HE was a handy man at his trade, an all-round man, as artizans in country-towns are apt to be. In London the man who carves the boss or knob of leafage declines to cut the fragment of moulding which merges in that leafage, as if it were a degradation to do the second half of one whole. When there was not much Gothic moulding for Jude to run, or much window-tracery on the bankers, he would go out lettering monuments or tombstones, and take a pleasure in the change of handiwork.
The next time that he saw her was when he was on a ladder executing a job of this sort inside one of the churches. There was a short morning service, and when the parson entered Jude came down from his ladder, and sat with the half-dozen people forming the congregation, till the prayer should be ended, and he could resume his tapping. He did not observe till the service was half over that one of the women was Sue, who had perforce accompanied the elderly Miss Fontover thither.
Jude sat watching her pretty shoulders, her easy, curiously nonchalant risings and sittings, and her perfunctory genuflexions, and thought what a help such an Anglican would have been to him in happier circumstances. It was not so much his anxiety to get on with his work that made him go up to it immediately the worshipers began to take their leave: it was that he dared not, in this holy spot, confront the woman who was beginning to influence him in such an indescribable manner. Those three enormous reasons why he must not attempt intimate acquaintance with Sue Bridehead, now that his interest in her had shown itself to be unmistakably of a sexual kind, loomed as stubbornly as ever. But it was also obvious that man could not live by work alone; that the particular man Jude, at any rate, wanted something to love. Some men would have rushed incontinently to her, snatched the pleasure of easy friendship which she could hardly refuse, and have left the rest to chance. Not so Jude--at first.
But as the days, and still more particularly the lonely evenings, dragged along, he found himself, to his moral consternation, to be thinking more of her instead of thinking less of her, and experiencing a fearful bliss in doing what was erratic, informal, and unexpected. Surrounded by her influence all day, walking past the spots she frequented, he was always thinking of her, and was obliged to own to himself that his conscience was likely to be the loser in this battle.
To be sure she was almost an ideality to him still. Perhaps to know her would be to cure himself of this unexpected and unauthorized passion. A voice whispered that, though he desired to know her, he did not desire to be cured.
There was not the least doubt that from his own orthodox point of view the situation was growing immoral. For Sue to be the loved one of a man who was licensed by the laws of his country to love Arabella and none other unto his life's end, was a pretty bad second beginning when the man was bent on such a course as Jude purposed. This conviction was so real with him that one day when, as was frequent, he was at work in a neighbouring village church alone, he felt it to be his duty to pray against his weakness. But much as he wished to be an exemplar in these things he could not get on. It was quite impossible, he found, to ask to be delivered from temptation when your heart's desire was to be tempted unto seventy times seven. So he excused himself. "After all," he said, "it is not altogether an EROTOLEPSY that is the matter with me, as at that first time. I can see that she is exceptionally bright; and it is partly a wish for intellectual sympathy, and a craving for loving-kindness in my solitude." Thus he went on adoring her, fearing to realize that it was human perversity. For whatever Sue's virtues, talents, or ecclesiastical saturation, it was certain that those items were not at all the cause of his affection for her.
On an afternoon at this time a young girl entered the stone-mason's yard with some hesitation, and, lifting her skirts to avoid draggling them in the white dust, crossed towards the office.
"That's a nice girl," said one of the men known as Uncle Joe.
"Who is she?" asked another.
"I don't know--I've seen her about here and there. Why, yes, she's the daughter of that clever chap Bridehead who did all the wrought ironwork at St. Silas' ten years ago, and went away to London afterwards. I don't know what he's doing now--not much I fancy--as she's come back here."
Meanwhile the young woman had knocked at the office door and asked if Mr. Jude Fawley was at work in the yard. It so happened that Jude had gone out somewhere or other that afternoon, which information she received with a look of disappointment, and went away immediately. When Jude returned they told him, and described her, whereupon he exclaimed, "Why--that's my cousin Sue!"
He looked along the street after her, but she was out of sight. He had no longer any thought of a conscientious avoidance of her, and resolved to call upon her that very evening. And when he reached his lodging he found a note from her-- a first note--one of those documents which, simple and commonplace in themselves, are seen retrospectively to have been pregnant with impassioned consequences. The very unconsciousness of a looming drama which is shown in such innocent first epistles from women to men, or VICE VERSA, makes them, when such a drama follows, and they are read over by the purple or lurid light of it, all the more impressive, solemn, and in cases, terrible.
Sue's was of the most artless and natural kind. She addressed him as her dear cousin Jude; said she had only just learnt by the merest accident that he was living in Christminster, and reproached him with not letting her know. They might have had such nice times together, she said, for she was thrown much upon herself, and had hardly any congenial friend. But now there was every probability of her soon going away, so that the chance of companionship would be lost perhaps for ever.
A cold sweat overspread Jude at the news that she was going away. That was a contingency he had never thought of, and it spurred him to write all the more quickly to her. He would meet her that very evening, he said, one hour from the time of writing, at the cross in the pavement which marked the spot of the Martyrdoms.
When he had despatched the note by a boy he regretted that in his hurry he should have suggested to her to meet him out of doors, when he might have said he would call upon her. It was, in fact, the country custom to meet thus, and nothing else had occurred to him. Arabella had been met in the same way, unfortunately, and it might not seem respectable to a dear girl like Sue. However, it could not be helped now, and he moved towards the point a few minutes before the hour, under the glimmer of the newly lighted lamps.
The broad street was silent, and almost deserted, although it was not late. He saw a figure on the other side, which turned out to be hers, and they both converged towards the crossmark at the same moment. Before either had reached it she called out to him:
"I am not going to meet you just there, for the first time in my life! Come further on."
The voice, though positive and silvery, had been tremulous. They walked on in parallel lines, and, waiting her pleasure, Jude watched till she showed signs of closing in, when he did likewise, the place being where the carriers' carts stood in the daytime, though there was none on the spot then.
"I am sorry that I asked you to meet me, and didn't call," began Jude with the bashfulness of a lover. "But I thought it would save time if we were going to walk."
"Oh--I don't mind that," she said with the freedom of a friend. "I have really no place to ask anybody in to. What I meant was that the place you chose was so horrid--I suppose I ought not to say horrid-- I mean gloomy and inauspicious in its associations.... But isn't it funny to begin like this, when I don't know you yet?" She looked him up and down curiously, though Jude did not look much at her.
"You seem to know me more than I know you," she added.
"Yes--I have seen you now and then."
"And you knew who I was, and didn't speak? And now I am going away!"
"Yes. That's unfortunate. I have hardly any other friend. I have, indeed, one very old friend here somewhere, but I don't quite like to call on him just yet. I wonder if you know anything of him--Mr. Phillotson? A parson somewhere about the county I think he is."
"No--I only know of one Mr. Phillotson. He lives a little way out in the country, at Lumsdon. He's a village schoolmaster."
"Ah! I wonder if he's the same. Surely it is impossible! Only a schoolmaster still! Do you know his Christian name-- is it Richard?"
"Yes--it is; I've directed books to him, though I've never seen him."
"Then he couldn't do it!"
Jude's countenance fell, for how could he succeed in an enterprise wherein the great Phillotson had failed? He would have had a day of despair if the news had not arrived during his sweet Sue's presence, but even at this moment he had visions of how Phillotson's failure in the grand university scheme would depress him when she had gone.
"As we are going to take a walk, suppose we go and call upon him?" said Jude suddenly. "It is not late."
She agreed, and they went along up a hill, and through some prettily wooded country. Presently the embattled tower and square turret of the church rose into the sky, and then the school-house. They inquired of a person in the street if Mr. Phillotson was likely to be at home, and were informed that he was always at home. A knock brought him to the school-house door, with a candle in his hand and a look of inquiry on his face, which had grown thin and careworn since Jude last set eyes on him.
That after all these years the meeting with Mr. Phillotson should be of this homely complexion destroyed at one stroke the halo which had surrounded the school-master's figure in Jude's imagination ever since their parting. It created in him at the same time a sympathy with Phillotson as an obviously much chastened and disappointed man. Jude told him his name, and said he had come to see him as an old friend who had been kind to him in his youthful days.
"I don't remember you in the least," said the school-master thoughtfully. "You were one of my pupils, you say? Yes, no doubt; but they number so many thousands by this time of my life, and have naturally changed so much, that I remember very few except the quite recent ones."
"It was out at Marygreen," said Jude, wishing he had not come.
"Yes. I was there a short time. And is this an old pupil, too?"
"No--that's my cousin.... I wrote to you for some grammars, if you recollect, and you sent them?"
"Ah--yes!--I do dimly recall that incident."
"It was very kind of you to do it. And it was you who first started me on that course. On the morning you left Marygreen, when your goods were on the waggon, you wished me good-bye, and said your scheme was to be a university man and enter the Church-- that a degree was the necessary hall-mark of one who wanted to do anything as a theologian or teacher."
"I remember I thought all that privately; but I wonder I did not keep my own counsel. The idea was given up years ago."
"I have never forgotten it. It was that which brought me to this part of the country, and out here to see you to-night."
"Come in," said Phillotson. "And your cousin, too."
They entered the parlour of the school-house, where there was a lamp with a paper shade, which threw the light down on three or four books. Phillotson took it off, so that they could see each other better, and the rays fell on the nervous little face and vivacious dark eyes and hair of Sue, on the earnest features of her cousin, and on the schoolmaster's own maturer face and figure, showing him to be a spare and thoughtful personage of five-and-forty, with a thin-lipped, somewhat refined mouth, a slightly stooping habit, and a black frock coat, which from continued frictions shone a little at the shoulder-blades, the middle of the back, and the elbows.
The old friendship was imperceptibly renewed, the schoolmaster speaking of his experiences, and the cousins of theirs. He told them that he still thought of the Church sometimes, and that though he could not enter it as he had intended to do in former years he might enter it as a licentiate. Meanwhile, he said, he was comfortable in his present position, though he was in want of a pupil-teacher.
They did not stay to supper, Sue having to be indoors before it grew late, and the road was retraced to Christminster. Though they had talked of nothing more than general subjects, Jude was surprised to find what a revelation of woman his cousin was to him. She was so vibrant that everything she did seemed to have its source in feeling. An exciting thought would make her walk ahead so fast that he could hardly keep up with her; and her sensitiveness on some points was such that it might have been misread as vanity. It was with heart-sickness he perceived that, while her sentiments towards him were those of the frankest friendliness only, he loved her more than before becoming acquainted with her; and the gloom of the walk home lay not in the night overhead, but in the thought of her departure.
"Why must you leave Christminster?" he said regretfully. "How can you do otherwise than cling to a city in whose history such men as Newman, Pusey, Ward, Keble, loom so large!"
"Yes--they do. Though how large do they loom in the history of the world? ... What a funny reason for caring to stay! I should never have thought of it!" She laughed.
"Well--I must go," she continued. "Miss Fontover, one of the partners whom I serve, is offended with me, and I with her; and it is best to go."
"How did that happen?"
"She broke some statuary of mine."
"Oh? Wilfully?"
"Yes. She found it in my room, and though it was my property she threw it on the floor and stamped on it, because it was not according to her taste, and ground the arms and the head of one of the figures all to bits with her heel--a horrid thing!"
"Too Catholic-Apostolic for her, I suppose? No doubt she called them popish images and talked of the invocation of saints."
"No.... No, she didn't do that. She saw the matter quite differently."
"Ah! Then I am surprised!"
"Yes. It was for quite some other reason that she didn't like my patron-saints. So I was led to retort upon her; and the end of it was that I resolved not to stay, but to get into an occupation in which I shall be more independent."
"Why don't you try teaching again? You once did, I heard."
"I never thought of resuming it; for I was getting on as an art-designer."
"DO let me ask Mr. Phillotson to let you try your hand in his school? If you like it, and go to a training college, and become a first-class certificated mistress, you get twice as large an income as any designer or church artist, and twice as much freedom."
"Well--ask him. Now I must go in. Good-bye, dear Jude! I am so glad we have met at last. We needn't quarrel because our parents did, need we?"
Jude did not like to let her see quite how much he agreed with her, and went his way to the remote street in which he had his lodging.
To keep Sue Bridehead near him was now a desire which operated without regard of consequences, and the next evening he again set out for Lumsdon, fearing to trust to the persuasive effects of a note only. The school-master was unprepared for such a proposal.
"What I rather wanted was a second year's transfer, as it is called," he said. "Of course your cousin would do, personally; but she has had no experience. Oh--she has, has she? Does she really think of adopting teaching as a profession?"
Jude said she was disposed to do so, he thought, and his ingenious arguments on her natural fitness for assisting Mr. Phillotson, of which Jude knew nothing whatever, so influenced the schoolmaster that he said he would engage her, assuring Jude as a friend that unless his cousin really meant to follow on in the same course, and regarded this step as the first stage of an apprenticeship, of which her training in a normal school would be the second stage, her time would be wasted quite, the salary being merely nominal.
The day after this visit Phillotson received a letter from Jude, containing the information that he had again consulted his cousin, who took more and more warmly to the idea of tuition; and that she had agreed to come. It did not occur for a moment to the schoolmaster and recluse that Jude's ardour in promoting the arrangement arose from any other feelings towards Sue than the instinct of co-operation common among members of the same family.
裘德干他本行已经得心应手，成了样样能的全村，大凡乡镇手艺人都能做到这地步。在伦敦，雕刻石叶簇的叶梭的匠人就不屑錾净浮雕中边边角角，仿佛一干整个作品的次要部分就有损身价。裘德要是没多少錾净浮雕的活儿干，或者工作台上也没窗棂格一类可刻，就去凿纪念碑，或者给墓碑镌字，换个活儿，他倒也自得其乐。
他第二次见到她时候，正在一个教堂里边站在梯子上干诸如此类的活儿。教堂要做早礼拜，牧师一进来，他就从梯子下来，凑到总共半打会众中间坐下来。要等祈祷完了，他才好敲敲打打。礼拜做到一半，他才发现苏坐在妇女一边，她是因为迫不得已，才陪方道悟小姐来的。
裘德坐在那儿盯着她那好看的双肩，也盯着她随随便便、心不在焉得奇怪的起起坐坐的动作，还有她勉勉强强、敷衍了事的屈膝下跪的姿势。他一边心里想，要是他的处境比现在适意，这样一位圣公会教友归了他，那该是多么大的帮助呀。教徒一开始离开，他立刻往梯子上爬，倒不是他急着把活赶完，而是因为他不敢在这神圣场合同那位正在以说不清的方式影响着他的女性直接面对面。既然他对苏·柏瑞和的兴趣千真万确是因为她是异性，那么原来不容他存心设法同她过从密切的三条重大理由还是跟以前一样虎视耽耽，不得回避。不过一个人也不能单靠干活活着，这也用不着说，何况像他这样异乎寻常的人，无论如何，爱情方面总得有个出路。有些人可能二话不说，干脆往苏那儿跑，先下手为强，利用她不好意思回绝的态度，一享同她轻松愉快地交朋友之乐，至于下文如何，只有大知道。这一手裘德干不来——开头干不来。
但是过了一天又一天，尤其是过了一个又一个更难熬的孤寂的晚上，裘德却发现他对她的思念非但没减少，反而更厉害，而且还十了起先没想干的。反常而不正当的事，从中得到酣畅的快感，这一切叫他在道德上惶惶不安。她的影响这样成天价缠着他，一走过她常去的地方，他就想她没个完。他只好承认在这场搏斗中，他的良心很可能是个输家。
说真的，她至今只能算他的玄想虚构的产物。也许认识她倒能治好他的违乎常情、有悖正道的情欲，不过有个小小声音说，他固然很想认识她，但他却并不很热心治好他的病。
按他本人一贯信守的正统观点，他的情况正朝道德败坏变，是毫无疑义的。因为一个已经由国家法律授权爱阿拉贝拉到死的男人，不能再随便爱别的女人；而且像裘德这样的人正在极力追求自己的目标，竟然要另寻新欢，也确实恶劣不堪。他的负罪感是那么深刻实在，有一天他跟往常一样独自一人在邻近一个乡村教堂干活的时候，感到非祈祷不足以克服自己的弱点，因为这是他对上帝的责任。但是尽管他想是极想这方面做个好榜样，怎奈他还是祈祷不下去。他发现，你内心深处的欲望既然十之八九非受到诱惑不可，你就是恳求上帝把你从诱惑中拯救出来，也肯定没门儿。他就这样给自己找到了托词。“反正我这回跟上回就是不一样，”他说，“这回根本同色情狂不沾边。我看得出来她聪明过人，也有一部分是希望精神方面得到共鸣，再就是能在孤寂中受到温情眷顾。”于是他继续对她顶礼膜拜，不敢承认这是死心塌地，明知故犯。说苏德性、才情怎么好，说她信教信得怎么五体投地，总而言之，这些花言巧语，都不成其为他对她一片痴情的缘由。
正好这时候，有个下午，一个年轻姑娘有点犹豫不决地进了石匠作坊，撩着裙子，免得沾上白粉末，她穿过场子，往管事房走去。
“这妞儿不错嘛！”一个人称乔爷的说。
“她是谁呀？”又一个问。
“我不知道——我在好些地方瞧见过她。哦，对啦，是那个精明汉子柏瑞和的女儿呀，十年前他在圣·西拉教堂，把所有难干的铁活儿全揽过来啦。我也不知道她回这儿时候，他干什么——我看他不一定混得怎么得意吧。”
同时，年轻女人敲了敲管事房的门，打听裘德·福来先生在不在这儿干活儿。有点不巧，他下午出门到什么地方去了。她一听这回答，露出失望的样子，立刻走了。裘德回来，他们就把这事跟他说了，还把她形容了一下，裘德一听，就大喊大叫的：“哎呀——是我表亲苏呀！”
他沿街追她，她已经走得没影了。他可再不想什么他凭良心得避开她呀，决定当晚就找她。他回到住所，发现门上别着一张她写的条子——第一张条子，是那些文件中一份，它们本身简简单单、平淡无奇，可是一到后来带着思往怀旧的心情去看，就会发现其中孕育着种种充满了炽热情感的后果。女人最早写给男人的，抑或男人最早写给女人的这样一些信，有时候原本率性而为，真心实意，不过从中却可见一出大戏初露端倪，只是戏中人浑然不觉，待到剧情深入展开，那时候在激情的紫红或火红的光焰中重温这些书信，由于当初浑然不觉，就感到它们特别动人，特别充满了神圣感，其中有些情事也特别惊心动魄。
苏这个便条便是纯出自然、胸无渣滓一类，她称他亲爱的表亲裘德，怪他怎么没告诉她。她说，因为她平常只好独来独往，几乎没什么志趣相投的朋友，他们要是聚在一块儿，准是很有意思。不过她现在十之八九很快就走了，所以相处的机会也许永远失去了。
裘德一知道她要走的消息，直冒冷汗。再想不到会这样节外生枝，他只好马上给她写信。他说当天晚上一定跟她见面，时间在写信后一个钟头，地点在人行道上纪念殉道者遇难地方的那个十字架标志。
他把信交给一个男孩送去以后又后悔了。他下笔匆忙，竟然提出在街上见面，而他理应说他要登门见她才对。其实，乡下习惯就是这样约个地方见面，他以前也不知道还有什么别的妙招。他头一回跟阿拉贝拉的不幸见面不也是这么回事。不过他这样对苏这位可亲可爱的姑娘恐怕太失礼吧。可是这会儿也无法可想了，于是他在约好的时间之前几分钟，在刚亮起的路灯光下，朝那个地点走去。
宽阔的街道静悄悄，几乎没有人迹，虽然时间并不晚。他瞧见街对面晃过一个人影，随即看出来果然是她。他们从街两边同时向十字架标志靠拢，还没走到它跟前，她就大声向他招呼：
“我才不想在这么个地点跟你见面哪，这是我一辈子头回跟你见面啊！往前走吧。”
她的声音果决、清脆，却有点发颤。他们在街两边并排往前走，裘德候着她那边的表示，一看到她有走过来的意思，就马上迎过去了。那地方白天停两轮运货小车子，不过那会儿一辆也没有。
“我请你到这儿见面，没去找你，实在对不起。”裘德开始说话，态度忸怩像个情人。
“哦——没什么。”她像朋友那样落落大方。“我实在也没个地方招待人。我的意思是你选的这个地方叫人不舒服——我看也不该说不舒服，我是说这地方，还有跟它连着的事儿，叫人难受，怪不吉利的。……不过我还没认识你，就这么开头不是滑稽吗？”她好奇地上下打量着他，但是裘德没怎么看她。
“你像是认识我了，要比我早吧？”
“对啦——我瞧见过你几回呢。”
“那你知道我是谁啦，干吗不说话呢？这会儿我要离开这地方啦。”
“是啊。这太不幸啦。我在这儿实在没朋友。也算有的话，是位年纪挺大的朋友，住在这儿哪个地方。我这会儿还没定规去找他呢。他叫费乐生先生，他的情况你知道不知道？我想他是郡里哪个地方的牧师。”
“不知道——我倒是听说过有位费乐生先生。他住在乡下，就是拉姆登，离这儿挺近。他是乡村小学老师。”
“怎么！他还是老样儿，真怪啦！绝对不可能！还是个老师！你还知道他教名——是里查吧？”
“不错，是里查；我派过书给他，不过我压根儿没见过他。”
“那他是一事无成喽！”
裘德顿时黯然失色，因为连了不起的费乐生都失败了的事业，他凭什么能成功呢？要不是他听到这个消息时候，他的甜密的苏就近在身边，他准叫绝望压倒了。但就是他这一刻想象到的费乐生上大学的宏伟计划失败的情景，到苏走后也还是要叫他垂头丧气。
“咱们反正是散步，索性去看看他，好不好？”裘德突然说。“天还不算晚。”
她表示同意。他们往前走，先上了小山，又穿过林木佳胜的郊区，一会儿就看见矗向天空的教堂的有垛谍的高楼和正方形塔楼，随后到了小学校舍。他们向街上一个人打听费乐生先生是否在家，回答说他总是在家。他们一敲门，他就到校门口来了，手持蜡烛，脸上的神气表示你们是干什么来的？自从裘德上一回细瞧过他之后，他的脸显然消瘦了，苍老了。
隔了那么多年，他得以重晤费乐生先生，看见他那份失意样子，一下子就把他心目中费乐生头上的光轮打碎了，同时激起了他对这位备受煎熬和痛感失望的人的同情。裘德告诉他自己的姓名，说他现在是来看望他这位老朋友，他童年时曾蒙他关切爱护。
“我一点也不记得啦。”老师一边想一边说。“你是说你是我的学生，对吧？当然是啦，这没什么疑问；不过我这辈子到了这会儿，学生已经成千上万啦，他们自然变得很厉害，除了最近这些学生，我差不多都想不起来啦。”
“那是你在马利格林的时候。”裘德说，但愿自己没来。
“不错，我在那儿呆过很短一段时间。这位也是老学生？”
“不是——是我表亲。……要是你再回想一下，大概能想起来我给你写过信，跟你要文法书，你不是给我寄来了吗？”
“哦——对啦！这我倒还有点影子。”
“你办了这件事，太谢谢啦。你是第一位鼓励我走这条路的。你离开马利格林那天上午，跟我说了再见，说你的计划是当上大学毕业生，进教会——说谁想在事业上干出点名堂，不论当神学家还是当教师，学位总是万不可少的资历。”
“我记得自己心里是这么想的，不过我就不明白怎么会连自己的计划都说给人家听呢。我这个想法放弃好多年啦。”
“我可始终没忘呢。就是这回事儿把我引到这地方来的，还到这儿来看望你。”
“请进吧，”费乐生说，“请令表亲也进来吧。”
他们进了学校小会客室，那儿有一盏带罩子的灯，光线投在三四本书上，费乐生把灯罩下掉，这样他们彼此可以看得比较清楚。灯光照到了苏的神经质的小脸蛋和生机勃发的黑眼睛以及黑头发上；照到她表亲严肃端谨的神态上；也照到老师更老成的脸庞和体态上，看得出他有四十五岁，身材瘦削，富于思想；薄薄的嘴唇，轮廓优雅，习惯哈着腰，穿一件礼服呢大衣，因为磨来磨去，肩头、背部和肘部都有点发亮了。
旧时的友谊不知不觉地恢复了，老师讲了他个人经历，那两个表亲也讲了自己的。他对他们说，他有时候还有进教会的念头；尽管做不到像从前设想那样进教会，还可以凭一名无牧师资格的传道者进去。他说，他对如今这个职位也还感到惬意，不过目前缺个边学边教的小先生。
他们没留下吃饭，苏必须在不太晚之前回到住处，因为他们回基督堂还得走一大段路。虽然他们一路谈的都是无关紧要的普通事，然而裘德却因为发现了这位表亲流露出那么多在他还不了解的女性本色而为之一惊。她感受快、变化急，似乎不管干什么都是感情用事。一个令人兴奋的想法就能叫她走得飞快，他简直跟不上她；她对若干事情表现出来的神经过敏，难免被人误解为轻狂、浮躁。他心知她对他的感情全属最坦率的友爱之情，而他却比认识她之前更爱她，因此他感到非常苦闷；回家路上他心头沉重，不是夜空幽暗引起的，而是因为想到她即将离去。
“你干吗一定离开基督堂？”他带着遗憾意味说，“这个城市历史上出了纽门、普赛、沃德和奇伯尔那样赫赫有名的大人物哪，你不愿意呆下去，那你舍此不图还能有什么出息？”
“你说得不错——这些人的确是那么回事儿。可是他们在世界史上能算赫赫有名吗？呆在这儿，就是为这个，这道理未免太可笑啦！”她笑起来了。
“啊——我非走不可。”她接着说。“方道悟小姐，就是我帮活的那个，把我气坏了，我也把她气坏了，所以顶好一走了之。”
“出什么事啦？”
“她把我的石膏像砸碎啦。”
“哦？故意吗？”
“故意干的。她在我屋里发现了它们，虽然那是我的财产，她硬给摔到地上，拿脚踩，就因为它们不合她的调调儿。一个像的胳臂跟脑袋，她用脚后跟碾得稀碎——太叫人恶心啦！”
“我想，她嫌这些天主教味儿——教皇派味儿太厉害了吧？毫无疑问，她管这叫教皇派的像，还要大讲特讲呢，你这是什么拜神求福喽。”
“不对。……才不对呢。她倒没那么干呢。这可完全不一样，是另一码事。”
“哈！那我可就觉着太怪啦！”
“是啊。她就是因为完全不是那么回事，才恨我的守护神哪。所以我才气得顶她。吵完了，我就决定再不呆下去啦，不过还得找事于，要干就干个我人比较独立的。”
“那你干吗不试试教书呢？我听说你干过一回。”
“我压根儿没想过再教书；因为我已经当了工艺设计师啦。”
“那我一定跟费乐生说说，让你在他的学校里试试本事好啦。要是你愿意干，再上个师范学院，就成了有合格证书的一级女教师啦，这比你现在当设计师或者教会工艺师什么的，收入要多一倍呢，自由也成倍增加啦。”
“那好吧——你就跟他说好啦。我得进去了。再见，裘德！咱们到底还是见面啦，我太高兴啦，咱们用不着因为父母吵架也吵架吧，对不对？”
裘德不想叫她看出来他究竟同意了多少，转到他这边路上，便径自走向那条偏僻的街上自己的住所。把苏·柏瑞和留在离他不远的地方，这是他心里老在盘算的念头，后果如何是在所不计的。第二天晚上他又去了拉姆登，因为他担心光凭一纸短信不会起到说服作用。小学老师对这个建议思想上没一点准备。
“我想要的人是所谓的第二年调动，就是教过了一年再调动。”他说。“从令表亲本人条件看，她当然担任得了，不过她什么经验也没有。哦——她有经验，对吧？她是不是真想选教书这门当职业呢？”
裘德说他认为她的确有意从事这类工作；他连编带诌地强调她天生具备了给费乐生先生当助手的适应能力；其实他对她这方面情况毫无所知，不过经他这么一花言巧语，倒把老师心说活了，说他愿意聘请她，并且以朋友资格向裘德郑重表示，如果他的表亲并不是真正愿意走这条路，也不想把这一步当做学习期间第一阶段，尔后进师范学院接受培训为第二阶段，那么她的时间就将白白浪费，况且薪水云云也不过有名无实而已。
这次造访的第二天，费乐生接到裘德一封信，内中说到他已经再次同他的表亲仔细斟酌过了，她从事教学工作的心越来越积极，同意到费乐生那儿工作。那位老师和隐士万万没料到裘德之所以这样极力撺掇这件好事，除了出于一家人天生来就相互照顾的本能，还对苏怀有什么别的感情。