It was a large, lofty room, lighted by a single gas-jet, dependent from the ceiling.  The four walls were thickly wadded, and there were no windows, only one door, no pictures, no mirror—­nothing but a few stuffed chairs, a table, a lavatory, a bed.  Day-time and night-time would be the same here.

“Well,” said Mollie to herself, drawing a long breath, “if this does not cap the globe!  Am I really Mollie Dane, and is this New York City, or am I playing private theatricals, and gone back to the Dark Ages?  Who, in the wide world, is that mysterious man?  And, oh! what will they say at home this dreadful night?”

She removed her cumbersome mantle and threw it upon the bed, looking ruefully about her.

“I wonder how long I am to be kept here?  Of course, I’ll never yield; but it’s going to be frightful, if I am to be imprisoned for weeks and weeks.  I won’t ring for that deceitful Sarah Grant, and I’ll never give in, if they keep me until the day of judgment.”

She began pacing up and down the room.  Death-like stillness reigned.  Hours passed.  Weary with the long drive, she threw herself upon the bed at last, and fell fast asleep.

A noise near awoke her after a prolonged slumber.  She looked up; the gas still burned, but she was no longer alone.  Sarah stood by the table, arranging a tempting breakfast.

“What’s that?” abruptly demanded Mollie.

Sarah courtesied respectfully.

“Your breakfast, miss.”

“It is to-morrow, then?” said Mollie.

“It is to-day, miss,” responded the girl, with a smile.

“What’s the hour?”

“Past eight, Miss Dane.”

“Are you going to stay here with me?”

“No, miss.”

“Why did you tell me such lies last night, you shameful girl?”

“I told you what I was ordered to tell you.”

“By whom?”

“My master.”

“Who is your master?  Old Satan?”

“I hope not, miss.”

“Who, then?  What is his name?”

“Excuse me.  Miss Dane,” said the girl, quietly.  “I must answer no questions.”

“You are a hard-hearted creature, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself!” exclaimed Mollie, indignantly.  “Where is your master?  Here?”

“Miss Dane, I repeat it—­I can answer no questions, and I must go.  Here is your breakfast.  I hope you will enjoy it.”

“Yes,” said Mollie, scornfully, “it is very likely I enjoy eating and drinking in this place!  Take it away.  I don’t want victuals—­I mean to starve myself to death.”

But she looked at the table as she spoke, and was inwardly not at all displeased to see the golden coffee, the buckwheat cakes, the eggs, and ham, and toast.

“I shall bring you your dinner at noon, miss.” said Sarah, moving toward the door, and not heeding her.  “If you want me before noon, please to ring.”

“Stop!” said Mollie.  “And, oh, for goodness gracious sake, do tell me where I am!”