“How long is Mr. Waring going to keep me here? Did he tell you?” Dodger asked, after a pause.
“No; he didn’t say.”
“When is he coming here again?”
“Said he’d come to-morrow most likely.”
“Will you bring me a light?”
“Couldn’t do it. You’d set the house on fire.”
It seemed useless to prolong the conversation.
Dodger threw himself on the bed at an early hour, but he did not undress, thinking there might possibly be a chance to escape during the night.
But the morning came and found him still a prisoner, but not in the solitary dwelling.