Jack’s mortification was extreme.  His self-love was severely wounded by the thought that a woman had got the better of him, and he resolved, if he ever got out, that he would make Mrs. Hardwick suffer, he didn’t quite know how, for the manner in which she had treated him.

Time passed.  Every hour seemed to poor Jack to contain at least double the number of minutes which are usually reckoned to that division of time.  Moreover, not having eaten for several hours, he was getting hungry.

A horrible suspicion flashed across his mind.  “The wretches can’t mean to starve me, can they?” he asked himself, while, despite his constitutional courage, he could not help shuddering at the idea.

He was unexpectedly answered by the sliding of a little door in the wall, and the appearance of the old man whose interview with Peg has been referred to.

“Are you getting hungry, my dear sir?” he inquired, with a disagreeable smile upon his features.

“Why am I confined here?” demanded Jack, in a tone of irritation.

“Why are you confined?” repeated his interlocutor.  “Really, one would think you did not find your quarters comfortable.”

“I am so far from finding them comfortable that I insist upon leaving them immediately,” returned Jack.

“Then all you have got to do is to walk through that door.

“It is locked; I can’t open it.”

“Can’t open it!” repeated the old man, with another disagreeable leer; “perhaps, then, it will be well for you to wait till you are strong enough.”

Irritated by this reply, Jack threw himself spitefully against the door, but to no purpose.

“The old man laughed in a cracked, wheezing way.

“Good fellow!” said he, encouragingly. “try it again!  Won’t you try it again?  Better luck next time.”

Jack throw himself sullenly into a chair.

“Where is the woman that brought me here?” he asked.

“Peg?  Oh, she couldn’t stay.  She had important business to transact, my young friend, and so she has gone; but don’t feel anxious.  She commended you to our particular attention, and you will be just as well treated as if she were here.”

This assurance was not very well calculated to comfort Jack.

“How long are you going to keep me cooped up here?” he asked, desperately, wishing to learn the worst at once.

“Really, my young friend, I couldn’t say.  We are very hospitable, very.  We always like to have our friends with us as long as possible.”

Jack groaned internally at the prospect before him.

“One question more,” he said, “will you tell me if my sister Ida is in this house?”

“Your sister Ida!” repeated the old man, surprised in his turn.

“Yes,” said Jack; believing, his astonishment feigned.  “You needn’t pretend that you don’t know anything about her.  I know that she is in your hands.”