Poor Phoebe was the most frightened of all, though she did not dare to relate the horrible encounter _she_ had had with the spectre, for reasons which will shortly appear. It was her duty to hand the great bunch of keys to the abbess every night, and on the preceding evening when she got into bed, she suddenly remembered that she had left the key of the garden-door hanging in its lock. In great terror lest her forgetfulness should draw upon her some severe punishment, she had stolen softly down-stairs to recover it before it should be found in the morning; but just as she came to the door and had taken the key out, a tall white figure approached, and laid a deathly cold hand on hers. She had shrieked with fright, dropped the key, and run as if for her life; and now the key could not be found anywhere. The prioress had not yet missed it--that was the only comfort; the weather was not pleasant enough to make the garden an agreeable resort, and it might be some days before she was disgraced, but it must come at last; so she did not care to give her experiences with the ghost. When dame Redwood appeared at the grate to ask for the plaster Lady Katharine had been so kind as to promise her, she noticed her daughter’s pale face, but was too much occupied with her particular business to ask her many questions. It seemed so long to her before the lady came that she feared lest something should have happened to prevent their meeting altogether; but at last she appeared, walking as demurely as Mother Beatrice herself. As soon as she was sure of being free from observation, however, she raised her hood and showed to the dame a face so expressive of hardly repressed fun, that the good woman could not help catching the infection. "Ah! my poor afflicted sister!" said Kate, imitating the nuns’ tone, "how is that emaciated back of thine to-day?" Fortunately the dame never laughed very loud; she only screwed up her round face and shook her fat sides for a minute or two, and as soon as she had indulged in this irresistible fit of merriment, she answered: "Ah! lady, it is not so much about me as about the bottle you’ll be asking, and here it is, and a little meat in this package, if you can hide so much." "That can I," replied Kate, opening her cloak and showing some ingeniously arranged pockets. "A nun’s garb is good for hiding, if for naught else. But here is another matter: do you think your good man could make another key like that? Phoebe told me he had replaced one once that had been lost, but that he needed a copy." Here she produced, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, the identical key which had caused the poor under-porteress such trouble and fright. "It is the key of the garden-gate, and it is very necessary for my comfort that Mother Beatrice and I should each have a means of entrance there."