"Gracious goodness!" she exclaims, "what are we to do? We can never row back up this rough water it runs so strong here!"
"That's true," says Gwen, preserving her composure. "I don't think we could."
"But what's to be the upshot? Joseph will be waiting for us, and auntie sure to know all, if we shouldn't get back in time."
"That's true also," again observes Miss Wynn assentingly, and with an admirable sang froid , which causes surprise to the companion.
Then succeeds a short interval of silence, broken by an exclamatory phrase of three short words from the lips of Miss Wynn.
They are "I have it!"
"What have you?" joyfully asks Ellen.
"The way to get back without much trouble, and without disturbing the arrangements we've made with old Joe the least bit."
"Explain yourself!"
"We'll keep on down the river to Rock Weir. There we can leave the boat, and walk across the neck to Llangorren. It isn't over a mile, though it's five times that by the course of the stream. At the Weir we can engage some water fellow to take back the Gwendoline to her moorings. Meanwhile, we'll make all haste, slip into the grounds unobserved, get to the boat-dock in good time, and give Joseph the cue to hold his tongue about what's happened. Another half-crown will tie it firm and fast, I know."
"I suppose there's no help for it," says the companion, assenting, "and we must do as you say."
"Of course we must. As you see, without thinking of it, we've drifted into a very cascade, and are now a long way down it. Only a regular waterman could pull up again. Ah! 'twould take the toughest of them, I should say. So nolens volens we'll have to go on to Rock Weir, which can't be more than a mile now. You may feather your oars, and float a bit. But, by the way, I must look more carefully to the steering. Now, that I remember, there are some awkward bars and eddies about here, and we can't be far from them. I think they're just below the next bend."
So saying, she sets herself square in the stern sheets, and closes her fingers firmly upon the tiller cords.
They glide on, but now in silence; the little flurry, with the prospect of peril ahead, making speech inopportune.
Soon they are round the bend spoken of, discovering to their view a fresh reach of the river; when again the steerer becomes neglectful of her duty, the expression upon her features, late a little troubled, suddenly changing to cheerfulness almost joy. Nor is it that the dangerous places have been passed; they are still ahead, and at some distance below. But there is something else ahead to account for the quick transformation a row-boat drawn up by the river's edge, with men upon the bank beside.
Over Gwen Wynn's countenance comes another change, sudden as before, and as before, its expression reversed. She has mistaken the boat; it is not that of the handsome fisherman! Instead, a four-oared craft, manned by four men, for there is this number on the bank. The angler's skiff had in it only two himself and his oarsman.
But she has no need to count heads, nor scrutinise faces. Those now before her eyes are all strange, and far from well favoured; not any of them in the least like the one which has so prepossessed her. And while making this observation another is forced upon her that their natural plainness is not improved by what they have been doing, and are still drinking.
Just as the young ladies made this observation, the four men, hearing oars, face towards them. For a moment there is silence, while they in the Gwendoline are being scanned by the quartette on the shore. Through maudlin eyes, possibly, the fellows mistake them for ordinary country
lasses, with whom they may take liberties. Whether or not one cries out
"Petticoats, by gee ingo!"
"Ay!" exclaims another, "a pair o' them. An' sweet wenches they be, too. Look at she wi' the gooldy hair bright as the sun itself. Lord, meeats! if we had she down in the pit, that head o' her ud gi'e as much light as a dozen Davy's lamps. An't she a bewty? I'm boun' to have a smack fra them red lips o' hers."
"No," protests the first speaker, "she be myen. First spoke soonest sarved. That's Forest law."
"Never mind, Rob," rejoins the other, surrendering his claim, "she may be the grandest to look at, but not the goodiest to go. I'll lay odds the black 'un beats her at kissin'. Le's get grup o' 'em an' see! Coom on, meeats!"
Down go the drinking vessels, all four making for their boat, into which they scramble, each laying hold of an oar.
Up to this time the ladies have not felt actual alarm. The strange men being evidently intoxicated, they might expect were, indeed, half-prepared for coarse speech; perhaps indelicate, but nothing beyond. Within a mile of their own home, and still within the boundary of the Llangorren land, how could they think of danger such as is threatening? For that there is danger they are now sensible becoming convinced of it as they draw nearer to the four fellows, and get a better view of them. Impossible to mistake the men roughs from the Forest of Dean, or some other mining district, their but half-washed faces showing it; characters not very gentle at any time, but very rude, even dangerous, when drunk. This known from many a tale told, many a Petty and Quarter Sessions report read in the county newspapers. But it is visible in their countenances, too intelligible in their speech part of which the ladies have overheard as in the action they are taking.