“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.”