e 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 h