Jude the Obscure Thomas Hardy (read after .txt) 📖

thought you cared for nobody⁠—desired nobody in the world but me at that time⁠—and ever since!” continued Sue.

“It is true. I did not, and don’t now!” said Jude, as distressed as she.

“But you must have thought much of her! Or⁠—”

“No⁠—I need not⁠—you don’t understand me either⁠—women never do! Why should you get into such a tantrum about nothing?”

Looking up from the quilt she pouted provokingly: “If it hadn’t been for that, perhaps I would have gone on to the Temperance Hotel, after all, as you proposed; for I was beginning to think I did belong to you!”

“O, it is of no consequence!” said Jude distantly.

“I thought, of course, that she had never been really your wife since she left you of her own accord years and years ago! My sense of it was, that a parting such as yours from her, and mine from him, ended the marriage.”

“I can’t say more without speaking against her, and I don’t want to do that,” said he. “Yet I must tell you one thing, which would settle the matter in any case. She has married another man⁠—really married him! I knew nothing about it till after the visit we made here.”

“Married another?⁠ ⁠… It is a crime⁠—as the world treats it, but does not believe.”

“There⁠—now you are yourself again. Yes, it is a crime⁠—as you don’t hold, but would fearfully concede. But I shall never inform against her! and it is evidently a prick of conscience in her that has led her to urge me to get a divorce, that she may remarry this man legally. So you perceive I shall not be likely to see her again.”

“And you didn’t really know anything of this when you saw her?” said Sue more gently, as she rose.

“I did not. Considering all things, I don’t think you ought to be angry, darling!”

“I am not. But I shan’t go to the Temperance Hotel!”

He laughed. “Never mind!” he said. “So that I am near you, I am comparatively happy. It is more than this earthly wretch called Me deserves⁠—you spirit, you disembodied creature, you dear, sweet, tantalizing phantom⁠—hardly flesh at all; so that when I put my arms round you I almost expect them to pass through you as through air! Forgive me for being gross, as you call it! Remember that our calling cousins when really strangers was a snare. The enmity of our parents gave a piquancy to you in my eyes that was intenser even than the novelty of ordinary new acquaintance.”

“Say those pretty lines, then, from Shelley’s ‘Epipsychidion’ as if they meant me!” she solicited, slanting up closer to him as they stood. “Don’t you know them?”

“I know hardly any poetry,” he replied mournfully.

“Don’t you? These are some of them:

‘There was a Being whom my spirit oft
Met on its visioned wanderings far aloft.
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A seraph of Heaven, too gentle to be human,
Veiling beneath that radiant form of woman.⁠ ⁠…’

O it is too flattering, so I won’t go on! But say it’s me!⁠—say it’s me!”

“It is you, dear; exactly like you!”

“Now I forgive you! And you shall kiss me just once there⁠—not very long.” She put the tip of her finger gingerly to her cheek; and he did as commanded. “You do care for me very much, don’t you, in spite of my not⁠—you know?”

“Yes, sweet!” he said with a sigh; and bade her good night.

VI

In returning to his native town of Shaston as schoolmaster Phillotson had won the interest and awakened the memories of the inhabitants, who, though they did not honour him for his miscellaneous acquirements as he would have been honoured elsewhere, retained for him a sincere regard. When, shortly after his arrival, he brought home a pretty wife⁠—awkwardly pretty for him, if he did not take care, they said⁠—they were glad to have her settle among them.

For some time after her flight from that home Sue’s absence did not excite comment. Her place as monitor in the school was taken by another young woman within a few days of her vacating it, which substitution also passed without remark, Sue’s services having been of a provisional nature only. When, however, a month had passed, and Phillotson casually admitted to acquaintance that he did not know where his wife was staying, curiosity began to be aroused; till, jumping to conclusions, people ventured to affirm that Sue had played him false and run away from him. The schoolmaster’s growing languor and listlessness over his work gave countenance to the idea.

Though Phillotson had held his tongue as long as he could, except to his friend Gillingham, his honesty and directness would not allow him to do so when misapprehensions as to Sue’s conduct spread abroad. On a Monday morning the chairman of the School Committee called, and after attending to the business of the school drew Phillotson aside out of earshot of the children.

“You’ll excuse my asking, Phillotson, since everybody is talking of it: is this true as to your domestic affairs⁠—that your wife’s going away was on no visit, but a secret elopement with a lover? If so, I condole with you.”

“Don’t,” said Phillotson. “There was no secret about it.”

“She has gone to visit friends?”

“No.”

“Then what has happened?”

“She has gone away under circumstances that usually call for condolence with the husband. But I gave my consent.”

The chairman looked as if he had not apprehended the remark.

“What I say is quite true,” Phillotson continued testily. “She asked leave to go away with her lover, and I let her. Why shouldn’t I? A woman of full age, it was a question for her own conscience⁠—not for me. I was not her gaoler. I can’t explain any further. I don’t wish to be questioned.”

The children observed that much seriousness marked the faces of the two men, and went home and told their parents that something new had happened about Mrs. Phillotson. Then Phillotson’s little maidservant, who was a schoolgirl just out of her standards, said that Mr. Phillotson had helped in his wife’s