Her lips moved, her gums rattled; the terror in her eyes pleaded for
help.

This was the moment when it dawned on the Prioress that there was more
here than fear of a storm.

Stooping she laid her hands firmly, yet with kindness in their
strength, on the shaking shoulders.

"What is it, dear Antony?" she said.

"Twenty White Ladies went," whispered the old lay-sister. "I counted
them. Twenty White Ladies went; but----"

"Well?"

"_Twenty-one_ returned," chattered Mary Antony, and hid her face in the
Reverend Mother's robe.

Two flashes, with their accompanying peals of thunder passed, before
the Prioress moved or spoke. Then raising Mary Antony she placed her
in a chair, disengaged her robe from the shaking hands, passed out into
the cell passage, and herself sounded the call to silence and prayer.

Returning to her cell she shut the door, poured out a cordial and put
it to the trembling lips of Mary Antony. Then taking a seat just
opposite, she looked with calm eyes at the lay-sister.

"What means this story?" said the Prioress.