"About four mile, or maybe a trifle less. We like to think we're a trifle nearer to it than four miles. Anyway, we're sure of one thing--we're the nearest public-house or inn by a mile."
"There is no railway, I suppose, from here to Silverview?"
"Railway! Railway! Why, it's my belief his grace would rather have a row of public-houses opposite the Castle gate, and the courtyard made into a bowling-green with green wooden boxes all round for refreshments, rather than see the snout of a railway-engine within a mile of his place."
"Then I shall walk over to the place and have a look at to-morrow morning," thought Cheyne, as he strolled out into the porch to smoke a couple of cigars before going to bed.
But he did not smoke even half one of his cigars there. The air had grown suddenly chilly, nay, downright cold. So he left the porch and went into the cosy little bar, where there was a fire for boiling water for those who liked a drop of something hot.
Here were half-a-dozen men smoking and chatting and drinking. As he entered, all were silent.
"Turned quite cold, sir," said the host, who was sitting at a table with the rest.
"Yes, indeed," said Cheyne, taking a chair. "I thought I would smoke in the porch, but it was too cold to sit there."
"Ah," said the landlord, "I think we're in for a stinging nor'-easter--the Duke's weather, as we call it hereabouts, sir."
"Do you think so?" said Cheyne.