'
'To London?' I said, in dismay at the thought of losing her so soon.
'Why are you going to London. Winnie?'
'Oh,' said she, with the same innocent look of business-like
importance which, at our first meeting as children, had so impressed
me when she pulled out the key to open the church door, 'I'm going on
business.'
'On business! And how long do you stay?'
'I don't stay at all; I'm coming back immediately.'
'Come,' I exclaimed, 'there's a little comfort in that, at least.
Snap and I can wait for one day.'
'Good-night,' said Winifred.
'Have you not seen the great landslip at the churchyard?' I asked,
taking her hand and pointing to the new promontory which the _debris_
of the fall had made.
'Another landslip?' said she. 'Poor dear old churchyard, it will soon
all be gone! Snap and I must have been far away when that fell. But I
remember saying to him, 'Hark at the thunder. Snap!' and then I heard
a sound like a shriek that appalled me. It recalled a sound I once
heard in Shire-Carnarvon.'
'What was it, Winnie?'
'You've heard me when I was a little girl talk of my Gypsy sister
Sinfi?'
'Often,' I said.
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