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