Jude the Obsure

They parted. When Phillotson had ascended the hill a few steps he

stopped, hastened back, and called her.

"What is, or was, their address?"

Arabella gave it.

"Thank you. Good afternoon."

Arabella smiled grimly as she resumed her way, and practised

dimple-making all along the road from where the pollard willows begin

to the old almshouses in the first street of the town.

Meanwhile Phillotson ascended to Marygreen, and for the first time

during a lengthened period he lived with a forward eye. On crossing

under the large trees of the green to the humble schoolhouse to which

he had been reduced he stood a moment, and pictured Sue coming out of

the door to meet him. No man had ever suffered more inconvenience

from his own charity, Christian or heathen, than Phillotson had done

in letting Sue go. He had been knocked about from pillar to post at

the hands of the virtuous almost beyond endurance; he had been nearly

starved, and was now dependent entirely upon the very small stipend

from the school of this village (where the parson had got ill-spoken

of for befriending him). He had often thought of Arabella's remarks

that he should have been more severe with Sue, that her recalcitrant

spirit would soon have been broken. Yet such was his obstinate and

illogical disregard of opinion, and of the principles in which he had

been trained, that his convictions on the rightness of his course

with his wife had not been disturbed.

Principles which could be subverted by feeling in one direction were

liable to the same catastrophe in another. The instincts which had

allowed him to give Sue her liberty now enabled him to regard her

as none the worse for her life with Jude. He wished for her still,

in his curious way, if he did not love her, and, apart from policy,

soon felt that he would be gratified to have her again as his, always

provided that she came willingly.

But artifice was necessary, he had found, for stemming the cold and

inhumane blast of the world's contempt. And here were the materials

ready made. By getting Sue back and remarrying her on the

respectable plea of having entertained erroneous views of her, and

gained his divorce wrongfully, he might acquire some comfort, resume

his old courses, perhaps return to the Shaston school, if not even to

the Church as a licentiate.

He thought he would write to Gillingham to inquire his views, and

what he thought of his, Phillotson's, sending a letter to her.

Gillingham replied, naturally, that now she was gone it were best to

let her be, and considered that if she were anybody's wife she was

the wife of the man to whom she had borne three children and owed

such tragical adventures. Probably, as his attachment to her seemed

unusually strong, the singular pair would make their union legal in

course of time, and all would be well, and decent, and in order.