Jude the Obsure

"I have enough to pay for the night's lodging I have obtained, but

barely enough to take me back again."

"Where are you living?"

"In London still." She was about to give the address, but she

said, "I am afraid somebody may hear, so I don't like to call out

particulars of myself so loud. If you could come down and walk

a little way with me towards the Prince Inn, where I am staying

to-night, I would explain all. You may as well, for old time's

sake!"

"Poor thing! I must do her the kindness of hearing what's the

matter, I suppose," said Jude in much perplexity. "As she's going

back to-morrow it can't make much difference."

"But you can go and see her to-morrow, Jude! Don't go now, Jude!"

came in plaintive accents from the doorway. "Oh, it is only to

entrap you, I know it is, as she did before! Don't go, dear! She is

such a low-passioned woman--I can see it in her shape, and hear it in

her voice!

"But I shall go," said Jude. "Don't attempt to detain me, Sue. God

knows I love her little enough now, but I don't want to be cruel to

her." He turned to the stairs.

"But she's not your wife!" cried Sue distractedly. "And I--"

"And you are not either, dear, yet," said Jude.

"Oh, but are you going to her? Don't! Stay at home! Please, please

stay at home, Jude, and not go to her, now she's not your wife any

more than I!"

"Well, she is, rather more than you, come to that," he said, taking

his hat determinedly. "I've wanted you to be, and I've waited with

the patience of Job, and I don't see that I've got anything by my

self-denial. I shall certainly give her something, and hear what it

is she is so anxious to tell me; no man could do less!"

There was that in his manner which she knew it would be futile to

oppose. She said no more, but, turning to her room as meekly as a

martyr, heard him go downstairs, unbolt the door, and close it

behind him. With a woman's disregard of her dignity when in the

presence of nobody but herself, she also trotted down, sobbing

articulately as she went. She listened. She knew exactly how far

it was to the inn that Arabella had named as her lodging. It would

occupy about seven minutes to get there at an ordinary walking pace;

seven to come back again. If he did not return in fourteen minutes

he would have lingered. She looked at the clock. It was twenty-five

minutes to eleven. He MIGHT enter the inn with Arabella, as they

would reach it before closing time; she might get him to drink with

her; and Heaven only knew what disasters would befall him then.