Jude the Obscure (Oxford World's Classics)

Jude the Obscure
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anywhere. She felt utterly friendless. Could he come immediately?––
though when he did come she would only be able to see him at
limited times, the rules of the establishment she found herself in
being strict to a degree. It was Mr. Phillotson who had advised her to
come there, and she wished she had never listened to him.
Phillotson’s suit was not exactly prospering, evidently; and Jude
felt unreasonably glad. He packed up his things and went to
Melchester with a lighter heart than he had known for months.
This being the turning over a new leaf he duly looked about for a
temperance hotel, and found a little establishment of that descrip-
tion in the street leading from the station. When he had had some-
thing to eat he walked out into the dull winter light, over the town
bridge, and turned the corner towards the Close. The day was foggy,
and standing under the walls of the most graceful architectural pile
in England* he paused and looked up. The lofty building was visible
as far as the roof-ridge; above, the dwindling spire rose more and
more remotely till its apex was quite lost in the mist drifting across
it.
The lamps now began to be lighted, and turning to the west front
he walked round. He took it as a good omen that numerous blocks of
stone were lying about, which signi
fied that the cathedral was
undergoing restoration or repair to a considerable extent. It seemed
to him, full of the superstitions of his beliefs, that this was an exer-
cise of forethought on the part of a ruling Power, that he might 
find
plenty to do in the art he practised while waiting for a call to higher
labours.
Then a wave of warmth came over him as he thought how near he
stood to the bright-eyed vivacious girl with the broad forehead and
pile of dark hair above it; the girl with the kindling glance, daringly
soft at times––something like that of the girls he had seen in engrav-
ings from paintings of the Spanish school. She was here––actually in
this Close––in one of the houses confronting this very west façade.
He went down the broad gravel path towards the building. It was
an ancient edi
fice of the fifteenth century, once a palace, now a
Training-School, with mullioned and transomed windows, and a
courtyard in front, shut in from the road by a wall. Jude opened the
gate and went up to the door through which, on inquiring for his
cousin, he was gingerly admitted to a waiting-room, and in a few
minutes she came.
At Melchester
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Though she had been here such a short while, she was not as he
had seen her last. All her bounding manner was gone; her curves of
motion had become subdued lines. The screens and subtleties of
convention had likewise disappeared. Yet neither was she quite the
woman who had written the letter that summoned him. That had
plainly been dashed o
ff in an impulse which second thoughts had
somewhat regretted; thoughts that were possibly of his recent
self-disgrace. Jude was quite overcome with emotion.
‘You don’t––think me a demoralized wretch––for coming to you
as I was––and going so shamefully, Sue!’
‘O I have tried not to!* You said enough to let me know what had
caused it. I hope I shall never have any doubt of your worthiness, my
poor Jude! And I am glad you have come!’
She wore a murrey-coloured gown with a little lace collar. It was
made quite plain, and hung about her slight 
figure with clinging
gracefulness. Her hair, which formerly she had worn according to
the custom of the day, was now twisted up tightly, and she had
altogether the air of a woman clipped and pruned by severe discip-
line, an under-brightness shining through from the depths which
that discipline had not yet been able to reach.
She had come forward prettily; but Jude felt that she had hardly
expected him to kiss her,* as he was burning to do, under other
colours than those of cousinship. He could not perceive the least sign
that Sue regarded him as a lover, or ever would do so, now that she
knew the worst of him, even if he had the right to behave as one; and
this helped on his growing resolve to tell her of his matrimonial
entanglement, which he had put o
ff doing from time to time in sheer
dread of losing the bliss of her company.
Sue came out into the town with him, and they walked and talked
with tongues centred only on the passing moments. Jude said he
would like to buy her a little present of some sort, and then she
confessed, with something of shame, that she was dreadfully hungry.
They were kept on very short allowances in the College, and a din-
ner, tea, and supper all in one was the present she most desired in the
world. Jude thereupon took her to an inn and ordered whatever the
house a
fforded, which was not much. The place, however, gave them
a delightful opportunity for a tête-à-tête, nobody else being in the
room, and they talked freely.
She told him about the school as it was at that date, and the rough