“Cold, but such a fine, pure, healthy cold. And the hot coffee will warm you, Poley.”
The breakfast was in many respects a repetition of the supper, and in all respects equal to it.
“Seems to me I eat twice as much at every meal as I ever eat before in my life, and yet I feel hungry in an hour after I have finished. I do believe if I was to live up in these regions I should have such an appetite I should think of nothing but eating and drinking from morning till night, and dreaming of nothing but eating and drinking from night till morning!”
“I wonder how long that would last?” queried Palma, but Mrs. Pole did not answer. She had turned her attention the the venison steaks.
As soon as breakfast was over the three put on their outer garments and walked through the main street of the mountain town to the railway station, where they had to wait for nearly half an hour for the Eastern train to come in. Then they took their seats on board of it, and were once more flying westward through the magnificent mountain world in its splendid winter garb of ice and snow.
All day long our travelers reveled in the glorious panorama that flew past the windows of their car, until night closed in and hid the scene from their vision.
It was quite dark when they reached the little way station of Wolfswalk, where they left the train, which stopped half a minute and then sped on westward.
It was too dark for our party to see anything but the few glimmering lights at the station and in the stable yard of the village tavern on the opposite side of the road, and the ghostly forms of the mountains looming through the obscurity.
“It is now seven o’clock, and we are three miles from Wolfscliff Hall. I shouldn’t wonder if we have to spend the night at the inn here,” said Cleve Stuart as he drew the arm of his wife within his own and prepared to cross the country road, or village street, as you may prefer to call it.
“If the inn is anything like that of Oaklands I shall not be very sorry. Come on, Poley. Keep close behind us,” said Palma.