d 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 tol