Clara pondered the past silently for a full minute; then, turning to the woman, said: “You would not knowingly do a bad act. I get that assurance from your face. Have they told you I was insane?”
“There, dear, be quiet! Lie down, and don’t distress yourself,” said Sister Agatha. “We’ll have some breakfast for you soon.”
“You speak of my having had a bad turn,” resumed Clara. “What sort of a bad turn? A fit?”
“Yes, dear, a fit.”
“Come nearer to me, Sister Agatha. Don’t you perceive an odor of chloroform on my clothes?”
“Why not? They gave it for your relief.”
“No; they gave it to render me powerless, that they might bring me without a struggle to this place out of the reach of the two friends with whom I have been living. Sister Agatha, don’t let them deceive you. Do I talk or look like an insane person? Do not fear to answer me. I shall not be offended.”
“Yes, child, you both talk and look as if you were not in your right mind. So be a good girl and compose yourself.”
Clara stepped on the floor, walked to the window, and saw that she was in the third story of a spacious house. She tried the doors. They were all locked, with the exception of one which communicated by a little entry, occupied by closets, with a corresponding room which looked out on the street from the front.
“I am a prisoner within these rooms, am I?” asked Clara.