Almost the first one Beth saw, as the train entered Toronto station, was Clarence, scanning the car-windows eagerly for her face.  Her eyes beamed as he came toward her.  She felt as if at home again.  Marie had secured her room for her, and Beth looked around with a pleased air when the cab stopped on St. Mary’s street.  It was a row of three-storey brick houses, all alike, but a cheery, not monotonous, row, with the maples in front, and Victoria University at the end of the street.  A plump, cheery landlady saw Beth to her room, and, once alone, she did just what hundreds of other girls have done in her place—­sat down on that big trunk and wept, and wondered what “dear old daddy” was doing.  But she soon controlled herself, and looked around the room.  It was a very pretty room, with rocker and table, and a book-shelf in the corner.  There was a large window, too, opening to the south, with a view of St. Michael’s College and St. Basil’s Church.  Beth realized that this room was to be her home for the coming months, and, kneeling down, she asked that the presence of Christ might hallow it.

She was not a very close follower of Christ, but the weakest child of God never breathed a prayer unheard.

It was such a pleasant treat when Marie tapped at the door just before tea.  It would be nice to have Marie there all winter.  Beth looked around the tea-table at the new faces:  Mrs. Owen, at one end of the table, decidedly stout; Mr. Owen, at the other end, decidedly lean.  There were two sweet-faced children, a handsome, gloomy-browed lawyer, and Marie at her side.

The next day, Clarence took Beth over to ’Varsity—­as Toronto University is popularly called—­and she never forgot that bright autumn morning when she passed under the arch of carved stone into the University halls, those long halls thronged with students.  Clarence left her in the care of a gentle fourth-year girl.  Beth was taken from lecturer to lecturer until the registering was done, and then she stopped by one of the windows in the ladies’ dressing-room to gaze at the beautiful autumn scenery around—­the ravine, with its dark pines, and the Parliament buildings beyond.  Beth was beginning to love the place.

We must not pause long over that first year that Beth spent at ’Varsity.  It passed like a flash to her, the days were so constantly occupied.  But her memory was being stored with scenes she never forgot.  It was so refreshing on the brisk, autumn mornings to walk to lectures through the crimson and yellow leaves of Queen’s Park:  and, later in the year, when the snow was falling she liked to listen to the rooks cawing among the pines behind the library.  Sometimes, too, she walked home alone in the weird, winter twilight from the Modern Language Club, or from a late lecture, her mind all aglow with new thoughts.  Then there were the social evenings in the gymnasium, with its red, blue and white decorations, palms and promenades, and music of the orchestra, and