"No doubt, _mon ancien braconnier_, you've been gratified by the change
that's of late taken place in your circumstances. But perhaps it hasn't
quite satisfied you, and you expect to have something more; as I have
the wish you should. And you would ere this, but for one who
obstinately sets his face against it."
"May I know who that one is, Father Rogier?"
"You may, and shall; though I should think you scarce need telling.
Without naming names, it's he who will be in this boat with you going
back to Llangorren."
"I thought so. An' if I an't astray, he be the one your Reverence
thinks would not be any the worse o' a wettin'?"
"Instead, all the better for it. It may cure him of his evil courses--
drinking, card-playing, and the like. If he's not cured of them by some
means, and soon, there won't be an acre left him of the Llangorren
lands, nor a shilling in his purse. He'll have to go back to beggary,
as at Glyngog; while you, Monsieur Coracle, in place of being
head-gamekeeper, with other handsome preferments in prospect, will be
compelled to return to your shifty life of poaching, night-netting, and
all the etceteras. Would you desire that?"
"Daanged if I would! An' won't do it if I can help. Shan't if your
Reverence'll only show me the way."
"There's but one I can think of."
"What may that be, Father Rogier?"
"Simply to set your foot on the side of this skiff, and tilt it bottom
upwards."
"It shall be done. When, and where?"
"When you are coming back down. The where you may choose for yourself--
such place as may appear safe and convenient. Only take care you don't
drown yourself."
"No fear o' that. There an't water in the Wye as'll ever drown Dick
Dempsey."
"No," jocularly returns the priest; "I don't suppose there is. If it be
your fate to perish by asphyxia--as no doubt it is--strong tough hemp,
and not weak water, will be the agent employed--that being more
appropriate to the life you have led. Ha! ha! ha!"
Coracle laughs too, but with the grimace of wolf baying the moon. For
the moonlight shining full in his face, shows him not over satisfied
with the coarse jest. But remembering how he shifted that treacherous
plank bridging the brook at Abergann he silently submits to it. He may
not much longer. He, too, is gradually getting his hand upon a lever,
which will enable him to have a say in the affairs of Llangorren Court,
that they dwelling therein will listen to him, or, like the Philistines
of Gaza, have it dragged down about their ears.
But the ex-poacher is not yet prepared to enact the _role_ of Samson;
and however galling the _jeu d'esprit_ of the priest, he swallows it
without showing chagrin, far less speaking it.
In truth there is no time for further exchange of speech, at least in
the skiff. By this they have arrived at the Rugg's Ferry landing-place,
where Father Rogier, getting out, whispers a few words in Coracle's ear,
and then goes off.