II

That I determined to cultivate the acquaintance of Sinfi Lovell I need scarcely say.  But my first purpose was to see the cottage.  The landlord showed me the way to it.  He warned me that a storm was coming on, but I did not let that stay me.  Masses of dark clouds were gathering, and there was every sign of a heavy rainstorm as I went out along the road in the direction indicated.

There was a damp boisterous wind, that seemed blowing from all points of the compass at once, and in a minute I was caught in a swirl of blinding rain.  I took no heed of it, however, but hurried along the lonely road till I reached the cottage, which I knew at once was the one I sought.  It was picturesque, but had a deserted look.

It was not till I stood in front or the door that I began to consider what I really intended to do in case I found her there.  A heedless, impetuous desire to see her—­to get possession of her—­had brought me to Wales.  But what was to be my course of action if I found her I had never given myself time to think.

If I could only clasp her in my arms and tell her I was Henry, I felt that she must, even in madness, know me and cling to me.  I could not realise that any insanity could estrange her from me if I could only get near her.

I put my thumb upon the old-fashioned latch, and found that the door was not locked.  It yielded to my touch, and with a throbbing of every pulse, I pushed it open and looked in.

In front of me rose a staircase, steep and narrow.  There was sufficient evening light to enable me to see up the staircase, and to distinguish two black bedroom doors, now closed, on the landing.  I stood on the wet threshold till my nerves grew calmer.  On my right and on my left the doors of the two rooms on the ground floor were open.  I could see that the one on my left was stripped of furniture.

I entered the room on my right—­a low room of some considerable length, with heavy beams across the ceiling, which in that light seemed black.  Two or three chairs and a table were in it.  There was a brisk fire, and over it a tea-kettle of the kind much favoured by Gypsies, as I afterwards learnt.  There was no grate, but an open hearth, exactly like the one in Wynne’s cottage, where Winifred and I used to stand in summer evenings to see the sky, and the stars twinkling above the great sooty throat of the open chimney.  I now perceived the crwth and bow upon the table.  Sinfi Lovell had evidently been here since we parted.  On the walls hung a few of those highly coloured prints of Scriptural subjects which, at one time, used to be seen in English farm-houses, and are still the only works of art with the Welsh peasants and a few well-to-do Welsh Gypsies who would emulate Gorgio tastes.