'It was scepticism that ruined all.' I heard Wilderspin say.
'And yet,' said Sinfi, 'the Golden Hand on Snowdon told as he'd marry
Winifred Wynne. Ah! surely the Swimmin' Rei is in the room! I thought
I heard that choke come in his throat as comes when he frets about
Winnie. Howsomever, I s'pose it must ha' bin all a fancy o' mine.'
'You make me laugh, Sinfi, about this golden hand of yours that is stronger than the hand of Death,' said Cyril; 'and yet I wish from my heart I could believe it.'
'My poor mammy used to say, "The Gorgios believes when they ought to disbelieve, and they disbelieve when they ought to believe, and that gives the Romanies a chance."'
'Sinfi Lovell,' said Wilderspin, 'that saying of your mother's touches at the very root of romantic art.'
'Well, if Gorgios don't believe enough, Sinfi,—if there is not enough superstition among certain Gorgio acquaintances of mine, it's a pity,' said Cyril.
'I don't know what you are a-talkin' about with your romantic art an' sich like, but I do know that nothink can't go ag'in the dukkeripen o' the clouds; but if I was on Snowdon with my crwth I could soon tell for sartin whether she's alive or dead,' said Sinfi.
'And how?' said Cyril.
'How? By playin' on the hills the old Welsh dukkerin' tune [Footnote 1] as she was so fond on. If she was dead, she wouldn't hear it, but if she was alive she would, and her livin' mullo [Footnote 2] 'ud come to it,' said Sinfi.
[Footnote 1: Incantation song.]