Then, remembering her duties, she hurried to the cloisters, but found them empty; down the steps to the crypt passage; the door was locked on the inside; the key gone.
The procession had started, and Mary Antony had failed to be at her post.

The White Ladies had departed uncounted.

Mary Antony had not been there to count them.
Never before had the Reverend Mother sent for her when she should have been on duty elsewhere.
Hastening to remedy her failure, Mary Antony drew the bag of peas from her wallet, opened it, and hurrying from cell to cell, took out a pea at each, as she verified its emptiness; until five-and-twenty peas lay in her hand.
So now she waited, her error repaired; yet ever with her--then, as she ran, and now, as she waited--she felt the benediction of the Reverend Mother's kiss, the sense of her encircling arms, the wonder of her gracious words.
"The Presence of the Lord abide with thee in blessing." Yes, a heavenly calm was in the cloisters.

The Devil had stayed away.
Heaven seemed very near.

Even that little vain man, the robin, appeared to be busy elsewhere.