In a few moments I was far outside the limits of Notre Dame Abbey,
hovering in spirit around the neighborhood of my home, calling up
those faces and forms that had impressed me more than others. I went
back to the embarassing meeting with Dr Campbell in the library, and
as I thought over it I felt the warm blood rising within me and
suffusing both my cheeks, as it is wont to do when any of the blunders
of my life come back to me in my reverie.

What was most vexing to all in this case was that I could not resolve
my floating memories of him into any definite outline or form, he was
a mere shadow to me, that had flitted across my way for a short moment
and then left me bewildered and wondering.

I was rudely awakened from my reflections by the loud unmusical
summons of the class bell which set up a prolonged and monotonous
ringing just as I was struggling with all my vaguest and most
uncertain recollections of the much talked-of Dr Campbell.

I arose with my task undone and went listlessly down to the
class-room. I could not help the dissatisfied mood which crept over me
as I strolled lazily along the corridors and down the winding
stairway. I felt myself suspended between two distinct lives since my
return to school, two lives that ran as widely apart as the streams of
the old and new world. The common-place reality of one was a constant
and rather unwelcome intruder upon the dreamy uncertainty of the
other, and I stood midway between the powers and attractions of both,
a neutral, passive, and helpless victim.

As might be expected I was one of Sister Andre's "black sheep" or
dilatory pupils that morning. When our Algebra class was called I felt