Holwick generally pursued the even tenour of its way from year’s end to year’s end, with nothing more eventful than a birth, a death or a marriage. Aline’s adventure therefore, was likely to remain a staple topic of conversation for many years. But now there was a strange feeling in the air as though something further were going to happen. An atmosphere of uneasiness enveloped the place, an atmosphere oppressive like a day before a thunderstorm. It was nothing definite, nothing explicable, but every one seemed conscious of it; it pervaded Holwick, it pervaded Newbiggin on the other side of the river. Ian and the children were particularly aware of it. The placid life of the Tees Valley was to be stirred by things at least as striking as Andrew’s villainy. It might have been old Moll’s ravings, it might have been the stirrings of religious troubles that had started the apprehension; but there it was, something not immediate but delayed, a presentiment too vague even to be discussed. One day Thomas Woolridge was walking down from the Hall through the rocky ravine under Holwick Crags. It was a dull grey day with a strong wind, and the rocks seemed to tower up with an oppressive austerity out of all proportion to their size. He was in a gloomy frame of mind and kicked at the stones in his path, sullenly watching them leap and bound down the hill. “Steadily there, neighbour,” said a voice from below, “do you want to kill some one?” and the head of Silas Morgan, the farm-reeve, appeared above the rocks beneath. “Methinks I should not mind an I did,” answered Thomas, “provided it were one of the right sort. I am tired of slaving away under other folks’ orders. Who are they that they should have a better time than I have, I should like to know?” “They all have their orders too, man; who do you think you are that you should have it all your own way? There is Master Mowbray, now, who has just set forth to York, because the Sheriff bade him.” “And a fine cursing and swearing there was too, I’ll warrant ye,” said Thomas. “Master Mowbray doth not mince matters when he starts a-going.” “No, but he doth not pull a face as long as a base-viol. Thomas, if so be that I had a face like yours, I would put my hat on it and walk backwards. Be of good cheer, you rascal, no one doth as he pleaseth from the Queen’s grace downwards.” “That may be so, neighbour, but you’ll not deny that some have an unfair share of this world’s gear.” “No, by my troth, that is so; but I do not see how you are going to set it right. Besides, oddsfish, man! you would never even get as large a share as you do, you lazy varlet, if you got what was meet. I have never seen you do a stroke of work that you could avoid”; and Silas gave Thomas a dig in the ribs. “Here now, sirrah, you let me alone,” Thomas said gruffly. “Why should we not all fare alike?”