Presently the man returned bearing a can and a hunk of bread. Lifting Harry, he held the can to his lips. The prisoner drank the beer greedily.
"Where am I?" he asked, recovering his voice.
"Hold your jaw!" was the surly answer. "You are where you are."
"Why am I brought here? What is to be done with me?"
"Hold your jaw, I say! Ye'll get nothing out of me. Keep a still tongue; for if ye raise your voice someone I know will find means to quiet ye."
"But I insist on knowing," cried Harry in indignation. "Why was I dogged and attacked in the streets, and brought captive to——"
"Stow it! Least said soonest mended. Behave wi' sense and ye'll be treated according; otherways—well, I won't answer for't."
"Loose my arms then."
"Well, I'll do that for 'ee, and legs too; don't think ye can run away, 'cos ye can't. Here's your supper; dry, but 'tis drier where there's none. I'll leave ye to't."
Untying the cords, the man gave the bread into Harry's hand, took up the candle, and went out, locking the door behind him. Harry could not eat; his limbs were cramped with his long immobility; when he stood his knees hardly supported him. But it was pleasant to be able to use arms and legs once more, and after a time his aching pains abated. He groped round the room, shook the door, and found it fast. He could just touch the sky-light with his outstretched hand, and he felt that the glass was loose; but he could not remove it unless he stood higher, and groping failed to find any chair or stool. Escape was impossible; he could but wait for the morning.