"Why, yes it has! I'm giving my body to be burned! But—ah you don't understand!—it wants Sue to understand such things! And I was her seducer—poor little girl! And she's gone—and I don't care about myself! Do what you like with me! … And yet she did it for conscience' sake, poor little Sue!"
"Hang her!—I mean, I think she was right," hiccuped Arabella. "I've my feelings too, like her; and I feel I belong to you in Heaven's eye, and to nobody else, till death us do part! It is—hic—never too late—hic to mend!"
They had reached her father's house, and she softly unfastened the door, groping about for a light within.
The circumstances were not altogether unlike those of their entry into the cottage at Cresscombe, such a long time before. Nor were perhaps Arabella's motives. But Jude did not think of that, though she did.
"I can't find the matches, dear," she said when she had fastened up the door. "But never mind—this way. As quiet as you can, please."
"It is as dark as pitch," said Jude.
"Give me your hand, and I'll lead you. That's it. Just sit down here, and I'll pull off your boots. I don't want to wake him."
"Who?"
"Father. He'd make a row, perhaps."
She pulled off his boots. "Now," she whispered, "take hold of me—never mind your weight. Now—first stair, second stair—"