ON THE MORROW BETWEEN nine and half-past they were journeying back to Christminster, the only two occupants of a compartment in a third-class railway-carriage. Having, like Jude, made rather a hasty toilet to catch the train, Arabella looked a little frowsy, and her face was very far from possessing the animation which had characterized it at the bar the night before. When they came out of the station she found that she still had half-an-hour to spare before she was due at the bar. They walked in silence a little way out of the town in the direction of Alfredston. Jude looked up the far highway. “Ah ... poor feeble me!” he murmured at last. “What?” said she. “This is the very road by which I came into Christminster years ago full of plans!” “Well, whatever the road is I think my time is nearly up, as I have to be in the bar by eleven o’clock. And as I said, I shan’t ask for the day to go with you to see your aunt. So perhaps we had better part here.
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