"This--is th' Martyrs'--burning-place," he stammered as they
dragged across a broad street. "I remember--in old Fuller's _Holy
State_--and I am reminded of it--by our passing by here--old Fuller
in his _Holy State_ says, that at the burning of Ridley, Doctor
Smith--preached sermon, and took as his text _'Though I give my body
to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.'_--Often
think of it as I pass here. Ridley was a--"
"Yes. Exactly. Very thoughtful of you, deary, even though it hasn't
much to do with our present business."
"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--"
"But--are we out in our old house by Marygreen?" asked the stupefied
Jude. "I haven't been inside it for years till now! Hey? And where
are my books? That's what I want to know?"
"We are at my house, dear, where there's nobody to spy out how ill
you are. Now--third stair, fourth stair--that's it. Now we shall
get on."
VII
Arabella was preparing breakfast in the downstairs back room of this
small, recently hired tenement of her father's. She put her head
into the little pork-shop in front, and told Mr. Donn it was ready.
Donn, endeavouring to look like a master pork-butcher, in a greasy
blue blouse, and with a strap round his waist from which a steel
dangled, came in promptly.