has not altered, and it was only a chance that he, Ansell,
Tilliard, and Mrs. Aberdeen had not all been killed in the tram.

They waited for the other tram by the Roman Catholic Church,
whose florid bulk was already receding into twilight. It is the
first big building that the incoming visitor sees. "Oh, here come
the colleges!" cries the Protestant parent, and then learns that
it was built by a Papist who made a fortune out of movable eyes
for dolls. "Built out of doll's eyes to contain idols"--that, at
all events, is the legend and the joke. It watches over the
apostate city, taller by many a yard than anything within, and
asserting, however wildly, that here is eternity, stability, and
bubbles unbreakable upon a windless sea.

A costly hymn tune announced five o'clock, and in the distance
the more lovable note of St. Mary's could be heard, speaking from
the heart of the town. Then the tram arrived--the slow stuffy
tram that plies every twenty minutes between the unknown and the
marketplace--and took them past the desecrated grounds of Downing,
past Addenbrookes Hospital, girt like a Venetian palace with a
mantling canal, past the Fitz William, towering upon immense
substructions like any Roman temple, right up to the gates of
one's own college, which looked like nothing else in the world.
The porters were glad to see them, but wished it had been a
hansom. "Our luggage," explained Rickie, "comes in the hotel
omnibus, if you would kindly pay a shilling for mine." Ansell
turned aside to some large lighted windows, the abode of a
hospitable don, and from other windows there floated familiar
voices and the familiar mistakes in a Beethoven sonata. The
college, though small, was civilized, and proud of its