He wandered about awhile, obtained something to eat; and then, having
another half-hour on his hands, his feet involuntarily took him
through the venerable graveyard of Trinity Church, with its avenues
of limes, in the direction of the schools again. They were entirely
in darkness. She had said she lived over the way at Old-Grove
Place, a house which he soon discovered from her description of its
antiquity.
A glimmering candlelight shone from a front window, the shutters
being yet unclosed. He could see the interior clearly--the floor
sinking a couple of steps below the road without, which had become
raised during the centuries since the house was built. Sue,
evidently just come in, was standing with her hat on in this front
parlour or sitting-room, whose walls were lined with wainscoting
of panelled oak reaching from floor to ceiling, the latter being
crossed by huge moulded beams only a little way above her head. The
mantelpiece was of the same heavy description, carved with Jacobean
pilasters and scroll-work. The centuries did, indeed, ponderously
overhang a young wife who passed her time here.
She had opened a rosewood work-box, and was looking at a photograph.
Having contemplated it a little while she pressed it against her
bosom, and put it again in its place.
Then becoming aware that she had not obscured the windows she came
forward to do so, candle in hand. It was too dark for her to see
Jude without, but he could see her face distinctly, and there was an
unmistakable tearfulness about the dark, long-lashed eyes.
She closed the shutters, and Jude turned away to pursue his solitary
journey home. "Whose photograph was she looking at?" he said. He
had once given her his; but she had others, he knew. Yet it was his,
surely?
He knew he should go to see her again, according to her invitation.
Those earnest men he read of, the saints, whom Sue, with gentle
irreverence, called his demi-gods, would have shunned such encounters
if they doubted their own strength. But he could not. He might fast
and pray during the whole interval, but the human was more powerful
in him than the Divine.
II
However, if God disposed not, woman did. The next morning but one
brought him this note from her:
Don't come next week. On your own account don't! We were
too free, under the influence of that morbid hymn and the
twilight. Think no more than you can help of SUSANNA FLORENCE MARY.
The disappointment was keen. He knew her mood, the look of her face,
when she subscribed herself at length thus. But whatever her mood he
could not say she was wrong in her view. He replied: