Up the hill they went, past woods of stunted birch and fir, past upland
fields, from which the crops had long been gathered. They were making
direct for the southern side of the island. While they ascended there
was still some shelter between them and the fiercest blast of the gale,
and they could still look down at the homely inn below, at the village
of fishers' sheds and the dancing waters of the bay. He had only passed
one night there, and yet Caius looked at this prospect almost fondly. It
seemed familiar in comparison with the strange region into which he was
going.
When the ridge was gained and the descent began, the wind broke upon
them with all its force. He looked below and saw the road winding for a
mile or more among the farms and groves of the slope, and then out
across a flat bit of shrub-covered land; beyond that was the sand,
stretching here, it seemed, in a tract of some square miles. The surf
was dimly seen like a cloud at its edge.
It was not long that he sat up to see the view. The pony began to run
down the hill; the very straw in the bottom of the cart danced. Caius
cast his arms about his possessions, fearing that, heavy though they
were, they would be thrown out upon the roadside, and he lay holding
them. The wind swept over; he could hear it whistling against the speed
of the cart; he felt it like a knife against his cheeks as he lay.
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