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:
I acquiesce. You are right. It is a lesson in renunciation which I suppose I ought to learn at this season. JUDE
He despatched the note on Easter Eve, and there seemed a finality in their decisions. But other forces and laws than theirs were in operation. On Easter Monday morning he received a message from the Widow Edlin, whom he had directed to telegraph if anything serious happened:
Your aunt is sinking. Come at once.
He threw down his tools and went. Three and a half hours later he was crossing the downs about Marygreen, and presently plunged into the concave field across which the short cut was made to the village. As he ascended on the other side a labouring man, who had been watching his approach from a gate across the path, moved uneasily, and prepared to speak. "I can see in his face that she is dead," said Jude. "Poor Aunt Drusilla!"
It was as he had supposed, and Mrs. Edlin had sent out the man to break the news to him.
"She wouldn't have knowed 'ee. She lay like a doll wi' glass eyes; so it didn't matter that you wasn't here," said he.
Jude went on to the house, and in the afternoon, when everything was done, and the layers-out had finished their beer, and gone, he sat down alone in the silent place. It was absolutely necessary to communicate with Sue, though two or three days earlier they had agreed to mutual severance. He wrote in the briefest terms:
Aunt Drusilla is dead, having been taken almost suddenly. The funeral is on Friday afternoon.
He remained in and about Marygreen through the intervening days, went out on Friday morning to see that the grave was finished, and wondered if Sue would come. She had not written, and that seemed to signify rather that she would come than that she would not. Having timed her by her only possible train, he locked the door about mid-day, and crossed the hollow field to the verge of the upland by the Brown House, where he stood and looked over the vast prospect northwards, and over the nearer landscape in which Alfredston stood. Two miles behind it a jet of white steam was travelling from the left to the right of the picture.
There was a long time to wait, even now, till he would know if she had arrived. He did wait, however, and at last a small hired vehicle pulled up at the bottom of the hill, and a person alighted, the conveyance going back, while the passenger began ascending the hill. He knew her; and she looked so slender to-day that it seemed as if she might be crushed in the intensity of a too passionate embrace-- such as it was not for him to give. Two-thirds of the way up her head suddenly took a solicitous poise, and he knew that she had at that moment recognized him. Her face soon began a pensive smile, which lasted till, having descended a little way, he met her.
"I thought," she began with nervous quickness, "that it would be so sad to let you attend the funeral alone! And so--at the last moment-- I came."
"Dear faithful Sue!" murmured Jude.
With the elusiveness of her curious double nature, however, Sue did not stand still for any further greeting, though it wanted some time to the burial. A pathos so unusually compounded as that which attached to this hour was unlikely to repeat itself for years, if ever, and Jude would have paused, and meditated, and conversed. But Sue either saw it not at all, or, seeing it more than he, would not allow herself to feel it.
The sad and simple ceremony was soon over, their progress to the church being almost at a trot, the bustling undertaker having a more important funeral an hour later, three miles off. Drusilla was put into the new ground, quite away from her ancestors. Sue and Jude had gone side by side to the grave, and now sat down to tea in the familiar house; their lives united at least in this last attention to the dead.
"She was opposed to marriage, from first to last, you say?" murmured Sue.
"Yes. Particularly for members of our family."
Her eyes met his, and remained on him awhile.
"We are rather a sad family, don't you think, Jude?"
"She said we made bad husbands and wives. Certainly we make unhappy ones. At all events, I do, for one!"
Sue was silent. "Is it wrong, Jude," she said with a tentative tremor, "for a husband or wife to tell a third person that they are unhappy in their marriage? If a marriage ceremony is a religious thing, it is possibly wrong; but if it is only a sordid contract, based on material convenience in householding, rating, and taxing, and the inheritance of land and money by children, making it necessary that the male parent should be known--which it seems to be-- why surely a person may say, even proclaim upon the housetops, that it hurts and grieves him or her?"
"I have said so, anyhow, to you."
Presently she went on: "Are there many couples, do you think, where one dislikes the other for no definite fault?"
"Yes, I suppose. If either cares for another person, for instance."
"But even apart from that? Wouldn't the woman, for example, be very bad-natured if she didn't like to live with her husband; merely"--her voice undulated, and he guessed things--"merely because she had a personal feeling against it-- a physical objection--a fastidiousness, or whatever it may be called--although she might respect and be grateful to him? I am merely putting a case. Ought she to try to overcome her pruderies?"
Jude threw a troubled look at her. He said, looking away: "It would be just one of those cases in which my experiences go contrary to my dogmas. Speaking as an order-loving man-- which I hope I am, though I fear I am not--I should say, yes. Speaking from experience and unbiased nature, I should say, no.... Sue, I believe you are not happy!"
"Of course I am!" she contradicted. "How can a woman be unhappy who has only been married eight weeks to a man she chose freely?"
"'Chose freely!'"
"Why do you repeat it? ... But I have to go back by the six o'clock train. You will be staying on here, I suppose?"
"For a few days to wind up Aunt's affairs. This house is gone now. Shall I go to the train with you?"
A little laugh of objection came from Sue. "I think not. You may come part of the way."
"But stop--you can't go to-night! That train won't take you to Shaston. You must stay and go back to-morrow. Mrs. Edlin has plenty of room, if you don't like to stay here?"
"Very well," she said dubiously. "I didn't tell him I would come for certain."
Jude went to the widow's house adjoining, to let her know; and returning in a few minutes sat down again.
"It is horrible how we are circumstanced, Sue--horrible!" he said abruptly, with his eyes bent to the floor.
"No! Why?"
"I can't tell you all my part of the gloom. Your part is that you ought not to have married him. I saw it before you had done it, but I thought I mustn't interfere. I was wrong. I ought to have!"
"But what makes you assume all this, dear?"
"Because--I can see you through your feathers, my poor little bird!"
Her hand lay on the table, and Jude put his upon it. Sue drew hers away.
"That's absurd, Sue," cried he, "after what we've been talking about! I am more strict and formal than you, if it comes to that; and that you should object to such an innocent action shows that you are ridiculously inconsistent!"
"Perhaps it was too prudish," she said repentantly. "Only I have fancied it was a sort of trick of ours-- too frequent perhaps. There, you may hold it as much as you like. Is that good of me?"
"Yes; very."
"But I must tell him."
"Who?"
"Richard."
"Oh--of course, if you think it necessary. But as it means nothing it may be bothering him needlessly."
"Well--are you sure you mean it only as my cousin?"
"Absolutely sure. I have no feelings of love left in me."
"That's news. How has it come to be?"
"I've seen Arabella."
She winced at the hit; then said curiously, "When did you see her?"
"When I was at Christminster."
"So she's come back; and you never told me! I suppose you will live with her now?"
"Of course--just as you live with your husband."
She looked at the window pots with the geraniums and cactuses, withered for want of attention, and through them at the outer distance, till her eyes began to grow moist. "What is it?" said Jude, in a softened tone.
"Why should you be so glad to go back to her if--if what you used to say to me is still true--I mean if it were true then! Of course it is not now! How could your heart go back to Arabella so soon?"
"A special Providence, I suppose, helped it on its way."
"Ah--it isn't true!" she said with gentle resentment. "You are teasing me-- that's all--because you think I am not happy!"
"I don't know. I don't wish to know."
"If I were unhappy it would be my fault, my wickedness; not that I should have a right to dislike him! He is considerate to me in everything; and he is very interesting, from the amount of general knowledge he has acquired by reading everything that comes in his way.... Do you think, Jude, that a man ought to marry a woman his own age, or one younger than himself-- eighteen years--as I am than he?"
"It depends upon what they feel for each other."
He gave her no opportunity of self-satisfaction, and she had to go on unaided, which she did in a vanquished tone, verging on tears:
"I--I think I must be equally honest with you as you have been with me. Perhaps you have seen what it is I want to say?--that though I like Mr. Phillotson as a friend, I don't like him--it is a torture to me to--live with him as a husband!--There, now I have let it out-- I couldn't help it, although I have been--pretending I am happy.-- Now you'll have a contempt for me for ever, I suppose!" She bent down her face upon her hands as they lay upon the cloth, and silently sobbed in little jerks that made the fragile three-legged table quiver.
"I have only been married a month or two!" she went on, still remaining bent upon the table, and sobbing into her hands. "And it is said that what a woman shrinks from--in the early days of her marriage--she shakes down to with comfortable indifference in half a dozen years. But that is much like saying that the amputation of a limb is no affliction, since a person gets comfortably accustomed to the use of a wooden leg or arm in the course of time!"
Jude could hardly speak, but he said, "I thought there was something wrong, Sue! Oh, I thought there was!"
"But it is not as you think!--there is nothing wrong except my own wickedness, I suppose you'd call it--a repugnance on my part, for a reason I cannot disclose, and what would not be admitted as one by the world in general! ... What tortures me so much is the necessity of being responsive to this man whenever he wishes, good as he is morally!-- the dreadful contract to feel in a particular way in a matter whose essence is its voluntariness! ... I wish he would beat me, or be faithless to me, or do some open thing that I could talk about as a justification for feeling as I do! But he does nothing, except that he has grown a little cold since he has found out how I feel. That's why he didn't come to the funeral.... Oh, I am very miserable--I don't know what to do! ... Don't come near me, Jude, because you mustn't. Don't--don't!"
But he had jumped up and put his face against hers--or rather against her ear, her face being inaccessible.
"I told you not to, Jude!"
"I know you did--I only wish to--console you! It all arose through my being married before we met, didn't it? You would have been my wife, Sue, wouldn't you, if it hadn't been for that?"
Instead of replying she rose quickly, and saying she was going to walk to her aunt's grave in the churchyard to recover herself, went out of the house. Jude did not follow her. Twenty minutes later he saw her cross the village green towards Mrs. Edlin's, and soon she sent a little girl to fetch her bag, and tell him she was too tired to see him again that night.
In the lonely room of his aunt's house, Jude sat watching the cottage of the Widow Edlin as it disappeared behind the night shade. He knew that Sue was sitting within its walls equally lonely and disheartened; and again questioned his devotional motto that all was for the best.
He retired to rest early, but his sleep was fitful from the sense that Sue was so near at hand. At some time near two o'clock, when he was beginning to sleep more soundly, he was aroused by a shrill squeak that had been familiar enough to him when he lived regularly at Marygreen. It was the cry of a rabbit caught in a gin. As was the little creature's habit, it did not soon repeat its cry; and probably would not do so more than once or twice; but would remain bearing its torture till the morrow when the trapper would come and knock it on the head.
He who in his childhood had saved the lives of the earthworms now began to picture the agonies of the rabbit from its lacerated leg. If it were a "bad catch" by the hind-leg, the animal would tug during the ensuing six hours till the iron teeth of the trap had stripped the leg-bone of its flesh, when, should a weak-springed instrument enable it to escape, it would die in the fields from the mortification of the limb. If it were a "good catch," namely, by the fore-leg, the bone would be broken and the limb nearly torn in two in attempts at an impossible escape.
Almost half an hour passed, and the rabbit repeated its cry. Jude could rest no longer till he had put it out of its pain, so dressing himself quickly he descended, and by the light of the moon went across the green in the direction of the sound. He reached the hedge bordering the widow's garden, when he stood still. The faint click of the trap as dragged about by the writhing animal guided him now, and reaching the spot he struck the rabbit on the back of the neck with the side of his palm, and it stretched itself out dead.
He was turning away when he saw a woman looking out of the open casement at a window on the ground floor of the adjacent cottage. "Jude!" said a voice timidly--Sue's voice. "It is you-- is it not?"
"Yes, dear!"
"I haven't been able to sleep at all, and then I heard the rabbit, and couldn't help thinking of what it suffered, till I felt I must come down and kill it! But I am so glad you got there first.... They ought not to be allowed to set these steel traps, ought they!"
Jude had reached the window, which was quite a low one, so that she was visible down to her waist. She let go the casement-stay and put her hand upon his, her moonlit face regarding him wistfully.
"Did it keep you awake?" he said.
"No--I was awake."
"How was that?"
"Oh, you know--now! I know you, with your religious doctrines, think that a married woman in trouble of a kind like mine commits a mortal sin in making a man the confidant of it, as I did you. I wish I hadn't, now!"
"Don't wish it, dear," he said. "That may have BEEN my view; but my doctrines and I begin to part company."
"I knew it--I knew it! And that's why I vowed I wouldn't disturb your belief. But--I am SO GLAD to see you!--and, oh, I didn't mean to see you again, now the last tie between us, Aunt Drusilla, is dead!"
Jude seized her hand and kissed it. "There is a stronger one left!" he said. "I'll never care about my doctrines or my religion any more! Let them go! Let me help you, even if I do love you, and even if you ..."
"Don't say it!--I know what you mean; but I can't admit so much as that. There! Guess what you like, but don't press me to answer questions!"
"I wish you were happy, whatever I may be!"
"I CAN'T be! So few could enter into my feeling--they would say 'twas my fanciful fastidiousness, or something of that sort, and condemn me.... It is none of the natural tragedies of love that's love's usual tragedy in civilized life, but a tragedy artificially manufactured for people who in a natural state would find relief in parting! ... It would have been wrong, perhaps, for me to tell my distress to you, if I had been able to tell it to anybody else. But I have nobody. And I MUST tell somebody! Jude, before I married him I had never thought out fully what marriage meant, even though I knew. It was idiotic of me--there is no excuse. I was old enough, and I thought I was very experienced. So I rushed on, when I had got into that training school scrape, with all the cock-sureness of the fool that I was! ... I am certain one ought to be allowed to undo what one had done so ignorantly! I daresay it happens to lots of women, only they submit, and I kick.... When people of a later age look back upon the barbarous customs and superstitions of the times that we have the unhappiness to live in, what WILL they say!"
"You are very bitter, darling Sue! How I wish--I wish----"
"You must go in now!"
In a moment of impulse she bent over the sill, and laid her face upon his hair, weeping, and then imprinting a scarcely perceptible little kiss upon the top of his head, withdrawing quickly, so that he could not put his arms round her, as otherwise he unquestionably would have done. She shut the casement, and he returned to his cottage.
话虽如此，要说上帝做不了主，女人可是能行。第三天上午，他收到她如下短简：
下礼拜匆来。为你好，匆来！受病态的赞美诗和落日黄昏的影响，我
们太随便了。事既如此，务必不要再多想。
苏珊娜·弗洛仑·马利
失望是椎心刺骨的。他深知她最近采取这样的决定出自什么样心境，脸上是什么样表情。但是无论她是什么心境，总不能说她的想法不对。他回信说：
没意见。你很对。我以为身处此境我当力求憬然自悟为是。
裘德
复活节前夕，他把这封短信寄走。就他们的决定而言，关系可谓一了百了；无奈除此之外，还有其他力量和法则在起作用。他原先嘱咐过艾林寡妇，万一姑婆病危，她务必打电报给他。复活节后的礼拜一，他接到消息：
姑婆病危，即来。
他工具一丢，立刻动身。三个钟头后，他穿过马利格林附近丘陵地，立即投入低洼的麦田，抄近路直奔村里。他往上走时，对面老早就有个工人张望，是从篱笆门那儿穿小路过来，样子挺着急，想着怎么开口。“我一看他脸就知道她死啦。”裘德说。“可怜的多喜姑婆啊！”
果然不出所料，是艾林太太派他先来报信的。
“她可再也认不出来你啦。她躺在那儿像个玻璃眼珠的洋娃娃；你就没给她送终也无所谓啦。”
裘德接着往前走，到了姑婆家。下午诸事料理停当，管装殓的喝完酒就走了，只剩下他一个人在阒无声息的房子里坐着。尽管两三天前他们彼此同意永断葛藤，但是把这事通知苏还是绝对必要。他尽量把信写得短而又短：
多喜姑婆已去，似甚突然。礼拜五下午安葬。
在准备下葬那些天，他一直没离开过马利格林左右，礼拜五早晨出去看墓穴挖好没有。他纳闷苏来不来。她没信，这倒像表示她可能来，而不是不来。他算好她能坐的唯一一班火车的时间，中午时分把门锁好，穿过洼地，走到栋房子旁边高地的边缘，站在那儿瞭望北面远处的广阔地带，还有较近处的阿尔夫瑞顿那边的景色。只见镇后的两英里处冒起一股白烟，从画面左边往右边飘。
就是到这会儿，他要想知道她究竟来没来，也还得等很久。不过他还是等，终于看到有辆出租小马车停在山脚下，有个人从车上下来，那辆车就掉头走了，那位乘客也开始往山上走。他知道是她，她今天显得那么纤弱，仿佛过分热烈地把她抱住，就可能把她挤碎——不过他轮不到抱她这个福分。她朝上走了三分之二的路，忽然头一抬，似乎急于找到什么。他知道就在那一瞬间，她认出他来了。她很快露出悒郁的笑容，一直保持到往下走了一点路，他迎上来的时候。
“我想过啦。”她开始说话，快得有点神经质。“要是让你一个人送葬，未免太叫你伤心啦！所以——拖到不能再拖时候——我还是来了。”
“亲爱的忠实的苏啊！”他咕哝着。
但是，苏那奇怪的时冷时热的双重性格一向令人捉摸不透。她并没就此停下来，向他殷勤地问长问短，虽然离下葬还有点时间。像这样极少有的悲痛时刻，恐怕就是再来，也要多年之后，所以裘德很想等一等，想一想，谈一谈。苏则不然，要么她完全不加理会，要么比他看得透，她决心自己以不想这事为妙。
葬礼凄凉、简单，一会儿就完了。他们赶快到教堂去，一路简直像跑。承办丧事的人也急着走，因为过一个钟头，三英里外还有家更重要的葬礼。多喜结埋在一个新地方，离她祖先挺远。苏和裘德已经一块儿上过坟，这会儿坐在他们熟悉的房子里，一块儿喝茶；他们俩的生活因为给死者料理后事，总算暂时串到一起。
“你说她这辈子自始至终反对结婚，是不是这样？”她咕哝着。
“是这样。特别指着咱们家的人说的。”
她的眼光同他的对上了，有一会儿盯着他没移开。
“咱们家怪丧气的，裘德，你是不是这么看的？”
“她说咱们家的人都是些坏丈夫、坏妻子。的的确确，咱们都搞成倒霉样儿，不管怎么说，我就得算一个！”
苏没吭声。“裘德，要是丈夫或者妻子告诉第三者，说他们的婚姻生活挺苦恼，这算不算错？”她这一问意在试探，声音发颤。“要是结婚仪式具有宗教性质，那大概错啦；不过要是订那个肮脏的契约，根本用心无非是为了搞家务，收税，收租子，为子孙继承田产留地步，非叫人知道有个爹不可，看来就是这么回事，那么别管那人是男的还是女的，干吗不能理直气壮地说出来，甚至在房顶大喊大叫，说结婚就是害了他，或是害了她，害得痛苦了一辈子？”
“这类话，我算跟你说过。”
她紧接着说：“那你看，有没有夫妻之间一方不喜欢对方，不是因为对方有明显过错，这样的情形，你认为多不多？”
“我想很多吧。比如说，其中一方看上了别人。”
“除了你说的这个例子，还有没有别的情形？比如说，女人要是不愿意跟丈夫一块儿过，算不算禀性坏呢？仅仅是”——她声音一高一低的，他猜出她话里有话—— “仅仅因为对那个嫌恶——身体方面的嫌恶——生来有洁癖——随便叫什么好啦，虽说她对他还是又敬重又感激？我这不过是举个例子。她这样古板，缩手缩脚，该不该全改掉？”
裘德瞧了她一眼，露出为难的样子。他说，脸没朝着她，“要论我的经验跟我的信条之间的抵触，这得算这类事情的一个例子。要按一个循规蹈矩的男人讲——我倒希望是那样的人，可惜我不是，我得说，以改掉为是；要是从经验和不偏不倚的天性讲，那我得说，用不着……苏啊，我看你是不快活啊！”
“我当然快活！”她立刻顶回去。“一个女人跟她自由选择的丈夫结婚才八个礼拜，怎么会不快活？”
“‘自由选择’！”
“你重复一下是什么意思？……不过我得坐六点钟火车回去啦。我看你还要呆在这儿吧？”
“还得呆几天，把姑婆的事了结了再说。房子现在让出去了。我陪你到车站好不好？”
苏笑笑，表示不愿意。“我看不必啦。你陪我走段路就可以啦。”
“等等——你今儿晚上走不成啦。现在没火车把你送到沙氏顿。你得留下来，明天回去。要是你不愿意呆在这房子里头，艾林太太家里还是挺宽绰的，这不好吗？”
“挺好的。”她说，有点三心两意的。“我没跟他说一定回去。”
裘德到隔壁寡妇家去了一下，把这件事跟她说了，几分钟后回来，又坐下来。
“苏呀，咱们俩怎么落到现在这样可怕的处境啊——真是可怕啊！”他突如其来地说。
“不对！你这是怎么想起来的？”
“我这方面的苦闷，我不好跟你说。你那方面的苦闷是当初不该跟他结婚。你结婚之前，我就看出来啦，不过我当时想我不该管。我错啦。我该管哪！”
“可是，亲爱的，你凭什么这么想呢？”
“因为，我的亲爱的小鸟儿，我透过你的羽毛瞧见你的心啦！”
她的手放在桌子上，裘德把手放在她手上。苏把手抽出来。
他大声说，“苏呀，咱们说来说去也够多啦，你这样未免太荒唐啦！要是讲的话，我比你还严格，还正统呢！你居然连这样没坏意思的举动也拒绝，足见你前后矛盾得太可笑啦！”
“也许是因为太拘礼啦。”她带着悔意说。“我不过想咱们这样是瞎胡闹——也许闹的次数太多啦。好吧，你就握着吧，你爱多久都随你。我这还不是挺好吗？”
“是呀，太好啦。”
“可我得告诉他。”
“告诉谁？”
“里查。”
“哦——你当然可以告诉他，要是你觉着非这样不可。不过这里头什么意思也没有。你告诉他，白白让他心里烦。”
“是吗——你敢保你这样是以表亲的身份吗？”
“绝对敢保。我这会儿心里没一丝爱情！”
“这倒是新闻。怎么会这样呢？”
“我见过阿拉贝拉啦。”
这一击叫她往后一缩；接着她好奇地问：“你什么时候瞧见她的？”
“在基督堂的时候。”
“这么说，她回来了，你压根儿没跟我说！我看你这会儿要跟她一块儿过啦？”
“那当然——还不是像你跟你丈夫一块儿过一样。”
她瞧着窗户前面几盆缺人照料而枯萎的天竹葵和仙人掌，又透过它们朝窗外远点地方望，后来眼睛就慢慢湿了。“怎么啦？”裘德说，口气缓和下来。
“要是——要是你从前跟我说的到这会儿还是实话——我是说那会儿说的是实话，当然这会儿说的不是实话，那你怎么会高高兴兴又往她那儿跑呢？你怎么会这么快又对阿拉贝拉回心转意呢？”
“我想大概是有位特别的神明帮着把关系理顺啦。”
“哎——这不是实话！”她多少有点愤慨地说。“你这是存心揉搓我——就这么回事——因为你以为我不快活！”
“我不知道你快活不快活。我也不想知道。”
“要是我不快活，那错在我，因为我本来就坏，并不是我就有权利不喜欢他！他时时处处对我都周到体贴，人很有风趣。凡是他能弄到的书，他都看，所以知识渊博……裘德，你认为男人跟他一样年纪的女人结婚好，还是应该跟比他小——小十八岁的——像我这样的结婚好？”
“那得看他们彼此之间感觉如何。”
他没给她一点自我满足的机会，她还得单枪匹马往下说，这一来，她越说越有气无力，眼看着要哭了：
“我——我想你既然对我老老实实，我对你也得一样老老实实才行。你大概看出来我要说什么啦——虽然我喜欢跟费乐生先生交朋友，可是我并不喜欢他——是我丈夫，跟他一块儿生活——那对我来说可真是活受罪。——唉，我现在全抖露出来啦——我受不了啦，虽然我一直装着挺快活。我想你这会儿一定瞧不起我啦！”她的手本来放在桌子上，这时就把脸俯在手上，一抖一抖地吞声饮泣，弄得那个不结实的三足几直晃悠。
“我结婚才一两个月哟！”她接着说，脸还是俯在几上，涕泗滂沱，都流在手上。“据说女人——在她婚姻生活初期——躲躲闪闪的，过了六年，她就适应了，安安稳稳地不在乎啦。可是那不是等于说把你的胳膊，要么腿锯下来，日久天长，你用惯了木腿、木胳膊，自自在在，没了痛苦，跟那个道理一样吗？”
裘德简直开不得口，后来他还是说了，“我从前想过总有什么不对劲的地方，苏啊！哎，我从前就这么想过啦！”
“不过这跟你想的不是一回事！除了我这个人生来坏，没什么对劲不对劲的。我想你不妨这么说——这是我这方面的嫌恶，其中原因我也不好直说，这世界上哪个人也不承认我这样有道理！我所以受这么大罪，是因为这个人要的时候，我非应付不可，而他在道德方面好得没说的！——你通过某种特殊方式，才真正感到那个契约多可怕，那件事根本上得自觉自愿才行哪！……我倒愿意他揍我，骂我，背着我找人，大摇大摆寻花问柳，倒也罢了，我就有辞可借了，说这全是我那种感觉造成的结果。可是他偏不这样，他发现我的真正感觉之后，不过有点冷淡就是啦。他就为这个才没来送殡……哦，我太惨啦——我不知道怎么办才好！别过来，裘德，不许你那样。不行——不行！”
但是他已经跳起来，把脸贴到她脸上——只好说是贴在耳朵上，因为她脸俯着，他够不着。
“我跟你说了不行了，裘德！”
“我知道你不肯——我不过想——安慰安慰你！这全是因为咱们认识之前我结了婚，才弄成这样，你说对不对？要不是那样，你就是我的妻子啦，对不对呀？”
她没回答，而是很快站起来，说她要到教堂墓地姑婆坟上看看，好定定心，说完就出了房子。裘德没跟她走。过了十分钟，他瞧见她穿过村子草地，朝艾林太太家走去。不大工夫，她派个小姑娘过来取她的提包，还带话说她太累，晚上不再来看他。
裘德枯坐在姑婆家那间枯寂的屋子里，看着艾林寡妇的小房子在夜色中隐没。他知道苏也枯坐在屋子里，同样感到枯寂，感到颓丧；同时他对自己一向虔信的箴言——老天不负苦心人，再次发生了动摇。
他很早就睡了，因为老想着苏近在咫尺，睡得不实，过一会儿就醒。大概快到两点钟时候，他开始睡得很香，突然一阵短促的尖叫声把他吵醒了，从前他常住马利格林，听惯了这样的尖叫。这是野兔子让夹子逮住后发出来的。按这小畜牲的习性，最多大概只叫上一两回，很快就不叫了；不过在第二天放夹子的人来敲它脑壳之前，它还得继续受折磨。
他小时候连蚯蚓的命都怜惜，这会儿开始想象兔子腿给夹往后痛得要命的光景。要是“错夹”了后腿，那畜牲还得挣扎六个钟头，夹子的铁齿就把它的腿撕得皮开肉绽，这时候，万一夹子弹簧松了，它也好逃脱，不过因为腿长了坏疽，结果还是死在田野里。要是“正夹”，也就是夹住前腿，骨头就断了，它想逃也逃不成，因为那条腿断成了两截。
过了差不多半个钟头，兔子又尖叫了一回。裘德若不去为它解除痛苦，他自己也没法再睡，于是他很快穿上衣服，下了楼，在月光下走过草地，直奔叫声而去。他一走到寡妇家的花园的界篱就站住了。那痛得直折腾的畜牲拖着夹子卡卡响，把他引了过去，他一到就拿巴掌对准兔子脖子后面一砍，它挺了挺就呜呼哀哉了。
他往回走，突然看见跟花园连着的房子底层一扇窗格子推上去了，一个女人在窗边往外瞧。“裘德！”说话显得胆怯——是苏的声音。“是你吗——不错吧？”
“是我，亲爱的？”
“我根本睡不着，后来听见兔子叫，心里老惦着它受了多大苦呀，后来就觉着非下楼把它弄死不可。可是你倒先办啦，我真高兴啊！……不能让他们放这类夹子，不许他们放！”
裘德已经走到窗下，窗子很矮，所以她身上直到腰部都看得清楚。她让窗格悬着，把手放在他手上。月光照在她脸上，她含情脉脉地面对着他，没有移开。
“是它把你弄醒的？”他说。
“不是——我一直醒着。”
“怎么这样呢？”
“哦，你知道——这会儿你知道！我了解按你的宗教教义，你认为结了婚的女人遇到我这样的烦恼，就像我这样，随便拿个男人当知心人，说心里话，是犯了不可饶恕的罪过。我这会儿但愿没这样！”
“别这么想吧，亲爱的。”他说。‘你说的也可以说是我一向的看法吧，不过我的教义跟我开始两高分喽。”
“我以前就知道——以前就知道啦！所以我发誓不干涉你的信仰，不过——这会儿见到你，真高兴啊！——哦，我说这话可没有再要见你的意思，何况咱们之间的纽带多喜姑婆死啦！”
裘德抓住她的手，吻了它。“还有更结实的纽带呢！”他说。“反正我以后再也不管我的教义或者我的宗教喽！让它们一边去吧！我来帮助你吧，虽然我是真爱你，虽然你……”
“别说这话！——我懂你的意思，我可不能那么承认下来！好啦！你心里怎么想都行，可别强逼着我回答问题！”
“不管今后如何，我但愿你幸福！”
“我幸福不起来啦！——哪儿有人理解我的感受啊！——人家都说我全是无中生有，在做怪，要不就是瞎胡闹，把我贬得一文不值。文明生活里的一般的爱情悲剧，绝不是在自然状态下的悲剧，而是人为地制造出来的悲剧。若是处在自然状态，他们一分手，就得了解脱啦！……要是我能找到个人吐苦水，那我跟你吐，就算我错了，可我没人能对他吐呀，我又非吐不可！裘德啊，我跟他结婚之前，就算我懂吧，也压根儿没细想过结婚什么滋味，我年纪也老大不小啦，还自以为挺有阅历呢。我真是个二百五——这可没什么好推托的。所以在进修学校一出漏子，就匆匆忙忙办了，还跟个十足的糊涂虫一样，自以为是呢。我以为人要是因为太无知办错了事，那得允许他一笔勾销！我敢说，碰上这样的事儿的女人多着哪，不过她们认命就是了，我可要反抗……后来人倒回头来看咱们这不胜苦恼的时代的种种野蛮风俗。迷信，该怎么说呀？”
“你这样真是太苦啦，亲爱的苏啊！我多想——我多想——”
“你这会儿该进屋子啦！”
她因为一霎间冲动，身子俯到窗台上，把脸偎在他头发上，哭起来了，接着难以察觉地对他头顶略吻了吻，就把身子缩回去，这样他就来不及拥抱她，否则他准这么做。她放下窗格，他回到自己的小房子。