"By the way, Antony, hast thou made mention, to any, of thy fearsome tale of the walking through the cloisters, in line with the White Ladies, of the Spectre of the saintly Sister Agatha?"
"Nay, Reverend Mother," said Mary Antony. "Did not you forbid me to speak of it?"
"True," said the Prioress. "Well, Antony, I went in the storm, to look for her; but—I found not Sister Agatha."
"That I already knew," said Mary Antony, nodding her head sagaciously.
The Prioress cast upon her a quick, anxious look.
"What mean you, Antony?"
Then old Mary Antony fell upon her knees, and kissed the hem of the Prioress's robe. "Oh, Reverend Mother," she stammered, "I have a confession to make!"
"Make it," said the Prioress, with white lips.
"Reverend Mother, when you sent me from you, after making my report, I went first, as commanded, to the kitchens. But afterward, in my cell, I found these."
Mary Antony opened her wallet and drew out the linen bag in which she kept her peas. Shaking its contents into the palm of her hand, she held out six peas to view.