His fixed idea was to get away to some obscure spot and hide, and

perhaps pray; and the only spot which occurred to him was Marygreen.

He called at his lodging in Christminster, where he found awaiting

him a note of dismissal from his employer; and having packed up he

turned his back upon the city that had been such a thorn in his

side, and struck southward into Wessex. He had no money left in

his pocket, his small savings, deposited at one of the banks in

Christminster, having fortunately been left untouched. To get to

Marygreen, therefore, his only course was walking; and the distance

being nearly twenty miles, he had ample time to complete on the way

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the sobering process begun in him.

At some hour of the evening he reached Alfredston. Here he pawned

his waistcoat, and having gone out of the town a mile or two, slept

under a rick that night. At dawn he rose, shook off the hayseeds and

stems from his clothes, and started again, breasting the long white

road up the hill to the downs, which had been visible to him a long

way off, and passing the milestone at the top, whereon he had carved

his hopes years ago.

He reached the ancient hamlet while the people were at breakfast.

Weary and mud-bespattered, but quite possessed of his ordinary

clearness of brain, he sat down by the well, thinking as he did so

what a poor Christ he made. Seeing a trough of water near he bathed

his face, and went on to the cottage of his great-aunt, whom he found

breakfasting in bed, attended by the woman who lived with her.

"What--out o' work?" asked his relative, regarding him through eyes

sunken deep, under lids heavy as pot-covers, no other cause for his

tumbled appearance suggesting itself to one whose whole life had been

a struggle with material things.

"Yes," said Jude heavily. "I think I must have a little rest."

Refreshed by some breakfast, he went up to his old room and lay down

in his shirt-sleeves, after the manner of the artizan. He fell

asleep for a short while, and when he awoke it was as if he had

awakened in hell. It WAS hell--"the hell of conscious failure," both

in ambition and in love. He thought of that previous abyss into

which he had fallen before leaving this part of the country; the

deepest deep he had supposed it then; but it was not so deep as this.

That had been the breaking in of the outer bulwarks of his hope:

this was of his second line.




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