The key turned in the door, and Sister Agatha appeared.
“Mr. Semmes is here. Can he come in?”
“Yes. I’ve been waiting for him.”
The sister withdrew and the gentleman entered.
“Sit down,” said Clara. “For what purpose am I confined here?”
“My dear young lady, you desire to be treated with frankness. You are sensible,—you are well educated,—you are altogether charming; but you are a slave.”
“Stop there, sir! How do you know I’m a slave?”
“Of course I am bound to take the testimony of my client, an honorable gentleman, on that point.”
“Have you examined the record! Can Mr. Ratcliff produce any evidence that the child he bought was white? Look at me. Look at this arm. Do you believe my parentage is other than pure Saxon? If that doesn’t shake your belief, let me tell you that I have proofs that I am the only surviving child of that same Mr. and Mrs. Berwick who were lost more than fourteen years ago in a steamboat explosion on the Mississippi.”
“Proofs? You have proofs? Impossible! What are they?”