the narrow gateway of Saint Beck's, and walked round its chilly
cloisters, to the Lodge door, she tried not to remember that she had ever
thought of life as any thing different from this, or had ever planned an
existence of boundless enjoyment, freedom, and beauty, travel in
foreign countries, seeing of mountains, cities, pictures, palaces, hearing
of grand music, and mingling in brilliant society--a phantasmagoria of
delight which had visited her fancy once--was it only her fancy?--and
vanished in a moment, as completely as the shadows projected on the
wall. And here she was, the wife of the Master of Saint Bede's.

"I was right--I was right," she said to herself in the eagerness of a vain
assurance. "And whether I was right or wrong matters not now. I must
bear it--I must do my duty--and I will!"

She stood still a minute to calm herself, then knocked at the Lodge
gate. Barker opened it with that look of grieved superior surprise with
which he always obeyed any novel order, or watched the doing of any
deed which he considered lowered the dignity of himself and the
college.

"A beautiful morning, Barker!"

"Is it, ma'am? So one of the bedmakers was a-saying;" as if to imply
that bedmakers were the only women whose business it was to
investigate the beauties of the morning.

Christian smiled; she knew she was not a favorite with him; indeed, no
women were. He declared that no petticoat ought ever to be seen
within college boundaries. But he was a decent man, with an
overwhelming reverence for Dr. Grey; and so, though he was never too