[CHAPTER XXX.]
THE KNOT IS CUT.
A storm broke over Hanwitch that night, and left behind it a strong wind which swept up great masses of clouds; and the morning sunshine streamed and darkened in quick alternations, and made the air lively with the movement of shadow.
Holdsworth, deeply disturbed by conflicting anxieties, had slept but little; and at eight o’clock left his bed and started for a walk before breakfast, hoping that the breeze which thundered about the house would freshen and inspirit him.
Gaining the High Street, he turned to the left and walked along a narrow pathway that took him through the fields to Maldon Heights, as the hill that overlooked Hanwitch was called. He climbed the grassy slope and stood awhile on the summit, drinking in the hooting wind and watching the fluctuating scene that ran from his feet to the horizon. The oats and barley in many fields were not yet cut; and it was a sight to see them breaking into wide spaces of delicate gold under the sun, and growing gray again as the cloud-shadows sailed over them. When the sunshine lingered awhile, these fields seemed to reflect the shadows which had passed, for the wind rushed like a dark arm along them, and pressed the graceful grain into the likeness of a wave, which swept forwards with swiftness, making the fields dark where it ran. The farther trees appeared to hold steady under the breeze; but there were nearer trees which swayed their branches in wild gesticulations of entreaty, and flogged the wind as it roared among them, bearing away trophies of green leaves and broken twigs. The birds breasted the gale with short flights, or turned and yielded to the invisible power with small cries. Every object the eye rested on appeared in motion, so lively was the effect of the cloud shadows upon the houses and the weight of the wind upon the surrounding country.
It was a morning to clear the most hypochondriacal mind of despondency, and Holdsworth felt its cheerful influence as he stood exposed to the swinging rush of warm air, and watched nature dancing to the tunes sung by the wind as it swept through the sky.
He had made up his mind to call at the brewery that morning, and he took a look at it as he passed the street in which it stood on his way home. The gaol-like building, with the steam about its windows resembling rich London fog, which refused either to stop in or go away, was scarcely calculated to improve his hopes. Big beef-faced men in aprons rolled huge casks out of a courtyard into a cellar filled with sawdust, damp, and gloom; the throb of the engine could be heard distinctly, and the wind that blew out of the street came in agitated, disordered puffs, as though the smell of the beer had made it rather drunk.
Holdsworth shook his head as he passed on. It struck him that there would be little chance of his getting employment in that steaming, panting, perspiring quarter; and that he would be acting more wisely if, instead of challenging rudeness by personal inquiries at places where nobody wanted him, he spent a few shillings in advertising for a situation.
Determining to do this, he made what haste he could back to his lodgings, meaning there and then to manufacture an advertisement.
He entered his sitting-room, rang the bell to let Mrs. Parrot know he had returned, and sat himself down to consider the terms in which he should make his wants known.