Jude the Obscure (Oxford World's Classics)

At Marygreen
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‘Yes,’ said he. ‘We’ll walk up to the Brown House and back––we
can do it in half-an-hour.’
Arabella looked so handsome amid her untidy surroundings that
he felt glad he had come, and all the misgivings vanished that had
hitherto haunted him.
First they clambered to the top of the great down, during which
ascent he had occasionally to take her hand to assist her. Then they
bore o
ff to the left along the crest into the ridgeway, which they
followed till it intersected the high-road at the Brown House afore-
said, the spot of his former fervid desires to behold Christminster.
But he forgot them now. He talked the commonest local twaddle to
Arabella with greater zest than he would have felt in discussing
all the philosophies with all the Dons in the recently adored
University, and passed the spot where he had knelt to Diana and
Phœbus without remembering that there were any such people in
the mythology, or that the Sun was anything else than a useful
lamp for illuminating Arabella’s face. An indescribable lightness of
heel served to lift him along; and Jude, the incipient scholar, pro-
spective D.D., Professor, Bishop, or what not, felt himself hon-
oured and glori
fied by the condescension of this handsome country
wench in agreeing to take a walk with him in her Sunday frock and
ribbons.
They reached the Brown House barn––the point at which he had
planned to turn back. While looking over the vast northern land-
scape from this spot they were struck by the rising of a dense volume
of smoke from the neighbourhood of the little town which lay
beneath them at a distance of a couple of miles.
‘It is a 
fire!’ said Arabella. ‘Let’s run and see it––do! It is not far!’
The tenderness which had grown up in Jude’s bosom left him no
will to thwart her inclination now––which pleased him in a
ffording
him excuse for a longer time with her. They started o
ff down the hill
almost at a trot; but on gaining level ground at the bottom, and
walking a mile, they found that the spot of the 
fire was much further
o
ff than it had seemed.
Having begun their journey, however, they pushed on; but it was
not till 
five o’clock that they found themselves on the scene,––the
distance being altogether about half-a-dozen miles from Marygreen,
and three from Arabella’s. The con
flagration had been got under
by the time they reached it, and after a short inspection of the
Jude the Obscure


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melancholy ruins they retraced their steps––their course lying
through the town of Alfredston.
Arabella said she would like some tea, and they entered an inn of
inferior class, and gave their order. As it was not for beer they had a
long time to wait. The maid-servant recognized Jude, and whispered
her surprise to her mistress in the background, that he, the student
‘who kept hisself up so particular,’ should have suddenly descended
so low as to keep company with Arabella. The latter guessed what
was being said, and laughed as she met the serious and tender gaze of
her lover––the low and triumphant laugh of a careless woman who
sees she is winning her game.
They sat and looked round the room, and at the picture of
Samson and Delilah* which hung on the wall, and at the circular
beer-stains on the table, and at the spittoons underfoot 
filled with
sawdust. The whole aspect of the scene had that depressing e
ffect on
Jude which few places can produce like a tap-room on a Sunday
evening when the setting sun is slanting in, overnight smells linger
and no liquor is going, and the unfortunate wayfarer 
finds himself
with no other haven of rest.
It began to grow dusk. They could not wait longer, really, for the
tea, they said. ‘Yet what else can we do?’ asked Jude. ‘It is a three-
mile walk for you.’
‘I suppose we can have some beer,’ said Arabella.
‘Beer, O yes. I had forgotten that. Somehow it seems odd to come
to a public-house for beer on a Sunday evening.’
‘But we didn’t.’
‘No, we didn’t.’ Jude by this time wished he was out of such an
uncongenial atmosphere; but he ordered the beer, which was
promptly brought.
Arabella tasted it. ‘Ugh!’ she said.
Jude tasted. ‘What’s the matter with it?’ he asked. ‘I don’t under-
stand beer very much now, it is true.––I like it well enough, but it is
bad to read on, and I 
find coffee better. But this seems all right.’
‘Adulterated––I can’t touch it.’ She mentioned three or four
ingredients that she detected in the liquor beyond malt and hops,
much to Jude’s surprise.
‘How much you know!’ he said good-humouredly.
Nevertheless she returned to the beer and drank her share, and
they went on their way. It was now nearly dark, and as soon as they