V
The next afternoon the familiar Christminster fog still hung over allthings. Sue's slim shape was only just discernible going towards thestation.
Jude had no heart to go to his work that day. Neither could he goanywhere in the direction by which she would be likely to pass.He went in an opposite one, to a dreary, strange, flat scene, whereboughs dripped, and coughs and consumption lurked, and where he hadnever been before.
"Sue's gone from me--gone!" he murmured miserably.
She in the meantime had left by the train, and reached AlfredstonRoad, where she entered the steam-tram and was conveyed into thetown. It had been her request to Phillotson that he should not meether. She wished, she said, to come to him voluntarily, to his veryhouse and hearthstone.
It was Friday evening, which had been chosen because the schoolmasterwas disengaged at four o'clock that day till the Monday morningfollowing. The little car she hired at the Bear to drive her toMarygreen set her down at the end of the lane, half a mile from thevillage, by her desire, and preceded her to the schoolhouse withsuch portion of her luggage as she had brought. On its return sheencountered it, and asked the driver if he had found the master'shouse open. The man informed her that he had, and that her thingshad been taken in by the schoolmaster himself.
She could now enter Marygreen without exciting much observation.She crossed by the well and under the trees to the pretty new schoolon the other side, and lifted the latch of the dwelling withoutknocking. Phillotson stood in the middle of the room, awaiting her,as requested.
"I've come, Richard," said she, looking pale and shaken, and sinkinginto a chair. "I cannot believe--you forgive your--wife!"
"Everything, darling Susanna," said Phillotson.
She started at the endearment, though it had been spoken advisedlywithout fervour. Then she nerved herself again.
"My children--are dead--and it is right that they should be! I amglad--almost. They were sin-begotten. They were sacrificed to teachme how to live! Their death was the first stage of my purification.That's why they have not died in vain! ... You will take me back?"
He was so stirred by her pitiful words and tone that he did more thanhe had meant to do. He bent and kissed her cheek.
Sue imperceptibly shrank away, her flesh quivering under the touch ofhis lips.
Phillotson's heart sank, for desire was renascent in him. "You stillhave an aversion to me!"
"Oh no, dear--I have been driving through the damp, and I waschilly!" she said, with a hurried smile of apprehension. "When arewe going to have the marriage? Soon?"
"To-morrow morning, early, I thought--if you really wish. I amsending round to the vicar to let him know you are come. I have toldhim all, and he highly approves--he says it will bring our lives toa triumphant and satisfactory issue. But--are you sure of yourself?It is not too late to refuse now if--you think you can't bringyourself to it, you know?"
"Yes, yes, I can! I want it done quick. Tell him, tell him at once!My strength is tried by the undertaking--I can't wait long!"
"Have something to eat and drink then, and go over to your roomat Mrs. Edlin's. I'll tell the vicar half-past eight to-morrow,before anybody is about--if that's not too soon for you? My friendGillingham is here to help us in the ceremony. He's been good enoughto come all the way from Shaston at great inconvenience to himself."
Unlike a woman in ordinary, whose eye is so keen for material things,Sue seemed to see nothing of the room they were in, or any detail ofher environment. But on moving across the parlour to put down hermuff she uttered a little "Oh!" and grew paler than before. Her lookwas that of the condemned criminal who catches sight of his coffin.
"What?" said Phillotson.
The flap of the bureau chanced to be open, and in placing her muffupon it her eye had caught a document which lay there. "Oh--onlya--funny surprise!" she said, trying to laugh away her cry as shecame back to the table.
"Ah! Yes," said Phillotson. "The licence.... It has just come."
Gillingham now joined them from his room above, and Sue nervouslymade herself agreeable to him by talking on whatever she thoughtlikely to interest him, except herself, though that interested himmost of all. She obediently ate some supper, and prepared to leavefor her lodging hard by. Phillotson crossed the green with her,bidding her good-night at Mrs. Edlin's door.
The old woman accompanied Sue to her temporary quarters, and helpedher to unpack. Among other things she laid out a night-gowntastefully embroidered.
"Oh--I didn't know THAT was put in!" said Sue quickly. "I didn'tmean it to be. Here is a different one." She handed a new andabsolutely plain garment, of coarse and unbleached calico.
"But this is the prettiest," said Mrs. Edlin. "That one is no betterthan very sackcloth o' Scripture!"
"Yes--I meant it to be. Give me the other."
She took it, and began rending it with all her might, the tearsresounding through the house like a screech-owl.
"But my dear, dear!--whatever...."
"It is adulterous! It signifies what I don't feel--I bought it longago--to please Jude. It must be destroyed!"
Mrs. Edlin lifted her hands, and Sue excitedly continued to tear thelinen into strips, laying the pieces in the fire.
"You med ha' give it to me!" said the widow. "It do make my heartache to see such pretty open-work as that a-burned by the flames--notthat ornamental night-rails can be much use to a' ould 'ooman like I.My days for such be all past and gone!"
"It is an accursed thing--it reminds me of what I want to forget!"Sue repeated. "It is only fit for the fire."
"Lord, you be too strict! What do ye use such words for, and condemnto hell your dear little innocent children that's lost to 'ee! Uponmy life I don't call that religion!"
Sue flung her face upon the bed, sobbing. "Oh, don't, don't! Thatkills me!" She remained shaken with her grief, and slipped down uponher knees.
"I'll tell 'ee what--you ought not to marry this man again!" saidMrs. Edlin indignantly. "You are in love wi' t' other still!"
"Yes I must--I am his already!"
"Pshoo! You be t' other man's. If you didn't like to commityourselves to the binding vow again, just at first, 'twas all themore credit to your consciences, considering your reasons, and youmed ha' lived on, and made it all right at last. After all, itconcerned nobody but your own two selves."
"Richard says he'll have me back, and I'm bound to go! If he hadrefused, it might not have been so much my duty to--give up Jude.But--" She remained with her face in the bed-clothes, and Mrs. Edlinleft the room.
Phillotson in the interval had gone back to his friend Gillingham,who still sat over the supper-table. They soon rose, and walked outon the green to smoke awhile. A light was burning in Sue's room, ashadow moving now and then across the blind.
Gillingham had evidently been impressed with the indefinable charm ofSue, and after a silence he said, "Well: you've all but got her againat last. She can't very well go a second time. The pear has droppedinto your hand."
"Yes! ... I suppose I am right in taking her at her word. I confessthere seems a touch of selfishness in it. Apart from her being whatshe is, of course, a luxury for a fogey like me, it will set me rightin the eyes of the clergy and orthodox laity, who have never forgivenme for letting her go. So I may get back in some degree into my oldtrack."
"Well--if you've got any sound reason for marrying her again, do itnow in God's name! I was always against your opening the cage-doorand letting the bird go in such an obviously suicidal way. You mighthave been a school inspector by this time, or a reverend, if youhadn't been so weak about her."
"I did myself irreparable damage--I know it."
"Once you've got her housed again, stick to her."
Phillotson was more evasive to-night. He did not care to admitclearly that his taking Sue to him again had at bottom nothing todo with repentance of letting her go, but was, primarily, a humaninstinct flying in the f
ace of custom and profession. He said,"Yes--I shall do that. I know woman better now. Whatever justicethere was in releasing her, there was little logic, for one holdingmy views on other subjects."
Gillingham looked at him, and wondered whether it would ever happenthat the reactionary spirit induced by the world's sneers and his ownphysical wishes would make Phillotson more orthodoxly cruel to herthan he had erstwhile been informally and perversely kind.
"I perceive it won't do to give way to impulse," Phillotson resumed,feeling more and more every minute the necessity of acting up to hisposition. "I flew in the face of the Church's teaching; but I did itwithout malice prepense. Women are so strange in their influencethat they tempt you to misplaced kindness. However, I know myselfbetter now. A little judicious severity, perhaps..."
"Yes; but you must tighten the reins by degrees only. Don't be toostrenuous at first. She'll come to any terms in time."
The caution was unnecessary, though Phillotson did not say so. "Iremember what my vicar at Shaston said, when I left after the rowthat was made about my agreeing to her elopement. 'The only thingyou can do to retrieve your position and hers is to admit your errorin not restraining her with a wise and strong hand, and to get herback again if she'll come, and be firm in the future.' But I wasso headstrong at that time that I paid no heed. And that after thedivorce she should have thought of doing so I did not dream."
The gate of Mrs. Edlin's cottage clicked, and somebody began crossingin the direction of the school. Phillotson said "Good-night."
"Oh, is that Mr. Phillotson," said Mrs. Edlin. "I was going overto see 'ee. I've been upstairs with her, helping her to unpack herthings; and upon my word, sir, I don't think this ought to be!"
"What--the wedding?"
"Yes. She's forcing herself to it, poor dear little thing; andyou've no notion what she's suffering. I was never much for religionnor against it, but it can't be right to let her do this, and youought to persuade her out of it. Of course everybody will say it wasvery good and forgiving of 'ee to take her to 'ee again. But for mypart I don't."
"It's her wish, and I am willing," said Phillotson with gravereserve, opposition making him illogically tenacious now. "A greatpiece of laxity will be rectified."
"I don't believe it. She's his wife if anybody's. She's had threechildren by him, and he loves her dearly; and it's a wicked shame toegg her on to this, poor little quivering thing! She's got nobodyon her side. The one man who'd be her friend the obstinate creaturewon't allow to come near her. What first put her into this mood o'mind, I wonder!"
"I can't tell. Not I certainly. It is all voluntary on her part.Now that's all I have to say." Phillotson spoke stiffly. "You'veturned round, Mrs. Edlin. It is unseemly of you!"
"Well. I knowed you'd be affronted at what I had to say; but I don'tmind that. The truth's the truth."
"I'm not affronted, Mrs. Edlin. You've been too kind a neighbourfor that. But I must be allowed to know what's best for myself andSusanna. I suppose you won't go to church with us, then?"
"No. Be hanged if I can... I don't know what the times be comingto! Matrimony have growed to be that serious in these days that onereally do feel afeard to move in it at all. In my time we took itmore careless; and I don't know that we was any the worse for it!When I and my poor man were jined in it we kept up the junketing allthe week, and drunk the parish dry, and had to borrow half a crownto begin housekeeping!"
When Mrs. Edlin had gone back to her cottage Phillotson spokemoodily. "I don't know whether I ought to do it--at any rate quiteso rapidly."
"Why?"
"If she is really compelling herself to this against herinstincts--merely from this new sense of duty or religion--I oughtperhaps to let her wait a bit."
"Now you've got so far you ought not to back out of it. That's myopinion."
"I can't very well put it off now; that's true. But I had a qualmwhen she gave that little cry at sight of the licence."
"Now, never you have qualms, old boy. I mean to give her awayto-morrow morning, and you mean to take her. It has always been onmy conscience that I didn't urge more objections to your letting hergo, and now we've got to this stage I shan't be content if I don'thelp you to set the matter right."
Phillotson nodded, and seeing how staunch his friend was, becamemore frank. "No doubt when it gets known what I've done I shallbe thought a soft fool by many. But they don't know Sue as I do.Though so elusive, hers is such an honest nature at bottom that Idon't think she has ever done anything against her conscience. Thefact of her having lived with Fawley goes for nothing. At the timeshe left me for him she thought she was quite within her right. Nowshe thinks otherwise."
The next morning came, and the self-sacrifice of the woman on thealtar of what she was pleased to call her principles was acquiescedin by these two friends, each from his own point of view. Phillotsonwent across to the Widow Edlin's to fetch Sue a few minutes aftereight o'clock. The fog of the previous day or two on the low-landshad travelled up here by now, and the trees on the green caughtarmfuls, and turned them into showers of big drops. The bride waswaiting, ready; bonnet and all on. She had never in her life lookedso much like the lily her name connoted as she did in that pallidmorning light. Chastened, world-weary, remorseful, the strain on hernerves had preyed upon her flesh and bones, and she appeared smallerin outline than she had formerly done, though Sue had not been alarge woman in her days of rudest health.
"Prompt," said the schoolmaster, magnanimously taking her hand.But he checked his impulse to kiss her, remembering her start ofyesterday, which unpleasantly lingered in his mind.
Gillingham joined them, and they left the house, Widow Edlincontinuing steadfast in her refusal to assist in the ceremony.
"Where is the church?" said Sue. She had not lived there for anylength of time since the old church was pulled down, and in herpreoccupation forgot the new one.
"Up here," said Phillotson; and presently the tower loomed large andsolemn in the fog. The vicar had already crossed to the building,and when they entered he said pleasantly: "We almost want candles."
"You do--wish me to be yours, Richard?" gasped Sue in a whisper.
"Certainly, dear; above all things in the world."
Sue said no more; and for the second or third time he felt he was notquite following out the humane instinct which had induced him to lether go.
There they stood, five altogether: the parson, the clerk, the couple,and Gillingham; and the holy ordinance was resolemnized forthwith.In the nave of the edifice were two or three villagers, and when theclergyman came to the words, "What God hath joined," a woman's voicefrom among these was heard to utter audibly:
"God hath jined indeed!"
It was like a re-enactment by the ghosts of their former selves ofthe similar scene which had taken place at Melchester years before.When the books were signed the vicar congratulated the husbandand wife on having performed a noble, and righteous, and mutuallyforgiving act. "All's well that ends well," he said smiling."May you long be happy together, after thus having been 'saved as byfire.'"
They came down the nearly empty building, and crossed to theschoolhouse. Gillingham wanted to get home that night, and leftearly. He, too, congratulated the couple. "Now," he said in partingfrom Phillotson, who walked out a little way, "I shall be able totell the people in your native place a good round tale; and they'llall say 'Well done,' depend on it."
When the schoolmaster got back Sue was making a pretence of doingsome housewifery as if she lived there. But she seemed timid at hisapproach, and compunction wrought on him at sight of it.
"Of course, my dear, I shan't expect to intrude upon your personalprivacy any more than I did before," he said gravely. "It is for ourgood socially to do this, and that's its justification, if it was notmy reason." Sue brightened a little.