Aylwin Part 72

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 kins.h.i.+p 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 amus.e.m.e.nt, 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 pa.s.sion of grat.i.tude to the girl who had acted so n.o.bly 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 s.h.i.+ning 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 s.h.i.+ne 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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.sed it on to you in the same way that doctors sometimes do pa.s.s 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 s.p.a.ce 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 n.o.body 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 n.o.ble 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 conterd.i.c.ks 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-flas.h.i.+n' 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?'