Mollie was alone in her prison.
Now, little Cricket, fairy that she was, was yet brave as any giantess.
Not a drop of craven blood flowed in her spirited veins.

Therefore, left alone, she neither wept, nor raved, nor tore her hair; but took a prolonged survey of her surroundings.
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.