An hour after this, the Novice-mistress came with a sun-bonnet, a black and white shawl, and a sovereign, saying:
“The reverend Mother says you have asked to go so many times. Now George is going to the station, and can drive you down there to-morrow. These are all the clothes she has to give you, and that money” (putting the sovereign down on the table) “belongs to the altar. If you choose to do so, take it, and you are to take nothing away with you, not even a change of clothes.”
To this I replied: “Tell the reverend Mother I cannot go out a beggar; all I want is a change of clothes.”
She sent an answer back by a new sister.
“You came to her a beggar, and you will go away a beggar.”
It may be asked how it was that I felt so determined to leave. Before going on to relate how at last I did leave, I will mention that which provoked me to my determination. I am sure that my readers will not think it a trifling provocation. It was as follows. One day the Mother Superior summoned us all to chapter, and commenced speaking to us thus:
“My dear children, I have come to the conclusion, which has now for some time been growing upon me (but I am now convinced of it), that poor Sister Agnes is mad.”
Every one seemed to start at this absurdity. I could only smile. She went on to say:
“Yes, I am quite convinced of it! and, poor child, this madness will grow upon her unless you are all very kind to her, and you all know how mad people are treated. You must never contradict them, and, therefore, you must never contradict Sister Agnes. If you do, the madness will increase; you must just say ‘yes’ to everything, unless you know she wants you to say ‘no’; you need not take the trouble to talk to her, or put yourselves out for her, unless she asks you a question; then simply smile at her and say ‘yes.’”
She then turned to me and said: