ild 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, _t