Then came the sound of Sinfi's crwth and song, and
in the distance repetitions of it, as though the spirits of Snowdon
were, in very truth, joining in a chorus.
At once a marvellous change came over me. I seemed to be listening to
my ancestress, Fenella Stanley, and not to Sinfi Lovell. I was
hearing that strain which in my childhood I had so often tried to
imagine, and it was conjuring up the morning sylphs of the mountain
air and all the 'flower-sprites' and 'sunshine elves' of Snowdon.
V
I shook off the spell when the music ceased; then I began to wonder
why the Gypsy did not return. I was now faint and almost famished for
want of food. I opened the Gypsy's wallet. There was the substantial
and tempting breakfast she had brought from the cottage
cupboard--cold beef and bread, and ale. I spread the breakfast on the
ground.
Scarcely had I done so when a figure appeared at the opening of the
gorge and caught the ruddy flood of light. It was Winifred,
bare-headed. I knew it was she, and I waited in breathless suspense,
crouching close up into the crevice, dreading lest she should see me
and be frightened away.
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