FROM that week Jude Fawley and Sue walked no more in the town of Aldbrickham.
Whither they had gone nobody knew, chiefly because nobody cared to know. Any one sufficiently curious to trace the steps of such an obscure pair might have discovered without great trouble that they had taken advantage of his adaptive craftsmanship to enter on a shifting, almost nomadic, life, which was not without its pleasantness for a time.
Wherever Jude heard of free-stone work to be done, thither he went, choosing by preference places remote from his old haunts and Sue's. He laboured at a job, long or briefly, till it was finished; and then moved on.
Two whole years and a half passed thus. Sometimes he might have been found shaping the mullions of a country mansion, sometimes setting the parapet of a town-hall, sometimes ashlaring an hotel at Sandbourne, sometimes a museum at Casterbridge, sometimes as far down as Exonbury, sometimes at Stoke-Barehills. Later still he was at Kennetbridge, a thriving town not more than a dozen miles south of Marygreen, this being his nearest approach to the village where he was known; for he had a sensitive dread of being questioned as to his life and fortunes by those who had been acquainted with him during his ardent young manhood of study and promise, and his brief and unhappy married life at that time.
At some of these places he would be detained for months, at others only a few weeks. His curious and sudden antipathy to ecclesiastical work, both episcopal and noncomformist, which had risen in him when suffering under a smarting sense of misconception, remained with him in cold blood, less from any fear of renewed censure than from an ultra-conscientiousness which would not allow him to seek a living out of those who would disapprove of his ways; also, too, from a sense of inconsistency between his former dogmas and his present practice, hardly a shred of the beliefs with which he had first gone up to Christminster now remaining with him. He was mentally approaching the position which Sue had occupied when he first met her.
On a Saturday evening in May, nearly three years after Arabella's recognition of Sue and himself at the agricultural show, some of those who there encountered each other met again.
It was the spring fair at Kennetbridge, and, though this ancient trade-meeting had much dwindled from its dimensions of former times, the long straight street of the borough presented a lively scene about midday. At this hour a light trap, among other vehicles, was driven into the town by the north road, and up to the door of a temperance inn. There alighted two women, one the driver, an ordinary country person, the other a finely built figure in the deep mourning of a widow. Her sombre suit, of pronounced cut, caused her to appear a little out of place in the medley and bustle of a provincial fair.
"I will just find out where it is, Anny," said the widow-lady to her companion, when the horse and cart had been taken by a man who came forward: "and then I'll come back, and meet you here; and we'll go in and have something to eat and drink. I begin to feel quite a sinking."
"With all my heart," said the other. "Though I would sooner have put up at the Chequers or The Jack. You can't get much at these temperance houses."
"Now, don't you give way to gluttonous desires, my child," said the woman in weeds reprovingly. "This is the proper place. Very well: we'll meet in half an hour, unless you come with me to find out where the site of the new chapel is?"
"I don't care to. You can tell me."
The companions then went their several ways, the one in crape walking firmly along with a mien of disconnection from her miscellaneous surroundings. Making inquiries she came to a hoarding, within which were excavations denoting the foundations of a building; and on the boards without one or two large posters announcing that the foundation-stone of the chapel about to be erected would be laid that afternoon at three o'clock by a London preacher of great popularity among his body.
Having ascertained thus much the immensely weeded widow retraced her steps, and gave herself leisure to observe the movements of the fair. By and by her attention was arrested by a little stall of cakes and ginger-breads, standing between the more pretentious erections of trestles and canvas. It was covered with an immaculate cloth, and tended by a young woman apparently unused to the business, she being accompanied by a boy with an octogenarian face, who assisted her.
"Upon my--senses!" murmured the widow to herself. "His wife Sue-- if she is so!" She drew nearer to the stall. "How do you do, Mrs. Fawley?" she said blandly.
Sue changed colour and recognized Arabella through the crape veil.
"How are you, Mrs. Cartlett?" she said stiffly. And then perceiving Arabella's garb her voice grew sympathetic in spite of herself. "What?--you have lost----"
"My poor husband. Yes. He died suddenly, six weeks ago, leaving me none too well off, though he was a kind husband to me. But whatever profit there is in public-house keeping goes to them that brew the liquors, and not to them that retail 'em.... And you, my little old man! You don't know me, I expect?"
"Yes, I do. You be the woman I thought wer my mother for a bit, till I found you wasn't," replied Father Time, who had learned to use the Wessex tongue quite naturally by now.
"All right. Never mind. I am a friend."
"Juey," said Sue suddenly, "go down to the station platform with this tray-- there's another train coming in, I think."
When he was gone Arabella continued: "He'll never be a beauty, will he, poor chap! Does he know I am his mother really?"
"No. He thinks there is some mystery about his parentage--that's all. Jude is going to tell him when he is a little older."
"But how do you come to be doing this? I am surprised."
"It is only a temporary occupation--a fancy of ours while we are in a difficulty."
"Then you are living with him still?"
"Yes."
"Married?"
"Of course."
"Any children?"
"Two."
"And another coming soon, I see."
Sue writhed under the hard and direct questioning, and her tender little mouth began to quiver.
"Lord--I mean goodness gracious--what is there to cry about? Some folks would be proud enough!"
"It is not that I am ashamed--not as you think! But it seems such a terribly tragic thing to bring beings into the world-- so presumptuous--that I question my right to do it sometimes!"
"Take it easy, my dear.... But you don't tell me why you do such a thing as this? Jude used to be a proud sort of chap-- above any business almost, leave alone keeping a standing."
"Perhaps my husband has altered a little since then. I am sure he is not proud now!" And Sue's lips quivered again. "I am doing this because he caught a chill early in the year while putting up some stonework of a music-hall, at Quartershot, which he had to do in the rain, the work having to be executed by a fixed day. He is better than he was; but it has been a long, weary time! We have had an old widow friend with us to help us through it; but she's leaving soon."
"Well, I am respectable too, thank God, and of a serious way of thinking since my loss. Why did you choose to sell gingerbreads?"
"That's a pure accident. He was brought up to the baking business, and it occurred to him to try his hand at these, which he can make without coming out of doors. We call them Christminster cakes. They are a great success."
"I never saw any like 'em. Why, they are windows and towers, and pinnacles! And upon my word they are very nice." She had helped herself, and was unceremoniously munching one of the cakes.
"Yes. They are reminiscences of the Christminster Colleges. Traceried windows, and cloisters, you see. It was a whim of his to do them in pastry."
"Still harping on Christminster--even in his cakes!" laughed Arabella. "Just like Jude. A ruling passion. What a queer fellow he is, and always will be!"
Sue sighed, and she looked her distress at hearing him criticized.
"Don't you think he is? Come now; you do, though you are so fond of him!"
"Of course Christminster is a sort of fixed vision with him, which I suppose he'll never be cured of believing in. He still thinks it a great centre of high and fearless thought, instead of what it is, a nest of commonplace schoolmasters whose characteristic is timid obsequiousness to tradition."
Arabella was quizzing Sue with more regard of how she was speaking than of what she was saying. "How odd to hear a woman selling cakes talk like that!" she said. "Why don't you go back to school-keeping?"
She shook her head. "They won't have me."
"Because of the divorce, I suppose?"
"That and other things. And there is no reason to wish it. We gave up all ambition, and were never so happy in our lives till his illness came."
"Where are you living?"
"I don't care to say."
"Here in Kennetbridge?"
Sue's manner showed Arabella that her random guess was right.
"Here comes the boy back again," continued Arabella. "My boy and Jude's!"
Sue's eyes darted a spark. "You needn't throw that in my face!" she cried.
"Very well--though I half-feel as if I should like to have him with me! ... But Lord, I don't want to take him from 'ee--ever I should sin to speak so profane--though I should think you must have enough of your own! He's in very good hands, that I know; and I am not the woman to find fault with what the Lord has ordained. I've reached a more resigned frame of mind."
"Indeed! I wish I had been able to do so."
"You should try," replied the widow, from the serene heights of a soul conscious not only of spiritual but of social superiority. "I make no boast of my awakening, but I'm not what I was. After Cartlett's death I was passing the chapel in the street next ours, and went into it for shelter from a shower of rain. I felt a need of some sort of support under my loss, and, as 'twas righter than gin, I took to going there regular, and found it a great comfort. But I've left London now, you know, and at present I am living at Alfredston, with my friend Anny, to be near my own old country. I'm not come here to the fair to-day. There's to be the foundation-stone of a new chapel laid this afternoon by a popular London preacher, and I drove over with Anny. Now I must go back to meet her."
Then Arabella wished Sue good-bye, and went on.
从那个礼拜起，奥尔布里肯街上再也见不到裘德和苏的踪迹。
谁也不知道他们究竟去了什么地方，这主要因为没人把他们放在心上。假若真有什么人好奇，也不必费多大事，就可以发现：他们凭着裘德一手无所不能适应的手艺，过着行止无常、近乎漂泊的生活，不过其间也可说自有乐趣。
不管哪里，只要有雕刻易切石的活儿，裘德就去应工，不过他还是宁可挑选离自己和苏旧日居处远些的地方。他干活不惜力气，不拘时间长短，一干完，他们就起身转往其他地方。
两年半就这样过去了。人们或许看得到他有时给一所乡村宅邸装配直棂窗；有时是为某个市镇大厅装石头护栏；有时替桑埠一家旅馆凿方石、砌外墙，有时是在卡斯特桥博物馆，有时则远至埃松贝里，有时到了斯托裸山。近顷他在肯尼桥镇，那地方正兴旺起来，在马利格林以南不过十二英里，高认识他的那个村子最近。他少年发愤读书，立志上进，以及当年跟阿拉贝拉那段为时不长，却甚为苦恼的婚姻生活，乡亲都知之甚稔，所以他非常担心他们一见到他，就会对他眼下的日子和运气如何问长问短。
他到的地方时间不一，有时要呆上几个月，有的只几个礼拜。只因从前备受茶毒，深感痛心，所以他对于为教会（国教还是非国教都一样）干活无形中滋生一种异乎寻常的反感，至今切齿。但他并非因为害怕再次遭到党辱，而是出自他爱憎分明，义不苟合，这断不容他从作践他做人原则的那伙人手里讨生活，也由于他已经深深感到以往的信条和当前的实践之间不容调和；何况他当年初到基督堂所持的信仰，到了现在已经差不多放弃无余了。精神方面，他这会儿正朝着当年第一次遇到苏时她所持的立场转变。
五月间一个礼拜六傍晚，距阿拉贝拉在农业展览会把苏认出来已快三年，有些人是当时不期而相会，此次无意竟重逢。
肯尼桥镇正逢春季庙会，虽然这古已有之的交易活动的规模远比昔年缩小许多，但是到了近午时分，那条又长又直的大街还是好一派风光。却见车马辐凑中一辆轻便弹簧马车从北边大路直驶镇内，停在一家禁酒客栈门前。车上下来两位女客，一个是执鞭的，是普通乡下人，另一个体态丰腴，是个穿重孝的寡妇。她那套阴郁的装束在这齐集三教九流、喧嚣杂沓的乡镇庙会上，非常惹眼，未免有点不合时宜。
“我先得弄清楚它在哪儿，安妮。”寡妇对她的同伴说，这时候过来个男人，连车带马都带开了。“找到之后我就回来，咱们就在这儿见面，然后进去喝点吃点，我已经觉着浑身没劲儿啦。”
“行啊。”另一个说。“我原来可打算上花格旅馆，要么杰克旅馆。禁酒旅馆里头你搞不到什么好东西吃。”
“你别老那么馋吧，小宝贝儿。”穿丧服的女人用呵斥的口气说。“这地方就蛮好。算啦，你不跟我一块儿去找新礼拜堂的地方，那咱们就半个钟头以后见吧。”
“我才不想去呢。反正你要告诉我嘛。”
两个同伴也就各走各的路。帽子上笼着黑纱的女人步子走得挺坚定的，尽管周围热闹非凡，她却像目无所见，漠不关心。她打听好了，就走到一个临时围墙旁边，里边挖得坑坑坎坎，一望而知是给一座建筑物打基础，外边墙板上贴着一两张告示，说是这天下午三点，由一位来自伦敦的，在他的团体中间众望所归的布道师为行将施工的礼拜堂主持奠基仪式。
浑身戴孝的寡妇认准了地方，就掉头走开，悠然自得地看着庙会的活动，看来看去，突然叫一个卖蛋糕和姜汁饼的小摊把注意力吸引住了。摊子夹在支撑起来的挺像样的帆布篷中间，上面铺着洁净的白布，摊主是个年轻女人，显然她做这个生意还不怎么顺手，身边有个男孩，脸长得像七八十岁的老人，随时给她凑凑手。
“哎呀呀，”她自个儿咕哝着，“这不是他的老婆苏吗——怎么是她呀！”她直往摊子那儿凑。“你好，福来太太吧？”她挺和气地说。
苏脸色一变，虽说隔着阿拉贝拉的黑面纱，她还是认出她来了。
“你好，卡特莱太太吧？”她说得不自然。她一看阿拉贝拉的装束，不由自主地声音带出来同情的意味。“怎么？——你没了——”
“我可怜的爷们没了。他一下子就过去啦，六个礼拜前头的事儿，这个爷们对我倒不错，可死了没给我留下什么。开酒馆，别管你赚多少，都进了酿酒的荷包啦，零卖的什么也捞不到……哦，我的小老头儿嘛！你不认得我吧，我看是？”
“我认得。你就是那个女人，我一阵子当妈来着，后来我才知道不是。”时光老爹还嘴说，现在他学会了用维塞克斯口音说话，自自然然的。
“好啦。这没关系。我算是朋友好啦。”
“裘德，”苏突然说，“你端着这个盘子到月台去——我看又有火车到啦。”
他走之后，阿拉贝拉继续说：“可怜的小子，他这辈子别想出息个人样儿啦！他真是不知道我就是他妈？”
“不知道。他觉着他爹妈总有点神秘地方——别的也没什么。裘德要等他再大点，再跟他说明白。”
“可你怎么会做这个生意呢？我可真没想到。”
“这不过是临时凑合着干——我们这会儿有点困难，瞎想出来的。”
“那你还跟他一块儿过喽？”
“不错。”
“结过婚啦？”
“当然。”
“有孩子？”
“两个。
“我看还有一个也差不多啦。”
苏经她这么毫无礼貌、刨根问底地追，极不自在，她的柔美的小嘴颤动起来。
“哎呀——糟糕啦，这可有什么难受的！旁人家得意还不够呢！”
“我不是为这个不好意思——跟你想的根本不是一回事！我是想，把孩子生到这个世界上是多可怕，又多可悲的事——真是一意孤行啊，我有时候就自问自怎么有权利这么胡来！”
“别看得这么重吧，亲爱的……你还没告诉我你干吗做这个生意呢。裘德这人素来就高傲——什么生意都看不上，别说再摆个小摊子。”
“也许我丈夫总变了点吧。我敢说他现在就是不高傲！”苏的嘴唇又颤动起来。“我干这个是因为他受了风寒。他那时候在夸得哨的音乐厅做石活儿，期限定死了，非赶着办不行，下着雨也只好干，这就病了。他现在好多了；这段日子可真长真累啊！我们请了位朋友，是位老寡妇，帮着我们渡过了难关，不过她就要走了。”
“呃，感谢上帝，打他没了，我也是正正派派在过日子，心无二用。你怎么想起来卖姜汁饼呢？”
“这也是事出偶然。他是面包房里长大的，他一时想起来了，就想试试自个儿的手艺，反正用不着出门，在家里做就行了。我们管这个叫基督堂糕，生意才红火哪。”
“哦还真没见过这样的蛋糕呢。哎呀，又是窗户，又是塔楼，还有小尖塔哪！不用说，味道一定好。”她自说自话，拿起一块就吃。
“你说得不错。这些蛋糕全是按基督堂的学院样儿做的。你瞧镂空的窗户，还有回廊，他就是做蛋糕，也想得那么怪。”
“还是对基督堂念念不忘啊——连做蛋糕也想着呢！”阿拉贝拉笑起来了。“不折不扣是个裘德啊。心里老是那股子热劲儿。真是怪家伙，这辈子也变不了。”
苏叹了口气，听见裘德让人批评了，脸上显出来很难过。
“你不觉着他怪？讲真格的吧，你爱他爱得那么厉害，可是你还是觉着他怪啊。”
“基督堂在他心里当然是个根深蒂固的幻象，他那么虔信，我看成了痼疾啦。他现在还是把它当成崇高而无畏的思想的中心，看不出来它的真面目，其实那地方不过一大群碌碌无能的教师躲风避雨的巢穴，他们的独到之处就是对传统卑怯地打躬做揖。”
苏这时候怎么个口气，阿拉贝拉并不往心里去，倒是她讲出来的内容很叫她注意。于是她挖苦起苏来。“听卖糕点的讲出来这么一套，也真是了不得！”她说。“那你干吗不回学校做事啊？”
她摇摇头。“他们不要我。”
“因为离了婚，我想？”
“因为离婚，也为别的事。根本不必再管这了。我们俩什么志气都一风吹了。他没病的时候，我们的日子那么快乐，真是前所未有啊！”
“你们住在哪儿？”
“这我不想说。”
“住在肯尼桥吧，我看就是。”
阿拉贝拉从苏的态度看出来，她这一瞎蒙真蒙对了。
“孩子回来啦。”阿拉贝拉继续说。“是我跟裘德的孩子。”
苏眼里爆出火星。‘你别当着我面来这一套！”她大声叫道。
“好，好——我真没一点意思想把他弄过来跟着我！……不过，唉，我可没打主意从你这儿弄走他——我怎么说出那样的混话呀！——就算我认为你自个儿的孩子已经够了，也不该说啊！这孩子真是遇见好人啦！这我明白；我可不是那种女人，连老天爷规定下来的事儿，也要找岔子。我这会儿跟以前比，放得开啦！”
“真是这回事儿吗？我倒希望也做得到哪。”
“那你就学学吧。”寡妇回答说，口气居然露出不但精神境界，连社会地位也高人一等的优越感，只因看破红尘，这会儿才不惜纤尊俯就。“我也用不着自吹如何如何四大皆空，不过这会儿比从前的确大不一样啦。卡特莱死了之后，我路过那条街礼拜堂，瓢泼大雨下起来了，我就躲了进去，心想着他没了，得找个东西把我撑住呀，以后就按规矩上那个礼拜堂，可比喝金酒强多啦，觉着这才是大大的安慰哪。不过我已经离开伦敦啦，你知道，这会儿住在阿尔夫瑞顿，跟朋友安妮住一块儿，这么着挨我老家近点。我今儿个不是上这儿赶庙会。下午有个很出名的布道师给新造的礼拜堂主持奠基礼，我就跟安妮一块儿坐车来了。我这会儿该回去找她啦。”
阿拉贝拉对苏说了声“再见”，就往前走了。