"Perhaps he's dead!" she gasped. "And then—I should be free, and I could go to Jude! … Ah—no—I forgot her —and God!"
"Let's go and hearken. No—he's snoring again. But the rain and the wind is so loud that you can hardly hear anything but between whiles."
Sue had dragged herself back. "Mrs. Edlin, good-night again! I am sorry I called you out." The widow retreated a second time.
The strained, resigned look returned to Sue's face when she was alone. "I must do it—I must! I must drink to the dregs!" she whispered. "Richard!" she said again.
"Hey—what? Is that you, Susanna?"
"Yes."
"What do you want? Anything the matter? Wait a moment." He pulled on some articles of clothing, and came to the door. "Yes?"
"When we were at Shaston I jumped out of the window rather than that you should come near me. I have never reversed that treatment till now—when I have come to beg your pardon for it, and ask you to let me in."
"Perhaps you only think you ought to do this? I don't wish you to come against your impulses, as I have said."
"But I beg to be admitted." She waited a moment, and repeated, "I beg to be admitted! I have been in error—even to-day. I have exceeded my rights. I did not mean to tell you, but perhaps I ought. I sinned against you this afternoon."