They started up.
"You can bide here, you know, over the night--can't 'em, Mother?
The place is welcome to ye. 'Tis hard lying, rather, but volk may do
worse." He turned to Jude and asked privately: "Be you a married
couple?"
"Hsh--no!" said Jude.
"Oh--I meant nothing ba'dy--not I! Well then, she can go into
Mother's room, and you and I can lie in the outer chimmer after
they've gone through. I can call ye soon enough to catch the first
train back. You've lost this one now."
On consideration they decided to close with this offer, and drew up
and shared with the shepherd and his mother the boiled bacon and
greens for supper.
"I rather like this," said Sue, while their entertainers were
clearing away the dishes. "Outside all laws except gravitation and
germination."
"You only think you like it; you don't: you are quite a product of
civilization," said Jude, a recollection of her engagement reviving
his soreness a little.
"Indeed I am not, Jude. I like reading and all that, but I crave to
get back to the life of my infancy and its freedom."
"Do you remember it so well? You seem to me to have nothing
unconventional at all about you."
"Oh, haven't I! You don't know what's inside me."
"What?"
"The Ishmaelite."
"An urban miss is what you are."
She looked severe disagreement, and turned away.
The shepherd aroused them the next morning, as he had said. It was
bright and clear, and the four miles to the train were accomplished
pleasantly. When they had reached Melchester, and walked to the
Close, and the gables of the old building in which she was again to
be immured rose before Sue's eyes, she looked a little scared. "I
expect I shall catch it!" she murmured.
They rang the great bell and waited.
"Oh, I bought something for you, which I had nearly forgotten," she
said quickly, searching her pocket. "It is a new little photograph
of me. Would you like it?"
"WOULD I!" He took it gladly, and the porter came. There seemed to
be an ominous glance on his face when he opened the gate. She passed
in, looking back at Jude, and waving her hand.
III
The seventy young women, of ages varying in the main from nineteen to
one-and-twenty, though several were older, who at this date filled
the species of nunnery known as the Training-School at Melchester,
formed a very mixed community, which included the daughters of
mechanics, curates, surgeons, shopkeepers, farmers, dairy-men,
soldiers, sailors, and villagers. They sat in the large school-room
of the establishment on the evening previously described, and word
was passed round that Sue Bridehead had not come in at closing-time.