Jude the Obscure

by Thomas Hardy

  It was night at Marygreen, and the rain of the afternoon showed nosign of abatement. About the time at which Jude and Arabella werewalking the streets of Christminster homeward, the Widow Edlincrossed the green, and opened the back door of the schoolmaster'sdwelling, which she often did now before bedtime, to assist Sue inputting things away.

  Sue was muddling helplessly in the kitchen, for she was not a goodhousewife, though she tried to be, and grew impatient of domesticdetails.

  "Lord love 'ee, what do ye do that yourself for, when I've come o'purpose! You knew I should come."

  "Oh--I don't know--I forgot! No, I didn't forget. I did it todiscipline myself. I have scrubbed the stairs since eight o'clock.I MUST practise myself in my household duties. I've shamefullyneglected them!"

  "Why should ye? He'll get a better school, perhaps be a parson, intime, and you'll keep two servants. 'Tis a pity to spoil them prettyhands."

  "Don't talk of my pretty hands, Mrs. Edlin. This pretty body of minehas been the ruin of me already!"

  "Pshoo--you've got no body to speak of! You put me more in mindof a sperrit. But there seems something wrong to-night, my dear.Husband cross?"

  "No. He never is. He's gone to bed early."

  "Then what is it?"

  "I cannot tell you. I have done wrong to-day. And I want toeradicate it... Well--I will tell you this--Jude has been here thisafternoon, and I find I still love him--oh, grossly! I cannot tellyou more."

  "Ah!" said the widow. "I told 'ee how 'twould be!"

  "But it shan't be! I have not told my husband of his visit; it isnot necessary to trouble him about it, as I never mean to see Judeany more. But I am going to make my conscience right on my duty toRichard--by doing a penance--the ultimate thing. I must!"

  "I wouldn't--since he agrees to it being otherwise, and it has goneon three months very well as it is."

  "Yes--he agrees to my living as I choose; but I feel it is anindulgence I ought not to exact from him. It ought not to have beenaccepted by me. To reverse it will be terrible--but I must be morejust to him. O why was I so unheroic!"

  "What is it you don't like in him?" asked Mrs. Edlin curiously.

  "I cannot tell you. It is something... I cannot say. The mournfulthing is, that nobody would admit it as a reason for feeling as I do;so that no excuse is left me."

  "Did you ever tell Jude what it was?"

  "Never."

  "I've heard strange tales o' husbands in my time," observed the widowin a lowered voice. "They say that when the saints were upon theearth devils used to take husbands' forms o' nights, and get poorwomen into all sorts of trouble. But I don't know why that shouldcome into my head, for it is only a tale... What a wind and rain itis to-night! Well--don't be in a hurry to alter things, my dear.Think it over."

  "No, no! I've screwed my weak soul up to treating him morecourteously--and it must be now--at once--before I break down!"

  "I don't think you ought to force your nature. No woman ought to beexpected to."

  "It is my duty. I will drink my cup to the dregs!"

  Half an hour later when Mrs. Edlin put on her bonnet and shawl toleave, Sue seemed to be seized with vague terror.

  "No--no--don't go, Mrs. Edlin," she implored, her eyes enlarged, andwith a quick nervous look over her shoulder.

  "But it is bedtime, child."

  "Yes, but--there's the little spare room--my room that was. It isquite ready. Please stay, Mrs. Edlin!--I shall want you in themorning."

  "Oh well--I don't mind, if you wish. Nothing will happen to my fourold walls, whether I be there or no."

  She then fastened up the doors, and they ascended the stairstogether.

  "Wait here, Mrs. Edlin," said Sue. "I'll go into my old room amoment by myself."

  Leaving the widow on the landing Sue turned to the chamber which hadbeen hers exclusively since her arrival at Marygreen, and pushing tothe door knelt down by the bed for a minute or two. She then arose,and taking her night-gown from the pillow undressed and came out toMrs. Edlin. A man could be heard snoring in the room opposite. Shewished Mrs. Edlin good-night, and the widow entered the room that Suehad just vacated.

  Sue unlatched the other chamber door, and, as if seized withfaintness, sank down outside it. Getting up again she half openedthe door, and said "Richard." As the word came out of her mouth shevisibly shuddered.

  The snoring had quite ceased for some time, but he did not reply.Sue seemed relieved, and hurried back to Mrs. Edlin's chamber. "Areyou in bed, Mrs. Edlin?" she asked.

  "No, dear," said the widow, opening the door. "I be old and slow,and it takes me a long while to un-ray. I han't unlaced my jumpsyet."

  "I--don't hear him! And perhaps--perhaps--"

  "What, child?"

  "Perhaps he's dead!" she gasped. "And then--I should be FREE, and Icould go to Jude! ... Ah--no--I forgot HER--and God!"

  "Let's go and hearken. No--he's snoring again. But the rain and thewind is so loud that you can hardly hear anything but betweenwhiles."

  Sue had dragged herself back. "Mrs. Edlin, good-night again! I amsorry I called you out." The widow retreated a second time.

  The strained, resigned look returned to Sue's face when she wasalone. "I must do it--I must! I must drink to the dregs!" shewhispered. "Richard!" she said again.

  "Hey--what? Is that you, Susanna?"

  "Yes."

  "What do you want? Anything the matter? Wait a moment." He pulledon some articles of clothing, and came to the door. "Yes?"

  "When we were at Shaston I jumped out of the window rather than thatyou should come near me. I have never reversed that treatment tillnow--when I have come to beg your pardon for it, and ask you to letme in."

  "Perhaps you only think you ought to do this? I don't wish you tocome against your impulses, as I have said."

  "But I beg to be admitted." She waited a moment, and repeated,"I beg to be admitted! I have been in error--even to-day. I haveexceeded my rights. I did not mean to tell you, but perhaps I ought.I sinned against you this afternoon."

  "How?"

  "I met Jude! I didn't know he was coming. And--"

  "Well?"

  "I kissed him, and let him kiss me."

  "Oh--the old story!"

  "Richard, I didn't know we were going to kiss each other till wedid!"

  "How many times?"

  "A good many. I don't know. I am horrified to look back on it, andthe least I can do after it is to come to you like this."

  "Come--this is pretty bad, after what I've done! Anything else toconfess?"

  "No." She had been intending to say: "I called him my darling Love."But, as a contrite woman always keeps back a little, that portion ofthe scene remained untold. She went on: "I am never going to see himany more. He spoke of some things of the past, and it overcame me.He spoke of--the children. But, as I have said, I am glad--almostglad I mean--that they are dead, Richard. It blots out all that lifeof mine!"

  "Well--about not seeing him again any more. Come--you really meanthis?" There was something in Phillotson's tone now which seemed toshow that his three months of remarriage with Sue had somehow notbeen so satisfactory as his magnanimity or amative patience hadanticipated.

  "Yes, yes!"

  "Perhaps you'll swear it on the New Testament?"

  "I will."

  He went back to the room and brought out a little brown Testament."Now then: So help you God!"

  She swore.

  "Very good!"

  "Now I supplicate you, Richard, to whom I belong, and whom I wish tohonour and obey, as I vowed, to let me in."

  "Think it over well. You know what it means. Having you back in thehouse was one thing--this another. So think again."

  "I have thought--I wish this!"

  "That's a complaisant spirit--and perhaps you are right. With alover hanging about, a half-marriage should be completed. But Irepeat my reminder this third and last time."

&n
bsp; "It is my wish! ... O God!"

  "What did you say 'O God' for?"

  "I don't know!"

  "Yes you do! But ..." He gloomily considered her thin and fragileform a moment longer as she crouched before him in her night-clothes."Well, I thought it might end like this," he said presently. "I oweyou nothing, after these signs; but I'll take you in at your word,and forgive you."

  He put his arm round her to lift her up. Sue started back.

  "What's the matter?" he asked, speaking for the first time sternly."You shrink from me again?--just as formerly!"

  "No, Richard--I--I--was not thinking--"

  "You wish to come in here?"

  "Yes."

  "You still bear in mind what it means?"

  "Yes. It is my duty!"

  Placing the candlestick on the chest of drawers he led her throughthe doorway, and lifting her bodily, kissed her. A quick look ofaversion passed over her face, but clenching her teeth she utteredno cry.

  Mrs. Edlin had by this time undressed, and was about to get into bedwhen she said to herself: "Ah--perhaps I'd better go and see if thelittle thing is all right. How it do blow and rain!"

  The widow went out on the landing, and saw that Sue had disappeared. "Ah!Poor soul! Weddings be funerals 'a b'lieve nowadays. Fifty-fiveyears ago, come Fall, since my man and I married! Times have changedsince then!"