credit to any madness.' + +'You? How did she trick you?' + +I was determined not to talk about myself till I had felt my way. + +'Winnie, dear,' I said, 'seeing you is such a surprise, and my +illness has left me so weak, that I must wait before talking about +myself. I shall be more able to do this after I have learnt more of +what has befallen you. You say that Sinfi proposed to bring you to +Wales; but where were you when she did so? And what brought you into +contact with Sinfi again after--after--after you and I were parted in +Raxton?' + +'Ah! that is a strange story indeed,' said Winifred. 'It bewilders me +to recall it as much as it will bewilder you when you come to hear +it. I, too, seem to have been ill, and quite unconscious for months +and months.' + +'Winnie,' I said, 'tell me this strange story about yourself. Tell it +in your own way, and do not let me interrupt you by a word. Whenever +you see that I am about to speak, stop me--put your hand over my +mouth.' + +'But where am I to begin?' + +'Begin from our first meeting on the sands on the night of the +landslip.' + +But while I spoke I thought I observed her looking at the breakfast +provided by Sinfi with something like the same wistful expression +that was on her face on that morning forgotten by her but remembered +by me so well, when she breakfasted so heartily on the same spot. + +'Winnie,' I said, 'this mountain air has given me a voracious +appetite. I wonder whether you could manage to eat some of these good +things provided by our theatrical manageress?' + +'I wonder whether I could,' said Winnie; 'I'll try--if you'll ask me +no questions, but talk about Snowdon and watch the changes of the +glorious morning. But we must call Sinfi.' + +'No, no. I want to talk to you alone first. By the time your story is +over I at least shall be ready for another breakfast, and then we +will call her.' + +This was agreed upon, and I sat down to my second breakfast with +Winnie beside Knockers' Llyn. I sat with my face opposite to the +llyn, and we had scarcely begun when I noticed Sinfi's face peeping +round a corner of the little gorge. Winnie's back being turned from +the llyn she did not see Sinfi, who gave me a sign that her part of +that performance was to be looker-on. + +I have not time to dwell upon what was said and done during our +breakfast in this romantic place, and under these more than romantic +circumstances. During the whole of the time the Knockers kept up +their knockings, and it really seemed as though the good-natured +goblins were expressing their welcome to the child of y Wyddfa. + + + +XV + +THE DAUGHTER OF SNOWDON'S STORY + + +I + +After the breakfast was ended Winifred went over the entire drama of +that night of the landslip as far as she knew it. There was not an +important incident that she missed. Every detail of her narrative was +so vividly given that I lived it all over again. She recalled our +meeting on the sands, and my inexplicable bearing when she told me of +the seaman's present of precious stones to her father. She dwelt upon +my mysterious conduct in insisting upon our ascending the cliff by +different gangways. She recalled her picking up from the sands a +parchment scroll and spelling out by the moonlight the words of the +curse it called down upon the head of any one who should violate the +tomb from which the parchment and the jewel had been stolen, but as +she repeated the words of the curse she was evidently unconscious of +the tremendous import of the words in regard to herself and her +father. She told me of her desire to conceal from me, for my own sake +merely, the evidence afforded by the scroll that my father's tomb had +been violated. She recalled my seeing the parchment and being thrown +thereby into a state of the greatest mental agony. She recalled my +taking her hand as we neared the new tongue of land made by the +_debris_, and peering round it as though in dread of some concealed +foe, but evidently she had no idea of _what_ was behind there. She +described the way in which my 'foot slipped on the sand,' and how I +was thrown back upon her as she stood waiting to pass the _debris_ +herself. She spoke of my unaccountable and apparently mad suggestion +that we should, although the tide was coming in, and we were already +in danger of being imprisoned in the cove and drowned, sit down on +the boulder made sacred to us both by our childish betrothal. She +spoke of her own suspicion, and then her conviction, that some great +calamity was threatening me on account of the violation of the tomb, +and that the knowledge of this was governing all these strange +movements of mine. She reminded me of my telling her that the shriek +we both heard at the moment when the cliff fell was connected with +the crime against my father, and that it was the call from the grave +which, according to wild traditions, will sometimes come to the heir +of an old family. She recalled the very words I used when I told her +that in answer to this call I intended to remain there until the tide +came in and drowned me. She dwelt upon the way in which I urged her +to go and leave me, her own resolution to die with me, and her +cutting up her shawl into a rope and tying herself to me. She +recalled the sudden thunderous noise of the settlement in response +to the tide, and my springing up and running to the mass of _debris_ +and looking round it, and then my calling her to join me; and finally +she described her running toward Needle Point in order to pass round +it before the tide should get any higher, her plunging into the sea +and my pulling her round the Point. + +It was manifest, from the first word she uttered to the last, that +she had no idea who was the 'miscreant,' to use her oft-repeated +word, who committed the sacrilege; and nothing could express what +relief this gave my heart. I felt as though I had just escaped from +some peril too dire to think of with calmness. + +'You remember, Henry,' said she, 'how we ran to the cottage in our +wet clothes. You remember how we parted at the cottage door. From +that night till now we have never met, and now we meet--here on +Snowdon--at the very llyn I was always so fond of. + +'But tell me more, Winnie--tell me what occurred to you on the next +morning.' + +'Well,' said she, 'I was always a sound sleeper, but my fatigue that +night made me sleep until quite late the next morning. I hurried up +and got breakfast ready for father and myself. I then went and rapped +at his door, but I got no answer. His room was empty.' + +Winifred paused here as though she expected me to say something. A +thousand things occurred to me to ask, but until I knew more--until I +knew how much and how little she remembered of that dreadful time, I +dared ask her nothing--I dared make no remark at all. I said, 'Go on, +Winnie; pray do not break your story.' + +'Well,' said she, 'I found that my father had not returned during the +night. I did not feel disturbed at that, his ways were so uncertain. +I did not even hurry over my breakfast, but dallied over it, +recalling the scenes of the previous night, and wondering what some +of them could mean. I then went down the gangway at Needle Point to +walk on the sands. I thought I might meet father coming from +Dullingham. I had to pass the landslip, where a great number of +Raxton people were gathered. They were looking at the frightful +relics of Raxton churchyard. They were too dreadful for me to look +at. I walked right to Dullingham without meeting my father. At +Dullingham I was told that he had not been there for some days. Then, +for the first time, I began to be haunted by fears, but they took no +distinct shape. When I returned to the landslip the people were still +there, and still very excited about it. In the afternoon I went again +on the sands, thinking that I might see my father and also that I +might see you. I walked about till dusk without seeing either of you, +and then I went back to the cottage. I had now become very anxious +about my father, and sat up all night. The next morning after +breakfast I went again on the sands. The number of people collected +round the landslip seemed greater than ever, and many of them, I +think, came from Graylingham, Rington, and Dullingham. They seemed +more excited than they had been on the previous day, and they did not +notice me as I joined them. I heard some one say in a cracked and +piping voice, "Well, it's my belief as Tom lays under that there +settlement. It's my belief that he wur standing on the edge of the +churchyard cliff, and when the cliff fell he fell with it." Then the +kind and good-natured little tailor Shales saw me, and I thought he +must have made some signal to the others, for they all stood silent. +I felt sure now that for some reason, unknown to me, it was generally +believed that my father had perished in the landslip. Mrs. Shales +took me by the hand, and gently led me away up the gangway. When we +reached the cottage I asked her whether my father's body had been +found. She told me that it had not, and was not likely to be found, +for if he had really fallen with the landslip his body lay under tons +upon tons of earth. I shall never forget the misery of that night; +kind Mrs. Shales would not leave me, but slept in the cottage. I had +very little doubt that the Raxton people were right in their dreadful +guesses about my father. I had very little doubt that while walking +along the cliff, either to or from the cottage, he had reached the +point at the back of the church at the moment of the landslip, and +been carried down with it, and I now felt sure that the shriek you +and I both heard was his shriek of terror as he fell. I bethought me +of the jewels that my father's sailor friend was to give him, and +searched the cottage for them. As I could not find them, I felt sure +that it was on his return from his meeting with his sailor friend, +when the jewels were upon him, that he fell with the landslip.' + +Again Winnie paused as if awaiting some question, or at least some +remark from me. + +'Did you make no inquiries about me?' I said. + +'Oh yes,' said she; 'my grief at the loss of my father was very much +increased by my not being able to see you. Mrs. Shales told me that +you were ill--very ill. And altogether, you may imagine my misery. +Day after day I got worse and worse news of you. 'And day after day +it became more and more certain, that my father had perished in the +way people supposed. I used to spend most of the day on the sands, +gazing at the landslip, and searching for my father's body. Every +one tried to persuade me to give up my search, as it was hopeless, +for his body was certain to be buried deep under the new tongue of +land.' + +'But you still continued your search, Winnie?' I said, remembering +every word Dr. Mivart had told me in connection with her being found +by the fishermen. + +'Yes, I found it impossible not to go on with it. But one morning +after there had been a great storm followed by a further settlement +of the landslip, I went out alone on the cliffs. I said to myself, +"This shall be my last search." By this time the news of your illness +and the anxiety I felt about you helped much in blunting the anxiety +I felt about my father's loss. But on this very morning I am speaking +of something very extraordinary happened. + +'Don't tell me, Winnie. For God's sake, don't tell me! It will +disturb you; it will make you ill again.' + +She looked at me in evident astonishment at my words. + +'Don't tell you, Henry? Why, there is nothing to tell,' said she. 'As +I was walking along the sands, looking at the new tongue of land made +by the landslip, I seem to have lost consciousness.' + +'And you don't know what caused this?' + +'Not in the least; unless it was my anxiety and want of sleep. This +was the beginning of the long illness that I spoke of, and I seem to +have remained quite without consciousness until a few weeks ago. I +often try to make my mind bring back the circumstances under which I +lost consciousness. I throw my thoughts, so to speak, upon a wall of +darkness, and they come reeling back like waves that are dashed +against a cliff.' + +'Then don't do so any more, Winnie. I know enough of such matters to +tell you confidently that you never will recall the incidents +connected with your collapse, and that the endeavour to do so is +really injurious to you. What interests me very much more is to know +the circumstances under which you came to yourself. I am dying with +impatience to know all about that.' + + +II + +'When I came to myself,' said Winifred, 'I was in a world as new and +strange and wonderful as that in which Christopher Sly found himself +when he woke up to his new life in Shakespeare's play.' + +She paused. She little thought how my flesh kindled with impatience. + +'Yes, Winnie,' I said; 'you are going to tell me how, and where, and +when you were restored to life--regained your consciousness, I +mean--unless it will too deeply agitate you to tell me.' + +'It would not agitate me in the least, Henry, to tell you all about +it. But it is a long story, and this seems a strange place in which +to tell it, surrounded by these glorious peaks and covered by this +roof of sunrise. But do you tell me all about yourself, all about +your illness, which seems to have been a dreadful one.' + + +My story, indeed! What was there in my story that I could or dare +tell her? My story would have to be all about herself, and the +tragedy of the supposed curse, and the terrible seizures from which +she had recovered, and of which she must never know. I set to work to +persuade her to tell me all she knew. + +At last she yielded, and said, 'Well, I awoke as from a deep sleep, +and found myself lying on a couch, with a man's face bending over +mine. I could not help exclaiming, "Henry!'" + +'Then did he resemble me?' I asked. + +'Only in this--that in his eyes there was the expression which has +always appealed to me more than any other expression, whether in +human eyes or in the eyes of animals. I mean the pleading, yearning +expression of loneliness that there was in your eyes when they were +the eyes of a little, lame boy who could not get up the gangways +without me.' + +'Ah, the egotism of love!' I exclaimed. 'You mean, Winnie, that +expression which my unlucky eyes had lost when we met upon the sands +after our childhood was passed.' + +'But which love,' said she, 'love of Winnie, sorrow for the loss of +Winnie, have brought back, increased a thousandfold, till it gives me +pain and yet a delicious pain to look into them. Oh, Henry, I can't +go on; I really can't, if you look--' + +She burst into tears. + +When she got calmer she proceeded. + +'It was only in the expression of your eyes that he resembled you. +He was much older, and wore spectacles. He, on his part, gave a start +when he looked into my eyes. It seemed to me that he had been +expecting to see something in them which he did not find there, and +was a little disappointed. I then heard voices in the room, which was +evidently, from the sound of the voices, a large room, and I looked +round. I saw that there was another couch close to mine, but nearly +hidden from view by a large screen between the two couches. Evidently +a woman was lying on the other couch, for I could see her feet; she +was a tall woman, for her feet reached out much beyond my own.' + +'Good heavens, Winnie,' I exclaimed, 'what on earth is coming? But I +promised not to interrupt you. Pray go on, I am all impatience.' + +'Well, at the sound of the voices the gentleman started, and seemed +much alarmed--alarmed on my account, I thought. + +'I then heard a voice say, "A most successful experiment. Look at the +face of this other patient, and see the expression on it." + +'The gentleman bent over me, and hurriedly raised me from the couch, +and then fairly carried me out of the room. But you seem very +excited, Henry, you have turned quite pale.' + +It would have been wonderful if I had not turned pale. So deeply +burnt into my brain had been the picture I had imagined of Winnie +dead and in a pauper's grave that even now, with Winnie in my arms, +it all came to me, and I seemed to see her lying in a pauper's +shroud, and being restored to life, and I said to her, 'Did you +observe--did you observe your dress, Winnie?' + +She answered my question by a little laugh. 'Did I observe my dress +at such a moment? Well, I knew you could be satirical on my sex when +you are in the mood, but, Henry, there are moments, I assure you, +when the first thing a woman observes is not her dress, and this was +one. Afterwards I did observe it, and I can tell you what it was. It +was a walking-dress. Perhaps,' said she, with a smile, 'perhaps you +would like to know the material? But really I have forgotten that.' +'Pardon my idle question, Winnie--pray go on. I will interrupt you no +more.' + +'Oh, you will interrupt me no more! We shall see. The gentleman then +led me through a passage of some length.' + +'Do describe it!' + +'I felt quite sure you would interrupt me no more. Well! The dim +light in the windows made me guess I was in an old house, and from +the sweet smell of hay and wild-flowers I thought we were near the +Wilderness, at Raxton. I could only imagine that I had fallen +insensible on the sands and been taken to Raxton Hall.' + +'Ah! that's where you ought to have been taken.' I could not help +exclaiming. + +'Surely not,' said Winnie. + +'Why?' + +'Your mother! But why have you turned so angry?' + +In spite of all that I had lately witnessed of my mother's sufferings +from remorse, in spite of all the deep and genuine pity that those +sufferings had drawn from me, Winnie's words struck deeper than any +pity for any creature but herself, and for a moment my soul rose +against my mother again. + +'Go on, Winnie, pray go on,' I said. + +'You _will_ make me talk about myself,' said Winifred, 'when I so +much want to hear all about you. This is what I call the +self-indulgence of love. Well, then, the gentleman and I mounted some +steps and then we entered a tapestried room. The windows--they were +quaint and old-fashioned casements--were open, and the sunlight was +pouring through them. I then saw at once that I was not anywhere near +Raxton. Besides, there was no sea-smell mixed with the perfumes of +the flowers and the songs of the birds. That I was not near Raxton, +very much amazed me, you may be sure. And then the room was so new to +me and so strange. I had never been in an artist's studio, but Sinfi +had talked to me of such places, and there were many signs that I was +in a studio now.' + +'A studio! And not in London! Describe it, Winnie,' I said. + +Although she had told me that the house was in the country, my mind +flew at once to Wilderspin's studio. 'You say that the gentleman was +not young, but that he had an expression of sorrow in his eyes. Had +he long iron-grey hair, and was he dressed--dressed, like a--like a +shiny Quaker?' So full was my mind of Mrs. Gudgeon's story that I was +positively using her language. + +'Like a what?' exclaimed Winnie. 'Really, Henry, you have become very +eccentric since our parting. The gentleman had not iron-grey hair, +and he was not dressed in the least like a Quaker, unless a loose, +brown lounge coat tossed on anyhow over a waistcoat and trousers of +the same colour is the costume of a shiny Quaker. But it was the room +you asked me to describe. There were pictures on the walls, and there +were two easels, and on one of them I saw a picture. The gentleman +led me to a strange and very beautiful piece of furniture. If I +attempted to describe it I should call it a divan, under a gorgeous +kind of awning ornamented with Chinese figures in ivory and precious +stones. Now, isn't it exactly like an _Arabian Nights_ story, Henry?' + +'Yes, yes, Winnie; but pray go on. What did the gentleman do?' + +'He drew a chair towards me, and without speaking looked into my face +again. The expression in his eyes drew me towards him, as it had at +first done when I awoke from my trance; it drew me towards him partly +because it said, "I am lonely and in sorrow," and partly from +another cause which I could not understand and could never define, +howsoever I might try. "Where am I?" I said; "I remember nothing +since I fell on the sands. Where is Henry? Is he better or worse? Can +you tell me?" The gentleman said, "The friend you inquire about is a +long way from here, and you are a long way from Raxton." I asked him +why I was a long way from Raxton, and said, "Who brought me here? Do, +please, tell me what it means. I am amongst friends--of that I am +sure; there is something in your voice which assures me of that; but +do tell me what this mystery means." "You are indeed among friends," +he said. Then looking at me with an expression of great kindness, he +continued, "It would be difficult to imagine where you could go +without finding friends, Miss Wynne."' + +'Then he knew who you were, Winnie?' I said. + +'Yes, he knew who I was,' said she, looking meditatively across the +hills as though my query had raised in her own mind some question +which had newly presented itself. 'The gentleman told me that I had +been very ill and was now recovered, but not so entirely recovered at +present that I could with safety be burthened and perplexed with the +long story of my illness and what had brought me there. And when he +concluded by saying, "You are here for your good," I exclaimed, "Ah, +yes; no need for me to be told that," for his voice convinced me that +it was so. "But surely you can tell me something. Where is Henry? Is +he still ill?" I said. He told me that he believed you to be +perfectly well, and that you had lately been living in Wales, but had +now gone to Japan. "Henry lately in Wales! now gone to Japan!" I +exclaimed, "and he was not with me during the illness that you say I +have just recovered from?"' + +'Winnie,' I said, 'it was no wonder you asked those questions, but you +will soon know all.' + +Whilst Winnie had been talking my mind had been partly occupied with +words that fell from her about the voice of her mysterious rescuer. +They seemed to recall something. + +'You were saying, Winnie, that the gentleman had a peculiarly musical +voice,' I said. + +'So musical,' she replied, 'that it seemed to delight and charm, not +my mind only, but every nerve in my body.' + +'Could you describe it?' + +'Describe a voice,' she said, laughing. 'Who could describe a voice?' + +'You, Winnie; only you. Do describe it.' + +'I wonder,' she said, 'whether you remember our first walk along the +Raxton road, when I made invidious comparison between the voices of +birds and the voices of men and women?' + +'Indeed I do,' I said. 'I remember how you suggested that among the +birds the rooks only could listen without offence to the cackle of a +crowd of people.' + +'Well, Henry, I can only give you an idea of the gentleman's voice by +saying that the most fastidious blackbirds and thrushes that ever +lived would have liked it. Indeed they did seem to like it, as I +afterwards thought, when I took walks with him. It was music in every +variety of tone; and, besides, it seemed to me that this music was +enriched by a tone which I had learnt from your own dear voice as a +child, the tone which sorrow can give and nothing else. The listener +while he was speaking felt so drawn towards him as to love the man +who spoke. When his voice ceased, some part of his attraction ceased. +But the moment the voice was again heard the magic of the man +returned as strong as ever.' + + +III + +For some time during Winnie's narrative glimmerings of the +gentleman's identity had been coming to me, and what she said of the +voice seemed to be turning these glimmerings into shafts of light. I +was now in a state of the greatest impatience to verify my surmise. +But this only gave a sharper edge to my intense curiosity as to +_how_ she had been rescued by him. + +'Winnie,' I said, 'you have said nothing about his appearance. Could +you describe his face?' + +'Describe his face?' said Winnie. 'If I were a painter I could paint +it from memory. But who can paint a face in words?' + +Then she launched into a description of the gentleman's appearance, +and gave me a specimen of that 'objective' power which used to amaze +me as a child but which I afterwards found was a speciality of the +girls of Wales. + +'I should like a description of him feature by feature,' I said. + +She laughed, and said, 'I suppose I must begin with his forehead +then. It was almost of the tone of marble, and contrasted, but not +too violently, with the thin crop of dark hair slightly curling round +the temples, which were partly bald. The forehead in its form was so +perfect that it seemed to shed its own beauty over all the other +features; it prevented me from noticing, as I afterwards did, that +these other features--the features below the eyes, were not in +themselves beautiful. The eyes, which looked at me through +spectacles, were of a colour between hazel and blue-grey, but there +were lights shining within them which were neither grey, nor hazel, +nor blue--wonderful lights. And it was to these indescribable lights, +moving and alive in the deeps of the pupils, that his face owed its +extraordinary attractiveness. Have I sufficiently described him? or +am I to go on taking his face to pieces for you?' + +'Go on, Winnie--pray go on.' + +'Well, then, between the eyes, across the top of the nose, where the +bridge of the spectacles rested, there was a strongly marked indented +line which had the appearance of having been made by long-continued +pressure of the spectacle frame. Am I still to go on?' + +'Yes, yes.' + +'The beauty of the face, as I said before, was entirely confined to +the upper portion. It did not extend lower than the cheek-bones, +which were well shaped.' + +'The mouth, Winnie? Describe that, and then I need not ask you his +name, though perhaps you don't know it yourself.' + +'A dark brown moustache covered the mouth. I have always thought that +a mouth is unattractive if the lips are so close to the teeth that +they seem to stick to them; and yet what a kind woman Mrs. Shales is, +and her mouth is of this kind. But, on the other hand, where the +space between the teeth and the lips is too great no mouth can be +called beautiful, I think. Now though the mouth of the gentleman was +not ill-cut, the lips were too far from the teeth, I thought; they +were too loose, a little baggy, in short. And when he laughed--' + +'What about that, Winnie? I specially want to know about his laugh.' + +'Then I will tell you. When he laughed his teeth were a little too +much seen; and this gave the mouth a somewhat satirical expression.' + +'Winnie,' I said, 'there is no need now for you to tell me the name +of the gentleman. In a few sentences you have described him better +than I could have done in a hundred.' + +'And certainly there is no reason why I should not tell you his +name,' she said, laughing, 'for if there is a word that is musical in +my ears, it is the name of him whose voice is music--D'Arcy. When he +told me that I should know everything in time, and that there was +nothing for me to know except that which would give me comfort, and +said, "You confide in me!" I could only answer, "Who would not +confide in you? I will wait patiently until you tell me what you have +to tell." "Then," said he, "the best thing you can do is to lie down +for an hour or two on that divan and rest yourself, and go to sleep +if you can, while I go and attend to certain affairs that need me." +He then left the room. I was glad to be alone, for I was terribly +tired. I felt as though I had been taking violent bodily exercise, +but without feeling the staying power that Snowdon air can give. I +lay down on the divan, and must have fallen asleep immediately. When +I woke I found the same kind face near me, and the same kind eyes +watching me. Mr. D'Arcy told me that I had been sleeping for two +hours, and that it had, he hoped, much refreshed me. He told me also +that he took a constitutional walk every day, and asked me if I would +accompany him. I said, "Yes, I should like to do so." At this moment +there passed the window some railway men leaving some luggage. On +seeing them Mr. D'Arcy said, "I see that I must leave you for a +minute or two to look after a package of canvases that has just come +from my assistant in London," and he left me. When I was left alone I +had an opportunity of observing the room. The walls were covered with +old faded tapestry, so faded indeed that its general effect was that +of a dull grey texture. On looking at it closely I found that it told +the story of Samson. Every piece of furniture seemed to me to be a +rare curiosity.' + +'Now, Winnie,' I said, 'I am not going to interrupt you any more. I +want to hear your story as an unbroken narrative.' + + +IV + +'Well,' said Winnie, 'after a while Mr. D'Arcy returned and told me +that he was now ready to take me for a stroll across the meadows, +saying, "The doctor told me that, at first, your walks must be short; +so while you go to your room I will get Mrs. Titwing in for my usual +consultation about our frugal meal." + +'"My room," I said, "my room, and Mrs. Titwing; who's--" + +'"Ha! I quite forgot myself," he said, with an air of vexation, +which he tried, I thought, to conceal. "I will ring for Mrs. +Titwing--the housekeeper--and she will take you to your room." + +'He walked towards the bell, but before reaching it he stopped as if +arrested by a sudden thought. Then he said, "I will go to the +housekeeper's room and speak to Mrs. Titwing there. I shall be back +in a minute." And he passed from the room through the door by which +he and I had first entered. + +'Scarcely had the door closed behind him before a woman entered by +another door opposite to it. She was about the common height, +slender, and of an extremely youthful figure for a woman of middle +age. Her bright-complexioned face, lit by two watery blue eyes, was +pleasant to look upon. It was none the less pleasant because it +showed clearly that she was as guileless as a child. + +'I knew at once that she was the person--the housekeeper--that Mr. +D'Arcy had gone to seek at the other side of the house. Evidently she +had come upon me unexpectedly, for she gave a violent start, then she +murmured to herself, + +'"So it's all over, and all went off well." she said. Then she walked +quietly towards me and threw her arms round me and kissed me, saying, +"Dear child, I am so glad." + +'The tone of voice in which she spoke to me was exactly that of a +nurse speaking to a little child. + +'I was so taken by surprise that I pulled myself from her embrace +with some force. The poor woman looked at me in a hurt way and then +said, + +'"I beg your pardon, miss. I didn't notice at first how--how changed +you are. The look in your eyes makes me feel that you are not the +same person, and that I have done quite wrong." + +'While she was speaking, Mr. D'Arcy had re-entered the room by the +door by which he went out. He had evidently heard the housekeeper's +words. + +'"Miss Wynne," he said, "this is Mrs. Titwing, my excellent +housekeeper. She has been attending you during your illness; but your +weakness was so great that you were unconscious of all her kindness." + +'I went up to her and kissed her rosy cheek, at which she began to +cry a little. I afterwards found that she was in the habit of crying +a little on most occasions. + +'"Will you, then, kindly show me my room?" I said to her. But as she +turned round to lead the way to the room, Mr. D'Arcy said to her, + +'"Before you show Miss Wynne the way, I should like one word with +you, Mrs. Titwing, in your room, about the arrangements for the day." + +'The two passed out of the room, and again I was left to myself and +my own thoughts.' + + +V + +'Evidently there was some mystery about me,' said Winifred, +continuing her story. 'But the more I tried to think it out the more +puzzling it seemed. How had I been conveyed to this strange new +place? Who was the wizard whose eyes and whose voice began to enslave +me? and what time had passed since he caught me up on Raxton sands? +It seemed exactly like one of those _Arabian Nights_ stories which +you and I used to read together when we were children. The waking up +on the couch, the sight of the end of the other couch behind the +screen, and the tall woman's feet upon it, the voices from unseen +persons in the room, and above all the strange magic of him who +seemed to be the directing genie of the story--all would have seemed +to me unreal had it not been for the prosaic figure of Mrs. Titwing. +About her there could not possibly be any mystery; she was what Miss +Dalrymple would have called "the very embodiment of British +commonplace," and when, after a minute or two, she returned with Mr. +D'Arcy, I went and kissed her again from sheer delight of feeling +the touch of her real, solid; commonplace cheek, and to breathe the +commonplace smell of scented soap. Her bearing, however, towards me +had become entirely changed since she had gone out of the room. She +did not return the kiss, but said, "Shall I show you the way, miss?" +and led the way out. + +'She took me through the same dark passage by which I had entered, +and then I found myself in a large bedroom with low panelled walls, +in the middle of which was a vast antique bedstead made of black +carved oak, and every bit of furniture in the room seemed as old as +the bedstead. Over the mantelpiece was an old picture in a carved oak +frame, a Madonna and Child, the beauty of which fascinated me. I +remember that on the bottom of the frame was written in printed +letters the name "Chiaro dell' Erma." I was surprised to find in the +room another walking-dress, not new, but slightly worn, laid out +ready for me to put on. I lifted it up and looked at it. I saw at a +glance that it would most likely fit me like a glove. + +'"Whose dress is this?" I said. + +'"It's yours, miss." + +'"Mine? But how came it mine?" + +'"Oh, please don't ask me any questions, miss," she said. "Please ask +Mr. D'Arcy, miss; he knows all about it. I am only the housekeeper, +miss." + +'"Mr. D'Arcy knows all about my dress!" I said. "Why, what on earth +has Mr. D'Arcy to do with my dress?" + +'"Please don't ask me any more questions, miss," she said. "Pray +don't. Mr. D'Arcy is a very kind man; I am sure nobody has ever heard +me say but what he is a very kind man; but if you do what he says you +are not to do, if you talk about what he says you are not to talk +about, he is frightful, he is awful. He calls you a chattering old--I +don't know what he won't call you. And, of course, I know you are a +lady, miss. Of course you look a lady, miss, when you are dressed +like one. But then, you see, when I first saw you, you were not +dressed as you are now, and at first sight, of course, we go by the +dress a good deal, you know. But Mr. D'Arcy needn't be afraid I shall +not treat you like a lady, miss. I'm only a housekeeper now, though, +of course, I was once very different--very different indeed. But, of +course, anybody has only to look at you to see you are a lady, and, +besides, Mr. D'Arcy says you are a lady, and that is quite enough." + +'At this moment there came through the door--it was ajar--Mr. +D'Arcy's voice from the distance, so loud and clear that every word +could be heard. + +'"Mrs. Titwing, why do you stay chattering there, preventing Miss +Wynne from getting ready? You know we are going out for a walk +together." + +'"Oh Lord, miss!" said the poor woman in a frightened tone, "I must +go. Tell him I didn't chatter--tell him you asked me questions and I +was obliged to answer them." + +'The mysteries around me were thickening every moment. What did this +prattling woman mean about the dress in which she had at first seen +me? Was the dress in which she had first seen me so squalid that it +had affected her simple imagination? What had become of me after I +had sunk down on Raxton sands, and why was I left neglected by every +one? I knew you were ill after the landslip, but Mr. D'Arcy had just +told me that you had since been well enough to go to Wales and +afterwards to Japan. + +'I put on the dress and soon followed her. When I reached the +tapestried room there was Mr. D'Arcy talking to her in a voice so +gentle, tender, and caressing, that it seemed impossible the rough +voice I had heard bellowing through the passage could have come from +the same mouth, and Mrs. Titwing was looking into his face with the +delighted smile of a child who was being forgiven by its father for +some trifling offence. As I stood and looked at them I said to +myself, "Truly I am in a land of wonders."' + + +VI + +'Mr. D'Arcy and I,' said Winifred, 'went out of the house at the +back, walked across a roughly paved stable-yard, and passed through a +gate and entered a meadow. Then we walked along a stream about as +wide as one of our Welsh brooks, but I found it to be a backwater +connected with a river. For some time neither of us spoke a word. He +seemed lost in thought, and my mind was busy with what I intended to +say to him, for I was fully determined to get some light thrown upon +the mystery. + +'When we reached the river bank we turned towards the left, and +walked until we reached a weir, and there we sat down upon a fallen +willow tree, the inside of which was all touchwood. Then he said, + +'"You are silent, Miss Wynne." + +'"And you are silent," I said. + +'"My silence is easily explained," he said. "I was waiting to hear +some remark fall from you as to these meadows and the river, which +you have seen so often." + +'"Which I see now for the first time, you mean." + +'"Miss Wynne," he said, looking earnestly in my face, "you and I have +taken this walk together nearly every day for months." + +'"That," I said, "is--is quite impossible." + +'"It is true," he said. And then again we sat silent. + +'Then I said to him with great firmness, "Mr. D'Arcy, I'm only a +peasant girl, but I'm Welsh; I have faith in you, faith in your +goodness and faith in your kindness to me; but I must insist upon +knowing how I came here, and how you and I were brought together." + +'He smiled, and said, "I was right in thinking that your face +expresses a good deal of what we call character. I should have +preferred waiting for a day or two before relating all I have to +tell," he said, "in answer to what you ask, but as you _insist_ upon +having it now," with a playful kind of smile, "it would be ill-bred +for me to insist that you must wait. But before I begin, would it not +be better if you were to tell me something of what occurred to +yourself when you were taken ill at Raxton?" + +'"Then will your story begin where mine breaks off?" I said. + +'"We shall see that," he said, "as soon as you have ended yours." + +'"Do you know Raxton?" I said. + +'At first he seemed to hesitate about his reply, and then said, + +'"No, I do not." + +'I then told him in as few words as I could our adventures on the +sands on the night of the landslip, and my search for my father's +body afterwards, until I suddenly sank down in a fit. When I had +finished Mr. D'Arcy was silent, and was evidently lost in thought. At +last he said, + +'"My story, I perceive, cannot begin where yours breaks off. I first +became acquainted with you in the studio of a famous painter named +Wilderspin, one of the noblest-minded and most admirable men now +breathing, but a great eccentric." + +'"Why, Mr. D'Arcy, I never was in a studio in my life until to-day," +I said. + +'"You mean, Miss Wynne, that you were not consciously there," he +said. "But in that studio you certainly were, and the artist, who +reverenced you as a being from another world, was painting your face +in a beautiful picture. While he was doing this you were taken +seriously ill, and your life was despaired of. It was then that I +brought you into the country, and here you have been living and +benefiting by the kind services of Mrs. Titwing for a long time." + +'"And you know nothing of my history previously to seeing me in the +London studio?" I asked. + +'"All that I could ever learn about that," said he, in what seemed to +me a rather evasive tone, "I had to gather from the incoherent and +rambling talk of Wilderspin, a religious enthusiast whose genius is +very nearly akin to mania. He was so struck by you that he actually +believed you to be not a corporeal woman at all; he believed you had +been sent from the spirit-world by his dead mother to enable him to +paint a great picture." + +'"Oh, I must see him, and make him tell me all," I said. + +'"Yes," said he, "but not yet." + + +'What Mr. D'Arcy told me,' said Winnie, 'affected me so deeply that I +remained silent for a long time. Then came a thought which made me +say, + +'"You. too, are a painter, Mr. D'Arcy?" + +'"Yes," he said. + +'"During the months that I have been living here have you used me as +your model?" + +'"No; but that was not because I did not wish to do so." + +'Then he suddenly looked in my face and said, + +'"Is your family entirely Welsh, Miss Wynne?" + +'"Entirely," I said. "But why did you not use me as your model, Mr. +D'Arcy?" + +'"Poor Wilderspin believed you to be a spiritual body," he said; "I +did not. I knew that you were a young lady in an unconscious +condition. To have painted you in such a condition and without the +possibility of getting your consent would have been sacrilege, even +if I had painted you as a Madonna." + +'I could not speak, his words and tone were so tender. He broke the +silence by saying, + +'"Miss Wynne, there is one thing in connection with you that puzzles +me very much. You speak of yourself as though you were a kind of +Welsh peasant girl, and yet your conversation--well, I mustn't tell +you what I think of that." + +'This made me laugh outright, for ladies who called on Miss Dalrymple +used to make the same remark. + +'"Mr. D'Arcy," I said, "you are harbouring the greatest little +impostor in the British Islands. I am the mere mocking-bird of one of +the most cultivated women living. My true note is that of a simple +Welsh bird." + +'"A Welsh warbler," he said, with a smile, "but who was the original +of the impostor?" + +'"Miss Dalrymple," I said. + +'"Miss Dalrymple, the writer!--why I knew her years ago--before you +were born." + + +'Our talk had been so lively that we had not noticed the passage of +time, nor had we noticed that the clouds had been gathering for a +summer shower. Suddenly the rain fell heavily; although we ran to the +house, we were quite wet by the time we got in. + +'We found poor Mrs. Titwing in a great state of excitement on account +of the rain, and also because the dinner had been waiting for nearly +an hour. That scamper in the rain, and the laughing and joking at our +predicament, seemed to bring us closer together than anything else +could have done. Mr. D'Arcy told Mrs. Titwing to take me to my room +to change my dress for dinner, and he seemed quite disappointed when +I told him that I could eat no dinner, and would like to retire to my +room for the night. The fact was that the events of that wonderful +day had exhausted all my powers; every nerve within me seemed crying +out for sleep. + +'I went to my room, dismissed Mrs. Titwing, and went to bed at once. +But no sooner had I got into bed than I began to perceive that, +instead of sleep, a long wakeful night was before me. Mr. D'Arcy's +story about finding me in a London studio took entire possession of +my mind. How did I get there? Where had I been and what had been my +adventures before I got there? Why did the painter, in whose studio +Mr. D'Arcy found me, believe that I had been super-naturally sent to +him? I shuddered as a thousand dreadful thoughts flowed into my mind. +"Mr. D'Arcy," I said to myself, "must know more than he has told +me." Then, of course, came thoughts about you. I wondered why you had +allowed me to drift away from you in this manner. True, I was +probably removed from Raxton immediately after my illness, when you +were very ill, as I knew; but then you had recovered!' + + +VII + +When Winifred reached this point in her story, I said, + +'And so you wondered what had become of me from your last seeing me +down to your waking up in Mr. D'Arcy's house?' + +'Yes, yes, Henry. Do tell me what you were doing all that time.' + +As she said these words the whole tragedy of my life returned to me +in one moment, and yet in that moment I lived over again every +dreadful incident and every dreadful detail. The spectacle on the +sands, the search for her in North Wales, the meeting in the cottage, +the frightful sight as she leapt away from me on Snowdon, the +heart-breaking search for her among the mountains, the sound of her +voice, singing by the theatre portico in the rain, the search for her +in the hideous London streets, the scenes in the studios, the +soul-blasting drama in Primrose Court--all came upon me in such a +succession of realities that the beautiful radiant creature now +talking to me seemed impossible except as a figure in a dream. And +she was asking me to tell her what I had been doing during all these +months of nightmare. But I knew that I never could tell her, either +now or at any future time. I knew that to tell her would be to kill +her. + +'Winnie,' I said, 'I will tell you all about myself, but I must hear +your story first. The faster you get on with that the sooner you will +hear what I have to tell.' + +'Then I will get on fast,' said she. 'After a while my thoughts, as I +tossed in my bed, turned from the past to the future. What was the +future that was lying before me? For months I had evidently been +living on the charity of Mr. D'Arcy. My only excuse for having done +so was that I was entirely unconscious of it; but now that I did know +the relations between us I must of course end them at once. But what +was I to do? Whither was I to go? Besides Miss Dalrymple, whose +address I did not know, I had no friends except Sinfi Lovell and the +Gypsies and a few Welsh farmers. To live upon my benefactor's +generous charity now that I was conscious of it was, I felt, +impossible. + +'I was penniless. I had not even money to pay my railway fare to any +part of England. There was only one thing for me to do--write to you. +When I rose in the morning it was with the full determination to +write to you at once. I had been told by Mrs. Titwing that Mr. D'Arcy +always breakfasted alone in a little anteroom adjoining his bedroom, +and always breakfasted late. My breakfast, she said, would be +prepared in what she called the little green room. And when I left my +bedroom, dressed in a morning dress that was carefully laid out for +me, I found the housekeeper moving about in the passages. She +conducted me to the little green room. On the walls were two +looking-glasses in old black oak frames carved with knights at tilt +and angels' heads hovering above them. Each frame contained two +circular mirrors surrounded by painted designs telling the story of +the Holy Grail. The room was furnished with quaint sofas and chairs +on which beautiful little old-fashioned designs were painted. She +told me that as I had not named an hour for breakfasting I should +have to wait about twenty minutes. + +'In one corner of the room was a rather large whatnot, on which lay +one or two French novels in green and yellow paper covers and a few +daily and weekly newspapers, which I went and turned over. Among them +I was startled to find a paper called the _Raxton Gazette_. But I saw +at once how it got there, for written on the margin at the top of the +paper was the address, "Dr. Mivart, Wimpole Street, London." Mr. +D'Arcy had told me that the gentleman whose voice I heard behind the +screen was the medical man who attended to me during my illness, and +it now suddenly flashed upon my mind that at Raxton there was a Dr. +Mivart, though I had never seen him during my stay there. These were, +no doubt, one and the same person, and some one from Raxton had +posted the newspaper to the doctor's house in London. + +'I looked down the columns of the paper with a very lively interest, +and my eye was soon caught by a paragraph encircled by a thick blue +pencil mark. It gave from a paper called the _London Satirist_ what +professed to be a long account of you, in which it was said that you +were living in a bungalow in Wales with a Gypsy girl.' + +When Winifred said this I forgot my promise not to interrupt her +narrative, and exclaimed, + +'And you believed this infamous libel, Winnie?' + +'To say that I believed it as a simple statement of fact would of +course be wrong. I never doubted you loved me as a child.' + +'As a child! Do you then think that I did not love you that night on +Raxton sands?' + +'I did not doubt that you loved me then. But wealth, I had been told, +is so demoralising, and I thought your never coming forward to find +me and protect me in my illness might have something to do with +inconstancy. Anyhow, these thoughts combined with my dread of your +mother to prevent me from writing to you.' + +'Winnie, Winnie!' I said, 'these theories of the so-called advanced +thinkers, whom your aunt taught you to believe in--these ideas that +love and wealth cannot exist together, are prejudices as narrow and +as blind as those of an opposite kind which have sapped the natures +of certain members of my own family.' + +'The sight of your dear sad face when I first saw it here was proof +enough of that,' she said. 'As your life was said to be that of a +wanderer, I did not care to write to Raxton, and I did not know where +to address you. What I had read in the newspaper, I need not tell +you, troubled me greatly. I cried bitterly, and made but a poor +breakfast. After it was over Mr. D'Arcy entered the room, and shook +me warmly by the hand. He saw that I had been crying, and he stood +silent and seemed to be asking himself the cause. Drawing a chair +towards me, and taking a seat, he said, + +'"I fear you have not slept well, Miss Wynne." + +'"Not very well," I answered. Then, looking at him, I said, "Mr. +D'Arcy, I have something to say to you, and this is the moment for +saying it." + +'He gave a startled look, as though he guessed what I was going to +say. + +'"And I have something to say to _you_, Miss Wynne," he said, +smiling, "and this seems the proper time for saying it. Up to the +last few weeks a young gentleman from Oxford has been acting as my +secretary. He has now left me, and I am seeking another. His duties, +I must say, have not been what would generally be called severe. I +write most of my own letters, though not all, and my correspondence +is far from being large. His chief duty has been that of reading to +me in the evening. For many years my eyes have not been so strong as +a painter's ought to be, and the oculist whom I consulted told me +that the strain of the painter's work was quite as much as my eyes +ought to bear, and that I could not afford much eyesight for reading +purposes. I am passionately fond of reading. To be without the +pleasure that books can afford me would be to make me miserable, and +I have looked upon my secretary's duty of reading aloud to me as an +important one. If you would take his place you would be conferring +the greatest service upon me." + +'"Mr. D'Arcy," I said, "I suspect you." + +'"Suspect me, Miss Wynne?" + +'"I suspect that generous heart of yours. I suspect you are merely +inventing a post for me to fill, because you pity me." + +'"No, Miss Wynne; upon my honour this is not so. I will not deny that +if it were not in your power to do me the service that I ask of you, +I should still feel the greatest disappointment if you passed from +under this roof. Your scruples about living here as you lived during +your illness--simply as my guest--I understand, but do not approve. +They show that you are not quite so free from the bondage of custom +as I should like every friend of mine to be. The tie of friendship +is, in my judgment, the strongest of all ties, stronger than that of +blood, because it springs from the natural kinship of soul to soul, +and there is no reason in the world why I should not offer you a home +as a friend, or why, if the circumstances of our lives were reversed, +you should not offer me one. But in this case it is the fact that the +service I am asking you to render me is greater than any service I +can render you." + +'I was so deeply touched by his words and by his way of speaking +them, that my lips trembled, and I could make no reply. + + +'"It is a shame," he said, "for me to talk about business so soon +after your recovery. Let us leave the matter for the moment, and come +to me in the studio during the morning, and let me show you the +pictures I am painting, and some of my choice things." + +'The morning wore on, and still I sat pondering over the situation in +which I found myself. The servant came and removed the breakfast +things, and her furtive glances at me showed that I was an object at +once familiar and strange to her. But very little attention did I pay +to her, in such a whirl of thoughts as I then was. The moment that +one course of action seemed to me the best, the very opposite would +occur to me as being the best. However, I was determined to know from +Mr. D'Arcy, and at once, what was the state in which I was when I was +brought to this place, and what had been the course of my life during +my stay here. Mr. D'Arcy had told me that, for reasons which he so +touchingly alluded to, he had not used me as a model. How, then, had +my time been passed? To question poor Mrs. Titwing would only be to +frighten her. I would ask Mr. D'Arcy for a full confession. + +'Mrs. Titwing came into the room. She began pulling at the ribbon of +her black silk apron as though she wanted to speak and could not find +the proper words. At last she said, + +'"I hope, miss, there have been no words between you and Mr. D'Arcy?" + +''"Words between me and Mr. D'Arcy? What do you mean?" I asked. + +'"He seems very much upset, miss, about something. He is not at his +easel, but keeps walking about the studio, and every now and then he +asks where you are. I'm sure he used to dote on you when you were a +child, miss." + +'"When I was a child?" I said, laughing. "But I see what it is. I +have been very neglectful. I promised to go into the studio to see +the pictures, and he is, of course, impatient at my keeping him +waiting. I will go to him at once," and I went. + +'When I entered the studio he turned quickly round and said, + +'"Well?" + +'"You were so kind," I said, "as to invite me to see your treasures." + +'"To be sure," he said. "I thought you came to give your decision." + +'He then showed me the curious divan upon which I had rested the day +before, and explained to me the meaning of the carved designs.' + + +VIII + +Winifred described the designs on the divan so vividly that I could +almost see them. But what interested me was the painter, not his +surroundings; and she now seemed to grow weary of talking about +herself. + +'Did he,' I said, 'did he say anything about--about painters' +models?' + +'Yes,' she said, 'Mr. D'Arcy took me to an easel and showed me a +picture. It was only the half-length of a woman; but it was a tragedy +rendered fully by the expression on one woman's face. + +'"I had no idea," I said, "that any picture of a single face could do +such work as that. Was this painted from a model?" + +'"Yes," he said, with a smile, which was evidently at my ignorance of +art. "It was painted from life." + +'There were four other half-lengths in the room, all of them very +beautiful. + +'"Two of these," he said, "are copies; the originals have been sold. +The other two need still a few touches to make them complete." + +'"And they were all painted from life?" I said. + +'"Yes," he said. "Why do you repeat that question?" + +'"Because," I said, "although they are all so wonderful and so +beautiful in colour, I can see a great difference between them--I can +scarcely say what the difference is. They are evidently all painted +by the same artist, but painted in different moods of the artist's +mind." + +'"Ah," he said, "I am much interested. Let me see you classify them +according to your view. There are, as you see, two brunettes and two +blondes." + +'"Yes," I said, "between this grand brunette, to use your own +expression, holding a pomegranate in her hand and the other brunette +whose beautiful eyes are glistening and laughing over the fruit she +is holding up, there is the same difference that there is between the +blonde's face under the apple blossoms and the other blonde's face of +the figure that is listening to music. In both faces the difference +seems to be that of the soul." + +'"The two faces," said he, "in which you see what you call soul are +painted from two dear friends of mine--ladies of high intelligence +and great accomplishments, who occasionally honour me by giving me +sittings--the other two are painted from two of the finest hired +models to be found in London." + +'"Then," I said, "an artist's success depends a great deal upon his +model? I had no idea of such a thing." + +'"It does indeed," he said. "Such success as I have won since my +great loss is very largely owing to those two ladies, one so grand +and the other so sweet, whom you are admiring." + +'The way in which he spoke the words "since my great loss" almost +brought tears into my eyes. He then went round the room, and +explained in a delightful way the various pictures and objects of +interest. I felt that I was preventing him from working, and told +him so. + +'"You are very thoughtful," he said, "but I can only paint when I +feel the impulse within me, and to-day I am lazy. But while you go +and get your luncheon--I do not lunch myself--I must try to do +something. You must have many matters of your own that you would +like to attend to. Will you return to the studio about five o'clock, +and let me have your company in another walk?" + +'Until five o'clock I was quite alone, and wandered about the house +and garden trying my memory as to whether I could recall something, +but in vain. At any other time than this I should no doubt have found +the old house a very fascinating one; but not for two minutes +together could my mind dwell upon anything but the amazing situation +in which I found myself. The house was, I saw, built of grey stone, +and as it had seven gables it suggested to me Nathaniel Hawthorne's +famous story, of which my aunt was so fond. Inside I found every room +to be more or less interesting. But what attracted me most, I think, +was a series of large attics in which was a number of enormous oak +beams supporting the antique roof. With the sunlight pouring through +the windows and illuminating almost every corner, the place seemed +cheerful enough, but I could not help thinking how ghostly it must +look on a moonlight night. + +'While the thought was in my mind, a strangle sensation came upon me. +I seemed to hear a moan; it came through the door of the large attic +adjoining the one in which I stood, and then I heard a voice that +seemed familiar to me, and yet I could not recall it. It was +repeating in a loud, agonised tone the words of that curse written on +the parchment scroll which I picked up on Raxton sands. I was so +astonished that for a long time I could think of nothing else. + + +IX + +'At five o'clock I was going towards the studio to keep my +appointment when I met Mr. D'Arcy in his broad-brimmed felt hat, +ready and waiting for me to take the proposed walk with him. + +'Oh, what a lovely afternoon it was! A Welsh afternoon could not have +been lovelier. In fact, it carried my mind back here. The sun, +shining on the buttercups and the grey-tufted standing grass, made +the meadows look as though covered with a tapestry that shifted from +grey to lavender, and then from lavender to gold, as the soft breeze +moved over it. And many of the birds were still in full song; and +brilliant as was the music of the skylarks, the blackbirds and +thrushes were so numerous that the music falling from the sky seemed +caught and swallowed up by the music rising from the hedgerows and +trees. + +'I lingered at one of the gates through which we passed to enjoy the +beauty undisturbed by the motion of my own body. + +'"I have often wished," Mr. D'Arcy said, "that I had a tithe of your +passion for Nature, and all your knowledge of Nature. To have been +born in London and to have passed one's youth there is a great loss. +Nature has to be learnt, as art has to be learnt, in earliest youth." + +'"What makes you know that my chief passion is love of Nature?" I +asked. + +'"It was," he said, "the one thing you showed during your +illness--during your unconscious condition." + +'"And yet I remember nothing of that time," I said. "This gives me an +opportunity of asking you something--an opportunity which I had +determined to make for myself before another day went by." + +'"And what is that?" he said, in a tone that betrayed some +uneasiness. + +'"You have told me how I came here. I now want you to tell me, too, +what was my condition when I came and what was my course of life +during all this long period. How did the time pass? What did I do? I +remember nothing." + +'"I am glad you are asking me these questions," he said, "for I +believe that the more fully and more exactly I answer them, the +better for you and the better for me. Victor Hugo, in one of his +romances, speaks of the pensive somnambulism of the animals. +'Somnambulism,' sometimes pensive and sometimes playful, is the +very phrase I should use in characterising your condition when you +first came here and down to your recovery from that strange illness. +But this somnambulism would every now and then change and pass into +a consciousness which I can only compare with that of a child. But +no child that I have ever seen was so bewitchingly child-like as you +were. It was this that made your presence such a priceless boon to +me." + +'"Priceless boon, Mr. D'Arcy!" I said. "How could such a being as you +describe be a priceless boon to any one?" + +'"I will tell you," he replied. "Even before that great sorrow which +has made me the loneliest man upon the earth--even in the days when +my animal spirits were considered at times almost boisterous, I was +always at intervals subject to periods of great depression, or +rather, I should say, to periods of _ennui_. I must either be +painting or reading or writing. I had not the precious faculty of +being able on occasions to sit and let the rich waters of life flow +over me. I would yearn for amusement, and search in vain for some +object to amuse me. When you first came I was deeply interested in so +extraordinary a case as yours; and after a while, when the acuteness +of my curiosity and the poignancy of my sympathy for you had abated, +you became to me a joy, as a child is a joy in the eyes of its +parents." + +'"Then your interest in me," I said, with a smile, "was that which +you would feel towards a puppy or a kitten." + +'"I perceive that you have a turn for satire," he said, laughing. +"I will not deny that I have an extraordinarily strong passion for +watching the movements of animals. I have, to the sorrow of my +neighbours, filled my garden in London with all kinds of purchases +from Jamrach's. But from the moment that I knew you, who combined the +fascination of a fawn and a child with that of a sylph or a fairy, my +poor little menagerie was neglected, and what became of its members I +scarcely know. I suppose I am very uncomplimentary to you, but you +would have the truth. The moment that I felt myself threatened by the +fiend _Ennui_ I used to tell Mrs. Titwing, who was in the habit of +calling you her baby, to bring you into the studio, and at once the +fiend fled. At last I grew so attached to you that your presence was +a positive necessity of my life. Unless I knew that you were in the +studio I could not paint. It was necessary for me at intervals to +look across the room at that divan and see you there amusing +yourself--playing with yourself, so to speak, sometimes like a +kitten, sometimes like a child. I would not have parted with you for +the world." + +'He did not say he would not now part with me for the world, Henry, +and I thought I understood the meaning of that expression of +disappointment which I had observed in his eyes when I first saw them +looking into mine. I thought I understood this extraordinary man--so +unlike all others; I thought I knew why my eyes lost the charm he was +now so eloquently describing to me the moment that they became +lighted with what he called self-consciousness. + +'After a while I said, "But as I was in such an unconscious state as +you describe, how could you possibly know that a speciality of mine +is a love of Nature?" + +'"It was only when you were out in the open air that the condition +which I have compared to somnambulism seemed at times to disappear. +Then your consciousness seemed to spring up for a moment and to take +heed of what was passing around you. You would sometimes scamper +through the meadows, pluck the wild-flowers and weave them into +wreaths round your head, or stand listening to the birds, or hold out +your hands as if to embrace the sunny wind. One day when a friend of +mine, an enthusiastic angler, who comes here, was going down to the +river to fish, you showed the greatest interest in what was going on. +The fishing tackle seemed so familiar to you that my friend put a +fishing rod into your hand and you went with him to the river. I do +not myself care for angling, and I was at the time very busy with a +picture, but I could not resist the temptation to follow you. You +skipped into the punt with the greatest glee, baited your hook, +adjusted your float on the line, cast it into the water and fished +with such skill that you caught two fish to my friend's one. +Observing all these things, I came to the conclusion that you had +lived much in the open air, and other incidents made me know that you +were a great lover of Nature." + +'"And you," I said, "must also be a lover of Nature, or you could not +find such delight in watching animals." + +'"No," he said, "the interest I take in animals has nothing whatever +to do with love of Nature or study of Nature. They interest me by +that unconsciousness of grace which makes them such a contrast to +man." + +'We then went into the house. Our talk during our ramble in the +fields seemed to remove effectually all awkwardness and restraint +between us. + + +X + +'That day,' said Winnie, 'a determination which had been caused by +many a reflection during the last few hours induced me at dinner to +lead the conversation to the subject of pictures and models. In a few +minutes Mr. D'Arcy launched out in an eloquent discourse upon a +subject which was so new to me and so familiar to him. + +'"You were saying this morning, Mr. D'Arcy," I urged me to tell her +what had befallen myself since we had parted at the cottage door at +Raxton. Even had it been possible for me to talk about myself without +touching upon some dangerous incident or another, my impatience to +get at the mystery of mysteries in connection with her and her rescue +from Primrose Court was so great that I could only implore her to +tell me what had occurred down to her leaving Hurstcote Manor, and +also what had been the cause of her leaving. + +'Well,' said Winnie, 'I am now going to tell you of an extraordinary +thing that happened. One fine night the moon was so brilliant that +after I quitted Mr. D'Arcy I stole out of the side door into the +garden, a favourite place of mine, for old English flowers were mixed +with apple trees and pear trees. I was strolling about the garden, +thinking over a thousand things connected with you, and myself, and +Mr. D'Arcy, when I saw stooping over a flower-bed the figure of a +tall woman. I could scarcely believe my eyes, for I had all the while +supposed that, excepting Mr. D'Arcy, myself, and Mrs. Titwing, the +servants were the only occupants of the place. I turned away, and +walked silently through the little wicket into what is called the +home close. As I pondered over the incident, I recalled certain +things which singly had produced no effect on my mind, but which now +fitted in with each other, and seemed to open up vistas of mystery +and suspicion. Mysterious looks and gestures on the faces of the +servants pointed to there being some secret that was to be kept from +me. I had not given much heed to these things, but now I could not +help connecting them with the appearance of the tall woman in the +garden. + + +'Some guests arrived next day, and when I pleaded headache Mr. D'Arcy +said, "Perhaps you would rather keep to your own room to-day." + +'I told him I should, and I spent the day alone--spent it mainly in +thinking about the tall woman. In the evening I went into the garden, +and remained there for a long time, but no tall woman made her +appearance. + +'I passed out through the wicket into the home close, and as I walked +about in the grass, under the elms that sprang up from the tall +hedge, I thought and thought over what I had seen, but could come to +no explanation. I was standing under a tree, in the shadow which its +branches made, when I became suddenly conscious that the tall woman +was close to me. I turned round, and stood face to face with Sinfi +Lovell. The sight of a spectre could not have startled me more, but +the effect of my appearance upon her was greater still. Her face took +an expression that seemed to curdle my blood, and she shrieked, +"Father! the curse! Let his children be vagabonds and beg their +bread; let them seek it also out of desolate places." And then she +ran towards the house. + +'In a few minutes Mr. D'Arcy came out into the field without his hat, +and evidently much agitated. + +'"Miss Wynne," he said, "I fear you must have been half frightened to +death. Never was there such an unlucky _contretemps_." + +'"But why is Sinfi Lovell here?" I said, "and why was I not told she +was here?" + +'"Sinfi is an old friend of mine," he said. "I have been in the habit +of using her as a model for pictures. She came here to sit to me, +when she was taken ill. She is subject to fits, as you have seen. The +doctor believed that they were over and would not recur, and I had +determined that to-morrow I would bring you together." + +'I made no reply, but walked silently by his side across the field to +the little wicket. The confidence I had reposed in Mr. D'Arcy had +been like the confidence a child reposes in its father. + +'"Miss Wynne," he said, in a voice full of emotion, "I feel that an +unlucky incident has come between us, and yet if I ever did anything +for your good, it was when I decided to postpone revealing the fact +that Sinfi Lovell was under this roof until her cure was so complete +and decisive that you could never by any chance receive the shock +that you have now received." + +'I felt that my resentment was melting in the music of his words. + +'"What caused the fits?" I said. "She talked about being under a +curse. What can it mean?" + +'"That," he said, "is too long a story for me to tell you now." + +'"I know," said I, "that some time ago the tomb of Mr. Aylwin's +father was violated by some undiscovered miscreant, and I know that +the words Sinfi uttered just now are the words of a curse written by +the dead man on a piece of parchment, and stolen with a jewel from +his tomb. I have seen the parchment itself, and I know the words +well. Her father, Panuel Lovell, is as innocent of the crime of +sacrilege as my poor father was. What could have made her suppose +that she had inherited the curse from her father?" + +'"I have no explanation to offer," he said. "As you know so much of +the matter and I know so little, I am inclined to ask you for some +explanation of the puzzle." + +'I thought over the matter for a minute, and then I said to him, +"Sinfi Lovell knows Raxton as well as Snowdon, and must have been +very familiar with the crime. I can only suppose that she has brooded +so long over the enormity of the offence and the appalling words of +the curse that she has actually come at last to believe that poor, +simple-minded Panuel Lovell is the offender, and that she, as his +child, has inherited the curse." + +'"A most admirable solution of the mystery," he said, his face +beaming with delight.' + + +XII + +When Winnie got to this point she said, 'Yes, Henry, poor Sinfi seems +in some unaccountable way to have learnt all about that piece of +parchment and the curse written upon it. She has been under the +extraordinary delusion that her own father, poor Panuel Lovell, was +the violator of the tomb, and that she has inherited the curse.' + +'Good God, Winnie!' I exclaimed; and when I recalled what I had seen +of Sinfi in the cottage, I was racked with perplexity, pity, and +wonder. What could it mean? + +'Yes,' said Winifred, 'she has been possessed by this astounding +delusion, and it used to bring on fits which were appalling to +witness. They are passed now, however.' + +'Is she recovered now?' + +'Mr. D'Arcy,' said Winnie, 'assured me that, in the opinion of the +doctor, the delusion would not he permanent, but that Sinfi would +soon be entirely restored to health. While Mr. D'Arcy and I were +talking about her Sinfi came through the wicket again. Rushing up to +me and seizing my hand, she said, + +'"Oh, Winnie, how I must have skeared you! I dare say Mr. D'Arcy has +told you that I've been subject to fits o' late. It was comin' on you +suddint as I did under the tree that brought it on. I wouldn't let +Mr. D'Arcy tell you I wur here until I wur quite sure I should have +no more on 'em, but the doctor said this very day that I wur now +quite well." + +'My mind ran all night long upon the mystery of Sinfi Lovell. Mr. +D'Arcy's explanation of her appearance at Hurstcote Manor was +certainly clear enough, but somehow its very clearness aroused +suspicion--no, I will not say suspicion--misgivings. If he had been +able, while he seemed so frank and open, to keep away from me a +secret--I mean the secret of Sinfi Lovell's being concealed in the +house--what secrets might he not be concealing from me about my own +mystery? Did he not know everything that occurred during that period +which was a blank in my mind, the period from my sinking down on the +sands to my waking up in his house? + +'From the very first, indeed, a feeling of mystery had haunted me. I +had often pondered over every circumstance that attended my waking +into life, but that incident which was the most firmly fixed in my +mind was the sight of the feet of a tall woman whose body was hid by +the screen between my couch and the other one. When I asked Mr. +D'Arcy about this, he did not say in so many words that I was +suffering from a delusion about those feet, but he talked about the +illusion which generally accompanied a recovery from such illnesses +as mine. Now of course I felt sure that Sinfi was the person I had +seen on the couch. But why was she there? + +'I did not see Mr. D'Arcy until the afternoon after the guests had +left, for in order to avoid seeing him and them, I took a long stroll +by the river and then got into the punt. I had scarcely done so when +Sinfi appeared on the bank and hailed me. I took her into the punt. +She was so entirely herself that I found it difficult to believe in +the startling spectacle of the previous evening, although her +expression was careworn, and she certainly looked a little paler than +she used to look when she and I and Rhona Boswell were such great +friends; her splendid beauty and bearing were as striking as ever, I +thought. I was expecting every minute that she would say something +about what occurred under the elm tree in the home close. But she did +not allude to it, and therefore I did not. We spent the entire +afternoon in reminiscences of Carnarvonshire. When she told me that +she knew you and that you had been there together, and when she told +me the cause of your being there, and told me of your search for me, +and all the distress that came to you on my account, my longing to +see you was like a fever. + +'But vivid as were the pictures that Sinfi gave me of your search for +me, I could not piece them together in a plain tale. I tried to do +so; it was impossible. What had happened to me after I had become +unconscious on the sands in that unaccountable way--why I was found +in Wales--how I could possibly have got there without knowing about +it--what had led to my being discovered by Mr. D'Arcy--discovered in +London, above all places, and in a painter's studio--these questions +were with me night and day, and Sinfi was entirely unable to tell me +anything about the matter, unless, as I sometimes half-thought, she +was concealing something from me.' + + +'How could you have suspicions of poor Sinfi?' I said, for I was +becoming alarmed at the way in which these inquiries were absorbing +Winnie's mind. + +'It is, I know, Henry, a peculiarity of my nature to be extremely +confiding until I have once been deceived, and then to be just as +suspicious. Kind as Mr. D'Arcy has been to me, I began to feel +restless in his haven of refuge. I think that he perceived it, for I +often found his eyes fixed upon me with a somewhat inquiring and +anxious expression in them. I felt that I must leave him and go out +into the world and take my place in the battle of life.' + +'But, Winnie,' I said, 'you don't say that you intended to come to +me. Battle of life, indeed! Where should Winnie stand in that battle +except by the side of Henry? You knew now where to find me. Sinfi, +of course, told you that I was in Wales. And you did not even write +to me! What can it mean?' + +'Why, Henry, don't you know what it means? Don't you know that the +newspapers were full of long paragraphs about the heir of the Aylwins +having left his famous bungalow and gone to Japan? Why, it was +actually copied into the little penny weekly thing that Mrs. Titwing +takes in, and it was there that I read it.' + +'This shows the folly of ignoring the papers,' I said. 'I did +undoubtedly say in some letters to friends that I proposed going to +Japan; but my loss of you, my grief, my misery, paralysed every +faculty of mine. My strength of purpose was all gone. I delayed and +delayed starting, and never left Wales at all, as you see.' + +'Two things,' continued Winnie, 'prevented my leaving Hurstcote--my +promise to Mr. D'Arcy to sit to him for his picture of Zenelophon, +and the prosaic fact that I had not money in my pocket to travel +with; for it was part of the delicate method of Mr. D'Arcy to furnish +me with everything money could buy, but to give me no money. His +extravagant expenditure upon me in the way of dress, trinkets, and +every kind of luxury that could be placed in my room by Mrs. Titwing +appalled me. Mrs. Titwing's own bearing, when I spoke to her about +them, would have made one almost suppose that they grew there like +mushrooms; and if I mentioned them to Mr. D'Arcy he would tell me +that Mrs. Titwing was answerable for all that; he knew nothing about +such matters. + +'What I should in the end have done as to leaving Hurstcote or +remaining there I don't know; but after a while something occurred to +remove my difficulties. One morning, when I was giving Mr. D'Arcy a +long sitting for his picture, a Gypsy friend of Sinfi's, belonging to +a family of Lees encamped two or three miles off, called to see her. +It was a man, Sinfi told me, whom I did not know, and he had gone +away without my seeing him. + +'In the afternoon, when Sinfi and I were in the punt fishing +together, I could not help noticing that she was much absorbed in +thought. + +'"This 'ere fishin' brings back old Wales, don't it?" she said. + +'"Yes," I said, "and I should love to see the old places again." + +'"You would?" she said; and her excitement was so great that she +dropped her fishing-rod in the river. "Jake Lee has been tellin' me +that our people are there, all camped in the old place by Bettws y +Coed. I told him to write to my daddy--Jake can write--and tell him +that I'm goin' to see him." + +'"But you already knew they were there, Sinfi; you told me. What +makes you so suddenly want to go?" + +'"That's nuther here nor there. I do want to go. Why can't you go +with me?" + +'"I should much like it," I said, "but it's impossible." + +'"Why? You can come back to Mr. D'Arcy again." + +'"But, Sinfi," I said, "how are we to travel without money? I have +not a copper." + +'"Ah, but I've got gold balansers about me, and they're better nor +copper." + +'"Dear Sinfi!" I said, "I'd rather borrow of you than any one in the +world." + +'"Borrow!" said she,--"all right! Now we shall have to speak to Mr. +D'Arcy about it. It'll be like drawin' one o' his teeth partin' with +you." + +'When I next saw Mr. D'Arcy I found that Sinfi had already spoken to +him about our project. He seemed very reluctant for me to leave him, +although I promised him that I would return. + +'"It is a strange fancy of Sinfi's, Miss Wynne," said he, "and a very +disconcerting one to me; but I feel that it must be yielded to. +Whatever can be done to serve or even gratify Sinfi Lovell, it is my +duty and yours to do." + +'Mr. D'Arcy always spoke of Sinfi in this way. She seems to have done +something of a peculiarly noble kind for him and for me too, but what +it is I have tried in vain to discover. + +'And a few days after this we started for Wales. + +'Oh, Henry, I wonder whether any one who is not Welsh-born can +understand my delight as we passed along the railway at nightfall and +I first felt upon my cheek the soft rich breath of the Welsh meadows, +smelling partly of the beloved land and partly of the beloved sea. +"Yr Hen Wlad, yr Hen Gartref!" I murmured when at Prestatyn I heard +the first Welsh word and saw the first white-washed Welsh cottage. +From head to foot I became a Welsh girl again. The loveliness of +Hurstcote Manor seemed a dull, grey, far-away house in a dream. But +if I had known that I should also find you, my dear! If I had dreamed +that I should find Henry!' + + +And then silence alone would satisfy her. And Snowdon was speaking to us +both. + + +XIII + +And what about Sinfi Lovell? In those supreme moments of bliss did +Winifred and I think much about Sinfi? Alas, that love and happiness +should be so selfish! + +When at last the sound of Sinfi's crwth and song came from some spot +a good way up the rugged path leading to the summit, it quite +startled us. + +'That's Sinfi's signal,' said Winnie; 'that is the way we used to +call each other when we were children. She used to sing one verse of +a Snowdon song, and I used to answer it with another. Upon my word, +Henry, I had forgotten all about her. What a shame! We have not seen +each other since we parted yesterday at the camp.' + +And she sprang up to go. + +'No, don't leave me,' I said; 'wait till she comes to us. She's sure +to come quite soon enough. Depend upon it she is eager to see how her +_coup de theatre_ has prospered.' + +'I must really go to her,' said Winifred; 'ever since we left +Hurstcote I have fallen in with her wishes in everything.' + +'But why?' + +'Because I am sure from Mr. D'Arcy's words that she has rendered me +some great service, though what it is I can't guess in the least.' + +'But what are really the plans of the day of this important Gypsy?' + +'There again I can't guess in the least,' said Winifred. 'Probably +the walk to the top and then down to Llanberis, and then on to +Carnarvon, is really to take place, as originally arranged--only with +the slight addition that _some one_ is to join us! I shall soon be +back, either alone or with Sinfi, and then we shall know.' + +She ran up the path. Against her wish I followed her for a time. She +moved towards the same dangerous ledge of rock where I had last seen +her on that day before she vanished in the mist. + +I cried out as I followed her, 'Winnie, for God's sake don't run that +danger!' + +'No danger at all,' she cried. 'I know every rock as well as you know +every boulder of Raxton Cliffs.' + +I watched her poising herself on the ledge; it made me dizzy. Her +confidence, however, was so great that I began to feel she was safe; +and after she had passed out of sight I returned to the llyn where we +had breakfasted. + +Sinfi's music ceased, but Winifred did not return. I sat down on the +rock and tried to think, but soon found that the feat was impossible. +The turbulent waves of my emotion seemed to have washed my brain +clear of all thoughts. The mystery in connection with Sinfi was now +as great as the mystery connected with the rescue of Winifred from +the mattress in Primrose Court. So numbed was my brain that I at last +pinched myself to make sure that I was awake. In doing this I seemed +to feel in one of my coat pockets a hard substance. Putting my hand +into the pocket, I felt the sharp corner of a letter pricking between +a finger and its nail. The acute pain assured me that I was awake. I +pulled out the letter. It was the one that the servant at the +bungalow had given me in the early morning when I called to get my +bath. I read the address, which was in a handwriting I did not +know:-- + +'HENRY AYLWIN, ESQ., +'Carnarvon, North Wales.' + +The Carnarvon postmark and the words written on the envelope, 'Try +Capel Curig,' showed the cause of the delay in the letter's reaching +me. In the left-hand corner of the envelope were written the words +'Very urgent. Please forward immediately.' I opened it, and found it +to be a letter of great length. I looked at the end and gave a start, +exclaiming, 'D'Arcy!' + + + +XVI + +D'ARCY'S LETTER + +This is how the letter ran:-- + +HURSTCOTE MANOR. + +MY DEAR AYLWIN, + +I have just learned by accident that you are somewhere in Wales. I +had gathered from paragraphs in the newspapers about you that you +were in Japan, or in some other part of the East. + +Miss Wynne and Sinfi Lovell are at this moment in Wales, and I write +at once to furnish you with some facts in connection with Miss Wynne +which it is important for you to know before you meet her. I can +imagine your amazement at learning that she you have lost so long +has been staying here as my guest. I will tell you all without more +preamble. + +One day, some little time after I parted from you in the streets of +London, I chanced to go into Wilderspin's studio, when I found him +in great distress. He told me that the beautiful model who had sat +for his picture 'Faith and Love' had suddenly died. The mother of the +girl had on the previous day been in and told him that her daughter +had died in one of the fits to which at intervals she had been +subject. + +Wilderspin, in his eccentric way, had always declared that the +model was not the woman's daughter. He did not think her, as I did, +to have been kidnapped; he believed her to be not a creature of flesh +and blood at all, but a spiritual body sent from heaven by his mother +in order that he might use her as a model. As to the woman Gudgeon, +who laid claim to be her mother, he thought she was suffering from a +delusion--a beneficent delusion--in supposing the model to be her +daughter. And now he thought that this beautiful phantom from the +spirit-world had been recalled because his picture was complete. When +I entered the studio he was just starting for the second time, as he +told me, to the woman's house, in the belief that the body of the +girl which he had seen lying on a mattress was a delusion--a +spiritual body, and must by this time have vanished. + +I had reasons for wishing to prevent his going there and being again +brought into contact with the woman before I saw her myself. From my +first seeing the woman and the model, I had found it impossible to +believe that there could be any blood relationship between them, for +the girl's frame from head to foot was as delicate as the woman's +frame from head to foot was coarse and vulgar. + +Naturally, therefore, it occurred to me that this was an excellent +opportunity to find out the truth of the matter. I determined to go +and bully the impudent hag into a confession; but of course +Wilderspin was the last man I should choose to accompany me on such +a mission. Your relative, Cyril Aylwin, was, as I believed, on the +Continent, expecting Wilderspin to join him there, or I might have +taken him with me. + +I have always had great influence over Wilderspin, and I easily +persuaded him to remain in the studio while I went myself to the +woman's address, which he gave me. I knew that if the model were +really dead she would have to be buried by the parish at a pauper +funeral, that is to say, lowered into a deep pit with other paupers. +It was painful to me to think of this, and I determined to get her +buried myself. So I took a hansom and drove to the squalid court in +the neighbourhood of Holborn, where the woman lived. + +On reaching the house, I found the door open. Wilderspin had +described to me the room occupied by Mrs. Gudgeon, so I went at once +upstairs. I found the model upon a mattress, her features horribly +contorted, lying in the same clothes apparently in which she had +fallen when seized. + +In an armchair in the middle of the room was Mrs. Gudgeon, in a +drunken sleep so profound that I could not have roused her had I +tried. While I stood looking at the girl, something in the appearance +of her flesh--its freshness of hue--made me suspect that she was +still alive, and that she was only suffering from a seizure of a more +acute kind than any the woman had yet seen. As I stood looking at +these two it occurred to me that should the model recover from the +seizure this would be an excellent and quite unexpected opportunity +for me to get her away. The woman, I thought, would after a while +wake up, and find to her amazement the body gone of her whom she +thought dead. If she had really kidnapped the girl she would be +afraid to set any inquiry afoot. She might even perhaps imagine that +the girl's relations had traced her, found the dead body, and removed +it for burial while she, the kidnapper, was asleep. + +After a while the expression of terror on the model's face began to +relax, and she soon awoke into that strange condition which had +caused Wilderspin to declare that she had been sent from another +world. She recognised me in the semi-conscious way in which she +recognised all those who were brought into contact with her, and +looked into my face with that indescribably sweet smile of hers. From +the first she had in her dazed way seemed attached to me, and I had +now no difficulty whatever in persuading her to accompany me +downstairs and out of the house. + +Before going, however, the whim seized me to write on the wall in +large letters, with a piece of red drawing-chalk I had in my +waistcoat pocket, '_Kidnapper, beware! Jack Ketch is on your track_.' +I took the girl to my house, and put her under the care of my +housekeeper (much to the worthy lady's surprise), who gave her every +attention. I then went to Wilderspin's studio. + +'Well,' said he, 'there is no body lying there, I suppose?' + +'None,' I said. + +'Did I not tell you that the spirit-world had called her back? What +I saw has vanished, as I expected. How could you suppose that a +material body could ever be so beautiful?' + +As I particularly wished that the model should, for a time at least, +be removed from all her present surroundings, I thought it well to +let Wilderspin retain his wild theory as to her disappearance. + +I had already arranged to go on the following day to Hurstcote Manor, +where several unfinished pictures were waiting for me, and I decided +to take the model with me. + +Before, however, I started for the country with her, I had the +curiosity to call next morning upon the woman in Primrose Court, +in order to discover what had been the effect of my stratagem. I +found her sitting in a state of excitement, and evidently in great +alarm, gazing at the mattress. The words I had written on the wall +had been carefully washed out. + +'Well, Mrs. Gudgeon,' I said, 'what has become of your daughter?' + +'Dead,' she whimpered, 'dead.' + +'Yes, I know she's dead,' I said. 'But where is the body?' + +'Where's the body? Why, buried, in course,' said the woman. + +'Buried? Who buried her?' I said. + +'What a question, sure_lie_!' she said, and kept repeating the words +in order, as I saw, to give herself time to invent some story. Then a +look of cunning overspread her face, and she whimpered, 'Who _does_ +bury folks in Primrose Court? The parish, to be sure.' + +These words of the woman's showed that matters had taken exactly the +course I should have liked them to take. She would tell other +inquirers as she had told me, that her daughter had been buried by +the parish. No one would take the trouble, I thought, to inquire into +it, and the matter would end at once. + +So I said to her, 'Oh, if the parish buried her, that's all right; no +one ever makes inquiries about people who are buried by the parish.' + +This seemed to relieve the woman's mind vastly, and she said, 'In +course they don't. What's the use of askin' questions about people as +are buried by the parish?' + +Not thinking that the time was quite ripe for cross-examining Mrs. +Gudgeon as to her real relations to the model, I left her, and that +same afternoon I took the model down to Hurstcote Manor, determining +to keep the matter a secret from everybody, as I intended to +discover, if possible, her identity. + +I need scarcely remind you that although you told me some little of +the story of yourself and a young lady to whom you were deeply +attached, you were very reticent as to the cause of her dementia; and +your story ended with her disappearance in Wales. I, for my part, had +not the smallest doubt that she had fallen down a precipice and was +dead. Everything--especially the fact that you last saw her on the +brink of a precipice, running into a volume of mist--pointed to but +one conclusion. To have imagined for a moment that she and +Wilderspin's model, who had been discovered in the streets of London, +were the same, would have been, of course, impossible. Besides, you +had given me no description of her personal appearance, nor had you +said a word to me as to her style of beauty, which is undoubtedly +unique. + +When I got the model fairly settled at Hurstcote her presence became +a delight to me such as it could hardly have been to any other man. +It is difficult for me to describe that delight, but I will try. + +Do you by chance remember our talk about animals and the charm they +had for me, especially young animals? And do you remember my saying +that the most fascinating creature in the world would be a beautiful +young girl as unconscious as a child or a young animal; if such a +combination of charms were possible? Such a young girl as this it was +whom I was now seeing every day and all day. The charm she exercised +over me was no doubt partly owing to my own peculiar temperament--to +my own hatred of self-consciousness and to an innate shyness which +is apt to make me feel at times that people are watching me, when +they most likely are doing nothing of the kind. + +And charming as she is now, restored to health and +consciousness--charming above most young ladies with her sweet +intelligence and most lovable nature--the inexpressible witchery I +have tried to describe has vanished, otherwise I don't know how I +should have borne what I now have brought myself to bear, parting +from her. + +I seemed to have no time to think about prosecuting inquiries in +regard to her identity. I am afraid there was much selfishness in +this, but I have never pretended to be an unselfish man. + +The one drop of bitterness in my cup of pleasure was the recurrence +of the terrible paroxysms to which she was subject. + +I was alarmed to find that these became more and more frequent and +more and more severe. I felt at last that her system could not stand +the strain much longer, and that the end of her life was not far +distant. + +It was in a very singular way that I came to know her name and also +her relations with you. In my original perplexity about finding a +model for my Zenelophon, I had bethought me of Sinfi Lovell, who, +with a friend of hers named Rhona Boswell, sat to Wilderspin, to your +cousin, and others. I had made inquiries about Sinfi, but had been +told that she was not now to be had, as she had abandoned London +altogether, and was settled in Wales. + +One day, however, I was startled by seeing Sinfi walking across the +meadows along the footpath leading from the station. + +She told me that she had quitted Wales for good, and had left you +there, and that on reaching London and calling at one of the studios +where she used to sit, she had been made aware of my inquiries after +her. As she had now determined to sit a good deal to painters, she +had gone to my studio in London. Being told there that I was at +Hurstcote Manor, where she had sat to me on several occasions, she +had taken the train and come down. + +During our conversation the model passed through the garden gate and +walked towards the Spinney, and stood looking in a rapt way at the +sunset clouds and listening to the birds. + +When Sinfi caught sight of her she stood as if petrified, and +exclaimed, 'Winnie Wynne! Then she ain't dead; the dukkeripen was +true; they'll be married arter all. Don't let her see me suddenly, it +might bring on fits.' + +Miss Wynne, however, had observed neither Sinfi nor me, and we two +passed into the garden without any difficulty. + +In the studio Sinfi sat down, and in a state of the deepest agitation +she told me much of the story, as far as she knew it, of yourself and +Miss Wynne, but I could see that she was not telling me all. + +We were both perplexed as to what would be the best course of action +to take in regard to Miss Wynne--whether to let her see Sinfi or not, +for evidently she was getting worse, the paroxysms were getting more +frequent and more severe. They would come without any apparent +disturbing cause whatever. Now that I had to connect her you had lost +in Wales with the model, many things returned to me which I had +previously forgotten, things which you had told me in London. I had +quite lately learnt a good deal from Dr. Mivart, who formerly +practised near the town in which you lived, but who now lives in +London. He had been attending me for insomnia. While speculating as +to what would be best to do, it occurred to me that I would write to +Mivart, asking him to run down to me at Hurstcote Manor and consult +with me, because he had told me that he had given attention to cases +of hysteria. I did this, and persuaded Sinfi to remain and to keep +out of Miss Wynne's sight. Although Sinfi was still as splendid a +woman as ever, I noticed a change in her. Her animal spirits had +fled, and she had to me the appearance of a woman in trouble; but +what her trouble was I could not guess, and I cannot now guess. +Perhaps she had been jilted by some Gypsy swain. + +When Dr. Mivart came he was much startled at recognising in Miss +Wynne his former patient of Raxton, whom he had attended on her first +seizure. He said that it would now be of no use for me to write to +you, as it was matter of common knowledge that you had gone to Japan. +If it had not been for this I should have written to you at once. He +took a very grave view of Miss Wynne's case, and said that her +nervous system must shortly succumb to the terrible seizures. Sinfi +Lovell was in the room at the time. I asked Dr. Mivart if there was +any possible means of saving her life. + +'None,' he said, 'or rather there is one which is unavailable.' + +'And what is that?' I asked. + +'They have a way at the Salpetriere Hospital of curing cases of acute +hysteria By transmitting the seizure to a healthy patient by means of +a powerful magnet. My friend Marini, of that hospital, has had +recently some extraordinary successes of this kind. Indeed, by a +strange coincidence, as I was travelling here this morning I chanced +to buy a _Daily Telegraph_, in which this paragraph struck my eye.' + +Mivart then pointed out to me a letter from Paris in the _Daily +Telegraph_, giving an account of certain proceedings at the +Salpetriere Hospital, and in the same paper there was a long leading +article upon the subject. The report of the experiments was to me so +amazing that at first I could not bring my mind to believe in it. As +you will, I am sure, feel some incredulity, I have cut out the +paragraph, and here it is pasted at the bottom of this page:-- + +'The chief French surgeons and medical professors have, for some +time, been carefully studying the effect of mesmerism on the female +patients of the Salpetriere Hospital, and M. Marini, a clinical +surgeon of that establishment, has just effected a series of +experiments, the results of which would seem to open up a new field +for medical science. M. Marini tried to prove that certain hysterical +symptoms could be transferred by the aid of the magnet from one +patient to another. He took two subjects: one a dumb woman afflicted +with hysteria, and the other a female who was in a state of hypnotic +trance. A screen was placed between the two, and the hysterical woman +was then put under the influence of a strong magnet. After a few +moments she was rendered dumb, while speech was suddenly restored to +the other. Luckily for his healthier patients, however, their +borrowed pains and symptoms did not last long.' + +And Mivart was able to give me some more extraordinary instances of +the transmission of hysterical seizures from one patient to +another--instances where permanent cures were effected. [Footnote] +Naturally I asked Mivart what befell the new victims of the seizures. + +[Footnote: The transmissions here alluded to were mostly effected by +M. Babinski of the Salpetriere. They excited great attention in +Paris.] + +'That depends,' said Mivart, 'upon three circumstances--the acuteness +of the seizure, the strength of the recipient's nervous system, and +the kind of imagination she has. In all Marini's experiments the new +patient has quickly recovered, and the original patient has remained +entirely cured and often entirely unconscious that she has ever +suffered from the paroxysms at all.' + +Mivart went on to say that the case of Miss Wynne was so severe a one +that if the new patient's imagination were very strong the risk to +her would be exceptionally great. + +At the end of this discussion Mivart directed my attention to Sinfi +Lovell. She sat as though listening to some voice. Her head was bent +forward, her lips were parted, and her eyes were closed. Then I heard +her say in a loud whisper, 'Yis, mammy dear, little Sinfi's +a-listenin'. Yis, this is the way to make her dukkeripen come true, +and then mine can't. Yis, this is the very way. They shall meet again +by Knockers' Llyn, where I seed the Golden Hand, and arter that, +never shall little Sinfi go agin you, dear. And never no more shall +any one on 'em, Gorgio or Gorgie, bring their gries and their +beautiful livin'-waggins among tents o' ourn. Never no more shall +they jine our breed--never no more, never no more. And then my +dukkeripen _can't_ come true.' + +Then, springing up, she said, 'I'll stand the risk anyhow. You may +pass the cuss on to me if you can.' + +'The seizure has nothing to do with any curse,' said Mivart, 'but if +you think it has, you are the last person to whom it should be +transmitted.' + +'Oh, never fear,' said Sinfi; 'Gorgio cuss can't touch Romany. But +if you find you can pass the cuss on to me, I'll stand the cuss all +the same.' + +I always admired this noble girl very much, and I pointed out to her +the danger of the experiment to one of her temperament, but assured +her the superstition about the Gorgio curse was entirely an idle one. + +'Danger or no danger,' she said, 'I'll chance it; I'll chance it.' + +'It might be the death of you,' I said, 'if you believe that the +seizure is a curse.' + +'Death!' she murmured, with a smile. 'It ain't death as is likely to +scare a Romany chi, 'specially if she happens to want to die;' and +then she said aloud, 'I tell you I mean to chance it, but I think my +dear old daddy ought to know about it. So if you'll jist write to him +at Gypsy Dell, by Rington, and ask him to come and see me here, I'm +right well sure he'll come and see me at wonst. He can't read the +letter hisself, of course, but the Scollard can, and so can Rhona +Boswell. One on 'em will read it to him, and I know he'll come at +wonst. I shouldn't like to run such a risk without my dear blessed +old daddy knowin' on it.' + +It ended in Mivart's writing to Sinfi's father, and Panuel Lovell +turned up the next evening in a great state of alarm as to what he +was wanted for. Panuel's opposition to the scheme was so strong that +I refused to urge the point. + +It was a very touching scene between him and Sinfi. + +'You know what your mammy told you about you and the Gorgios,' said +he, with tears trickling down his cheeks. 'You know the dukkeripen +said as you wur to beware o' Gorgios, because a Gorgio would come to +the Kaulo Camloes as would break your heart.' + +She looked at her father for a second, and then she broke into a +passion of tears, and threw herself upon the old man's neck, and I +_thought_ I heard her murmur, 'It's broke a'ready, daddy.' But I +really am not quite sure that she did not say the opposite of this. + +I had no idea before how strong the family ties are between the +Gypsies. It seems to me that they are stronger than with us, and I +was really astonished that Sinfi could, in order to be of service to +two people of another race, resist the old Gypsy's appeal. She did, +however, and it was decided that at the next seizure the experiment +should be made, and Dr. Mivart telegraphed to London for his +assistant to bring one of Marini's magnets. + +We had not long to wait, for the very next day, just as Mivart was +preparing to leave for London, Miss Wynne was seized by another +paroxysm. It was more severe than any previous one--so severe, +indeed, that it seemed to me that it must be the last. + +It was with great reluctance that Mivart consented to use Sinfi as +the recipient of the seizure, because of her belief that it was the +result of a curse. However, he at last consented, and ordered two +couches to be placed side by side with a large magnet between them. +Then Miss Wynne was laid on one couch, and Sinfi Lovell on the other; +a screen was placed between the couches, and then the wonderful +effect of the magnetism began to show itself. + +The transmission was entirely successful, and Miss Wynne awoke as +from a trance, and I saw as it were the beautiful eyes change as the +soul returned to them. She was no longer the fascinating child who +had become part of my life. She was another person, a stranger whose +acquaintance I had now to make, and whose friendship I had yet to +win. Indeed the change in the expression was so great that it was +really difficult to believe that the features were the same. This +was owing to the wonderful change in the eyes. + +To Sinfi Lovell the seizure was transmitted in a way that was +positively uncanny--she passed into a paroxysm so severe that Mivart +was seriously alarmed for her. Her face assumed the same expression +of terror which I had seen on Miss Wynne's face, and she uttered the +cry, 'Father!' and then fell back into a state of rigidity. + +'The transmission was just in time,' said Mivart; 'the other patient +would never have survived this.' + +Strong as Sinfi Lovell was, the effect of the transmission upon her +nervous system was to me appalling. Indeed it was much greater, +Mivart said, than he was prepared for. Poor Panuel Lovell kept gazing +at us, and then said, 'It's cruel to let one woman kill herself for +another; but when her as kills herself is a Romany, and t'other a +Gorgie, it's what I calls a blazin' shame. She would do it, my poor +chavi would do it. "No harm can't come on it," says she, "because a +Gorgio cuss can't touch a Romany." An' now see what's come on it.' + +Mivart would not hear of Sinfi's returning at present to the Gypsies, +as she required special treatment. Hence there was no course left +open to us but that of keeping her here attended by a nurse whom +Mivart sent. While the recurrent paroxysms were severe, Sinfi was to +be carefully kept apart from Miss Wynne until it should become quite +clear how much and how little Miss Wynne remembered of her past life. +Mivart, however, leaned to the opinion that nothing could recall to +her mind the catastrophe that caused the seizure. By an unforeseen +accident they met, and I was at first fearful of the consequences, +but soon found that Mivart's theory was right. No ill effects +whatever followed the meeting. Sinfi's transmitted paroxysms have +gradually become less acute and less frequent, and Miss Wynne has +been constantly with her and ministering to her; the affection +between them seems to have been of long standing, and very great. + +I found that Miss Wynne remembered all her past life down to her +first seizure on Raxton sands, while everything that had since passed +was a blank. Since her recovery her presence here has seemed to shed +a richer sunlight over the old place, but of course she is no longer +the fairy child who before her cure fascinated me more than any other +living creature could have done. + +Apart from her sweet companionship, she has been of great service to +me in my art. When I learnt who she was, I should not have dreamed of +asking her to sit to me as a model without having first taken your +views, and you were, as I understood, abroad; but she herself +generously volunteered to sit to me for a picture I had in my mind, +'The Spirit of Snowdon.' It was a failure, however, and I abandoned +it. Afterwards, knowing that I was at my wits' end for a model in the +painting I have been for a long time at work upon, 'Zenelophon,' she +again offered to sit to me. The result has been that the picture, now +near completion, is by far the best thing I have ever done. + +I had noticed for some time that Sinfi's mind seemed to be running +upon some project. Neither Miss Wynne nor I could guess what it was. +But a few days ago she proposed that Miss Wynne and she should take a +trip to North Wales in order to revisit the places endeared to them +both by reminiscences of their childhood. Nothing seemed more natural +than this. And Sinfi's noble self-sacrifice for Miss Wynne had +entitled her to every consideration, and indeed every indulgence. + +And yesterday they started for Wales. It was not till after they were +gone that I learnt from another newspaper paragraph that you did not +go to Japan, and are in Wales. And now I begin to suspect that +Sinfi's determination to go to Wales with Miss Wynne arose from her +having suddenly learnt that you are still there. + +And now, my dear Alywin, having acted as a somewhat prosaic reporter +of these wonderful events, I should like to conclude my letter with a +word or two about what took place when I parted from you in the +streets of London. I saw then that your sufferings had been very +great, and since that time they must have been tenfold greater. And +now I rejoice to think that, of all the men in this world who have +ever loved, you, through this very suffering, have been the most +fortunate. As Job's faith was tried by Heaven, so has your love been +tried by the power which you call 'circumstance' and which Wilderspin +calls 'the spiritual world.' All that death has to teach the mind and +the heart of man you have learnt to the very full, and yet she you +love is restored to you, and will soon be in your arms. I, alas! have +long known that the tragedy of tragedies is the death of a beloved +mistress, or a beloved wife. I have long known that it is as the King +of Terrors that Death must needs come to any man who knows what the +word 'love' really means. I have never been a reader of philosophy, +but I understand that the philosophers of all countries have been +preaching for ages upon ages about resignation to Death--about the +final beneficence of Death--that 'reasonable moderator and equipoise +of justice,' as Sir Thomas Browne calls him. Equipoise of justice +indeed! He who can read with tolerance such words as these most have +known nothing of the true passion of love for a woman as you and I +understand it. The Elizabethans are full of this nonsense; but where +does Shakespeare, with all his immense philosophical power, ever show +this temper of acquiescence? All his impeachments of Death have the +deep ring of personal feeling--dramatist though he was. But, what I +am going to ask you is, How shall the modern materialist, who you +think is to dominate the Twentieth Century and all the centuries to +follow--how shall he confront Death when a beloved mistress is struck +down? When Moschus lamented that the mallow, the anise, and the +parsley had a fresh birth every year, whilst we men sleep in the +hollow earth a long, unbounded, never-waking sleep, he told us what +your modern materialist tells us, and he re-echoed the lamentation +which, long before Greece had a literature at all, had been heard +beneath Chaldean stars and along the mud-banks of the Nile. Your +bitter experience made you ask materialism, What comfort is there in +being told that death is the very nursery of new life, and that our +heirs are our very selves, if when you take leave of her who was and +is your world it is 'Vale, vale, in aeternum vale'? The dogged +resolution with which at first you fought and strove for materialism +struck me greatly. It made you almost rude to me at our last meeting. + +When I parted from you I should have been blind indeed had I failed +to notice how scornfully you repudiated my suggestion that you should +replace the amulet in the tomb from which it had been stolen. I did +not then know that the tomb was your father's. Had I known it my +suggestion would have been much more emphatic. I saw that you had +the greatest difficulty in refraining from laughing in my face when I +said to you that you would eventually replace it. Yes, you had great +difficulty in refraining from laughing. I did not take offence. I +felt sure that the cross was in some way connected with the young +lady you had lost in Wales, but I could not guess how. Had you told +me that the cross had been taken from your father's tomb I should no +doubt have connected it with the cry of 'Father' which had, I knew, +several times been uttered in Wilderspin's studio by the model in her +paroxysms, and I should have earlier done what I was destined to +do--I should earlier have brought you together. From sympathy that +sprang from a deep experience I knew you better than you knew +yourself. When I learnt from Sinfi Lovell that you had fulfilled +my prophecy I did not laugh. Tears rather than laughter would have +been more in my mood, for I realised the martyrdom you must have +suffered before you were impelled to do it. I knew how you must +have been driven by sorrow--driven against all the mental methods +and traditions of your life--into the arms of supernaturalism. +But you were simply doing what Hamlet would have done in such +circumstances--what Macbeth would have done, and what he would have +done who spoke to the human heart through their voices. All men, I +believe, have Macbeth's instinct for making 'assurance doubly sure,' +and I cannot imagine the man who, entangled as you were in a net of +conflicting evidence--the evidence of the spiritual and the +evidence of the natural world--would not, if the question were that +of averting a curse from acting on a beloved mistress, have done as +you did. That paralysis of Hamlet's will which followed when the +evidence of two worlds hung in equipoise before him, no one can +possibly understand better than I. For it was exactly similar to my +own condition on that never-to-be-forgotten night when she whom I +lost... + + +While the marvellous sight fell, or appeared to fall, upon my eyes, +my blood, like Hamlet's, became so masterful that my reason seemed +nothing but a blind and timorous guide. No sooner had the sweet +vision fled than my reason, like Hamlet's, rose and rejected it. It +was not until I became acquainted with the _rationale_ of sympathetic +manifestations--it was not till I learnt, by means of that +extraordinary book of your father's, which seems to have done its +part in turning friend Wilderspin's head, what is the supposed +method by which the spiritual world acts upon the material +world--acts by the aid of those same natural bonds which keep the +stars in their paths--that my blood and my reason became reconciled, +and a new light came to me. And I knew that this would be your case. +Yes, my dear Aylwin, I knew that when the issues of Life are greatly +beyond the common, and when our hearts are torn as yours has been +torn, and when our souls are on fire with a flame such as that which +I saw was consuming you, the awful possibilities of this universe--of +which we, civilised men or savage, know nothing--will come before us, +and tease our hearts with strange wild hopes, 'though all the +"proofs" of all the logicians should hold them up to scorn.' + +I am, my dear Aylwin, + +Your sincere Friend, + +T. D'ARCY. + + + +XVII + +THE TWO DUKKERIPENS + +Was the mystery at an end? Was there one point in this story of +stories which this letter of D'Arcy's had not cleared up? Yes, indeed +there was one. What motive--or rather, what mixture of motives--had +impelled Sinfi to play her part in restoring Winifred to me? Her +affection for me was, I knew, as strong as my own affection for her. +But this I attributed largely to the mysterious movements of the +blood of Fenella Stanley which we both shared. In many matters there +was a kinship of taste between us, such as did not exist between me +and Winnie, who was far from being scornful of conventions, and to +whom the little Draconian laws of British 'Society' were not objects +of mere amusement, as they were to me and Sinfi. + +All this I attributed to that 'prepotency of transmission in descent' +which I knew to be one of the Romany characteristics. All this I +attributed, I say, to the far-reaching influence of Fenella Stanley. + +But would this, coupled with her affection for Winifred, have been +strong enough to conquer Sinfi's terror of a curse and its supposed +power? And then that colloquy recorded by D'Arcy with what she +believed to be her mother's spirit--those words about 'the two +dukkeripens'--what did they mean? At one moment I seemed to guess +their meaning in a dim way, and at the next they seemed more +inexplicable than ever. But be their import what it might, one thing +was quite certain--Sinfi had saved Winifred, and there swept through +my very being a passion of gratitude to the girl who had acted so +nobly which for the moment seemed to drown all other emotions. +I had not much time, however, for bringing my thoughts to bear upon +this new source of wonderment; for I suddenly saw Winifred and Sinfi +descending the steep path towards me. + +But what a change there was in Sinfi! The traces of illness had fled +entirely from her face, and were replaced by the illumination of the +triumphant soul within--a light such as I could imagine shining on +the features of Boadicea fresh from a successful bout with the foe of +her race. Even the loveliness of Winnie seemed for the moment to pale +before the superb beauty of the Gypsy girl, whom the sun was +caressing as though it loved her, shedding a radiance over her +picturesque costume, and making the gold coins round her neck shine +like dewy whin-flowers struck by the sunrise. + +I understood well that expression of triumph. I knew that, with her, +imagination was life itself. I knew that this imagination of hers had +just escaped from the sting of the dominant thought which was +threatening to turn a supposed curse into a curse indeed. + +I went to meet them. + +'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. + + + +XVIII + +THE WALK TO LLANBERIS + +When, on coming to rejoin us, Winnie learnt that Sinfi had left for +Capel Curig, she seemed at first somewhat disconcerted, I thought. +Her training, begun under her aunt, and finished under Miss +Dalrymple, had been such that she was by no means oblivious of Welsh +proprieties; and, though I myself was entirely unable to see in what +way it was more eccentric to be mountaineering with a lover than with +a Gypsy companion, she proposed that we should follow Sinfi. + +'I have seen your famous living-waggon,' she said. 'It goes wherever +the Lovells go. Let us follow her. You can stay at Bettws or Capel +Curig, and I can stay with Sinfi.' + +I told her how strong was Sinfi's wish that we should not do so. +Winnie soon yielded her point, and we began leisurely our descent +westward, along that same path which Sinfi and I had taken on that +other evening, which now seemed so far away, when we walked down to +Llanberis with the setting sun in our faces. If my misery could then +only find expression in sighs and occasional ejaculations of pain, +absolutely dumb was the bliss that came to me now, growing in power +with every moment, as the scepticism of my mind about the reality of +the new heaven before me gave way to the triumphant acceptance of it +by my senses and my soul. + +The beauty of the scene--the touch of the summer breeze, soft as +velvet even when it grew boisterous, the perfume of the Snowdonian +flowerage that came up to meet us, seemed to pour in upon me through +the music of Winnie's voice which seemed to be fusing them all. That +beloved voice was making all my senses one. + +'You leave all the talk to me,' she said. But as she looked in my +face her instinct told her why I could not talk. She knew that such +happiness and such bliss as mine carry the soul into a region where +spoken language is not. + +Looking round me towards the left, where the mighty hollow of Cwm +Dyli was partly in sunshine and partly in shade, I startled Winnie by +suddenly calling out her name. My thoughts had left the happy dream +of Winifred's presence and were with Sinfi Lovell. As I looked at the +tall precipices rising from the chasm right up to the summit of +Snowdon, I recalled how Sinfi, notwithstanding her familiarity with +the scene, appeared to stand appalled as she gazed at the jagged +ridges of Crib-y-Ddysgyl, Crib Goch, Lliwedd, and the heights of Moel +Siabod beyond. I recalled how the expression of alarm upon Sinfi's +features had made me almost see in the distance a starving girl +wandering among the rocks, and this it was that made me now exclaim +'Winnie!' With this my lost power of speech returned. + +We went to the ruined huts where Sinfi had on that memorable day +lingered by the spring, and Winnie began to scoop out the water with +her hand and drink it. She saw how I wanted to drink the water out of +the little palm, and she scooped some out for me, saying, 'It's the +purest, and sweetest, and best water on Snowdon.' + +'Yes,' I said, 'the purest, and sweetest, and best water in the world +when drunk from such a cup.' + +She drew her hand away and let the water drop through her fingers, +and turned round to look at the scene we had left, where the summit +of Snowdon was towering beyond a reach of rock, bathed in the rapidly +deepening light. + +'No idle compliments between you and me, sir,' she said, with a +smile. 'Remember that I have still time and strength to go back to +the top and follow Sinfi down to the camp.' + +And then we both laughed together, as we laughed that afternoon in +Wilderness Road when she enunciated her theories upon the voices of +men and the voices of birds. She then stood gazing abstractedly into +a pool of water, upon which the evening lights were now falling. As I +saw her reflected in the surface of the stream, which was as smooth +as a mirror--saw her reflected there sometimes on an almost +colourless surface, sometimes amid a procession in which every colour +of the rainbow took part, I sighed. 'Why do you sigh?' said she. + +I could not tell her why, for I was recalling Wilderspin's words +about her matchless beauty and its inspiring effect upon the painter +who painted it. It would indeed, as Wilderspin had said, endow +mediocrity with genius. + +'Why do you sigh?' she repeated. + +'Oh, if I could paint that, Winnie, if I could paint that picture in +the water.' + +'And why should you not?' she said, in a dreamy way. And then a +sudden thought seemed to strike her, and she said with much energy, +'Become a painter, Henry! Become a painter! No man ever yet satisfied +a true woman who did not work--work hard at something--anything--if +not in the active affairs of life, in the world of art. My love you +must always have now--you must always have it under any +circumstances. I could not help under any circumstances giving you +love. But I fear I could not give a rich, idle man--even if he were +Henry himself--enough love to satisfy a yearning like yours.' + +She bent her face again over the water, and looked at the picture. + +'You have often told me that my face is beautiful, Henry, and you +know you never could make me believe it. But suppose you should be +right after all, and suppose that you were a painter, and used it for +a picture of the Spirit of Snowdon, I should then thank God for +having given me a beautiful face, for it would enable you to win your +goal. And afterwards, when its beauty had passed away, as it soon +would, I should have no further need for beauty, for my +painter-husband would, partly through me, have won.' + +As we walked along, she pointed to the tubular bridge over the Menai +Straits and to the coast of Anglesey. The panorama had that +fairy-like expression which belongs so peculiarly to Welsh scenery. +Other mountainous countries in Europe are beautiful, and since that +divine walk I have become intimately acquainted with them, but for +associations romantic and poetic, there is surely no land in the +world equal to North Wales. + +'Do you remember, Winnie,' I murmured, 'when you so delighted me by +exclaiming, "What a beautiful world it is!"?' + +'Ah, yes,' said Winnie, 'and how I should love to paint its beauty. +The only people I really envy are painters.' + +We were now at the famous spot where the triple echo is best heard, +and we began to shout like two children in the direction of Llyn +Ddu'r Arddu. And then our talk naturally fell on Knockers' Llyn and +the echoes to be heard there. She then took me to another famous +sight on this side of Snowdon, the enormous stone, said to be five +thousand tons in weight, called the Knockers' Anvil. While we +lingered here Winnie gave me as many anecdotes and legends of this +stone as would fill a little volume. But suddenly she stopped. + +'Look!' she said, pointing to the sunset. 'I have seen that sight +only once before. I was with Sinfi. She called it "the Dukkeripen +of the Trushul."' + +The sun was now on the point of sinking, and his radiance, falling on +the cloud-pageantry of the zenith, fired the flakes and vapoury films +floating and trailing above, turning them at first into a +ruby-coloured mass, and then into an ocean of rosy fire. A horizontal +bar of cloud which, until the radiance of the sunset fell upon it, +had been dull and dark and grey, as though a long slip from the slate +quarries had been laid across the west, became for a moment a deep +lavender colour, and then purple, and then red-gold. But what Winnie +was pointing at was a dazzling shaft of quivering fire where the sun +had now sunk behind the horizon. Shooting up from the cliffs where +the sun had disappeared, this shaft intersected the bar of clouds and +seemed to make an irregular cross of deep rose. + +When Winnie turned her eyes again to mine I was astonished to see +tears in them. I asked her what they meant. She said, 'While I was +looking at that cross of rose and gold in the clouds it seemed to me +that there came on the evening breeze the sound of a sob, and that it +was Sinfi's, my sister Sinfi's; but of course by this time Snowdon +stands between us and her.' + + + +POSTSCRIPT + +In every case where I have brought into this story facts connected +with medical matters, I have been most cautious to avail myself of +the authority of medical men. I will give here the words of Mr. James +Douglas upon this matter. After stating the fact that the story was +in part dictated to my dear friend Dr. Gordon Hake during a stay with +him at Roehampton, he says:-- + +Dr. Hake is mainly known as the 'parable poet,' but as a fact he was +a physician of extraordinary talent who had practised first at Bury +St. Edmunds and afterwards at Spring Gardens, London, until he partly +retired to be private physician to the late Lady Ripon. After her +death he left practice altogether in order to devote himself to +literature, for which he had very great equipments. As _Aylwin_ +touched upon certain subtle nervous phases, it must have been a great +advantage to the author to dictate these portions of the story to so +skilled and experienced a friend. The rare kind of cerebral +exaltation into which Henry Aylwin passed after his appalling +experience in the cove, in which the entire nervous system was +disturbed, was not what is known as brain fever. The record of it in +_Aylwin_ is, I understand, a literal account of a rare and wonderful +case brought under the professional notice of Dr. Hake. + +But I am now going to touch upon a much more important medical +subject. Since the appearance of _Aylwin_, I have received many +letters enquiring whether the transmission of hysteria from one +patient to another by means of a magnet is an imaginary experiment, +or whether it is based on fact. It has been impossible for me to +answer all these letters. But some of them, coming from loving +relatives of those who have suffered from hysteria, have been couched +in such earnest and pathetic words that they could not be left +unanswered, and this has caused me great inconvenience. I have +therefore determined to give the reader some tangible data upon this +subject. The extract from the _Daily Telegraph_ which appears on page +465 is a real extract, and records a real case of transmission of +hysteria. Upon the same subject I take the following admirable +remarks from an article in the _Quarterly Review_ for July 1890, +called 'Mesmerism and Hypnotism.' + + +_The Influence of Magnets_.--We have briefly referred to the action +of magnets on the muscles in speaking of the physiological phenomena, +but they possess other properties which hardly come under that head. +They have the power of attracting hypnotised subjects. Thus, if a +good-sized magnet is placed at some little distance from the subject, +and behind a screen so that he cannot see it, after a time he will +get up and go towards it. If now another magnet be placed at an equal +distance behind him, he will stop and remain as it were balanced +between the two. By withdrawing one or other he can be drawn +backwards or forwards. Further, he can be charged with magnetism by +placing near him a large magnet with five ends. If it be suddenly +removed and hidden in another room, he is impelled to follow it with +such force that he will fling aside all obstacles in his way, and +tracking it step by step will walk straight up to it. 'Once he sights +it, he either remains in dumb contemplation of it in front of its two +poles, or else lays his hands on both of the poles with a kind of +profound satisfaction.' These experiments with magnets are very +exhausting. + +* * * * * + +Finally, if the senses can be so heightened as in the cases already +cited from Braid and the clinique of La Salpetriere, it requires no +great stretch of imagination to suppose them carried still further +until they become comparable to those inexplicable faculties which we +call instinct in animals, that for instance by which animals--cats, +dogs, and sheep--can find their way home, sometimes over hundreds of +miles of unknown country. + +Concerning the faculty of presensation, it is worth while to say a +little more. The early mesmerists made a great point of the power of +some patients to diagnose the condition of another. Dr. Puysegur's +patient Joly, mentioned above, possessed the faculty to an unusual +degree. He was an educated man, of good position, and could express +himself intelligibly:-- + + +C'est une sensation veritable que j'eprouve dans un endroit +correspondant a la partie qui souffre chez celui que je touche: ma +main va naturellement se porter a l'endroit de son mal, et je ne peux +pas plus m'y tromper que je ne pourrois le faire en portant ma main +ou je souffrirois moi-meme. + + +Now, the following experiment has been carried out by Charcot at La +Salpetriere. A young girl suffering from hysterical hemiplegia +(paralysis of one side) came up one day from the country. She was +placed in a chair behind a screen and a hypnotic patient sent for +from the wards. The latter was placed on the other side of the screen +and hypnotised. Neither of the patients was aware of the other's +presence. At the end of a minute the hypnotised patient was found to +have acquired the other's hemiplegia. The experiment was repeated +every day, and in four days the new comer was relieved of her +trouble, which had lasted over a year. The same experiment was tried +in many cases, and always succeeded, although in some of them the +affections imitated were of a very complex character, such as +paralysis of half the tongue. With these facts in view, the alleged +experiences of the older mesmerists appear by no means impossible. + + + + + + + +APPENDICES + +I. IN DEFENCE OF A GREAT AND BELOVED POET WHOSE CHARACTER IS + DELINEATED IN THIS STORY. + +II. A KEY TO "AYLWIN," BY THOMAS ST. E. HAKE, + REPRINTED FROM "NOTES AND QUERIES." + + + + + + + +APPENDIX I + + D. G. R. + + Thou knewest that island, far away and lone, + Whose shores are as a harp, where billows break + In spray of music and the breezes shake + O'er spicy seas a woof of colour and tone, + While that sweet music echoes like a moan + In the island's heart, and sighs around the lake, + Where, watching fearfully a watchful snake. + A damsel weeps upon her emerald throne. + + Life's ocean, breaking round thy senses' shore, + Struck golden song, as from the strand of Day: + For us the joy, for thee the fell foe lay-- + Pain's blinking snake around the fair isle's core, + Turning to sighs the enchanted sounds that play + Around thy lovely island evermore. + +Certain remarks that have been made upon the character of _D'Arcy_ in +_Aylwin_ have rendered it an imperative--nay, a sacred--duty for the +author to seize an opportunity that may never occur again of saying +here a few words upon the subject. + +It is universally acknowledged that characters in fiction are not +creations projected from the author's inner consciousness, but are +founded more or less upon characters that he was brought into contact +with in real life. + +Mr. A. C. Benson, in his monograph on D. G. Rossetti, in _English Men +of Letters_, says, 'It was for a long time hoped that Mr. +Watts-Dunton would give the memoir of his great friend to the world, +but there is such a thing as knowing a man too well to be his +biographer. It is, however, an open secret that a vivid sketch of +Rossetti's personality has been given to the world in Mr. +Watts-Dunton's well-known romance _Aylwin_, where the artist D'Arcy +is drawn from Rossetti.' + +Since the appearance of these words many people who take an +increasing interest in the most mysterious and romantic figure in the +artistic world of the mid-Victorian period, have urged the author to +tell them whether the portrait of Rossetti in _Aylwin_ is a true one, +or whether it is not idealized as certain cynical critics have +affirmed. Nothing but the dread of being charged with egotism has +prevented the author's stating publicly, and once for all, that the +portrait of Rossetti in _Aylwin_ showing him to be the creature of +varying moods, gay and even frolicsome at one moment, profoundly +meditative at the next, deeply dejected at the next, but always the +most winsome of men, is true to the life. It is more than hinted in +the story that _D'Arcy's_ melancholy was the result of the loss of +one he deeply loved. From such a loss it was that Rossetti's +melancholy moods resulted. There are documentary evidences of the +verisimilitude of the picture in every respect. Let one be given out +of many. There exists a pathetic record that has never yet been +published, by one who knew Rossetti--knew him with special +intimacy--the poet Swinburne--depicting the great tragedy which +darkened Rossetti's life--the loss of his wife. + +It gives the only authorized account of that tragedy--a tragedy which +ever since the publication of William Bell Scott's _Autobiographical +Notes_ has been so grievously misunderstood and misrepresented. In +this narrative Swinburne tells how, when first introduced to +Rossetti, he himself was an Oxford undergraduate of twenty. He +records how he and Rossetti had lived on terms of affectionate +intimacy: shaped and coloured on Rossetti's side by the cordial +kindness and exuberant generosity which, to the last, distinguished +his recognition of younger men's efforts: on his (Swinburne's) part +by gratitude as loyal and admiration as fervent as ever strove and +ever failed to express 'all the sweet and sudden passion of youth +towards greatness in its elder.' He records how, during that year, he +had come to know, and to regard with little less than a brother's +affection, the noble lady whom Rossetti had recently married. He +records how on the evening of her terrible death, they all three had +dined together at a restaurant which Rossetti had been accustomed to +frequent. He records how next morning, on coming by appointment to +sit for his portrait, he heard that she had died in the night, under +circumstances which afterwards made necessary his (Swinburne's) +appearance and evidence at the inquest held on her remains. He dwells +upon the anguish of the widower, when next they met, under the roof +of the mother with whom he had sought refuge. He records how Rossetti +appealed to his friendship in the name of the dead lady's regard for +him--a regard such as she had felt for no other of Rossetti's +friends--to cleave to him in this time of sorrow, to come and keep +house with him as soon as a residence could be found. + +Can there be a more convincing and a more beautiful testimony as to a +friend's sorrow and its cause? + +Over and above the touching testimony of Swinburne, no one will deny +that if ever one man knew another too well to be his biographer, as +Mr. Benson says, the author of _Aylwin_ was that man with regard to +Rossetti. No one has ever ventured to challenge the assertion in the +article on Rossetti in the _Encyclopaedia Britannica_ that there was a +time when with the exception of his own family the poet-painter saw +scarcely any one save the writer of this book, whom he was never +tired of designating his friend of friends. There is no need to +multiply instances of this friendship, which has been enlarged upon +by Rossetti's brother, and by many others. Elizabeth Luther Gary, in +the best of all the books upon Rossetti, published by G. P. Putnam's +Sons two years after the first edition of _Aylwin_, speaks of +_D'Arcy_ as being 'the mouthpiece of Rossetti.' + +It may be added that Rossetti's _Ballads and Sonnets_, published in +1882, were dedicated to the author in these words: 'To the Friend +whom my verse won for me, these few more pages are affectionately +inscribed.' When he drew his last breath at Birchington it was in +that friend's arms. It is necessary to dwell upon such facts as the +above to show how fully equipped is the author of _Aylwin_ for +understanding and depicting the great poet-painter, to whose memory +he addressed the sonnet at the head of this note. + +As to the personality of Rossetti, to which Mr. Benson alludes, to +say that it was the one that stood out among the lives of the +Victorian poets is to state the case very feebly. It has been the +fortune of the delineator of D'Arcy to be thrown intimately across +several of the great poets of his time, not one of whom displayed a +personality so dominant as Rossetti's. Fine as is Rossetti's poetry +and fine as are his paintings, they but inadequately represent the +man. As to his personal fascination, among all the poets of England +we have no record of anything equal to it. It asserted itself not +only in relation to the pre-Raphaelite group, but in relation to all +other members of society with whom he was brought into contact. To +describe the magnetism of such a man is, of course, impossible. Much +has been written upon what is called the _demonic_ power in certain +individuals--the power of casting one's own influence over all +others. Napoleon's case is generally instanced as a typical one. But +Napoleon's demonic power was of a self-conscious kind. It would seem, +however, that there is another kind of demonic power--the power of +shedding quite unconsciously one's personality upon all brought into +contact with it. The demonic power of Rossetti, like that of _D'Arcy_ +in this story, was quite unconscious. In Rossetti's presence, as in +_D'Arcy's_, it was impossible not to yield to this strange, +mysterious power. At the time when he was not so entirely reclusive +as he afterwards became, when he used to meet all sorts of people, +the author had many opportunities of noticing its effect upon others. +He has seen them try to resist it, and in vain. On a certain occasion +a very eminent man, much used to society, and much used to the +brilliant literary clubs of London, was quite cowed and silenced +before Rossetti. It is necessary to dwell upon these subtle +distinctions, because this is the D'Arcy who, as a critic has +remarked, 'is the real protagonist of _Aylwin_--although the reader +does not discover it until the very end of the story, where D'Arcy +is the character who unravels and explains all.' Without D'Arcy, +indeed, and the demonic power possessed by him, the story would have +no existence. + +It is, of course, in the illustrated editions of _Aylwin_ that +D'Arcy's identification with Rossetti and his importance in the story +become specially manifest. On page 204 of the illustrated editions an +exact picture has been given by Rossetti's pupil, Dunn, of the famous +studio at 16 Cheyne Walk--the studio which will always be associated +with Rossetti's name. It has been immortalized by his friend, Dr. +Gordon Hake, in the following lines addressed to the author of +_Aylwin_ in the sonnet-sequence, _The New Day_: + + + Sitting with him, his tones as Petrarch's tender, + With many a speaking vision on the wall, + The fire, a-blaze, flashing the studio fender, + Closed in from London shouts and ceaseless brawl-- + Twas you brought Nature to the visiting, + Till she herself seemed breathing in the room, + And Art grew fragrant in the glow of Spring + With homely scents of gorse and heather bloom. + Or sunbeams shone by many an Alpine fountain, + Fed by the waters of the forest stream; + Or glacier-glories in the rock-girt mountain, + Where they so often fed the poet's dream; + Or else was mingled the rough billow's glee + With cries of petrels on a sullen sea. + + +Again on page 393 of the same editions will be found Miss May +Morris's beautiful water colour of Kelmscott Manor, the country-house +jointly occupied by Rossetti and William Morris in which takes place +what has been called 'the crucial scene in _Aylwin_.' + + + + + + + +APPENDIX II + +So many questions about the characters depicted in _Aylwin_ were put +to the editor of _Notes and Queries_ that he suggested that a key to +the novel would he found acceptable. Some weeks after this suggestion +was made there appeared in that journal (7th June 1902) the following +contribution by Mr. Thomas St. E. Hake, an intimate friend of +Rossetti, and of other leading characters of the story. The +republication of it here has been kindly sanctioned by Mr. J. C. +Francis, a name so indissolubly associated both with the _Athenaeum_ +and _Notes and Queries_. Mr. Hake writes as follows: + + +Ever since the publication of _Aylwin_ I have, at various times, seen +in _Notes and Queries_, the _Daily Chronicle_, the _Contemporary +Review_, and other organs, inquiries as to the identification of the +characters that appear in that story. And now that an inquiry comes +from so remote a place as Libau in Russia, I think I may come forward +and say what I know on the subject. But, of course, within the limited +space that could possibly be allotted to me in _Notes and Queries_, I +can only say a few words on a subject that would require many pages to +treat adequately. Until _Aylwin_ appeared, Mr. Joseph Knight's +monograph on Rossetti in the 'Great Writers' series was, with the sole +exception of what has been written about him by his own family and by +my late father, Dr. Gordon Hake, in his _Memoirs of Eighty Years_, the +only account that gave the reader the least idea of the man--his +fascination, his brilliance, his generosity, and his whimsical +qualities. But in _Aylwin_ Rossetti lives as I knew him; it is +impossible to imagine a more living picture of the man. I have stayed +with Rossetti at 16 Cheyne Walk for weeks at a time, and at Bognor +also, and at Kelmscott--the 'Hurstcote' of _Aylwin_. With regard to +'Hurstcote,' I well knew 'the large bedroom with low-panelled walls +and the vast antique bedstead made of black carved oak' upon which +Winifred Wynne slept. In fact, the only thing in the description of +this room that I do not remember is the beautiful _Madonna and Child_ +upon the frame of which was written 'Chiaro dell' Erma' (readers of +_Hand and Soul_ will remember that name). This quaint and picturesque +bedroom leads by two or three steps to the tapestried room 'covered +with old faded tapestry--so faded, indeed, that its general effect +was that of a dull grey texture'--depicting the story of Samson. +Rossetti used the tapestry room as a studio, and I have seen in it +the very same pictures that so attracted the attention of Winifred +Wynne: the 'grand brunette' (painted from Mrs. Morris) 'holding a +pomegranate in her hand'; the 'other brunette, whose beautiful eyes +are glistening and laughing over the fruit she is holding up' +(painted from the same famous Irish beauty named Smith who appears +in _The Beloved_), and the blonde 'under the apple blossoms' (painted +from a still more beautiful woman--Mrs. Stillman). These pictures +were not permanently placed there, but, as it chanced, they were +there (for retouching) on a certain occasion when I was visiting at +Kelmscott. With regard to the green room in which Winifred took her +first breakfast at 'Hurstcote' I am a little in confusion. It seems +to me more like the green dining-room in Cheyne Walk, decorated with +antique mirrors, which was painted by Dunn, showing Rossetti reading +his poems aloud. This is the only portrait of Rossetti that really +calls up the man before me. As Mr. Watts-Dunton is the owner of +Dunn's drawing, and as so many people want to see what Rossetti's +famous Chelsea house was like inside, it is a pity he does not give +it as a frontispiece to some future edition of _Aylwin_. +Unfortunately, Mr. G. F. Watts's picture, now in the National +Portrait Gallery, was never finished, and I never saw upon Rossetti's +face the dull, heavy expression which that portrait wears. I think +the poet told me that he had given the painter only one or two +sittings. As to the photographs, none of them is really satisfactory. + +The 'young gentleman from Oxford who has been acting as my +secretary,' as mentioned in _Aylwin_, was my brother. [Footnote] With +regard to the two circular mirrors surrounded by painted designs +telling the story of the Holy Grail, 'in old black oak frames carved +with knights at tilt,' I do not remember seeing these there. But they +are evidently the mirrors decorated with copies of the lost Holy +Grail frescoes once existing on the walls of the Union Reading-Room +at Oxford. These beautiful decorations I have seen at 'The Pines,' +but not elsewhere. I have often seen 'D'Arcy' in the company of +several of the other characters introduced into _Aylwin_; for +instance, 'De Castro' and 'Symonds' (the late F. R. Leyland, at that +time the owner of the Leyland line of steamers, living at Prince's +Gate, where was the famous Peacock Room painted by Mr. Whistler). I +did not myself know that quaint character Mrs. Titwing, but I have +been told by people who knew her well that she is true to the life. +With regard to 'De Castro,' it is a matter of regret to those who +knew him that, after giving us that most vivid scene between 'D'Arcy' +and 'De Castro' at Scott's oyster-rooms (a place which Rossetti was +very fond of frequenting in those nocturnal rambles that caused 'De +Castro' to give him the name of Haroun al Raschid), the author did +not go on and paint to the full the most extraordinary man of the +very extraordinary group, the centre of which was Rossetti's Chelsea +house. Rossetti was a well-known figure at Scott's and at Rule's +oyster-rooms at the time he encountered 'Henry Aylwin.' That scene at +Scott's is, in my opinion, the most living thing in the book--a +picture that whenever I turn to it makes me feel that everything said +and done must have occurred. 'De Castro' seemed to belong not merely +to the Rossetti group, but to all groups, for he was brought into +touch with almost every remarkable man of his time, and fascinated +every one of them. Literary and artistic London was once full of +stories of him, and no one that knew him doubted he was what must be +called a man of genius--although a barren genius. Among others, he +was brought into close relations with Ruskin, Burne-Jones, and, I +think, Smetham ('Wilderspin'), and others. + +[Footnote: This was George Hake, who died in Central Africa a few +years ago.] + +Rossetti used to say that since Blake there has been no more +visionary painter in the art world than Smetham. Rossetti had a quite +affectionate feeling towards Smetham, and several of his pictures +(small ones) were on Rossetti's studio walls. I remember one or two +extraordinary pictures of his--especially one depicting a dragon in a +fen, of which Rossetti had a great opinion; and I believe this, with +other pictures of Smetham's, is in the hands of Mr. Watts-Dunton. The +author of _Aylwin_ would have been much amused had he seen, as I did, +in an American magazine the statement that 'Wilderspin' was +identified with William Morris--a man who was as much the opposite +of the visionary painter as a man can be. Morris, whom I had the +privilege of knowing very well, and with whom I have stayed at +Kelmscott during the Rossetti period, is alluded to in _Aylwin_ +(chap. ix. book xv.) as the 'enthusiastic angler' who used to +go down to 'Hurstcote' to fish. At that time this fine old +seventeenth-century manor house was in the joint occupancy of +Rossetti and Morris. 'Wilderspin' was Smetham with a variation: +certain characteristics of another painter of genius were introduced, +I believe, into the portrait of him in _Aylwin_; and the story of +'Wilderspin's' early life was not that of Smetham. The series of +'large attics in which was a number of enormous oak beams' supporting +the antique roof was a favourite resort of my own; but all the +ghostly noise that I there heard was the snoring of young owls--a +peculiar sound that had a special fascination for Rossetti; and after +dinner Rossetti, my brother, and I would go to the attics to listen +to them. + +But a more singular mistake with regard to the _Aylwin_ characters +than that of Morris being confounded with 'Wilderspin' was that of +confounding, as certain newspaper paragraphs at the time did, 'Cyril +Aylwin' with Mr. Whistler. I am especially able to speak of this +character, who has been inquired about more than any other in the +book. I knew him, I think, even before I knew Rossetti and Morris, or +any of that group. He was a brother of Mr. Watts-Dunton's--Mr. Alfred +Eugene Watts. He lived at Park House, Sydenham, and died suddenly +either in 1870 or 1871, very shortly after I had met him at a wedding +party. Among the set in which I moved at that time he had a great +reputation as a wit and humorist. His style of humour always struck +me as being more American than English. While bringing out humorous +things that would set a dinner-table in a roar, he would himself +maintain a perfectly unmoved countenance. And it was said of him, as +'Wilderspin' says of 'Cyril Aylwin,' that he was never known to +laugh. The pen-picture of him in _Aylwin_ is one of the most vivid +things in the book. + +With regard to the most original character in the story, those who +knew Clement's Inn, where I myself once resided, and Lincoln's Inn +Fields, will be able at once to identify Mrs. Gudgeon, who lived in +one of the streets running into Clare Market. Her business was that +of night coffee-stall keeper. At one time, I believe--but I am not +certain about this--she kept a stall on the Surrey side of Waterloo +Bridge, and it might have been there that, as I have been told, her +portrait was drawn for a specified number of early breakfasts by an +unfortunate artist who sank very low, but had real ability. Her +constant phrase was 'I shall die o' laughin'--I know I shall!' On +account of her extra-ordinary gift of repartee, and her inexhaustible +fund of wit and humour, she was generally supposed to be an +Irishwoman. But she was not: she was cockney to the marrow. Recluse +as Rossetti was in his later years, he had at one time been very +different, and could bring himself in touch with the lower orders of +London in a way such as was only known to his most intimate friends. +With all her impudence, and I may say insolence, Mrs. Gudgeon was a +great favourite with the police, who were the constant butts of her +chaff. + +With regard to the gipsies, although I knew George Borrow intimately, +and saw a great deal of Mr. Watts-Dunton's other Romany Rye friend, +the late Frank Groome, I did not know Sinfi Lovell or Rhona Boswell. +But I may say that those who have said that Sinfi Lovell was painted +from the same model as Mr. Meredith's Kiomi are mistaken. Sinfi +Lovell was extremely beautiful, whereas Kiomi, I believe, was never +very beautiful. But that they are represented as being contemporaries +and friends is shown by D'Arcy's mention of Kiomi in Scott's +oyster-rooms. The characters who figure in the early Raxton scenes I +cannot speak of for reasons which may be pretty obvious; nor can I +speak of the Welsh chapters in _Aylwin_, which have been a good deal +discussed in recent numbers of _Notes and Queries_. But being myself +an East Anglian by birth--one of my Christian names is St. Edmund, +because I was born at Bury St. Edmunds--I can say something about +what the East Anglian papers call 'Aylwinland,' and of the truth of +the pictures of the east coast to be found in the story, Since +_Aylwin_ was published an interesting attempt has been made by a +correspondent in the _Lowestoft Standard_ (25th August 1900) to +identify Pakefield Church as the 'Raxton' Church of the story, and +the writer of the letter mentions the most remarkable, and to me +quite new fact, that although the guide-books of Lowestoft and the +district are quite silent as to a curious crypt at the east end of +Pakefield Church, there is exactly such a crypt as that described in +_Aylwin_, and that in the early days of the correspondent in question +it was used as a storehouse for bones. The readers of _Aylwin_ will +remember the author's words: 'The crypt is much older than the +church, and of an entirely different architecture. It was once the +depository of the bones of Danish warriors killed before the Norman +conquest.' + +THOMAS ST. E. HAKE. + + +In _Notes and Queries_ [9th S., ix. 369, 450; x. 16] a letter had +appeared, signed 'Jay Aitch,' inquiring as to the school of mystics +founded by Lavater, alluded to on page 83 of the _Illustrated +Aylwin_. This afforded Mr. Thomas St. E. Hake another opportunity of +unloading his wallet of Rossetti and _Aylwin_ lore. And in the same +journal, for 2nd August 1902, he wrote as follows: + + +The question raised by Jay Aitch as to the school of mystics founded +by Lavater, and the large book _The Veiled Queen_, by 'Philip +Aylwin,' which contains quotations that Jay Aitch affirms have +haunted him ever since he read them, are certainly questions about as +interesting as any that could have been raised in connexion with the +story. And in answering these queries I find an opportunity of saying +a few authentic words on a subject upon which many unauthentic ones +have been-uttered--that of the occultism of D. G, Rossetti and some +of his friends. It has been frequently said that Rossetti was a +spiritualist, and it is a fact that he went to several _seances_; but +the word 'spiritualism' seems to have a rather elastic meaning. A +spiritualist, as distinguished from a materialist, Rossetti certainly +was, but his spiritualism was not, I should say, that which in common +parlance bears this name. It was exactly like 'Aylwinism,' which +seems to have been related to the doctrines of the Lavaterian sect +about which Jay Aitch inquires. As a matter of fact, it was not the +original of 'Wilderspin' nearly so much as the original D'Arcy who +was captured by the doctrine of what is called in the story the +'Aylwinian.' + +With regard to Johann Kaspar Lavater, Jay Aitch is no doubt aware +that, although this once noted writer's fame rests entirely upon his +treatise _Physiognomische Fragmente_, he founded a school of mystics +in Switzerland. This was before what is called spiritualism came into +vogue. I believe that the doctrines of _The Veiled Queen_ are closely +related to the doctrines of the Lavaterians; but my knowledge on this +matter is of a second-hand kind, and is derived from conversations +upon Lavater and his claims as a physiognomist, which I heard many +years ago at Coombe and during walks in Richmond Park, between the +author of _Aylwin_ and my father, who, admittedly a man of +intellectual grasp, went even further than Lavater. + +A writer in the _Literary World_, in some admirable remarks upon this +story, is, as far as I know, the only critic who has dwelt upon the +extraordinary character of 'Philip Aylwin.' He says: + + +'The melancholy, the spiritual isolation, and the passionate love of +this master-mystic for his dead wife are so finely rendered that the +reader's sympathies go out at once to this most pathetic and lonely +figure....It would be difficult for any sensitive man or woman to +follow Philip Aylwin's story as related by his son without the +tribute of aching heart and scalding tears. To our thinking, the +man's sanity is more moving, more supremely tragic, than even the +madness of Winifred, which is the culminating tragedy of the book.' + + +I must say that I agree with this writer in thinking 'Philip Aylwin' +to be the most impressive character in the story. The most remarkable +feature of the novel, indeed, is that, although 'Philip Aylwin' +disappears from the scene so early, his opinions, his character, and +his dreams are cast so entirely over the book from beginning to end +that the novel might have been called _Philip Aylwin_. I have a +special interest in this character, because I knew the undoubted +original of the character with a considerable amount of intimacy. +Without the permission of the author of _Aylwin_, I can only touch on +outward traits--the deep, spiritual life of this man is beyond me. +Although a very near relation, he was not, as has been so often +surmised, the author's father. [Footnote] He was a man of +extraordinary learning in the academic sense of the word, and +possessed still more extraordinary general knowledge. He lived for +many years the strangest kind of hermit life, surrounded by his +books and old manuscripts. His two great passions were philology +and occultism. He knew more, I think, of those strange writers +discussed in Vaughan's _Hours with the Mystics_ than any other +person--including, perhaps, Vaughan himself; but he managed to +combine with his love of Mysticism a deep passion for the physical +sciences, especially astronomy. He seemed to be learning languages up +to almost the last year of his life. His method of learning languages +was the opposite of that of George Borrow, that is to say, he made +great use of grammars; and when he died it is said that from four to +five hundred treatises on grammar were found among his books. He used +to express great contempt for Borrow's method of learning languages +from dictionaries only. + +[Footnote: He was Mr. Watts-Dunton's uncle--Mr. James Orlando Watts.] + +I do not think that any one connected with literature--with the +exception of Mr. Watts-Dunton, Mr. Swinburne, my father, and Dr. R. +G. Latham--knew so much of him as I did. His personal appearance was +exactly like that of 'Philip Aylwin,' as described in the novel. +Although he never wrote poetry, he translated, I believe, a good deal +from the Spanish and Portuguese poets. I remember that he was an +extraordinary admirer of Shelley. His knowledge of Shakespeare and +the Elizabethan dramatists was a link between him and Mr. Swinburne. + +At a time when I was a busy reader at the British Museum +Reading-Room, I used frequently to see him, and he never seemed to +know any one among the readers except myself, and whenever he spoke +to me it was always in a hushed whisper, lest he should disturb the +other readers, which in his eyes would have been a heinous offence. +For very many years he had been extremely well known to the +second-hand booksellers, for he was a constant purchaser of their +wares. He was a great pedestrian, and, being very much attached to +the north of London, would take long, slow tramps ten miles out in +the direction of Highgate, Wood Green, etc. I have a very distinct +recollection of calling upon him in Myddelton Square at the time when +I was living close to him in Percy Circus. Books were piled up from +floor to ceiling, apparently in great confusion, but he seemed to +remember where to find every book and what there was in it. It is a +singular fact that the only person outside those I have mentioned who +seems to have known him was that brilliant but eccentric journalist, +Thomas Purnell, who had an immense opinion of him and used to call +him 'the scholar.' How Purnell managed to break through the icy wall +that surrounded the recluse always puzzled me; but I suppose they +must have come across one another at one of those pleasant inns in +the north of London where 'the scholar' was taking his chop and +bottle of Beaune. He was a man that never made new friends, and as +one after another of his old friends died he was left so entirely +alone that, I think, he saw no one except Mr. Swinburne, the author +of _Aylwin_, and myself. But at Christmas he always spent a week at +'The Pines,' when and where my father and I used to meet him. His +memory was so powerful that he seemed to be able to recall not only +all that he had read, but the very conversations in which he had +taken a part. He died, I think, at a little over eighty, and his +faculties up to the last were exactly like those of a man in the +prime of life. He always reminded me of Charles Lamb's description +of George Dyer. + +Such is my outside picture of this extraordinary man; and it is only +of externals that I am free to speak here, even if I were competent +to touch upon his inner life. He was a still greater recluse than +the 'Philip Aylwin' of the novel. I think I am right in saying that +he took up one or two Oriental tongues when he was seventy years of +age. Another of his passions was numismatics, and it was in these +studies that he sympathized with the author of _Aylwin's_ friend, the +late Lord de Tabley. I remember one story of his peculiarities which +will give an idea of the kind of man he was. He had a brother who was +the exact opposite of him in every way--strikingly good-looking, with +great charm of mariner and _savoir faire_, but with an ordinary +intellect and a very superficial knowledge of literature, or, indeed, +anything else, except records of British military and naval +exploits--where he was really learned. Being full of admiration of +his student brother, and having a parrot-like instinct for mimicry, +he used to talk with great volubility upon all kinds of subjects +wherever he went, and repeat in the same words what he had been +listening to from his brother, until at last he got to be called the +'walking encyclopedia.' The result was that he got the reputation of +being a great reader and an original thinker, while the true student +and book-lover was frequently complimented on the way in which he +took after his learned brother. This did not in the least annoy the +real student, it simply amused him, and he would give with a dry +humour most amusing stories as to what people had said to him on this +subject. + +THOMAS ST. E. HAKE. + + +The editor of _Notes and Queries_ has the following footnote: + +'We hail some acquaintance with the being Mr. Hake depicts (Mr. James +Orlando Watts) and can testify to the truth of the portraiture.' + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AYLWIN*** + + +******* This file should be named 13454.txt or 13454.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/4/5/13454 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/old/13454.zip b/old/13454.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9d6a5f9 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13454.zip |