“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.”
“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.’”
“I forbid you to go into church at all, or to speak to any one, unless it is absolutely necessary; but of course you will do as you like about it.”
My first thought was, “What a blessing! for I shall get a little peace now!” I was in peace for two days, and, if I asked questions about my work or anything, the sisters all smiled graciously, and nodded their heads, or replied, “yes.” After two days had passed, I began to wonder whether I really was mad or not. This thought took such hold upon me that I would sit for hours with my head in my hands, wondering if I had really lost my reason. The thought drove sleep from me, and, in fact, was slowly driving me really mad. I asked that new sister (L⸺ W⸺, from Devonshire) if she thought I was mad. She told me she did _not_ think me so; but I supposed that perhaps she only said this to please and humour me, according to the instructions given by the Mother Superior. She assured me, however, that she really knew I was not mad. In spite of this assurance, my mind was in as much doubt as before, and I arrived at the conclusion that if I was not already mad, I soon should be, with this awful doubt on my mind.