She remembered some incidents with extraordinary vividness, but others were vague and unreliable. All were disconnected.
Of the voyage to Liverpool from Montreal she could recall nothing except the boom of the water against the berth where she lay.
One of the things she remembered most distinctly was seeing a girl exactly like herself lying in a coffin, and being told that it was Eweretta, and that she was Aimée.
She remembered, too, that her uncle had struck her once, because she would not call Mrs. Le Breton “mother.”
It was during the last days when she had starved herself that her reasoning faculties had once more asserted themselves, and she had come to the conclusion that she was constantly drugged.
She knew that always, whether dazed or not, she had known that she was Eweretta, and not Aimée, and had persistently asserted the fact. Only within the last days, when the action of the drug had been stopped, had she understood fully the wrong that had been done her, and the reason for it.
Now, thinking hard in the darkness, she saw that she must act warily if she was ever to reinstate herself.
Uncle Thomas must not find out she knew.
She had made a mistake in the appeal she had made to him. But he had been under the influence of drink at the time and to-morrow would probably know nothing about it.
To-morrow she would go about in a dazed fashion and mislead him.