For already she began to appropriate "our college"--those old walls, under the shadow of which all her future life must pass. As she entered 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 civil to herself, Christian felt a kindness for honest old Barker. She was a minute or two late; the master had already left his study, and was opening the large book of prayers. Nevertheless, he looked up with a smile, as he always did the instant his wife's foot entered the door. But his sister appeared very serious, and Miss Gascoigne's aspect was a perfect thundercloud, which broke into lightning the instant prayers were over. "I must say, Mrs. Grey, you have a most extraordinary propensity for morning walks. I never did such a thing in all my life, nor Maria either." "Probably not," answered Christian, as she took her seat before the urn, which gave her the one home-like feeling she had at the Lodge. "Different people have different ways, and this has always been mine." "Why so?" "Because it does me good, and harms nobody else," said Christian, smiling. "I doubt that, anyhow; you never will make me believe it can be good for you to do a thing that nobody else does--to go wandering about streets and colleges when all respectable people are still in their beds. To say the least of it, it is so very peculiar."