of the ordinary schoolteacher。 She would be working among the
private students who came only for pure education； not for mere
professional training。 She would be of the elect。
For the next three years she would be more or less dependent
on her parents again。 Her training was free。 All college fees
were paid by the government； she had moreover a few pounds grant
every year。 This would just pay for her train fares and her
clothing。 Her parents would only have to feed her。 She did not
want to cost them much。 They would not be well off。 Her father
would earn only two hundred a year； and a good deal of her
mother's capital was spent in buying the house。 Still； there was
enough to get along with。
Gudrun was attending the Art School at Nottingham。 She was
working particularly at sculpture。 She had a gift for this。 She
loved making little models in clay； of children or of animals。
Already some of these had appeared in the Students' Exhibition
in the Castle； and Gudrun was a distinguished person。 She was
chafing at the Art School and wanted to go to London。 But there
was not enough money。 Neither would her parents let her go so
far。
Theresa had left the High School。 She was a great strapping；
bold hussy； indifferent to all higher claims。 She would stay at
home。 The others were at school； except the youngest。 When term
started； they would all be transferred to the Grammar School at
Willey Green。
Ursula was excited at making acquaintances in Beldover。 The
excitement soon passed。 She had tea at the clergyman's； at the
chemist's； at the other chemist's； at the doctor's； at the
undermanager'sthen she knew practically everybody。 She
could not take people very seriously； though at the time she
wanted to。
She wandered the country； on foot and on her bicycle； finding
it very beautiful in the forest direction； between Mansfield and
Southwell and Worksop。 But she was here only skirmishing for
amusement。 Her real exploration would begin in college。
Term began。 She went into town each day by train。 The
cloistered quiet of the college began to close around her。
She was not at first disappointed。 The big college built of
stone； standing in the quiet street； with a rim of grass and
lime trees all so peaceful： she felt it remote； a magic land。
Its architecture was foolish； she knew from her father。 Still；
it was different from that of all other buildings。 Its rather
pretty； plaything； Gothic form was almost a style； in the dirty
industrial town。
She liked the hall； with its big stone chimneypiece and its
Gothic arches supporting the balcony above。 To be sure the
arches were ugly； the chimneypiece of cardboardlike carved
stone； with its armorial decoration； looked silly just opposite
the bicycle stand and the radiator； whilst the great
noticeboard with its fluttering papers seemed to slam away all
sense of retreat and mystery from the far wall。 Nevertheless；
amorphous as it might be； there was in it a reminiscence of the
wondrous； cloistral origin of education。 Her soul flew straight
back to the medieval times； when the monks of God held the
learning of men and imparted it within the shadow of religion。
In this spirit she entered college。
The harshness and vulgarity of the lobbies and cloakrooms
hurt her at first。 Why was it not all beautiful？ But she could
not openly admit her criticism。 She was on holy ground。
She wanted all the students to have a high； pure spirit； she
wanted them to say only the real； genuine things； she wanted
their faces to be still and luminous as the nuns' and the monks'
faces。
Alas； the girls chattered and giggled and were nervous； they
were dressed up and frizzed； the men looked mean and
clownish。
Still； it was lovely to pass along the corridor with one's
books in one's hands； to push the swinging； glasspanelled door；
and enter the big room where the first lecture would be given。
The windows were large and lofty； the myriad brown students'
desks stood waiting； the great blackboard was smooth behind the
rostrum。
Ursula sat beside her window； rather far back。 Looking down；
she saw the lime trees turning yellow； the tradesman's boy
passing silent down the still； autumnsunny street。 There was
the world； remote； remote。
Here； within the great； whispering seashell； that whispered
all the while with reminiscence of all the centuries； time faded
away； and the echo of knowledge filled the timeless silence。
She listened； she scribbled her notes with joy； almost with
ecstasy； never for a moment criticizing what she heard。 The
lecturer was a mouthpiece； a priest。 As he stood； blackgowned；
on the rostrum； some strands of the whispering confusion of
knowledge that filled the whole place seemed to be singled out
and woven together by him； till they became a lecture。
At first； she preserved herself from criticism。 She would not
consider the professors as men； ordinary men who ate bacon； and
pulled on their boots before ing to college。 They were the
blackgowned priests of knowledge； serving for ever in a remote；
hushed temple。 They were the initiated； and the beginning and
the end of the mystery was in their keeping。
Curious joy she had of the lectures。 It was a joy to hear the
theory of education； there was such freedom and pleasure in
ranging over the very stuff of knowledge； and seeing how it
moved and lived and had its being。 How happy Racine made her！
She did not know why。 But as the big lines of the drama unfolded
themselves； so steady； so measured； she felt a thrill as of
being in the realm of the reality。 Of Latin； she was doing Livy
and Horace。 The curious； intimate； gossiping tone of the Latin
class suited Horace。 Yet she never cared for him； nor even Livy。
There was an entire lack of sternness in the gossipy classroom。
She tried hard to keep her old grasp of the Roman spirit。 But
gradually the Latin became mere gossipstuff and artificiality
to her； a question of manners and verbosities。
Her terror was the mathematics class。 The lecturer went so
fast； her heart beat excitedly； she seemed to be straining every
nerve。 And she struggled hard； during private study； to get the
stuff into control。
Then came the lovely； peaceful afternoons in the botany
laboratory。 There were few students。 How she loved to sit on her
high stool before the bench； with her pith and her razor and her
material； carefully mounting her slides； carefully bringing her
microscope into focus； then turning with joy to record her
observation； drawing joyfully in her book； if the slide were
good。
She soon made a college friend； a girl who had lived in
Florence； a girl who wore a wonderful purple or figured scarf
draped over a plain； dark dress。 She was Dorothy Russell；
daughter of a southcountry advocate。 Dorothy lived with a
maiden aunt in Nottingham； and spent her spare moments slaving
for the Women's Social and Political Union。 She was quiet and
intense； with an ivory face and dark hair looped plain over her
ears。 Ursula was very fond of her； but afraid of her。 She seemed
so old and so relentless towards herself。 Yet she was only
twentytwo。 Ursula always felt her to be a creature of fate；
like Cassandra。
The two girls had a close； stern friendship。 Dorothy worked
at all things with the same passion； never sparing herself。 She
came closest to Ursula during the botany hours。 For she could
not draw。 Ursula made beautiful and wonderful drawings of the
sections under the microscope； and Dorothy always came to learn
the manner of the drawing。
So the first year went by； in magnificent seclusion and
activity of learning。 It was strenuous as a battle； her college
life； yet remote as peace。
She came to Nottingham in the morning with Gudrun。 The two
sisters were distinguished wherever they went； slim； strong
girls； eager and extremely sensitive。 Gudrun was the more
beautiful of the two； with her sleepy； halflanguid girlishness
that looked so soft； and yet was balanced and inalterable
underneath。 She wore soft； easy clothing； and hats which fell by
themselves into a careless grace。
Ursula was much more carefully dressed； but she was
selfconscious； always falling into depths of admiration of
somebody else； and modelling herself upon this other； and so
producing a hopeless incongruity。 When she dressed for practical
purposes she always looked well。 In winter； wearing a tweed
coatandskirt and a small hat of black fur pulled over her
eager； palpitant face； she seemed to move down the street in a
drifting motion of suspense and exceeding sensitive
receptivity。
At the end of the first year Ursula got through her
Intermediate Arts examination； and there came a lull in her
eager activities。 She slackened off； she relaxed altogether。
Worn nervous and inflammable by the excitement of the
preparation for the examination； and by the sort of exaltation
which carried her through the crisis itself； she now fell into a
quivering passivity； her will all loosened。
The family went to Scarborough for a month。 Gudrun and the
father were busy at the handicraft holiday school there； Ursula
was left a good deal with the children。 But when she could； she
went off by herself。
She stood and looked out over the shining sea。 It was very
beautiful to her。 The tears rose hot in her heart。
Out of the far； far space there drifted slowly in to her a
passionate； unborn yearning。 〃There are so many dawns that have
not yet risen。〃 It seemed as if； from over the edge of the sea；
all the unrisen dawns were appealing to her； all her unborn soul
was crying for the unrisen dawns。
As she sat looking out at the tender sea； with its lovely；
swift glimmer； the sob rose in her breast； till she caught her
lip suddenly under her teeth； and the tears were forcing
themselves from her。 And in her very sob； she laughed。 Why did
she cry？ She did not want to cry。 It was so beautiful that she
laughed。 It was so beautiful that she cried。
She glanced apprehensively round； hoping no one would see her
in this state。
Then came a time when the sea was rough。 She watched the
water travelling in to the coast； she watched a big wave running
unnoticed； to burst in a shock of foam against a rock；
enveloping all in a great white beauty； to pour away again；
leaving the rock emerged black and teeming。 Oh； and if； when the
wave burst into whiteness； it were only set free！
Sometimes she loitered along the harbour； looking at the
seabrowned sailors； who； in their close blue jerseys； lounged
on the harbourwall； and laughed at her with impudent；
municative eyes。
There was established a little relation between her and them。
She never would speak to them or know any more of them。 Yet as
she walked by and they leaned on the seawall； there was
something between her and them； something keen and delightful
and painful。 She liked best the young one whose fair； salty hair
tumbled over his blue eyes。 He was so new and fresh and salt and
not of this world。
From Scarborough she went to her Uncle Tom's。 Winifred had a
small baby； born at the end of the summer。 She had bee
strange and alien to Ursula。 There was an unmentionable reserve
between the two women。 Tom Brangwen was an attentive father； a
very domestic husband。 But