You May Go — Jude the Obscure

Phillotson sits up late over Roman antiquities and, at two o'clock, walks by habit into the room that is now hers. He begins to undress. She cries out, mounts the sill, and leaps. On the gravel she is a white heap: a scraped elbow and a blow in the side. She says it was a dream. The door will not lock. He sits on the lower stairs a long time, then goes to his lonely room on the other landing.

The next evening he walks four and a half miles to Leddenton and tells Gillingham what he will do. He took advantage of her inexperience when she was his pupil. Last night she jumped rather than share a room. He will not torture her any longer, cost what it may. Gillingham is amazed. Neighbours, family, lock and key: that is the honourable course the town will name. Phillotson will act by instinct and let principles take care of themselves. Stick to her, Gillingham calls into the dark. Alone under the clouds Phillotson hears how thin the arguments were.

At breakfast he tells her she may go with whom she will. He absolutely and unconditionally agrees. Their last meal is ham and cupboard keys. He will write The Roman Antiquities of Wessex. She offers to copy manuscript as a friend. He does not want her address, or any money talk of Jude. The omnibus-man thinks she is going for a short visit. Phillotson follows the wheels a mile, turns home, and finds Gillingham already in the front room. They pack what she left into a large box. There, he says. To adorn her in somebody's eyes; never again in mine.