“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. “Yes, there’s no way by which you can get out. But here is everything comfortable, you see. In the front room you will find a piano and a case of pious books. Here is a bathing-room, where you can have hot water or cold. This door on my right leads to a billiard-table, where you can go and play, if you are good. You need not lack for air or exercise.” “When can I see Mr. Semmes?” “He promised to be here by ten o’clock.” “Do not fail to let me see him when he comes. Sister Agatha, is there any way by which I can prove to you I am not insane?” “No; because the more shrewd and sensible you are, the more I shall think you are out of your head. Insane people are always cunning. You have showed great cunning in all you have said and done.” “Then if I turn simple, you will think I am recovering, eh?” “No; I shall think you are feigning. Why, I once passed a whole day with a crazy woman, and never one moment suspected she was crazy till I was told so.” “Who told you I am crazy?” “The gentleman who engaged me to attend you,—Mr. Semmes.” “Am I crazy only on one point or on many?” “You ought to know best. I believe you are what they call a monomaniac. You are crazy on the subject of freedom. You want to be free.” “But, Sister Agatha, if you were shut up in a house against your will, wouldn’t you desire to be free?” “There it is! I knew you would put things cunningly. But I’m prepared for it. You mustn’t think to deceive me, child, Why not be honest, and confess your wits are wandering?” The door of the communicating room was here unlocked. “What’s that?” asked Clara. “They are bringing in your breakfast,” said the sister. “I hope you have an appetite.” Though faint and sick at heart, Clara resolved to conceal her emotions. So she sat down and made a show of eating.