Jude forgave her straightway, and asked her to call for him at the cathedral works when she came.
他回到屋里时候，她已经像平常一样穿戴好了。
“要是我这会儿出去，不会有人看见吧？”她问道。“街上还没什么人哪。”
“可是你还没吃早饭呢。”
“哎，我什么也不想吃。我现在后悔那会儿不该从学校跑出来。在清晨的寒光里再一琢磨，就觉着事情完全不对头了，不是那么回事吗？我还不知道费乐生先生怎么说呢！我是按他的意思上那个学校的，世界上就他这个人，我还有那么点敬重，或者说有点怕。但愿他能原谅我，不过我倒盼着他把我大骂一顿呢。”
“我去跟他解释解释就是了——”裘德开始说。
“哎，你别去，千万别去。他怎么样，我根本不在乎！他爱怎么想就怎么想——我想怎么干就怎么于！”
“可你刚才不是说——”
“哎，就算我说了，反正随他怎么着，我还是照我的意思办！我考虑过怎么办啦——进修学校我有个同学，她姐姐邀过我到她那儿玩，我就上她家里去。她在沙氏顿管一所小学。离这儿大概十八英里，我要在那儿待到这阵风过去，再回进修学校。”
她临走前，他好容易才劝住她，等他先给她煮杯咖啡，他屋里有一套简便的煮咖啡的器具，平时房子里早晨别人还没动静的时候，他就先煮了咖啡，喝完了去上班。
“还有点东西，你一边喝，一边就着吃吧。”他说。“喝完了咱们就走。你到了那儿，就可以正儿八经吃顿早饭啦。”
他们不做声不做气地溜出那个房子，裘德陪着她上火车站。他们刚沿街往前走，从他屋子上边一扇窗户就伸出个脑袋，很快又缩回去了。苏似乎还在为自己行事操切而后悔，但愿起先前没违抗校方的决定。分手时候，她对他说，校方一允许她回校，她就马上告诉他。他们一块儿站在月台上，心里都很不好受。裘德那样子好像还有话要说。
“我想跟你说点事——两件事，”火车开过来的时候，他急急忙忙说，“一件热乎乎，一件冷冰冰。”
“裘德，”她说，“有一件我知道。你可不许那样！”
“什么呀？”
“不许你爱我。你以后只要喜欢我就行啦——这就够啦！”
裘德一时愁云满面，苦恼万状的样子，而她在车窗后面向他表示再见的时候，因为对他同情，似乎也露出来心乱如麻。火车紧跟着开走了，她一边用很美的手向他招呼，一边随着车行缓缓离去。
礼拜天她一走，裘德就觉着麦尔切斯特这地方沉闷无聊，大教堂界园显得那么可憎，他索性不到大教堂做礼拜。第二天早晨她的信就到了，照她平常说话做事的利索劲儿，这封信准是她一到朋友家就立刻动笔的。她告诉他一路平安，住处舒适，接下去说：
亲爱的裘德，我真心想写出的是分手时我对你说的话。你对我一向好心好意，平和宽容，所以一看不到你，我就觉着我说了那样的话，该是个多么冷酷无情、忘恩负义的女人啊；从今以后，我都要为那句话受谴责。如果你想爱我，就爱吧；我绝对不嫌弃，我决不会再说不许你这样的话！
这件事，我就不多写了。你真会原谅你这个没心没肺的朋友的冷酷无情吗？你不会说不行叫她伤心吧？——永久的
苏
他究竟怎么回的信；他怎么寻思着，如果他是个自由身，无牵挂，苏就完全不必以女友身份长期住在他那儿，那他又该怎么办——这种种在此不需细表。他觉得万一在他和费乐生之间兴起苏将谁属之争，他颇有把握可操胜券。
然而裘德对苏这一时冲动之下写的短信加上了比它的实际意思更深的含义，而这对他自己未免危险。
又过了几天，他发现自己十分希望她再有信来。但是他没收到她那边继续传来的音讯。他在强烈的孤独感中，又给她写了信，表示他有意找个礼拜天去看望她，好在路程不足十八英里。他发信后盼望第二天早晨就有回音，但是没有。第三天早晨到了，信差没在他门前止步。那天是礼拜六，他急得像热锅上蚂蚁，忙不迭地写了三行就寄走了，说他行将于次日到达。他这样做是因为他确实感到事情不妙。
他头一个，也是极其自然的想法是，她因为蹚水，身上弄湿了，因此生了病，不过他很快又想到，果真如此，也可以托人写信嘛。及至他在礼拜天早上到达沙氏顿附近乡村小学的校舍，种种无端猜测才告一段落。当时那个教区空荡荡的犹如沙漠一般，大多数村民聚集在教堂里边，间或听得见那儿发出来的齐声唱诵的声音。
一个小姑娘开了门。“柏瑞和小姐在楼上。”她说。“请你上楼见她。”
“她病啦？”他仓促地问了一句。
“有一点——不厉害。”
裘德进门之后跟着上了楼。他走到楼梯平台，就听见叫他往哪边走的声音——原来苏喊他的名字哪。他走过过道，就看见在那间大约十二平方英尺的屋里，苏躺在一张小床上，
“哦，苏呀！”他大声说，一边在她旁边坐下来，拉起她的手，“怎么回事呀？你连信都写不了啦？”
“不是——才不是那样哪！”她答道。“我确实得了重感冒，不过信还是能写。我是不想写！”
“干吗不想写——把我吓成了这个样儿！”
“是呀——我所怕的就是这个！不过我已经决定再也不给你写信啦。她们不许我回学校——就为这个，才没法给你写信。倒不是为这件事本身什么的，而是她们提出来的理由！”
“什么理由？”
“她们不单不许我回学校，还夹来一张退学意见——”
“什么意见。”
她没直接回答。“我起过誓，决不告诉你，裘德——这东西太下作、太气人啦！”
“是说咱们的事吧？”
“对啦。”
“那你一定得告诉我！”
“好吧——不知道什么人造谣生事，给她们上了个关于咱们的报告，她们就说，为我的名声起见，我得马上结婚！……哪——我这不是说了吗，我但愿没说才好呢！”
“哎，可怜的苏呀！”
“我直到这会儿也还没想到按那么个意思看待你。我刚才的确想了一下子，就照她们的意思看待你吧，可我没开始那么办。我已经明白过来了，所谓表亲云云不过说说好听而已，咱们初见面时本来就素昧平生。但是我嫁给你这宗事儿，亲爱的裘德呀——哈，该这么说吧，我要是已经存心嫁给你，我又何必那么频频不断往你那儿跑来跑去呢！那个晚上之前，我压根儿没想到你有娶我的意思，直到那会儿，我才开始估摸着你是有那么点爱我的样子。也许我跟你两下里不该过从那么亲密吧。这全是我的错。反正不管什么，全是我的错就是啦！”
她的话说得不自然，也不像由衷之言，两个人你看我，我看你，都感到难过。
“我起初真是两眼黑糊糊！”她说下去。“我就没看出来你到底是怎么个感想。唉，你待我可忍心哪——你拿我当心上人，可你就是一个字不吐，还让我自个儿瞎摸是怎么回事！你对我的态度已经尽人皆知喽；她们认为咱们做了见不起人的事，那也是顺理成章呀！我是决不再信任你啦！”
“你说得不错，苏。”他简单地说。“这全怪我，——该怪我的还不止你说的这些呢。我心里完全清楚，直到上两回咱们见面，我心里对你怎么个感想，你没起过疑心。我承认咱们本来是素昧平生，说不上有什么表亲的感觉，表亲云云无非我利用它做个托词，方便自己。不过我是因为压不住非分越礼的感情，很非分越礼的感情，才不得不多方掩盖，我这点苦心难道你不想想也该得到你点体谅吗？”
她的眼光转过来对着他，满腹狐疑的样子；仿佛生怕自己原谅他，又把眼光掉开了。
按照自然界规律和两性间规律，此时此刻，此情此景，只要一吻就万事大吉了，苏既为这一吻具有的说服力所动，她对他那有心含而不露的相思大概不会出人意料地降低温度。有些男人就根本不管苏自称如何对男女之情毫无感觉，也不管阿拉贝拉那个教区的教堂法衣室大柜里存着的一对签名，这一切一切全不在话下，而是单刀直入，一吻了之。无奈裘德做不到。实际上，他这回来，一部分原因就是要谈自己一辈子翻不了身的那段经历。话已经到了嘴边上，可是在这样令人心痛的时刻，他还是难以一吐为快。他只好在他所深知的横在他们中间的障碍面前越趄不前。
“当然——我知道你并不——怎么特别关心我。”他幽幽地说。‘你当然无需这样，你做得完全对。你是费乐生先生的人。我想他已经上你这儿来过吧？”
“来过啦。”她简短地说了下，脸上的表情略有变化。“那可不是我自己请他来的。他来啦，你当然高兴了。以后他来不来，我都无所谓。”
如果说裘德对她的爱恋之心已为她拒之门外，她又何必因为他老老实实承认他的情敌的权利而愤愤不平。这就不免使她这位情人为之惶惑了。他接着说起别的事。
“这阵风是要过去的，亲爱的苏。”他说。“进修学校不等于整个世界。你还可以上别的学校，这是无可置疑的。”
“这我得问问费乐生先生。”她说得斩钉截铁的。
苏的和蔼的主人从教堂回来了，他们不好再说知心话。裘德下午离开苏住的地方，无法排解自己的烦恼。不过他总算见到她，跟她坐在一块儿。在他今后的岁月中，若能有如此来往，也足以使他心满意足了。况且他既立志要做教区牧师，那么修炼慎躬胜己之功既是必行之道，也是得宜之方。
但他第二天早晨醒来时，却感到对苏不满，姑且不说她负气使性，肯定她这人多少是强词夺理。不过她也有勇于认错的长处，他汗始想找出这样的例子来证明，恰好这时信到了，准是他刚走了一会儿她就写了的：
原谅我昨天对你的冒犯吧！你觉得我太可怕了，这我也知道，我对自己的可怕之处也深感难过。你对我那么亲切，一点没生我的气！裘德，不论我错了多少，望你始终把我当朋友，当同志。我今后当竭力避免重蹈覆辙。
我将于礼拜六去麦尔切斯特，到进修学校取回东西。如你愿意，我可有半小时同你散步，如何？——你的后悔的
苏
裘德立刻原谅了她，请她届时去大教堂工地找他。
Part 3 Chapter 6
MEANWHILE a middle-aged man was dreaming a dream of great beauty concerning the writer of the above letter. He was Richard Phillotson, who had recently removed from the mixed village school at Lumsdon near Christminster, to undertake a large boys' school in his native town of Shaston, which stood on a hill sixty miles to the south-west as the crow flies.
A glance at the place and its accessories was almost enough to reveal that the schoolmaster's plans and dreams so long indulged in had been abandoned for some new dream with which neither the Church nor literature had much in common. Essentially an unpractical man, he was now bent on making and saving money for a practical purpose--that of keeping a wife, who, if she chose, might conduct one of the girls' schools adjoining his own; for which purpose he had advised her to go into training, since she would not marry him offhand.
About the time that Jude was removing from Marygreen to Melchester, and entering on adventures at the latter place with Sue, the schoolmaster was settling down in the new school-house at Shaston. All the furniture being fixed, the books shelved, and the nails driven, he had begun to sit in his parlour during the dark winter nights and re-attempt some of his old studies-- one branch of which had included Roman-Britannic antiquities-- an unremunerative labour for a national school-master but a subject, that, after his abandonment of the university scheme, had interested him as being a comparatively unworked mine; practicable to those who, like himself, had lived in lonely spots where these remains were abundant, and were seen to compel inferences in startling contrast to accepted views on the civilization of that time.
A resumption of this investigation was the outward and apparent hobby of Phillotson at present--his ostensible reason for going alone into fields where causeways, dykes, and tumuli abounded, or shutting himself up in his house with a few urns, tiles, and mosaics he had collected, instead of calling round upon his new neighbours, who for their part had showed themselves willing enough to be friendly with him. But it was not the real, or the whole, reason, after all. Thus on a particular evening in the month, when it had grown quite late-- to near midnight, indeed--and the light of his lamp, shining from his window at a salient angle of the hill-top town over infinite miles of valley westward, announced as by words a place and person given over to study, he was not exactly studying.
The interior of the room--the books, the furniture, the schoolmaster's loose coat, his attitude at the table, even the flickering of the fire, bespoke the same dignified tale of undistracted research--more than creditable to a man who had had no advantages beyond those of his own making. And yet the tale, true enough till latterly, was not true now. What he was regarding was not history. They were historic notes, written in a bold womanly hand at his dictation some months before, and it was the clerical rendering of word after word that absorbed him.
He presently took from a drawer a carefully tied bundle of letters, few, very few, as correspondence counts nowadays. Each was in its envelope just as it had arrived, and the handwriting was of the same womanly character as the historic notes. He unfolded them one by one and read them musingly. At first sight there seemed in these small documents to be absolutely nothing to muse over. They were straightforward, frank letters, signed "Sue B--"; just such ones as would be written during short absences, with no other thought than their speedy destruction, and chiefly concerning books in reading and other experiences of a training school, forgotten doubtless by the writer with the passing of the day of their inditing. In one of them--quite a recent note-- the young woman said that she had received his considerate letter, and that it was honourable and generous of him to say he would not come to see her oftener than she desired (the school being such an awkward place for callers, and because of her strong wish that her engagement to him should not be known, which it would infallibly be if he visited her often). Over these phrases the school-master pored. What precise shade of satisfaction was to be gathered from a woman's gratitude that the man who loved her had not been often to see her? The problem occupied him, distracted him.
He opened another drawer, and found therein an envelope, from which he drew a photograph of Sue as a child, long before he had known her, standing under trellis-work with a little basket in her hand. There was another of her as a young woman, her dark eyes and hair making a very distinct and attractive picture of her, which just disclosed, too, the thoughtfulness that lay behind her lighter moods. It was a duplicate of the one she had given Jude, and would have given to any man. Phillotson brought it half-way to his lips, but withdrew it in doubt at her perplexing phrases: ultimately kissing the dead pasteboard with all the passionateness, and more than all the devotion, of a young man of eighteen.
The schoolmaster's was an unhealthy-looking, old-fashioned face, rendered more old-fashioned by his style of shaving. A certain gentlemanliness had been imparted to it by nature, suggesting an inherent wish to do rightly by all. His speech was a little slow, but his tones were sincere enough to make his hesitation no defect. His greying hair was curly, and radiated from a point in the middle of his crown. There were four lines across his forehead, and he only wore spectacles when reading at night. It was almost certainly a renunciation forced upon him by his academic purpose, rather than a distaste for women, which had hitherto kept him from closing with one of the sex in matrimony.
Such silent proceedings as those of this evening were repeated many and oft times when he was not under the eye of the boys, whose quick and penetrating regard would frequently become almost intolerable to the self-conscious master in his present anxious care for Sue, making him, in the grey hours of morning, dread to meet anew the gimlet glances, lest they should read what the dream within him was.
He had honourably acquiesced in Sue's announced wish that he was not often to visit her at the training school; but at length, his patience being sorely tried, he set out one Saturday afternoon to pay her an unexpected call. There the news of her departure-- expulsion as it might almost have been considered--was flashed upon him without warning or mitigation as he stood at the door expecting in a few minutes to behold her face; and when he turned away he could hardly see the road before him.
Sue had, in fact, never written a line to her suitor on the subject, although it was fourteen days old. A short reflection told him that this proved nothing, a natural delicacy being as ample a reason for silence as any degree of blameworthiness.
They had informed him at the school where she was living, and having no immediate anxiety about her comfort his thoughts took the direction of a burning indignation against the training school committee. In his bewilderment Phillotson entered the adjacent cathedral, just now in a direly dismantled state by reason of the repairs. He sat down on a block of freestone, regardless of the dusty imprint it made on his breeches; and his listless eyes following the movements of the workmen he presently became aware that the reputed culprit, Sue's lover Jude, was one amongst them.
Jude had never spoken to his former hero since the meeting by the model of Jerusalem. Having inadvertently witnessed Phillotson's tentative courtship of Sue in the lane there had grown up in the younger man's mind a curious dislike to think of the elder, to meet him, to communicate in any way with him; and since Phillotson's success in obtaining at least her promise had become known to Jude, he had frankly recognized that he did not wish to see or hear of his senior any more, learn anything of his pursuits, or even imagine again what excellencies might appertain to his character. On this very day of the schoolmaster's visit Jude was expecting Sue, as she had promised; and when therefore he saw the school master in the nave of the building, saw, moreover, that he was coming to speak to him, he felt no little embarrassment; which Phillotson's own embarrassment prevented his observing.
Jude joined him, and they both withdrew from the other workmen to the spot where Phillotson had been sitting. Jude offered him a piece of sackcloth for a cushion, and told him it was dangerous to sit on the bare block.
"Yes; yes," said Phillotson abstractedly, as he reseated himself, his eyes resting on the ground as if he were trying to remember where he was. "I won't keep you long. It was merely that I have heard that you have seen my little friend Sue recently. It occurred to me to speak to you on that account. I merely want to ask about her."
"I think I know what!" Jude hurriedly said. "About her escaping from the training school, and her coming to me?"
"Yes."
"Well"--Jude for a moment felt an unprincipled and fiendish wish to annihilate his rival at all cost. By the exercise of that treachery which love for the same woman renders possible to men the most honourable in every other relation of life, he could send off Phillotson in agony and defeat by saying that the scandal was true, and that Sue had irretrievably committed herself with him. But his action did not respond for a moment to his animal instinct; and what he said was, "I am glad of your kindness in coming to talk plainly to me about it. You know what they say?--that I ought to marry her."
"What!"
"And I wish with all my soul I could!"
Phillotson trembled, and his naturally pale face acquired a corpselike sharpness in its lines. "I had no idea that it was of this nature! God forbid!"
"No, no!" said Jude aghast. "I thought you understood? I mean that were I in a position to marry her, or someone, and settle down, instead of living in lodgings here and there, I should be glad!"
What he had really meant was simply that he loved her.
"But--since this painful matter has been opened up--what really happened?" asked Phillotson, with the firmness of a man who felt that a sharp smart now was better than a long agony of suspense hereafter. "Cases arise, and this is one, when even ungenerous questions must be put to make false assumptions impossible, and to kill scandal."
Jude explained readily; giving the whole series of adventures, including the night at the shepherd's, her wet arrival at his lodging, her indisposition from her immersion, their vigil of discussion, and his seeing her off next morning.
"Well now," said Phillotson at the conclusion, "I take it as your final word, and I know I can believe you, that the suspicion which led to her rustication is an absolutely baseless one?"
