What was the alternative to going home? No alternative appeared in that darkness. Sir John once more looked around him. Lucy could feel blood welling underneath a bump half swelling and already half-healing on her scalp. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. Another door was next opened, and, preceded by the ordinary, with the sacred volume in his hand, the prisoner entered the room. She too at once developed an anxious interest in the street outside.
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