years ago! My sense of it was, that a parting such as yours from her, and mine from him, ended the marriage.'
'I can't say more without speaking against her, and I don't want to do that,' said he. 'Yet I must tell you one thing, which would settle the matter in any case. She has married another man—really married him! I knew nothing about it till after the visit we made here.'
'Married another? … It is a crime—as the world treats it, but does not believe.'
'There—now you are yourself again. Yes, it is a crime—as you don't hold, but would fearfully concede. But I shall never inform against her! And it is evidently a prick of conscience in her that has led her to urge me to get a divorce, that she may remarry this man legally. So you perceive I shall not be likely to see her again.'
'And you didn't really know anything of this when you saw her?' said Sue more gently, as she rose.
'I did not. Considering all things, I don't think you ought to be angry, darling!'
'I am not. But I shan't go to the Temperance Hotel!'
He laughed. 'Never mind!' he said. 'So that I am near you, I am comparatively happy. It is more than this earthly wretch called Me deserves—you spirit, you disembodied creature, you dear, sweet, tantalizing phantom— hardly flesh at all; so that when I put my arms round you I almost expect them to pass through you as through air! Forgive me for being gross, as you call it! Remember that our calling cousins when really strangers was a snare. The enmity of our parents gave a piquancy to you in my eyes that was intenser even than the novelty of ordinary new acquaintance.'
'Say those pretty lines, then, from Shelley's 'Epipsychidion' as if they meant me!' she solicited, slanting up closer to him as they stood. 'Don't you know them?'
'I know hardly any poetry,' he replied mournfully.
'Don't you? These are some of them:
Oh it is too flattering, so I won't go on! But say it's me! Say it's me!'
'It is you, dear; exactly like you!'
'Now I forgive you! And you shall kiss me just once there—not very long.' She put the tip of her finger gingerly to her cheek; and he did as commanded. 'You do care for me very much, don't you, in spite of my not—you know?'
'Yes, sweet!' he said with a sigh; and bade her good-night.
VI
In returning to his native town of Shaston as schoolmaster Phillotson had won the interest and awakened the memories of the inhabitants, who, though they did not honour him for his miscellaneous aquirements as he would have been honoured elsewhere, retained for him a sincere regard. When, shortly after his arrival, he brought home a pretty wife—awkwardly pretty for him, if he did not take care, they said—they were glad to have her settle among them.
For some time after her flight from that home Sue's absence did not excite comment. Her place as monitor in the school was taken by another young woman within a few days of her vacating it, which substitution also passed without remark, Sue's services having been of a provisional nature only. When, however, a month had passed, and Phillotson casually admitted to an acquaintance that he did not know where his wife was staying, curiosity began to be aroused; till, jumping to conclusions, people ventured to affirm that Sue had played him false and run away from him. The schoolmaster's growing languor and listlessness over his work gave countenance to the idea.
Though Phillotson had held his tongue as long as he could, except to his friend Gillingham, his honesty and directness would not allow him to do so when misapprehensions as to Sue's conduct spread abroad. On a Monday morning the chairman of the school committee called, and after attending to the business of the school drew Phillotson aside out of earshot of the children.
'You'll excuse my asking, Phillotson, since everybody is talking of it: is this true as to your domestic affairs— that your wife's going away was on no visit, but a secret elopement with a lover? If so, I condole with you.'
'Don't,' said Phillotson. 'There was no secret about it.'
'She has gone to visit friends?'
'No.'
'Then what has happened?'
'She has gone away under circumstances that usually call for condolence with the husband. But I gave my consent.'
The chairman looked as if he had not apprehended the remark.
'What I say is quite true,' Phillotson continued testily. 'She asked leave to go away with her lover, and I let her. Why shouldn't I? A woman of full age, it was a question of her own conscience—not for me. I was not her gaoler. I can't explain any further. I don't wish to be questioned.'
The children observed that much seriousness marked the faces of the two men, and went home and told their parents that something new had happened about Mrs. Phillotson. Then Phillotson's little maidservant, who was a schoolgirl just out of her standards, said that Mr. Phillotson had helped in his wife's packing, had offered her what money she required, and had written a friendly letter to her young man, telling him to take care of her. The chairman of committee thought the matter over, and talked to the other managers of the school, till a request came to Phillotson to meet them privately. The meeting lasted a long time, and at the end the school-master came home, looking as usual pale and worn. Gillingham was sitting in his house awaiting him.
'Well; it is as you said,' observed Phillotson, flinging himself down wearily in a chair. 'They have requested me to send in my resignation on account of my scandalous conduct in giving my tortured wife her liberty—or, as they call it, condoning her adultery. But I shan't resign!'
'I think I would.'
'I won't. It is no business of theirs. It doesn't affect me in my public capacity at all. They may expel me if they like.'
'If you make a fuss it will get into the papers, and you'll never get appointed to another school. You see, they have to consider what you did as done by a teacher of youth—and its effects as such upon the morals of the town; and, to ordinary opinion, your position is indefensible. You must let me say that.'
To this good advice, however, Phillotson would not listen.
'I don't care,' he said. 'I don't go unless I am turned out. And for this reason; that by resigning I acknowledge I have acted wrongly by her; when I am more and more convinced every day that in the sight of Heaven and by all natural, straightforward humanity, I have acted rightly.'
Gillingham saw that his rather headstrong friend would not be able to maintain such a position as this; but he said nothing further, and in due time—indeed, in a quarter of an hour—the formal letter of dismissal arrived, the managers having remained behind to write it after Phillotson's withdrawal. The latter replied that he should not accept dismissal; and called a public meeting, which he attended, although he looked so weak and ill that his friend implored him to stay at home. When he stood up to give his reasons for contesting the decision of the managers he advanced them firmly, as he had done to his friend, and contended, moreover, that the matter was a domestic theory which did not concern them. This they over-ruled, insisting that the private eccentricities of a teacher came quite within their sphere of control, as it touched the morals of those he taught. Phillotson replied that he did not see how an act of natural charity could injure morals.
