CHAPTER I
1801.—I have just returned from a visit to my
landlord—the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled
with. This is certainly a beautiful country! In all
England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation
so completely removed from the stir of society. A perfect
misanthropist’s heaven: and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a
suitable pair to divide the desolation between us. A
capital fellow! He little imagined how my heart warmed
towards him when I beheld his black eyes withdraw so suspiciously
under their brows, as I rode up, and when his fingers sheltered
themselves, with a jealous resolution, still further in his
waistcoat, as I announced my name.
‘Mr. Heathcliff?’ I said.
A nod was the answer.
‘Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I do myself
the honour of calling as soon as possible after my arrival, to
express the hope that I have not inconvenienced you by my
perseverance in soliciting the occupation of Thrushcross Grange:
I heard yesterday you had had some thoughts—’
‘Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir,’ he
interrupted, wincing. ‘I should not allow any one to
inconvenience me, if I could hinder it—walk in!’
The ‘walk in’ was uttered with closed teeth, and
expressed the sentiment, ‘Go to the Deuce:’ even the
gate over which he leant manifested no sympathising movement to
the words; and I think that circumstance determined me to accept
the invitation: I felt interested in a man who seemed more
exaggeratedly reserved than myself.
When he saw my horse’s breast fairly pushing the
barrier, he did put out his hand to unchain it, and then sullenly
preceded me up the causeway, calling, as we entered the
court,—‘Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood’s horse; and
bring up some wine.’
‘Here we have the whole establishment of domestics, I
suppose,’ was the reflection suggested by this compound
order. ‘No wonder the grass grows up between the
flags, and cattle are the only hedge-cutters.’
Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man: very old, perhaps,
though hale and sinewy. ‘The Lord help us!’ he
soliloquised in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while
relieving me of my horse: looking, meantime, in my face so sourly
that I charitably conjectured he must have need of divine aid to
digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no reference to
my unexpected advent.
Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff’s
dwelling. ‘Wuthering’ being a significant
provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to
which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure,
bracing ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed:
one may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge,
by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the
house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs
one way, as if craving alms of the sun. Happily, the
architect had foresight to build it strong: the narrow windows
are deeply set in the wall, and the corners defended with large
jutting stones.
Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of
grotesque carving lavished over the front, and especially about
the principal door; above which, among a wilderness of crumbling
griffins and shameless little boys, I detected the date
‘1500,’ and the name ‘Hareton
Earnshaw.’ I would have made a few comments, and
requested a short history of the place from the surly owner; but
his attitude at the door appeared to demand my speedy entrance,
or complete departure, and I had no desire to aggravate his
impatience previous to inspecting the penetralium.
One stop brought us into the family sitting-room, without any
introductory lobby or passage: they call it here ‘the
house’ pre-eminently. It includes kitchen and
parlour, generally; but I believe at Wuthering Heights the
kitchen is forced to retreat altogether into another quarter: at
least I distinguished a chatter of tongues, and a clatter of
culinary utensils, deep within; and I observed no signs of
roasting, boiling, or baking, about the huge fireplace; nor any
glitter of copper saucepans and tin cullenders on the
walls. One end, indeed, reflected splendidly both light and
heat from ranks of immense pewter dishes, interspersed with
silver jugs and tankards, towering row after row, on a vast oak
dresser, to the very roof. The latter had never been
under-drawn: its entire anatomy lay bare to an inquiring eye,
except where a frame of wood laden with oatcakes and clusters of
legs of beef, mutton, and ham, concealed it. Above the
chimney were sundry villainous old guns, and a couple of
horse-pistols: and, by way of ornament, three gaudily-painted
canisters disposed along its ledge. The floor was of
smooth, white stone; the chairs, high-backed, primitive
structures, painted green: one or two heavy black ones lurking in
the shade. In an arch under the dresser reposed a huge,
liver-coloured bitch pointer, surrounded by a swarm of squealing
puppies; and other dogs haunted other recesses.
The apartment and furniture would have been nothing
extraordinary as belonging to a homely, northern farmer, with a
stubborn countenance, and stalwart limbs set out to advantage in
knee-breeches and gaiters. Such an individual seated in his
arm-chair, his mug of ale frothing on the round table before him,
is to be seen in any circuit of five or six miles among these
hills, if you go at the right time after dinner. But Mr.
Heathcliff forms a singular contrast to his abode and style of
living. He is a dark-skinned gipsy in aspect, in dress and
manners a gentleman: that is, as much a gentleman as many a
country squire: rather slovenly, perhaps, yet not looking amiss
with his negligence, because he has an erect and handsome figure;
and rather morose. Possibly, some people might suspect him
of a degree of under-bred pride; I have a sympathetic chord
within that tells me it is nothing of the sort: I know, by
instinct, his reserve springs from an aversion to showy displays
of feeling—to manifestations of mutual kindliness.
He’ll love and hate equally under cover, and esteem it a
species of impertinence to be loved or hated again. No,
I’m running on too fast: I bestow my own attributes
over-liberally on him. Mr. Heathcliff may have entirely
dissimilar reasons for keeping his hand out of the way when he
meets a would-be acquaintance, to those which actuate me.
Let me hope my constitution is almost peculiar: my dear mother
used to say I should never have a comfortable home; and only last
summer I proved myself perfectly unworthy of one.
While enjoying a month of fine weather at the sea-coast, I was
thrown into the company of a most fascinating creature: a real
goddess in my eyes, as long as she took no notice of me. I
‘never told my love’ vocally; still, if looks have
language, the merest idiot might have guessed I was over head and
ears: she understood me at last, and looked a return—the
sweetest of all imaginable looks. And what did I do?
I confess it with shame—shrunk icily into myself, like a
snail; at every glance retired colder and farther; till finally
the poor innocent was led to doubt her own senses, and,
overwhelmed with confusion at her supposed mistake, persuaded her
mamma to decamp. By this curious turn of disposition I have
gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness; how
undeserved, I alone can appreciate.
I took a seat at the end of the hearthstone opposite that
towards which my landlord advanced, and filled up an interval of
silence by attempting to caress the canine mother, who had left
her nursery, and was sneaking wolfishly to the back of my legs,
her lip curled up, and her white teeth watering for a
snatch. My caress provoked a long, guttural gnarl.
‘You’d better let the dog alone,’ growled
Mr. Heathcliff in unison, checking fiercer demonstrations with a
punch of his foot. ‘She’s not accustomed to be
spoiled—not kept for a pet.’ Then, striding to
a side door, he shouted again, ‘Joseph!’
Joseph mumbled indistinctly in the depths of the cellar, but
gave no intimation of ascending; so his master dived down to him,
leaving me
vis-à-vis the ruffianly bitch and a pair
of grim shaggy sheep-dogs, who shared with her a jealous
guardianship over all my movements. Not anxious to come in
contact with their fangs, I sat still; but, imagining they would
scarcely understand tacit insults, I unfortunately indulged in
winking and making faces at the trio, and some turn of my
physiognomy so irritated madam, that she suddenly broke into a
fury and leapt on my knees. I flung her back, and hastened
to interpose the table between us. This proceeding aroused
the whole hive: half-a-dozen four-footed fiends, of various sizes
and ages, issued from hidden dens to the common centre. I
felt my heels and coat-laps peculiar subjects of assault; and
parrying off the larger combatants as effectually as I could with
the poker, I was constrained to demand, aloud, assistance from
some of the household in re-establishing peace.
Mr. Heathcliff and his man climbed the cellar steps with
vexatious phlegm: I don’t think they moved one second
faster than usual, though the hearth was an absolute tempest of
worrying and yelping. Happily, an inhabitant of the kitchen
made more despatch: a lusty dame, with tucked-up gown, bare arms,
and fire-flushed cheeks, rushed into the midst of us flourishing
a frying-pan: and used that weapon, and her tongue, to such
purpose, that the storm subsided magically, and she only
remained, heaving like a sea after a high wind, when her master
entered on the scene.
‘What the devil is the matter?’ he asked, eyeing
me in a manner that I could ill endure, after this inhospitable
treatment.
‘What the devil, indeed!’ I muttered.
‘The herd of possessed swine could have had no worse
spirits in them than those animals of yours, sir. You might
as well leave a stranger with a brood of tigers!’
‘They won’t meddle with persons who touch
nothing,’ he remarked, putting the bottle before me, and
restoring the displaced table. ‘The dogs do right to
be vigilant. Take a glass of wine?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Not bitten, are you?’
‘If I had been, I would have set my signet on the
biter.’ Heathcliff’s countenance relaxed into a
grin.
‘Come, come,’ he said, ‘you are flurried,
Mr. Lockwood. Here, take a little wine. Guests are so
exceedingly rare in this house that I and my dogs, I am willing
to own, hardly know how to receive them. Your health,
sir?’
I bowed and returned the pledge; beginning to perceive that it
would be foolish to sit sulking for the misbehaviour of a pack of
curs; besides, I felt loth to yield the fellow further amusement
at my expense; since his humour took that turn.
He—probably swayed by prudential consideration of the folly
of offending a good tenant—relaxed a little in the laconic
style of chipping off his pronouns and auxiliary verbs, and
introduced what he supposed would be a subject of interest to
me,—a discourse on the advantages and disadvantages of my
present place of retirement. I found him very intelligent
on the topics we touched; and before I went home, I was
encouraged so far as to volunteer another visit to-morrow.
He evidently wished no repetition of my intrusion. I shall
go, notwithstanding. It is astonishing how sociable I feel
myself compared with him.
CHAPTER II
Yesterday afternoon set in misty and cold. I had half a
mind to spend it by my study fire, instead of wading through
heath and mud to Wuthering Heights. On coming up from
dinner, however, (N.B.—I dine between twelve and one
o’clock; the housekeeper, a matronly lady, taken as a
fixture along with the house, could not, or would not, comprehend
my request that I might be served at five)—on mounting the
stairs with this lazy intention, and stepping into the room, I
saw a servant-girl on her knees surrounded by brushes and
coal-scuttles, and raising an infernal dust as she extinguished
the flames with heaps of cinders. This spectacle drove me
back immediately; I took my hat, and, after a four-miles’
walk, arrived at Heathcliff’s garden-gate just in time to
escape the first feathery flakes of a snow-shower.
On that bleak hill-top the earth was hard with a black frost,
and the air made me shiver through every limb. Being unable
to remove the chain, I jumped over, and, running up the flagged
causeway bordered with straggling gooseberry-bushes, knocked
vainly for admittance, till my knuckles tingled and the dogs
howled.
‘Wretched inmates!’ I ejaculated, mentally,
‘you deserve perpetual isolation from your species for your
churlish inhospitality. At least, I would not keep my doors
barred in the day-time. I don’t care—I will get
in!’ So resolved, I grasped the latch and shook it
vehemently. Vinegar-faced Joseph projected his head from a
round window of the barn.
‘What are ye for?’ he shouted.
‘T’ maister’s down i’ t’
fowld. Go round by th’ end o’ t’ laith,
if ye went to spake to him.’
‘Is there nobody inside to open the door?’ I
hallooed, responsively.
‘There’s nobbut t’ missis; and shoo’ll
not oppen ’t an ye mak’ yer flaysome dins till
neeght.’
‘Why? Cannot you tell her whom I am, eh,
Joseph?’
‘Nor-ne me! I’ll hae no hend
wi’t,’ muttered the head, vanishing.
The snow began to drive thickly. I seized the handle to
essay another trial; when a young man without coat, and
shouldering a pitchfork, appeared in the yard behind. He
hailed me to follow him, and, after marching through a
wash-house, and a paved area containing a coal-shed, pump, and
pigeon-cot, we at length arrived in the huge, warm, cheerful
apartment where I was formerly received. It glowed
delightfully in the radiance of an immense fire, compounded of
coal, peat, and wood; and near the table, laid for a plentiful
evening meal, I was pleased to observe the ‘missis,’
an individual whose existence I had never previously
suspected. I bowed and waited, thinking she would bid me
take a seat. She looked at me, leaning back in her chair,
and remained motionless and mute.
‘Rough weather!’ I remarked.
‘I’m afraid, Mrs. Heathcliff, the door must bear the
consequence of your servants’ leisure attendance: I had
hard work to make them hear me.’
She never opened her mouth. I stared—she stared
also: at any rate, she kept her eyes on me in a cool, regardless
manner, exceedingly embarrassing and disagreeable.
‘Sit down,’ said the young man, gruffly.
‘He’ll be in soon.’
I obeyed; and hemmed, and called the villain Juno, who
deigned, at this second interview, to move the extreme tip of her
tail, in token of owning my acquaintance.
‘A beautiful animal!’ I commenced again.
‘Do you intend parting with the little ones,
madam?’
‘They are not mine,’ said the amiable hostess,
more repellingly than Heathcliff himself could have replied.
‘Ah, your favourites are among these?’ I
continued, turning to an obscure cushion full of something like
cats.
‘A strange choice of favourites!’ she observed
scornfully.
Unluckily, it was a heap of dead rabbits. I hemmed once
more, and drew closer to the hearth, repeating my comment on the
wildness of the evening.
‘You should not have come out,’ she said, rising
and reaching from the chimney-piece two of the painted
canisters.
Her position before was sheltered from the light; now, I had a
distinct view of her whole figure and countenance. She was
slender, and apparently scarcely past girlhood: an admirable
form, and the most exquisite little face that I have ever had the
pleasure of beholding; small features, very fair; flaxen
ringlets, or rather golden, hanging loose on her delicate neck;
and eyes, had they been agreeable in expression, that would have
been irresistible: fortunately for my susceptible heart, the only
sentiment they evinced hovered between scorn and a kind of
desperation, singularly unnatural to be detected there. The
canisters were almost out of her reach; I made a motion to aid
her; she turned upon me as a miser might turn if any one
attempted to assist him in counting his gold.
‘I don’t want your help,’ she snapped;
‘I can get them for myself.’
‘I beg your pardon!’ I hastened to reply.
‘Were you asked to tea?’ she demanded, tying an
apron over her neat black frock, and standing with a spoonful of
the leaf poised over the pot.
‘I shall be glad to have a cup,’ I answered.
‘Were you asked?’ she repeated.
‘No,’ I said, half smiling. ‘You are
the proper person to ask me.’
She flung the tea back, spoon and all, and resumed her chair
in a pet; her forehead corrugated, and her red under-lip pushed
out, like a child’s ready to cry.
Meanwhile, the young man had slung on to his person a
decidedly shabby upper garment, and, erecting himself before the
blaze, looked down on me from the corner of his eyes, for all the
world as if there were some mortal feud unavenged between
us. I began to doubt whether he were a servant or not: his
dress and speech were both rude, entirely devoid of the
superiority observable in Mr. and Mrs. Heathcliff; his thick
brown curls were rough and uncultivated, his whiskers encroached
bearishly over his cheeks, and his hands were embrowned like
those of a common labourer: still his bearing was free, almost
haughty, and he showed none of a domestic’s assiduity in
attending on the lady of the house. In the absence of clear
proofs of his condition, I deemed it best to abstain from
noticing his curious conduct; and, five minutes afterwards, the
entrance of Heathcliff relieved me, in some measure, from my
uncomfortable state.
‘You see, sir, I am come, according to promise!’ I
exclaimed, assuming the cheerful; ‘and I fear I shall be
weather-bound for half an hour, if you can afford me shelter
during that space.’
‘Half an hour?’ he said, shaking the white flakes
from his clothes; ‘I wonder you should select the thick of
a snow-storm to ramble about in. Do you know that you run a
risk of being lost in the marshes? People familiar with
these moors often miss their road on such evenings; and I can
tell you there is no chance of a change at present.’
‘Perhaps I can get a guide among your lads, and he might
stay at the Grange till morning—could you spare me
one?’
‘No, I could not.’
‘Oh, indeed! Well, then, I must trust to my own
sagacity.’
‘Umph!’
‘Are you going to mak’ the tea?’ demanded he
of the shabby coat, shifting his ferocious gaze from me to the
young lady.
‘Is
he to have any?’ she asked, appealing
to Heathcliff.
‘Get it ready, will you?’ was the answer, uttered
so savagely that I started. The tone in which the words
were said revealed a genuine bad nature. I no longer felt
inclined to call Heathcliff a capital fellow. When the
preparations were finished, he invited me with—‘Now,
sir, bring forward your chair.’ And we all, including
the rustic youth, drew round the table: an austere silence
prevailing while we discussed our meal.
I thought, if I had caused the cloud, it was my duty to make
an effort to dispel it. They could not every day sit so
grim and taciturn; and it was impossible, however ill-tempered
they might be, that the universal scowl they wore was their
every-day countenance.
‘It is strange,’ I began, in the interval of
swallowing one cup of tea and receiving another—‘it
is strange how custom can mould our tastes and ideas: many could
not imagine the existence of happiness in a life of such complete
exile from the world as you spend, Mr. Heathcliff; yet,
I’ll venture to say, that, surrounded by your family, and
with your amiable lady as the presiding genius over your home and
heart—’
‘My amiable lady!’ he interrupted, with an almost
diabolical sneer on his face. ‘Where is she—my
amiable lady?’
‘Mrs. Heathcliff, your wife, I mean.’
‘Well, yes—oh, you would intimate that her spirit
has taken the post of ministering angel, and guards the fortunes
of Wuthering Heights, even when her body is gone. Is that
it?’
Perceiving myself in a blunder, I attempted to correct
it. I might have seen there was too great a disparity
between the ages of the parties to make it likely that they were
man and wife. One was about forty: a period of mental
vigour at which men seldom cherish the delusion of being married
for love by girls: that dream is reserved for the solace of our
declining years. The other did not look seventeen.
Then it flashed upon me—‘The clown at my elbow, who
is drinking his tea out of a basin and eating his bread with
unwashed hands, may be her husband: Heathcliff junior, of
course. Here is the consequence of being buried alive: she
has thrown herself away upon that boor from sheer ignorance that
better individuals existed! A sad pity—I must beware
how I cause her to regret her choice.’ The last
reflection may seem conceited; it was not. My neighbour
struck me as bordering on repulsive; I knew, through experience,
that I was tolerably attractive.
‘Mrs. Heathcliff is my daughter-in-law,’ said
Heathcliff, corroborating my surmise. He turned, as he
spoke, a peculiar look in her direction: a look of hatred; unless
he has a most perverse set of facial muscles that will not, like
those of other people, interpret the language of his soul.
‘Ah, certainly—I see now: you are the favoured
possessor of the beneficent fairy,’ I remarked, turning to
my neighbour.
This was worse than before: the youth grew crimson, and
clenched his fist, with every appearance of a meditated
assault. But he seemed to recollect himself presently, and
smothered the storm in a brutal curse, muttered on my behalf:
which, however, I took care not to notice.
‘Unhappy in your conjectures, sir,’ observed my
host; ‘we neither of us have the privilege of owning your
good fairy; her mate is dead. I said she was my
daughter-in-law: therefore, she must have married my
son.’
‘And this young man is—’
‘Not my son, assuredly.’
Heathcliff smiled again, as if it were rather too bold a jest
to attribute the paternity of that bear to him.
‘My name is Hareton Earnshaw,’ growled the other;
‘and I’d counsel you to respect it!’
‘I’ve shown no disrespect,’ was my reply,
laughing internally at the dignity with which he announced
himself.
He fixed his eye on me longer than I cared to return the
stare, for fear I might be tempted either to box his ears or
render my hilarity audible. I began to feel unmistakably
out of place in that pleasant family circle. The dismal
spiritual atmosphere overcame, and more than neutralised, the
glowing physical comforts round me; and I resolved to be cautious
how I ventured under those rafters a third time.
The business of eating being concluded, and no one uttering a
word of sociable conversation, I approached a window to examine
the weather. A sorrowful sight I saw: dark night coming
down prematurely, and sky and hills mingled in one bitter whirl
of wind and suffocating snow.
‘I don’t think it possible for me to get home now
without a guide,’ I could not help exclaiming.
‘The roads will be buried already; and, if they were bare,
I could scarcely distinguish a foot in advance.’
‘Hareton, drive those dozen sheep into the barn
porch. They’ll be covered if left in the fold all
night: and put a plank before them,’ said Heathcliff.
‘How must I do?’ I continued, with rising
irritation.
There was no reply to my question; and on looking round I saw
only Joseph bringing in a pail of porridge for the dogs, and Mrs.
Heathcliff leaning over the fire, diverting herself with burning
a bundle of matches which had fallen from the chimney-piece as
she restored the tea-canister to its place. The former,
when he had deposited his burden, took a critical survey of the
room, and in cracked tones grated out—‘Aw wonder how
yah can faishion to stand thear i’ idleness un war, when
all on ’ems goan out! Bud yah’re a nowt, and
it’s no use talking—yah’ll niver mend
o’yer ill ways, but goa raight to t’ divil, like yer
mother afore ye!’
I imagined, for a moment, that this piece of eloquence was
addressed to me; and, sufficiently enraged, stepped towards the
aged rascal with an intention of kicking him out of the
door. Mrs. Heathcliff, however, checked me by her
answer.
‘You scandalous old hypocrite!’ she replied.
‘Are you not afraid of being carried away bodily, whenever
you mention the devil’s name? I warn you to refrain
from provoking me, or I’ll ask your abduction as a special
favour! Stop! look here, Joseph,’ she continued,
taking a long, dark book from a shelf; ‘I’ll show you
how far I’ve progressed in the Black Art: I shall soon be
competent to make a clear house of it. The red cow
didn’t die by chance; and your rheumatism can hardly be
reckoned among providential visitations!’
‘Oh, wicked, wicked!’ gasped the elder; ‘may
the Lord deliver us from evil!’
‘No, reprobate! you are a castaway—be off, or
I’ll hurt you seriously! I’ll have you all
modelled in wax and clay! and the first who passes the limits I
fix shall—I’ll not say what he shall be done
to—but, you’ll see! Go, I’m looking at
you!’
The little witch put a mock malignity into her beautiful eyes,
and Joseph, trembling with sincere horror, hurried out, praying,
and ejaculating ‘wicked’ as he went. I thought
her conduct must be prompted by a species of dreary fun; and, now
that we were alone, I endeavoured to interest her in my
distress.
‘Mrs. Heathcliff,’ I said earnestly, ‘you
must excuse me for troubling you. I presume, because, with
that face, I’m sure you cannot help being
good-hearted. Do point out some landmarks by which I may
know my way home: I have no more idea how to get there than you
would have how to get to London!’
‘Take the road you came,’ she answered, ensconcing
herself in a chair, with a candle, and the long book open before
her. ‘It is brief advice, but as sound as I can
give.’
‘Then, if you hear of me being discovered dead in a bog
or a pit full of snow, your conscience won’t whisper that
it is partly your fault?’
‘How so? I cannot escort you. They
wouldn’t let me go to the end of the garden
wall.’
‘
You! I should be sorry to ask you to cross
the threshold, for my convenience, on such a night,’ I
cried. ‘I want you to tell me my way, not to
show it: or else to persuade Mr. Heathcliff to give me a
guide.’
‘Who? There is himself, Earnshaw, Zillah, Joseph
and I. Which would you have?’
‘Are there no boys at the farm?’
‘No; those are all.’
‘Then, it follows that I am compelled to
stay.’
‘That you may settle with your host. I have
nothing to do with it.’
‘I hope it will be a lesson to you to make no more rash
journeys on these hills,’ cried Heathcliff’s stern
voice from the kitchen entrance. ‘As to staying here,
I don’t keep accommodations for visitors: you must share a
bed with Hareton or Joseph, if you do.’
‘I can sleep on a chair in this room,’ I
replied.
‘No, no! A stranger is a stranger, be he rich or
poor: it will not suit me to permit any one the range of the
place while I am off guard!’ said the unmannerly
wretch.
With this insult my patience was at an end. I uttered an
expression of disgust, and pushed past him into the yard, running
against Earnshaw in my haste. It was so dark that I could
not see the means of exit; and, as I wandered round, I heard
another specimen of their civil behaviour amongst each
other. At first the young man appeared about to befriend
me.
‘I’ll go with him as far as the park,’ he
said.
‘You’ll go with him to hell!’ exclaimed his
master, or whatever relation he bore. ‘And who is to
look after the horses, eh?’
‘A man’s life is of more consequence than one
evening’s neglect of the horses: somebody must go,’
murmured Mrs. Heathcliff, more kindly than I expected.
‘Not at your command!’ retorted Hareton.
‘If you set store on him, you’d better be
quiet.’
‘Then I hope his ghost will haunt you; and I hope Mr.
Heathcliff will never get another tenant till the Grange is a
ruin,’ she answered, sharply.
‘Hearken, hearken, shoo’s cursing on
’em!’ muttered Joseph, towards whom I had been
steering.
He sat within earshot, milking the cows by the light of a
lantern, which I seized unceremoniously, and, calling out that I
would send it back on the morrow, rushed to the nearest
postern.
‘Maister, maister, he’s staling t’
lanthern!’ shouted the ancient, pursuing my retreat.
‘Hey, Gnasher! Hey, dog! Hey Wolf, holld him,
holld him!’
On opening the little door, two hairy monsters flew at my
throat, bearing me down, and extinguishing the light; while a
mingled guffaw from Heathcliff and Hareton put the copestone on
my rage and humiliation. Fortunately, the beasts seemed
more bent on stretching their paws, and yawning, and flourishing
their tails, than devouring me alive; but they would suffer no
resurrection, and I was forced to lie till their malignant
masters pleased to deliver me: then, hatless and trembling with
wrath, I ordered the miscreants to let me out—on their
peril to keep me one minute longer—with several incoherent
threats of retaliation that, in their indefinite depth of
virulency, smacked of King Lear.
The vehemence of my agitation brought on a copious bleeding at
the nose, and still Heathcliff laughed, and still I
scolded. I don’t know what would have concluded the
scene, had there not been one person at hand rather more rational
than myself, and more benevolent than my entertainer. This
was Zillah, the stout housewife; who at length issued forth to
inquire into the nature of the uproar. She thought that
some of them had been laying violent hands on me; and, not daring
to attack her master, she turned her vocal artillery against the
younger scoundrel.
‘Well, Mr. Earnshaw,’ she cried, ‘I wonder
what you’ll have agait next? Are we going to murder
folk on our very door-stones? I see this house will never
do for me—look at t’ poor lad, he’s fair
choking! Wisht, wisht; you mun’n’t go on
so. Come in, and I’ll cure that: there now, hold ye
still.’
With these words she suddenly splashed a pint of icy water
down my neck, and pulled me into the kitchen. Mr.
Heathcliff followed, his accidental merriment expiring quickly in
his habitual moroseness.
I was sick exceedingly, and dizzy, and faint; and thus
compelled perforce to accept lodgings under his roof. He
told Zillah to give me a glass of brandy, and then passed on to
the inner room; while she condoled with me on my sorry
predicament, and having obeyed his orders, whereby I was somewhat
revived, ushered me to bed.
CHAPTER III
While leading the way upstairs, she recommended that I should
hide the candle, and not make a noise; for her master had an odd
notion about the chamber she would put me in, and never let
anybody lodge there willingly. I asked the reason.
She did not know, she answered: she had only lived there a year
or two; and they had so many queer goings on, she could not begin
to be curious.
Too stupefied to be curious myself, I fastened my door and
glanced round for the bed. The whole furniture consisted of
a chair, a clothes-press, and a large oak case, with squares cut
out near the top resembling coach windows. Having
approached this structure, I looked inside, and perceived it to
be a singular sort of old-fashioned couch, very conveniently
designed to obviate the necessity for every member of the family
having a room to himself. In fact, it formed a little
closet, and the ledge of a window, which it enclosed, served as a
table. I slid back the panelled sides, got in with my
light, pulled them together again, and felt secure against the
vigilance of Heathcliff, and every one else.
The ledge, where I placed my candle, had a few mildewed books
piled up in one corner; and it was covered with writing scratched
on the paint. This writing, however, was nothing but a name
repeated in all kinds of characters, large and
small—
Catherine Earnshaw, here and there varied to
Catherine Heathcliff, and then again to
Catherine
Linton.
In vapid listlessness I leant my head against the window, and
continued spelling over Catherine
Earnshaw—Heathcliff—Linton, till my eyes closed; but
they had not rested five minutes when a glare of white letters
started from the dark, as vivid as spectres—the air swarmed
with Catherines; and rousing myself to dispel the obtrusive name,
I discovered my candle-wick reclining on one of the antique
volumes, and perfuming the place with an odour of roasted
calf-skin. I snuffed it off, and, very ill at ease under
the influence of cold and lingering nausea, sat up and spread
open the injured tome on my knee. It was a Testament, in
lean type, and smelling dreadfully musty: a fly-leaf bore the
inscription—‘Catherine Earnshaw, her book,’ and
a date some quarter of a century back. I shut it, and took
up another and another, till I had examined all.
Catherine’s library was select, and its state of
dilapidation proved it to have been well used, though not
altogether for a legitimate purpose: scarcely one chapter had
escaped, a pen-and-ink commentary—at least the appearance
of one—covering every morsel of blank that the printer had
left. Some were detached sentences; other parts took the
form of a regular diary, scrawled in an unformed, childish
hand. At the top of an extra page (quite a treasure,
probably, when first lighted on) I was greatly amused to behold
an excellent caricature of my friend Joseph,—rudely, yet
powerfully sketched. An immediate interest kindled within
me for the unknown Catherine, and I began forthwith to decipher
her faded hieroglyphics.
‘An awful Sunday,’ commenced the paragraph
beneath. ‘I wish my father were back again.
Hindley is a detestable substitute—his conduct to
Heathcliff is atrocious—H. and I are going to
rebel—we took our initiatory step this evening.
‘All day had been flooding with rain; we could not go to
church, so Joseph must needs get up a congregation in the garret;
and, while Hindley and his wife basked downstairs before a
comfortable fire—doing anything but reading their Bibles,
I’ll answer for it—Heathcliff, myself, and the
unhappy ploughboy were commanded to take our prayer-books, and
mount: we were ranged in a row, on a sack of corn, groaning and
shivering, and hoping that Joseph would shiver too, so that he
might give us a short homily for his own sake. A vain
idea! The service lasted precisely three hours; and yet my
brother had the face to exclaim, when he saw us descending,
“What, done already?” On Sunday evenings we
used to be permitted to play, if we did not make much noise; now
a mere titter is sufficient to send us into corners.
‘“You forget you have a master here,” says
the tyrant. “I’ll demolish the first who puts
me out of temper! I insist on perfect sobriety and
silence. Oh, boy! was that you? Frances darling, pull
his hair as you go by: I heard him snap his fingers.”
Frances pulled his hair heartily, and then went and seated
herself on her husband’s knee, and there they were, like
two babies, kissing and talking nonsense by the
hour—foolish palaver that we should be ashamed of. We
made ourselves as snug as our means allowed in the arch of the
dresser. I had just fastened our pinafores together, and
hung them up for a curtain, when in comes Joseph, on an errand
from the stables. He tears down my handiwork, boxes my
ears, and croaks:
‘“T’ maister nobbut just buried, and Sabbath
not o’ered, und t’ sound o’ t’ gospel
still i’ yer lugs, and ye darr be laiking! Shame on
ye! sit ye down, ill childer! there’s good books eneugh if
ye’ll read ’em: sit ye down, and think o’ yer
sowls!”
‘Saying this, he compelled us so to square our positions
that we might receive from the far-off fire a dull ray to show us
the text of the lumber he thrust upon us. I could not bear
the employment. I took my dingy volume by the scroop, and
hurled it into the dog-kennel, vowing I hated a good book.
Heathcliff kicked his to the same place. Then there was a
hubbub!
‘“Maister Hindley!” shouted our
chaplain. “Maister, coom hither! Miss
Cathy’s riven th’ back off ‘Th’ Helmet
o’ Salvation,’ un’ Heathcliff’s pawsed
his fit into t’ first part o’ ‘T’ Brooad
Way to Destruction!’ It’s fair flaysome that ye
let ’em go on this gait. Ech! th’ owd man wad
ha’ laced ’em properly—but he’s
goan!”
‘Hindley hurried up from his paradise on the hearth, and
seizing one of us by the collar, and the other by the arm, hurled
both into the back-kitchen; where, Joseph asseverated, “owd
Nick” would fetch us as sure as we were living: and, so comforted,
we each sought a separate nook to await his advent. I
reached this book, and a pot of ink from a shelf, and pushed the
house-door ajar to give me light, and I have got the time on with
writing for twenty minutes; but my companion is impatient, and
proposes that we should appropriate the dairywoman’s cloak,
and have a scamper on the moors, under its shelter. A
pleasant suggestion—and then, if the surly old man come in,
he may believe his prophecy verified—we cannot be damper,
or colder, in the rain than we are here.’
* * * * * *
I suppose Catherine fulfilled her project, for the next
sentence took up another subject: she waxed lachrymose.
‘How little did I dream that Hindley would ever make me
cry so!’ she wrote. ‘My head aches, till I
cannot keep it on the pillow; and still I can’t give
over. Poor Heathcliff! Hindley calls him a vagabond,
and won’t let him sit with us, nor eat with us any more;
and, he says, he and I must not play together, and threatens to
turn him out of the house if we break his orders. He has
been blaming our father (how dared he?) for treating H. too
liberally; and swears he will reduce him to his right
place—’
* * * * * *
I began to nod drowsily over the dim page: my eye wandered
from manuscript to print. I saw a red ornamented
title—‘Seventy Times Seven, and the First of the
Seventy-First. A Pious Discourse delivered by the
Reverend Jabez Branderham, in the Chapel of Gimmerden
Sough.’ And while I was, half-consciously, worrying
my brain to guess what Jabez Branderham would make of his
subject, I sank back in bed, and fell asleep. Alas, for the
effects of bad tea and bad temper! What else could it be
that made me pass such a terrible night? I don’t
remember another that I can at all compare with it since I was
capable of suffering.
I began to dream, almost before I ceased to be sensible of my
locality. I thought it was morning; and I had set out on my
way home, with Joseph for a guide. The snow lay yards deep
in our road; and, as we floundered on, my companion wearied me
with constant reproaches that I had not brought a pilgrim’s
staff: telling me that I could never get into the house without
one, and boastfully flourishing a heavy-headed cudgel, which I
understood to be so denominated. For a moment I considered
it absurd that I should need such a weapon to gain admittance
into my own residence. Then a new idea flashed across
me. I was not going there: we were journeying to hear the
famous Jabez Branderham preach, from the
text—‘Seventy Times Seven;’ and either Joseph,
the preacher, or I had committed the ‘First of the
Seventy-First,’ and were to be publicly exposed and
excommunicated.
We came to the chapel. I have passed it really in my
walks, twice or thrice; it lies in a hollow, between two hills:
an elevated hollow, near a swamp, whose peaty moisture is said to
answer all the purposes of embalming on the few corpses deposited
there. The roof has been kept whole hitherto; but as the
clergyman’s stipend is only twenty pounds per annum, and a
house with two rooms, threatening speedily to determine into one,
no clergyman will undertake the duties of pastor: especially as
it is currently reported that his flock would rather let him
starve than increase the living by one penny from their own
pockets. However, in my dream, Jabez had a full and
attentive congregation; and he preached—good God! what a
sermon; divided into four hundred and ninety parts, each
fully equal to an ordinary address from the pulpit, and each
discussing a separate sin! Where he searched for them, I
cannot tell. He had his private manner of interpreting the
phrase, and it seemed necessary the brother should sin different
sins on every occasion. They were of the most curious
character: odd transgressions that I never imagined
previously.
Oh, how weary I grow. How I writhed, and yawned, and
nodded, and revived! How I pinched and pricked myself, and
rubbed my eyes, and stood up, and sat down again, and nudged
Joseph to inform me if he would ever have done. I
was condemned to hear all out: finally, he reached the
‘First of the Seventy-First.’ At that
crisis, a sudden inspiration descended on me; I was moved to rise
and denounce Jabez Branderham as the sinner of the sin that no
Christian need pardon.
‘Sir,’ I exclaimed, ‘sitting here within
these four walls, at one stretch, I have endured and forgiven the
four hundred and ninety heads of your discourse. Seventy
times seven times have I plucked up my hat and been about to
depart—Seventy times seven times have you preposterously
forced me to resume my seat. The four hundred and
ninety-first is too much. Fellow-martyrs, have at
him! Drag him down, and crush him to atoms, that the place
which knows him may know him no more!’
‘Thou art the Man!’ cried Jabez, after a
solemn pause, leaning over his cushion. ‘Seventy
times seven times didst thou gapingly contort thy
visage—seventy times seven did I take counsel with my
soul—Lo, this is human weakness: this also may be
absolved! The First of the Seventy-First is come.
Brethren, execute upon him the judgment written. Such
honour have all His saints!’
With that concluding word, the whole assembly, exalting their
pilgrim’s staves, rushed round me in a body; and I, having
no weapon to raise in self-defence, commenced grappling with
Joseph, my nearest and most ferocious assailant, for his.
In the confluence of the multitude, several clubs crossed; blows,
aimed at me, fell on other sconces. Presently the whole
chapel resounded with rappings and counter rappings: every
man’s hand was against his neighbour; and Branderham,
unwilling to remain idle, poured forth his zeal in a shower of
loud taps on the boards of the pulpit, which responded so smartly
that, at last, to my unspeakable relief, they woke me. And
what was it that had suggested the tremendous tumult? What
had played Jabez’s part in the row? Merely the branch
of a fir-tree that touched my lattice as the blast wailed by, and
rattled its dry cones against the panes! I listened
doubtingly an instant; detected the disturber, then turned and
dozed, and dreamt again: if possible, still more disagreeably
than before.
This time, I remembered I was lying in the oak closet, and I
heard distinctly the gusty wind, and the driving of the snow; I
heard, also, the fir bough repeat its teasing sound, and ascribed
it to the right cause: but it annoyed me so much, that I resolved
to silence it, if possible; and, I thought, I rose and
endeavoured to unhasp the casement. The hook was soldered
into the staple: a circumstance observed by me when awake, but
forgotten. ‘I must stop it, nevertheless!’ I
muttered, knocking my knuckles through the glass, and stretching
an arm out to seize the importunate branch; instead of which, my
fingers closed on the fingers of a little, ice-cold hand!
The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw
back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy
voice sobbed, ‘Let me in—let me in!’
‘Who are you?’ I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to
disengage myself. ‘Catherine Linton,’ it
replied, shiveringly (why did I think of Linton? I
had read Earnshaw twenty times for
Linton)—‘I’m come home: I’d lost my way
on the moor!’ As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a
child’s face looking through the window. Terror made
me cruel; and, finding it useless to attempt shaking the creature
off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed it to
and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes: still
it wailed, ‘Let me in!’ and maintained its tenacious
gripe, almost maddening me with fear. ‘How can
I!’ I said at length. ‘Let me go, if you
want me to let you in!’ The fingers relaxed, I
snatched mine through the hole, hurriedly piled the books up in a
pyramid against it, and stopped my ears to exclude the lamentable
prayer. I seemed to keep them closed above a quarter of an
hour; yet, the instant I listened again, there was the doleful
cry moaning on! ‘Begone!’ I shouted.
‘I’ll never let you in, not if you beg for twenty
years.’ ‘It is twenty years,’ mourned the
voice: ‘twenty years. I’ve been a waif for
twenty years!’ Thereat began a feeble scratching
outside, and the pile of books moved as if thrust forward.
I tried to jump up; but could not stir a limb; and so yelled
aloud, in a frenzy of fright. To my confusion, I discovered
the yell was not ideal: hasty footsteps approached my chamber
door; somebody pushed it open, with a vigorous hand, and a light
glimmered through the squares at the top of the bed. I sat
shuddering yet, and wiping the perspiration from my forehead: the
intruder appeared to hesitate, and muttered to himself. At
last, he said, in a half-whisper, plainly not expecting an
answer, ‘Is any one here?’ I considered it best
to confess my presence; for I knew Heathcliff’s accents,
and feared he might search further, if I kept quiet. With
this intention, I turned and opened the panels. I shall not
soon forget the effect my action produced.
Heathcliff stood near the entrance, in his shirt and trousers;
with a candle dripping over his fingers, and his face as white as
the wall behind him. The first creak of the oak startled
him like an electric shock: the light leaped from his hold to a
distance of some feet, and his agitation was so extreme, that he
could hardly pick it up.
‘It is only your guest, sir,’ I called out,
desirous to spare him the humiliation of exposing his cowardice
further. ‘I had the misfortune to scream in my sleep,
owing to a frightful nightmare. I’m sorry I disturbed
you.’
‘Oh, God confound you, Mr. Lockwood! I wish you
were at the—’ commenced my host, setting the candle
on a chair, because he found it impossible to hold it
steady. ‘And who showed you up into this room?’
he continued, crushing his nails into his palms, and grinding his
teeth to subdue the maxillary convulsions. ‘Who was
it? I’ve a good mind to turn them out of the house
this moment?’
‘It was your servant Zillah,’ I replied, flinging
myself on to the floor, and rapidly resuming my garments.
‘I should not care if you did, Mr. Heathcliff; she richly
deserves it. I suppose that she wanted to get another proof
that the place was haunted, at my expense. Well, it
is—swarming with ghosts and goblins! You have reason
in shutting it up, I assure you. No one will thank you for
a doze in such a den!’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Heathcliff, ‘and
what are you doing? Lie down and finish out the night,
since you are here; but, for heaven’s sake!
don’t repeat that horrid noise: nothing could excuse it,
unless you were having your throat cut!’
‘If the little fiend had got in at the window, she
probably would have strangled me!’ I returned.
‘I’m not going to endure the persecutions of your
hospitable ancestors again. Was not the Reverend Jabez
Branderham akin to you on the mother’s side? And that
minx, Catherine Linton, or Earnshaw, or however she was
called—she must have been a changeling—wicked little
soul! She told me she had been walking the earth these
twenty years: a just punishment for her mortal transgressions,
I’ve no doubt!’
Scarcely were these words uttered when I recollected the
association of Heathcliff’s with Catherine’s name in
the book, which had completely slipped from my memory, till thus
awakened. I blushed at my inconsideration: but, without
showing further consciousness of the offence, I hastened to
add—‘The truth is, sir, I passed the first part of
the night in—’ Here I stopped afresh—I
was about to say ‘perusing those old volumes,’ then
it would have revealed my knowledge of their written, as well as
their printed, contents; so, correcting myself, I went
on—‘in spelling over the name scratched on that
window-ledge. A monotonous occupation, calculated to set me
asleep, like counting, or—’
‘What can you mean by talking in this way to
me!’ thundered Heathcliff with savage
vehemence. ‘How—how dare you, under my
roof?—God! he’s mad to speak so!’ And he
struck his forehead with rage.
I did not know whether to resent this language or pursue my
explanation; but he seemed so powerfully affected that I took
pity and proceeded with my dreams; affirming I had never heard
the appellation of ‘Catherine Linton’ before, but
reading it often over produced an impression which personified
itself when I had no longer my imagination under control.
Heathcliff gradually fell back into the shelter of the bed, as I
spoke; finally sitting down almost concealed behind it. I
guessed, however, by his irregular and intercepted breathing,
that he struggled to vanquish an excess of violent emotion.
Not liking to show him that I had heard the conflict, I continued
my toilette rather noisily, looked at my watch, and soliloquised
on the length of the night: ‘Not three o’clock
yet! I could have taken oath it had been six. Time
stagnates here: we must surely have retired to rest at
eight!’
‘Always at nine in winter, and rise at four,’ said
my host, suppressing a groan: and, as I fancied, by the motion of
his arm’s shadow, dashing a tear from his eyes.
‘Mr. Lockwood,’ he added, ‘you may go into my
room: you’ll only be in the way, coming down-stairs so
early: and your childish outcry has sent sleep to the devil for
me.’
‘And for me, too,’ I replied.
‘I’ll walk in the yard till daylight, and then
I’ll be off; and you need not dread a repetition of my
intrusion. I’m now quite cured of seeking pleasure in
society, be it country or town. A sensible man ought to
find sufficient company in himself.’
‘Delightful company!’ muttered Heathcliff.
‘Take the candle, and go where you please. I shall
join you directly. Keep out of the yard, though, the dogs
are unchained; and the house—Juno mounts sentinel there,
and—nay, you can only ramble about the steps and
passages. But, away with you! I’ll come in two
minutes!’
I obeyed, so far as to quit the chamber; when, ignorant where
the narrow lobbies led, I stood still, and was witness,
involuntarily, to a piece of superstition on the part of my
landlord which belied, oddly, his apparent sense. He got on
to the bed, and wrenched open the lattice, bursting, as he pulled
at it, into an uncontrollable passion of tears. ‘Come
in! come in!’ he sobbed. ‘Cathy, do come.
Oh, do—once more! Oh! my heart’s
darling! hear me this time, Catherine, at
last!’ The spectre showed a spectre’s ordinary
caprice: it gave no sign of being; but the snow and wind whirled
wildly through, even reaching my station, and blowing out the
light.
There was such anguish in the gush of grief that accompanied
this raving, that my compassion made me overlook its folly, and I
drew off, half angry to have listened at all, and vexed at having
related my ridiculous nightmare, since it produced that agony;
though why was beyond my comprehension. I descended
cautiously to the lower regions, and landed in the back-kitchen,
where a gleam of fire, raked compactly together, enabled me to
rekindle my candle. Nothing was stirring except a brindled,
grey cat, which crept from the ashes, and saluted me with a
querulous mew.
Two benches, shaped in sections of a circle, nearly enclosed
the hearth; on one of these I stretched myself, and Grimalkin
mounted the other. We were both of us nodding ere any one
invaded our retreat, and then it was Joseph, shuffling down a
wooden ladder that vanished in the roof, through a trap: the
ascent to his garret, I suppose. He cast a sinister look at
the little flame which I had enticed to play between the ribs,
swept the cat from its elevation, and bestowing himself in the
vacancy, commenced the operation of stuffing a three-inch pipe
with tobacco. My presence in his sanctum was evidently
esteemed a piece of impudence too shameful for remark: he
silently applied the tube to his lips, folded his arms, and
puffed away. I let him enjoy the luxury unannoyed; and
after sucking out his last wreath, and heaving a profound sigh,
he got up, and departed as solemnly as he came.
A more elastic footstep entered next; and now I opened my
mouth for a ‘good-morning,’ but closed it again, the
salutation unachieved; for Hareton Earnshaw was performing his
orison sotto voce, in a series of curses directed against
every object he touched, while he rummaged a corner for a spade
or shovel to dig through the drifts. He glanced over the
back of the bench, dilating his nostrils, and thought as little
of exchanging civilities with me as with my companion the
cat. I guessed, by his preparations, that egress was
allowed, and, leaving my hard couch, made a movement to follow
him. He noticed this, and thrust at an inner door with the
end of his spade, intimating by an inarticulate sound that there
was the place where I must go, if I changed my locality.
It opened into the house, where the females were already
astir; Zillah urging flakes of flame up the chimney with a
colossal bellows; and Mrs. Heathcliff, kneeling on the hearth,
reading a book by the aid of the blaze. She held her hand
interposed between the furnace-heat and her eyes, and seemed
absorbed in her occupation; desisting from it only to chide the
servant for covering her with sparks, or to push away a dog, now
and then, that snoozled its nose overforwardly into her
face. I was surprised to see Heathcliff there also.
He stood by the fire, his back towards me, just finishing a
stormy scene with poor Zillah; who ever and anon interrupted her
labour to pluck up the corner of her apron, and heave an
indignant groan.
‘And you, you worthless—’ he broke out as I
entered, turning to his daughter-in-law, and employing an epithet
as harmless as duck, or sheep, but generally represented by a
dash—. ‘There you are, at your idle tricks
again! The rest of them do earn their bread—you live
on my charity! Put your trash away, and find something to
do. You shall pay me for the plague of having you eternally
in my sight—do you hear, damnable jade?’
‘I’ll put my trash away, because you can make me
if I refuse,’ answered the young lady, closing her book,
and throwing it on a chair. ‘But I’ll not do
anything, though you should swear your tongue out, except what I
please!’
Heathcliff lifted his hand, and the speaker sprang to a safer
distance, obviously acquainted with its weight. Having no
desire to be entertained by a cat-and-dog combat, I stepped
forward briskly, as if eager to partake the warmth of the hearth,
and innocent of any knowledge of the interrupted dispute.
Each had enough decorum to suspend further hostilities:
Heathcliff placed his fists, out of temptation, in his pockets;
Mrs. Heathcliff curled her lip, and walked to a seat far off,
where she kept her word by playing the part of a statue during
the remainder of my stay. That was not long. I
declined joining their breakfast, and, at the first gleam of
dawn, took an opportunity of escaping into the free air, now
clear, and still, and cold as impalpable ice.
My landlord halloed for me to stop ere I reached the bottom of
the garden, and offered to accompany me across the moor. It
was well he did, for the whole hill-back was one billowy, white
ocean; the swells and falls not indicating corresponding rises
and depressions in the ground: many pits, at least, were filled
to a level; and entire ranges of mounds, the refuse of the
quarries, blotted from the chart which my yesterday’s walk
left pictured in my mind. I had remarked on one side of the
road, at intervals of six or seven yards, a line of upright
stones, continued through the whole length of the barren: these
were erected and daubed with lime on purpose to serve as guides
in the dark, and also when a fall, like the present, confounded
the deep swamps on either hand with the firmer path: but,
excepting a dirty dot pointing up here and there, all traces of
their existence had vanished: and my companion found it necessary
to warn me frequently to steer to the right or left, when I
imagined I was following, correctly, the windings of the
road.
We exchanged little conversation, and he halted at the
entrance of Thrushcross Park, saying, I could make no error
there. Our adieux were limited to a hasty bow, and then I
pushed forward, trusting to my own resources; for the
porter’s lodge is untenanted as yet. The distance
from the gate to the grange is two miles; I believe I managed to
make it four, what with losing myself among the trees, and
sinking up to the neck in snow: a predicament which only those
who have experienced it can appreciate. At any rate,
whatever were my wanderings, the clock chimed twelve as I entered
the house; and that gave exactly an hour for every mile of the
usual way from Wuthering Heights.
My human fixture and her satellites rushed to welcome me;
exclaiming, tumultuously, they had completely given me up:
everybody conjectured that I perished last night; and they were
wondering how they must set about the search for my
remains. I bid them be quiet, now that they saw me
returned, and, benumbed to my very heart, I dragged up-stairs;
whence, after putting on dry clothes, and pacing to and fro
thirty or forty minutes, to restore the animal heat, I adjourned
to my study, feeble as a kitten: almost too much so to enjoy the
cheerful fire and smoking coffee which the servant had prepared
for my refreshment.
CHAPTER IV
What vain weathercocks we are! I, who had determined to
hold myself independent of all social intercourse, and thanked my
stars that, at length, I had lighted on a spot where it was next
to impracticable—I, weak wretch, after maintaining till
dusk a struggle with low spirits and solitude, was finally
compelled to strike my colours; and under pretence of gaining
information concerning the necessities of my establishment, I
desired Mrs. Dean, when she brought in supper, to sit down while
I ate it; hoping sincerely she would prove a regular gossip, and
either rouse me to animation or lull me to sleep by her talk.
‘You have lived here a considerable time,’ I
commenced; ‘did you not say sixteen years?’
‘Eighteen, sir: I came when the mistress was married, to
wait on her; after she died, the master retained me for his
housekeeper.’
‘Indeed.’
There ensued a pause. She was not a gossip, I feared;
unless about her own affairs, and those could hardly interest
me. However, having studied for an interval, with a fist on
either knee, and a cloud of meditation over her ruddy
countenance, she ejaculated—‘Ah, times are greatly
changed since then!’
‘Yes,’ I remarked, ‘you’ve seen a good
many alterations, I suppose?’
‘I have: and troubles too,’ she said.
‘Oh, I’ll turn the talk on my landlord’s
family!’ I thought to myself. ‘A good subject
to start! And that pretty girl-widow, I should like to know
her history: whether she be a native of the country, or, as is
more probable, an exotic that the surly
indigenae will not
recognise for kin.’ With this intention I asked Mrs.
Dean why Heathcliff let Thrushcross Grange, and preferred living
in a situation and residence so much inferior. ‘Is he
not rich enough to keep the estate in good order?’ I
inquired.
‘Rich, sir!’ she returned. ‘He has
nobody knows what money, and every year it increases. Yes,
yes, he’s rich enough to live in a finer house than this:
but he’s very near—close-handed; and, if he had meant
to flit to Thrushcross Grange, as soon as he heard of a good
tenant he could not have borne to miss the chance of getting a
few hundreds more. It is strange people should be so
greedy, when they are alone in the world!’
‘He had a son, it seems?’
‘Yes, he had one—he is dead.’
‘And that young lady, Mrs. Heathcliff, is his
widow?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where did she come from originally?’
‘Why, sir, she is my late master’s daughter:
Catherine Linton was her maiden name. I nursed her, poor
thing! I did wish Mr. Heathcliff would remove here, and
then we might have been together again.’
‘What! Catherine Linton?’ I exclaimed,
astonished. But a minute’s reflection convinced me it
was not my ghostly Catherine. ‘Then,’ I continued,
‘my predecessor’s name was Linton?’
‘It was.’
‘And who is that Earnshaw: Hareton Earnshaw, who lives
with Mr. Heathcliff? Are they relations?’
‘No; he is the late Mrs. Linton’s
nephew.’
‘The young lady’s cousin, then?’
‘Yes; and her husband was her cousin also: one on the
mother’s, the other on the father’s side: Heathcliff
married Mr. Linton’s sister.’
‘I see the house at Wuthering Heights has
“Earnshaw” carved over the front door. Are they
an old family?’
‘Very old, sir; and Hareton is the last of them, as our
Miss Cathy is of us—I mean, of the Lintons. Have you
been to Wuthering Heights? I beg pardon for asking; but I
should like to hear how she is!’
‘Mrs. Heathcliff? she looked very well, and very
handsome; yet, I think, not very happy.’
‘Oh dear, I don’t wonder! And how did you
like the master?’
‘A rough fellow, rather, Mrs. Dean. Is not that
his character?
‘Rough as a saw-edge, and hard as whinstone! The
less you meddle with him the better.’
‘He must have had some ups and downs in life to make him
such a churl. Do you know anything of his
history?’
‘It’s a cuckoo’s, sir—I know all about
it: except where he was born, and who were his parents, and how
he got his money at first. And Hareton has been cast out
like an unfledged dunnock! The unfortunate lad is the only
one in all this parish that does not guess how he has been
cheated.’
‘Well, Mrs. Dean, it will be a charitable deed to tell
me something of my neighbours: I feel I shall not rest if I go to
bed; so be good enough to sit and chat an hour.’
‘Oh, certainly, sir! I’ll just fetch a
little sewing, and then I’ll sit as long as you
please. But you’ve caught cold: I saw you shivering,
and you must have some gruel to drive it out.’
The worthy woman bustled off, and I crouched nearer the fire;
my head felt hot, and the rest of me chill: moreover, I was
excited, almost to a pitch of foolishness, through my nerves and
brain. This caused me to feel, not uncomfortable, but
rather fearful (as I am still) of serious effects from the
incidents of to-day and yesterday. She returned presently,
bringing a smoking basin and a basket of work; and, having placed
the former on the hob, drew in her seat, evidently pleased to
find me so companionable.
Before I came to live here, she commenced—waiting no
farther invitation to her story—I was almost always at
Wuthering Heights; because my mother had nursed Mr. Hindley
Earnshaw, that was Hareton’s father, and I got used to
playing with the children: I ran errands too, and helped to make
hay, and hung about the farm ready for anything that anybody
would set me to. One fine summer morning—it was the
beginning of harvest, I remember—Mr. Earnshaw, the old
master, came down-stairs, dressed for a journey; and, after he
had told Joseph what was to be done during the day, he turned to
Hindley, and Cathy, and me—for I sat eating my porridge
with them—and he said, speaking to his son, ‘Now, my
bonny man, I’m going to Liverpool to-day, what shall I
bring you? You may choose what you like: only let it be
little, for I shall walk there and back: sixty miles each way,
that is a long spell!’ Hindley named a fiddle, and
then he asked Miss Cathy; she was hardly six years old, but she
could ride any horse in the stable, and she chose a whip.
He did not forget me; for he had a kind heart, though he was
rather severe sometimes. He promised to bring me a
pocketful of apples and pears, and then he kissed his children,
said good-bye, and set off.
It seemed a long while to us all—the three days of his
absence—and often did little Cathy ask when he would be
home. Mrs. Earnshaw expected him by supper-time on the
third evening, and she put the meal off hour after hour; there
were no signs of his coming, however, and at last the children
got tired of running down to the gate to look. Then it grew
dark; she would have had them to bed, but they begged sadly to be
allowed to stay up; and, just about eleven o’clock, the
door-latch was raised quietly, and in stepped the master.
He threw himself into a chair, laughing and groaning, and bid
them all stand off, for he was nearly killed—he would not
have such another walk for the three kingdoms.
‘And at the end of it to be flighted to death!’ he
said, opening his great-coat, which he held bundled up in his
arms. ‘See here, wife! I was never so beaten
with anything in my life: but you must e’en take it as a
gift of God; though it’s as dark almost as if it came from
the devil.’
We crowded round, and over Miss Cathy’s head I had a
peep at a dirty, ragged, black-haired child; big enough both to
walk and talk: indeed, its face looked older than
Catherine’s; yet when it was set on its feet, it only
stared round, and repeated over and over again some gibberish
that nobody could understand. I was frightened, and Mrs.
Earnshaw was ready to fling it out of doors: she did fly up,
asking how he could fashion to bring that gipsy brat into the
house, when they had their own bairns to feed and fend for?
What he meant to do with it, and whether he were mad? The
master tried to explain the matter; but he was really half dead
with fatigue, and all that I could make out, amongst her
scolding, was a tale of his seeing it starving, and houseless,
and as good as dumb, in the streets of Liverpool, where he picked
it up and inquired for its owner. Not a soul knew to whom
it belonged, he said; and his money and time being both limited,
he thought it better to take it home with him at once, than run
into vain expenses there: because he was determined he would not
leave it as he found it. Well, the conclusion was, that my
mistress grumbled herself calm; and Mr. Earnshaw told me to wash
it, and give it clean things, and let it sleep with the
children.
Hindley and Cathy contented themselves with looking and
listening till peace was restored: then, both began searching
their father’s pockets for the presents he had promised
them. The former was a boy of fourteen, but when he drew
out what had been a fiddle, crushed to morsels in the great-coat,
he blubbered aloud; and Cathy, when she learned the master had
lost her whip in attending on the stranger, showed her humour by
grinning and spitting at the stupid little thing; earning for her
pains a sound blow from her father, to teach her cleaner
manners. They entirely refused to have it in bed with them,
or even in their room; and I had no more sense, so I put it on
the landing of the stairs, hoping it might be gone on the
morrow. By chance, or else attracted by hearing his voice,
it crept to Mr. Earnshaw’s door, and there he found it on
quitting his chamber. Inquiries were made as to how it got
there; I was obliged to confess, and in recompense for my
cowardice and inhumanity was sent out of the house.
This was Heathcliff’s first introduction to the
family. On coming back a few days afterwards (for I did not
consider my banishment perpetual), I found they had christened
him ‘Heathcliff’: it was the name of a son who died
in childhood, and it has served him ever since, both for
Christian and surname. Miss Cathy and he were now very
thick; but Hindley hated him: and to say the truth I did the
same; and we plagued and went on with him shamefully: for I
wasn’t reasonable enough to feel my injustice, and the
mistress never put in a word on his behalf when she saw him
wronged.
He seemed a sullen, patient child; hardened, perhaps, to
ill-treatment: he would stand Hindley’s blows without
winking or shedding a tear, and my pinches moved him only to draw
in a breath and open his eyes, as if he had hurt himself by
accident, and nobody was to blame. This endurance made old
Earnshaw furious, when he discovered his son persecuting the poor
fatherless child, as he called him. He took to Heathcliff
strangely, believing all he said (for that matter, he said
precious little, and generally the truth), and petting him up far
above Cathy, who was too mischievous and wayward for a
favourite.
So, from the very beginning, he bred bad feeling in the house;
and at Mrs. Earnshaw’s death, which happened in less than
two years after, the young master had learned to regard his
father as an oppressor rather than a friend, and Heathcliff as a
usurper of his parent’s affections and his privileges; and
he grew bitter with brooding over these injuries. I
sympathised a while; but when the children fell ill of the
measles, and I had to tend them, and take on me the cares of a
woman at once, I changed my idea. Heathcliff was
dangerously sick; and while he lay at the worst he would have me
constantly by his pillow: I suppose he felt I did a good deal for
him, and he hadn’t wit to guess that I was compelled to do
it. However, I will say this, he was the quietest child
that ever nurse watched over. The difference between him
and the others forced me to be less partial. Cathy and her
brother harassed me terribly: he was as uncomplaining as a lamb;
though hardness, not gentleness, made him give little
trouble.
He got through, and the doctor affirmed it was in a great
measure owing to me, and praised me for my care. I was vain
of his commendations, and softened towards the being by whose
means I earned them, and thus Hindley lost his last ally: still I
couldn’t dote on Heathcliff, and I wondered often what my
master saw to admire so much in the sullen boy; who never, to my
recollection, repaid his indulgence by any sign of
gratitude. He was not insolent to his benefactor, he was
simply insensible; though knowing perfectly the hold he had on
his heart, and conscious he had only to speak and all the house
would be obliged to bend to his wishes. As an instance, I
remember Mr. Earnshaw once bought a couple of colts at the parish
fair, and gave the lads each one. Heathcliff took the
handsomest, but it soon fell lame, and when he discovered it, he
said to Hindley—
‘You must exchange horses with me: I don’t like
mine; and if you won’t I shall tell your father of the
three thrashings you’ve given me this week, and show him my
arm, which is black to the shoulder.’ Hindley put out
his tongue, and cuffed him over the ears.
‘You’d better do it at once,’ he persisted,
escaping to the porch (they were in the stable): ‘you will
have to: and if I speak of these blows, you’ll get them
again with interest.’ ‘Off, dog!’ cried
Hindley, threatening him with an iron weight used for weighing
potatoes and hay. ‘Throw it,’ he replied,
standing still, ‘and then I’ll tell how you boasted
that you would turn me out of doors as soon as he died, and see
whether he will not turn you out directly.’ Hindley
threw it, hitting him on the breast, and down he fell, but
staggered up immediately, breathless and white; and, had not I
prevented it, he would have gone just so to the master, and got
full revenge by letting his condition plead for him, intimating
who had caused it. ‘Take my colt, Gipsy, then!’
said young Earnshaw. ‘And I pray that he may break
your neck: take him, and be damned, you beggarly interloper! and
wheedle my father out of all he has: only afterwards show him
what you are, imp of Satan.—And take that, I hope
he’ll kick out your brains!’
Heathcliff had gone to loose the beast, and shift it to his
own stall; he was passing behind it, when Hindley finished his
speech by knocking him under its feet, and without stopping to
examine whether his hopes were fulfilled, ran away as fast as he
could. I was surprised to witness how coolly the child
gathered himself up, and went on with his intention; exchanging
saddles and all, and then sitting down on a bundle of hay to
overcome the qualm which the violent blow occasioned, before he
entered the house. I persuaded him easily to let me lay the
blame of his bruises on the horse: he minded little what tale was
told since he had what he wanted. He complained so seldom,
indeed, of such stirs as these, that I really thought him not
vindictive: I was deceived completely, as you will hear.
CHAPTER V
In the course of time Mr. Earnshaw began to fail. He had
been active and healthy, yet his strength left him suddenly; and
when he was confined to the chimney-corner he grew grievously
irritable. A nothing vexed him; and suspected slights of
his authority nearly threw him into fits. This was
especially to be remarked if any one attempted to impose upon, or
domineer over, his favourite: he was painfully jealous lest a
word should be spoken amiss to him; seeming to have got into his
head the notion that, because he liked Heathcliff, all hated, and
longed to do him an ill-turn. It was a disadvantage to the
lad; for the kinder among us did not wish to fret the master, so
we humoured his partiality; and that humouring was rich
nourishment to the child’s pride and black tempers.
Still it became in a manner necessary; twice, or thrice,
Hindley’s manifestation of scorn, while his father was
near, roused the old man to a fury: he seized his stick to strike
him, and shook with rage that he could not do it.
At last, our curate (we had a curate then who made the living
answer by teaching the little Lintons and Earnshaws, and farming
his bit of land himself) advised that the young man should be
sent to college; and Mr. Earnshaw agreed, though with a heavy
spirit, for he said—‘Hindley was nought, and would
never thrive as where he wandered.’
I hoped heartily we should have peace now. It hurt me to
think the master should be made uncomfortable by his own good
deed. I fancied the discontent of age and disease arose
from his family disagreements; as he would have it that it did:
really, you know, sir, it was in his sinking frame. We
might have got on tolerably, notwithstanding, but for two
people—Miss Cathy, and Joseph, the servant: you saw him, I
daresay, up yonder. He was, and is yet most likely, the
wearisomest self-righteous Pharisee that ever ransacked a Bible
to rake the promises to himself and fling the curses to his
neighbours. By his knack of sermonising and pious
discoursing, he contrived to make a great impression on Mr.
Earnshaw; and the more feeble the master became, the more
influence he gained. He was relentless in worrying him
about his soul’s concerns, and about ruling his children
rigidly. He encouraged him to regard Hindley as a
reprobate; and, night after night, he regularly grumbled out a
long string of tales against Heathcliff and Catherine: always
minding to flatter Earnshaw’s weakness by heaping the
heaviest blame on the latter.
Certainly she had ways with her such as I never saw a child
take up before; and she put all of us past our patience fifty
times and oftener in a day: from the hour she came down-stairs
till the hour she went to bed, we had not a minute’s
security that she wouldn’t be in mischief. Her
spirits were always at high-water mark, her tongue always
going—singing, laughing, and plaguing everybody who would
not do the same. A wild, wicked slip she was—but she
had the bonniest eye, the sweetest smile, and lightest foot in
the parish: and, after all, I believe she meant no harm; for when
once she made you cry in good earnest, it seldom happened that
she would not keep you company, and oblige you to be quiet that
you might comfort her. She was much too fond of
Heathcliff. The greatest punishment we could invent for her
was to keep her separate from him: yet she got chided more than
any of us on his account. In play, she liked exceedingly to
act the little mistress; using her hands freely, and commanding
her companions: she did so to me, but I would not bear slapping
and ordering; and so I let her know.
Now, Mr. Earnshaw did not understand jokes from his children:
he had always been strict and grave with them; and Catherine, on
her part, had no idea why her father should be crosser and less
patient in his ailing condition than he was in his prime.
His peevish reproofs wakened in her a naughty delight to provoke
him: she was never so happy as when we were all scolding her at
once, and she defying us with her bold, saucy look, and her ready
words; turning Joseph’s religious curses into ridicule,
baiting me, and doing just what her father hated
most—showing how her pretended insolence, which he thought
real, had more power over Heathcliff than his kindness: how the
boy would do
her bidding in anything, and
his only
when it suited his own inclination. After behaving as badly
as possible all day, she sometimes came fondling to make it up at
night. ‘Nay, Cathy,’ the old man would say,
‘I cannot love thee, thou’rt worse than thy
brother. Go, say thy prayers, child, and ask God’s
pardon. I doubt thy mother and I must rue that we ever
reared thee!’ That made her cry, at first; and then
being repulsed continually hardened her, and she laughed if I
told her to say she was sorry for her faults, and beg to be
forgiven.
But the hour came, at last, that ended Mr. Earnshaw’s
troubles on earth. He died quietly in his chair one October
evening, seated by the fire-side. A high wind blustered
round the house, and roared in the chimney: it sounded wild and
stormy, yet it was not cold, and we were all together—I, a
little removed from the hearth, busy at my knitting, and Joseph
reading his Bible near the table (for the servants generally sat
in the house then, after their work was done). Miss Cathy
had been sick, and that made her still; she leant against her
father’s knee, and Heathcliff was lying on the floor with
his head in her lap. I remember the master, before he fell
into a doze, stroking her bonny hair—it pleased him rarely
to see her gentle—and saying, ‘Why canst thou not
always be a good lass, Cathy?’ And she turned her
face up to his, and laughed, and answered, ‘Why cannot you
always be a good man, father?’ But as soon as she saw
him vexed again, she kissed his hand, and said she would sing him
to sleep. She began singing very low, till his fingers
dropped from hers, and his head sank on his breast. Then I
told her to hush, and not stir, for fear she should wake
him. We all kept as mute as mice a full half-hour, and
should have done so longer, only Joseph, having finished his
chapter, got up and said that he must rouse the master for
prayers and bed. He stepped forward, and called him by
name, and touched his shoulder; but he would not move: so he took
the candle and looked at him. I thought there was something
wrong as he set down the light; and seizing the children each by
an arm, whispered them to ‘frame up-stairs, and make little
din—they might pray alone that evening—he had summut
to do.’
‘I shall bid father good-night first,’ said
Catherine, putting her arms round his neck, before we could
hinder her. The poor thing discovered her loss
directly—she screamed out—‘Oh, he’s dead,
Heathcliff! he’s dead!’ And they both set up a
heart-breaking cry.
I joined my wail to theirs, loud and bitter; but Joseph asked
what we could be thinking of to roar in that way over a saint in
heaven. He told me to put on my cloak and run to Gimmerton
for the doctor and the parson. I could not guess the use
that either would be of, then. However, I went, through
wind and rain, and brought one, the doctor, back with me; the
other said he would come in the morning. Leaving Joseph to
explain matters, I ran to the children’s room: their door
was ajar, I saw they had never lain down, though it was past
midnight; but they were calmer, and did not need me to console
them. The little souls were comforting each other with
better thoughts than I could have hit on: no parson in the world
ever pictured heaven so beautifully as they did, in their
innocent talk; and, while I sobbed and listened, I could not help
wishing we were all there safe together.
CHAPTER VI
Mr. Hindley came home to the funeral; and—a thing that
amazed us, and set the neighbours gossiping right and
left—he brought a wife with him. What she was, and
where she was born, he never informed us: probably, she had
neither money nor name to recommend her, or he would scarcely
have kept the union from his father.
She was not one that would have disturbed the house much on
her own account. Every object she saw, the moment she
crossed the threshold, appeared to delight her; and every
circumstance that took place about her: except the preparing for
the burial, and the presence of the mourners. I thought she
was half silly, from her behaviour while that went on: she ran
into her chamber, and made me come with her, though I should have
been dressing the children: and there she sat shivering and
clasping her hands, and asking repeatedly—‘Are they
gone yet?’ Then she began describing with hysterical
emotion the effect it produced on her to see black; and started,
and trembled, and, at last, fell a-weeping—and when I asked
what was the matter, answered, she didn’t know; but she
felt so afraid of dying! I imagined her as little likely to
die as myself. She was rather thin, but young, and
fresh-complexioned, and her eyes sparkled as bright as
diamonds. I did remark, to be sure, that mounting the
stairs made her breathe very quick; that the least sudden noise
set her all in a quiver, and that she coughed troublesomely
sometimes: but I knew nothing of what these symptoms portended,
and had no impulse to sympathise with her. We don’t
in general take to foreigners here, Mr. Lockwood, unless they
take to us first.
Young Earnshaw was altered considerably in the three years of
his absence. He had grown sparer, and lost his colour, and
spoke and dressed quite differently; and, on the very day of his
return, he told Joseph and me we must thenceforth quarter
ourselves in the back-kitchen, and leave the house for him.
Indeed, he would have carpeted and papered a small spare room for
a parlour; but his wife expressed such pleasure at the white
floor and huge glowing fireplace, at the pewter dishes and
delf-case, and dog-kennel, and the wide space there was to move
about in where they usually sat, that he thought it unnecessary
to her comfort, and so dropped the intention.
She expressed pleasure, too, at finding a sister among her new
acquaintance; and she prattled to Catherine, and kissed her, and
ran about with her, and gave her quantities of presents, at the
beginning. Her affection tired very soon, however, and when
she grew peevish, Hindley became tyrannical. A few words
from her, evincing a dislike to Heathcliff, were enough to rouse
in him all his old hatred of the boy. He drove him from
their company to the servants, deprived him of the instructions
of the curate, and insisted that he should labour out of doors
instead; compelling him to do so as hard as any other lad on the
farm.
Heathcliff bore his degradation pretty well at first, because
Cathy taught him what she learnt, and worked or played with him
in the fields. They both promised fair to grow up as rude
as savages; the young master being entirely negligent how they
behaved, and what they did, so they kept clear of him. He
would not even have seen after their going to church on Sundays,
only Joseph and the curate reprimanded his carelessness when they
absented themselves; and that reminded him to order Heathcliff a
flogging, and Catherine a fast from dinner or supper. But
it was one of their chief amusements to run away to the moors in
the morning and remain there all day, and the after punishment
grew a mere thing to laugh at. The curate might set as many
chapters as he pleased for Catherine to get by heart, and Joseph
might thrash Heathcliff till his arm ached; they forgot
everything the minute they were together again: at least the
minute they had contrived some naughty plan of revenge; and many
a time I’ve cried to myself to watch them growing more
reckless daily, and I not daring to speak a syllable, for fear of
losing the small power I still retained over the unfriended
creatures. One Sunday evening, it chanced that they were
banished from the sitting-room, for making a noise, or a light
offence of the kind; and when I went to call them to supper, I
could discover them nowhere. We searched the house, above
and below, and the yard and stables; they were invisible: and, at
last, Hindley in a passion told us to bolt the doors, and swore
nobody should let them in that night. The household went to
bed; and I, too, anxious to lie down, opened my lattice and put
my head out to hearken, though it rained: determined to admit
them in spite of the prohibition, should they return. In a
while, I distinguished steps coming up the road, and the light of
a lantern glimmered through the gate. I threw a shawl over
my head and ran to prevent them from waking Mr. Earnshaw by
knocking. There was Heathcliff, by himself: it gave me a
start to see him alone.
‘Where is Miss Catherine?’ I cried
hurriedly. ‘No accident, I hope?’
‘At Thrushcross Grange,’ he answered; ‘and I
would have been there too, but they had not the manners to ask me
to stay.’ ‘Well, you will catch it!’ I
said: ‘you’ll never be content till you’re sent
about your business. What in the world led you wandering to
Thrushcross Grange?’ ‘Let me get off my wet
clothes, and I’ll tell you all about it, Nelly,’ he
replied. I bid him beware of rousing the master, and while
he undressed and I waited to put out the candle, he
continued—‘Cathy and I escaped from the wash-house to
have a ramble at liberty, and getting a glimpse of the Grange
lights, we thought we would just go and see whether the Lintons
passed their Sunday evenings standing shivering in corners, while
their father and mother sat eating and drinking, and singing and
laughing, and burning their eyes out before the fire. Do
you think they do? Or reading sermons, and being catechised
by their manservant, and set to learn a column of Scripture
names, if they don’t answer properly?’
‘Probably not,’ I responded. ‘They are
good children, no doubt, and don’t deserve the treatment
you receive, for your bad conduct.’
‘Don’t cant, Nelly,’ he said:
‘nonsense! We ran from the top of the Heights to the
park, without stopping—Catherine completely beaten in the
race, because she was barefoot. You’ll have to seek
for her shoes in the bog to-morrow. We crept through a
broken hedge, groped our way up the path, and planted ourselves
on a flower-plot under the drawing-room window. The light
came from thence; they had not put up the shutters, and the
curtains were only half closed. Both of us were able to
look in by standing on the basement, and clinging to the ledge,
and we saw—ah! it was beautiful—a splendid place
carpeted with crimson, and crimson-covered chairs and tables, and
a pure white ceiling bordered by gold, a shower of glass-drops
hanging in silver chains from the centre, and shimmering with
little soft tapers. Old Mr. and Mrs. Linton were not there;
Edgar and his sisters had it entirely to themselves.
Shouldn’t they have been happy? We should have
thought ourselves in heaven! And now, guess what your good
children were doing? Isabella—I believe she is
eleven, a year younger than Cathy—lay screaming at the
farther end of the room, shrieking as if witches were running
red-hot needles into her. Edgar stood on the hearth weeping
silently, and in the middle of the table sat a little dog,
shaking its paw and yelping; which, from their mutual
accusations, we understood they had nearly pulled in two between
them. The idiots! That was their pleasure! to quarrel
who should hold a heap of warm hair, and each begin to cry
because both, after struggling to get it, refused to take
it. We laughed outright at the petted things; we did
despise them! When would you catch me wishing to have what
Catherine wanted? or find us by ourselves, seeking entertainment
in yelling, and sobbing, and rolling on the ground, divided by
the whole room? I’d not exchange, for a thousand
lives, my condition here, for Edgar Linton’s at Thrushcross
Grange—not if I might have the privilege of flinging Joseph
off the highest gable, and painting the house-front with
Hindley’s blood!’
‘Hush, hush!’ I interrupted. ‘Still
you have not told me, Heathcliff, how Catherine is left
behind?’
‘I told you we laughed,’ he answered.
‘The Lintons heard us, and with one accord they shot like
arrows to the door; there was silence, and then a cry, “Oh,
mamma, mamma! Oh, papa! Oh, mamma, come here.
Oh, papa, oh!” They really did howl out something in
that way. We made frightful noises to terrify them still
more, and then we dropped off the ledge, because somebody was
drawing the bars, and we felt we had better flee. I had
Cathy by the hand, and was urging her on, when all at once she
fell down. “Run, Heathcliff, run!” she
whispered. “They have let the bull-dog loose, and he
holds me!” The devil had seized her ankle, Nelly: I
heard his abominable snorting. She did not yell
out—no! she would have scorned to do it, if she had been
spitted on the horns of a mad cow. I did, though: I
vociferated curses enough to annihilate any fiend in Christendom;
and I got a stone and thrust it between his jaws, and tried with
all my might to cram it down his throat. A beast of a
servant came up with a lantern, at last,
shouting—“Keep fast, Skulker, keep fast!”
He changed his note, however, when he saw Skulker’s
game. The dog was throttled off; his huge, purple tongue
hanging half a foot out of his mouth, and his pendent lips
streaming with bloody slaver. The man took Cathy up; she
was sick: not from fear, I’m certain, but from pain.
He carried her in; I followed, grumbling execrations and
vengeance. “What prey, Robert?” hallooed Linton
from the entrance. “Skulker has caught a little girl,
sir,” he replied; “and there’s a lad
here,” he added, making a clutch at me, “who looks an
out-and-outer! Very like the robbers were for putting them
through the window to open the doors to the gang after all were
asleep, that they might murder us at their ease. Hold your
tongue, you foul-mouthed thief, you! you shall go to the gallows
for this. Mr. Linton, sir, don’t lay by your
gun.” “No, no, Robert,” said the old
fool. “The rascals knew that yesterday was my
rent-day: they thought to have me cleverly. Come in;
I’ll furnish them a reception. There, John, fasten
the chain. Give Skulker some water, Jenny. To beard a
magistrate in his stronghold, and on the Sabbath, too!
Where will their insolence stop? Oh, my dear Mary, look
here! Don’t be afraid, it is but a boy—yet the
villain scowls so plainly in his face; would it not be a kindness
to the country to hang him at once, before he shows his nature in
acts as well as features?” He pulled me under the
chandelier, and Mrs. Linton placed her spectacles on her nose and
raised her hands in horror. The cowardly children crept
nearer also, Isabella lisping—“Frightful thing!
Put him in the cellar, papa. He’s exactly like the
son of the fortune-teller that stole my tame pheasant.
Isn’t he, Edgar?”
‘While they examined me, Cathy came round; she heard the
last speech, and laughed. Edgar Linton, after an
inquisitive stare, collected sufficient wit to recognise
her. They see us at church, you know, though we seldom meet
them elsewhere. “That’s Miss Earnshaw?”
he whispered to his mother, “and look how Skulker has
bitten her—how her foot bleeds!”
‘“Miss Earnshaw? Nonsense!” cried the
dame; “Miss Earnshaw scouring the country with a
gipsy! And yet, my dear, the child is in
mourning—surely it is—and she may be lamed for
life!”
‘“What culpable carelessness in her
brother!” exclaimed Mr. Linton, turning from me to
Catherine. “I’ve understood from
Shielders”’ (that was the curate, sir)
‘“that he lets her grow up in absolute
heathenism. But who is this? Where did she pick up
this companion? Oho! I declare he is that strange
acquisition my late neighbour made, in his journey to
Liverpool—a little Lascar, or an American or Spanish
castaway.”
‘“A wicked boy, at all events,” remarked the
old lady, “and quite unfit for a decent house! Did
you notice his language, Linton? I’m shocked that my
children should have heard it.”
‘I recommenced cursing—don’t be angry,
Nelly—and so Robert was ordered to take me off. I
refused to go without Cathy; he dragged me into the garden,
pushed the lantern into my hand, assured me that Mr. Earnshaw
should be informed of my behaviour, and, bidding me march
directly, secured the door again. The curtains were still
looped up at one corner, and I resumed my station as spy;
because, if Catherine had wished to return, I intended shattering
their great glass panes to a million of fragments, unless they
let her out. She sat on the sofa quietly. Mrs. Linton
took off the grey cloak of the dairy-maid which we had borrowed
for our excursion, shaking her head and expostulating with her, I
suppose: she was a young lady, and they made a distinction
between her treatment and mine. Then the woman-servant
brought a basin of warm water, and washed her feet; and Mr.
Linton mixed a tumbler of negus, and Isabella emptied a plateful
of cakes into her lap, and Edgar stood gaping at a
distance. Afterwards, they dried and combed her beautiful
hair, and gave her a pair of enormous slippers, and wheeled her
to the fire; and I left her, as merry as she could be, dividing
her food between the little dog and Skulker, whose nose she
pinched as he ate; and kindling a spark of spirit in the vacant
blue eyes of the Lintons—a dim reflection from her own
enchanting face. I saw they were full of stupid admiration;
she is so immeasurably superior to them—to everybody on
earth, is she not, Nelly?’
‘There will more come of this business than you reckon
on,’ I answered, covering him up and extinguishing the
light. ‘You are incurable, Heathcliff; and Mr.
Hindley will have to proceed to extremities, see if he
won’t.’ My words came truer than I
desired. The luckless adventure made Earnshaw
furious. And then Mr. Linton, to mend matters, paid us a
visit himself on the morrow, and read the young master such a
lecture on the road he guided his family, that he was stirred to
look about him, in earnest. Heathcliff received no
flogging, but he was told that the first word he spoke to Miss
Catherine should ensure a dismissal; and Mrs. Earnshaw undertook
to keep her sister-in-law in due restraint when she returned
home; employing art, not force: with force she would have found
it impossible.
CHAPTER VII
Cathy stayed at Thrushcross Grange five weeks: till
Christmas. By that time her ankle was thoroughly cured, and
her manners much improved. The mistress visited her often
in the interval, and commenced her plan of reform by trying to
raise her self-respect with fine clothes and flattery, which she
took readily; so that, instead of a wild, hatless little savage
jumping into the house, and rushing to squeeze us all breathless,
there ‘lighted from a handsome black pony a very dignified
person, with brown ringlets falling from the cover of a feathered
beaver, and a long cloth habit, which she was obliged to hold up
with both hands that she might sail in. Hindley lifted her
from her horse, exclaiming delightedly, ‘Why, Cathy, you
are quite a beauty! I should scarcely have known you: you
look like a lady now. Isabella Linton is not to be compared
with her, is she, Frances?’ ‘Isabella has not
her natural advantages,’ replied his wife: ‘but she
must mind and not grow wild again here. Ellen, help Miss
Catherine off with her things—Stay, dear, you will
disarrange your curls—let me untie your hat.’
I removed the habit, and there shone forth beneath a grand
plaid silk frock, white trousers, and burnished shoes; and, while
her eyes sparkled joyfully when the dogs came bounding up to
welcome her, she dared hardly touch them lest they should fawn
upon her splendid garments. She kissed me gently: I was all
flour making the Christmas cake, and it would not have done to
give me a hug; and then she looked round for Heathcliff.
Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw watched anxiously their meeting; thinking
it would enable them to judge, in some measure, what grounds they
had for hoping to succeed in separating the two friends.
Heathcliff was hard to discover, at first. If he were
careless, and uncared for, before Catherine’s absence, he
had been ten times more so since. Nobody but I even did him
the kindness to call him a dirty boy, and bid him wash himself,
once a week; and children of his age seldom have a natural
pleasure in soap and water. Therefore, not to mention his
clothes, which had seen three months’ service in mire and
dust, and his thick uncombed hair, the surface of his face and
hands was dismally beclouded. He might well skulk behind
the settle, on beholding such a bright, graceful damsel enter the
house, instead of a rough-headed counterpart of himself, as he
expected. ‘Is Heathcliff not here?’ she
demanded, pulling off her gloves, and displaying fingers
wonderfully whitened with doing nothing and staying indoors.
‘Heathcliff, you may come forward,’ cried Mr.
Hindley, enjoying his discomfiture, and gratified to see what a
forbidding young blackguard he would be compelled to present
himself. ‘You may come and wish Miss Catherine
welcome, like the other servants.’
Cathy, catching a glimpse of her friend in his concealment,
flew to embrace him; she bestowed seven or eight kisses on his
cheek within the second, and then stopped, and drawing back,
burst into a laugh, exclaiming, ‘Why, how very black and
cross you look! and how—how funny and grim! But
that’s because I’m used to Edgar and Isabella
Linton. Well, Heathcliff, have you forgotten me?’
She had some reason to put the question, for shame and pride
threw double gloom over his countenance, and kept him
immovable.
‘Shake hands, Heathcliff,’ said Mr. Earnshaw,
condescendingly; ‘once in a way that is
permitted.’
‘I shall not,’ replied the boy, finding his tongue
at last; ‘I shall not stand to be laughed at. I shall
not bear it!’ And he would have broken from the
circle, but Miss Cathy seized him again.
‘I did not mean to laugh at you,’ she said;
‘I could not hinder myself: Heathcliff, shake hands at
least! What are you sulky for? It was only that you
looked odd. If you wash your face and brush your hair, it
will be all right: but you are so dirty!’
She gazed concernedly at the dusky fingers she held in her
own, and also at her dress; which she feared had gained no
embellishment from its contact with his.
‘You needn’t have touched me!’ he answered,
following her eye and snatching away his hand. ‘I
shall be as dirty as I please: and I like to be dirty, and I will
be dirty.’
With that he dashed headforemost out of the room, amid the
merriment of the master and mistress, and to the serious
disturbance of Catherine; who could not comprehend how her
remarks should have produced such an exhibition of bad
temper.
After playing lady’s-maid to the new-comer, and putting
my cakes in the oven, and making the house and kitchen cheerful
with great fires, befitting Christmas-eve, I prepared to sit down
and amuse myself by singing carols, all alone; regardless of
Joseph’s affirmations that he considered the merry tunes I
chose as next door to songs. He had retired to private
prayer in his chamber, and Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw were engaging
Missy’s attention by sundry gay trifles bought for her to
present to the little Lintons, as an acknowledgment of their
kindness. They had invited them to spend the morrow at
Wuthering Heights, and the invitation had been accepted, on one
condition: Mrs. Linton begged that her darlings might be kept
carefully apart from that ‘naughty swearing boy.’
Under these circumstances I remained solitary. I smelt
the rich scent of the heating spices; and admired the shining
kitchen utensils, the polished clock, decked in holly, the silver
mugs ranged on a tray ready to be filled with mulled ale for
supper; and above all, the speckless purity of my particular
care—the scoured and well-swept floor. I gave due
inward applause to every object, and then I remembered how old
Earnshaw used to come in when all was tidied, and call me a cant
lass, and slip a shilling into my hand as a Christmas-box; and
from that I went on to think of his fondness for Heathcliff, and
his dread lest he should suffer neglect after death had removed
him: and that naturally led me to consider the poor lad’s
situation now, and from singing I changed my mind to
crying. It struck me soon, however, there would be more
sense in endeavouring to repair some of his wrongs than shedding
tears over them: I got up and walked into the court to seek
him. He was not far; I found him smoothing the glossy coat
of the new pony in the stable, and feeding the other beasts,
according to custom.
‘Make haste, Heathcliff!’ I said, ‘the
kitchen is so comfortable; and Joseph is up-stairs: make haste,
and let me dress you smart before Miss Cathy comes out, and then
you can sit together, with the whole hearth to yourselves, and
have a long chatter till bedtime.’
He proceeded with his task, and never turned his head towards
me.
‘Come—are you coming?’ I continued.
‘There’s a little cake for each of you, nearly
enough; and you’ll need half-an-hour’s
donning.’
I waited five minutes, but getting no answer left him.
Catherine supped with her brother and sister-in-law: Joseph and I
joined at an unsociable meal, seasoned with reproofs on one side
and sauciness on the other. His cake and cheese remained on
the table all night for the fairies. He managed to continue
work till nine o’clock, and then marched dumb and dour to
his chamber. Cathy sat up late, having a world of things to
order for the reception of her new friends: she came into the
kitchen once to speak to her old one; but he was gone, and she
only stayed to ask what was the matter with him, and then went
back. In the morning he rose early; and, as it was a
holiday, carried his ill-humour on to the moors; not re-appearing
till the family were departed for church. Fasting and
reflection seemed to have brought him to a better spirit.
He hung about me for a while, and having screwed up his courage,
exclaimed abruptly—‘Nelly, make me decent, I’m
going to be good.’
‘High time, Heathcliff,’ I said; ‘you
have grieved Catherine: she’s sorry she ever came
home, I daresay! It looks as if you envied her, because she
is more thought of than you.’
The notion of
envying Catherine was incomprehensible to
him, but the notion of grieving her he understood clearly
enough.
‘Did she say she was grieved?’ he inquired,
looking very serious.
‘She cried when I told her you were off again this
morning.’
‘Well,
I cried last night,’ he returned,
‘and I had more reason to cry than she.’
‘Yes: you had the reason of going to bed with a proud
heart and an empty stomach,’ said I. ‘Proud
people breed sad sorrows for themselves. But, if you be
ashamed of your touchiness, you must ask pardon, mind, when she
comes in. You must go up and offer to kiss her, and
say—you know best what to say; only do it heartily, and not
as if you thought her converted into a stranger by her grand
dress. And now, though I have dinner to get ready,
I’ll steal time to arrange you so that Edgar Linton shall
look quite a doll beside you: and that he does. You are
younger, and yet, I’ll be bound, you are taller and twice
as broad across the shoulders; you could knock him down in a
twinkling; don’t you feel that you could?’
Heathcliff’s face brightened a moment; then it was
overcast afresh, and he sighed.
‘But, Nelly, if I knocked him down twenty times, that
wouldn’t make him less handsome or me more so. I wish
I had light hair and a fair skin, and was dressed and behaved as
well, and had a chance of being as rich as he will be!’
‘And cried for mamma at every turn,’ I added,
‘and trembled if a country lad heaved his fist against you,
and sat at home all day for a shower of rain. Oh,
Heathcliff, you are showing a poor spirit! Come to the
glass, and I’ll let you see what you should wish. Do
you mark those two lines between your eyes; and those thick
brows, that, instead of rising arched, sink in the middle; and
that couple of black fiends, so deeply buried, who never open
their windows boldly, but lurk glinting under them, like
devil’s spies? Wish and learn to smooth away the
surly wrinkles, to raise your lids frankly, and change the fiends
to confident, innocent angels, suspecting and doubting nothing,
and always seeing friends where they are not sure of foes.
Don’t get the expression of a vicious cur that appears to
know the kicks it gets are its desert, and yet hates all the
world, as well as the kicker, for what it suffers.’
‘In other words, I must wish for Edgar Linton’s
great blue eyes and even forehead,’ he replied.
‘I do—and that won’t help me to
them.’
‘A good heart will help you to a bonny face, my
lad,’ I continued, ‘if you were a regular black; and
a bad one will turn the bonniest into something worse than
ugly. And now that we’ve done washing, and combing,
and sulking—tell me whether you don’t think yourself
rather handsome? I’ll tell you, I do.
You’re fit for a prince in disguise. Who knows but
your father was Emperor of China, and your mother an Indian
queen, each of them able to buy up, with one week’s income,
Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange together? And you
were kidnapped by wicked sailors and brought to England.
Were I in your place, I would frame high notions of my birth; and
the thoughts of what I was should give me courage and dignity to
support the oppressions of a little farmer!’
So I chattered on; and Heathcliff gradually lost his frown and
began to look quite pleasant, when all at once our conversation
was interrupted by a rumbling sound moving up the road and
entering the court. He ran to the window and I to the door,
just in time to behold the two Lintons descend from the family
carriage, smothered in cloaks and furs, and the Earnshaws
dismount from their horses: they often rode to church in
winter. Catherine took a hand of each of the children, and
brought them into the house and set them before the fire, which
quickly put colour into their white faces.
I urged my companion to hasten now and show his amiable
humour, and he willingly obeyed; but ill luck would have it that,
as he opened the door leading from the kitchen on one side,
Hindley opened it on the other. They met, and the master,
irritated at seeing him clean and cheerful, or, perhaps, eager to
keep his promise to Mrs. Linton, shoved him back with a sudden
thrust, and angrily bade Joseph ‘keep the fellow out of the
room—send him into the garret till dinner is over.
He’ll be cramming his fingers in the tarts and stealing the
fruit, if left alone with them a minute.’
‘Nay, sir,’ I could not avoid answering,
‘he’ll touch nothing, not he: and I suppose he must
have his share of the dainties as well as we.’
‘He shall have his share of my hand, if I catch him
downstairs till dark,’ cried Hindley. ‘Begone,
you vagabond! What! you are attempting the coxcomb, are
you? Wait till I get hold of those elegant locks—see
if I won’t pull them a bit longer!’
‘They are long enough already,’ observed Master
Linton, peeping from the doorway; ‘I wonder they
don’t make his head ache. It’s like a
colt’s mane over his eyes!’
He ventured this remark without any intention to insult; but
Heathcliff’s violent nature was not prepared to endure the
appearance of impertinence from one whom he seemed to hate, even
then, as a rival. He seized a tureen of hot apple sauce
(the first thing that came under his gripe) and dashed it full
against the speaker’s face and neck; who instantly
commenced a lament that brought Isabella and Catherine hurrying
to the place. Mr. Earnshaw snatched up the culprit directly
and conveyed him to his chamber; where, doubtless, he
administered a rough remedy to cool the fit of passion, for he
appeared red and breathless. I got the dishcloth, and
rather spitefully scrubbed Edgar’s nose and mouth,
affirming it served him right for meddling. His sister
began weeping to go home, and Cathy stood by confounded, blushing
for all.
‘You should not have spoken to him!’ she
expostulated with Master Linton. ‘He was in a bad
temper, and now you’ve spoilt your visit; and he’ll
be flogged: I hate him to be flogged! I can’t eat my
dinner. Why did you speak to him, Edgar?’
‘I didn’t,’ sobbed the youth, escaping from
my hands, and finishing the remainder of the purification with
his cambric pocket-handkerchief. ‘I promised mamma
that I wouldn’t say one word to him, and I
didn’t.’
‘Well, don’t cry,’ replied Catherine,
contemptuously; ‘you’re not killed. Don’t
make more mischief; my brother is coming: be quiet! Hush,
Isabella! Has anybody hurt you?’
‘There, there, children—to your seats!’
cried Hindley, bustling in. ‘That brute of a lad has
warmed me nicely. Next time, Master Edgar, take the law
into your own fists—it will give you an
appetite!’
The little party recovered its equanimity at sight of the
fragrant feast. They were hungry after their ride, and
easily consoled, since no real harm had befallen them. Mr.
Earnshaw carved bountiful platefuls, and the mistress made them
merry with lively talk. I waited behind her chair, and was
pained to behold Catherine, with dry eyes and an indifferent air,
commence cutting up the wing of a goose before her.
‘An unfeeling child,’ I thought to myself; ‘how
lightly she dismisses her old playmate’s troubles. I
could not have imagined her to be so selfish.’ She
lifted a mouthful to her lips: then she set it down again: her
cheeks flushed, and the tears gushed over them. She slipped
her fork to the floor, and hastily dived under the cloth to
conceal her emotion. I did not call her unfeeling long; for
I perceived she was in purgatory throughout the day, and wearying
to find an opportunity of getting by herself, or paying a visit
to Heathcliff, who had been locked up by the master: as I
discovered, on endeavouring to introduce to him a private mess of
victuals.
In the evening we had a dance. Cathy begged that he
might be liberated then, as Isabella Linton had no partner: her
entreaties were vain, and I was appointed to supply the
deficiency. We got rid of all gloom in the excitement of
the exercise, and our pleasure was increased by the arrival of
the Gimmerton band, mustering fifteen strong: a trumpet, a
trombone, clarionets, bassoons, French horns, and a bass viol,
besides singers. They go the rounds of all the respectable
houses, and receive contributions every Christmas, and we
esteemed it a first-rate treat to hear them. After the
usual carols had been sung, we set them to songs and glees.
Mrs. Earnshaw loved the music, and so they gave us plenty.
Catherine loved it too: but she said it sounded sweetest at
the top of the steps, and she went up in the dark: I
followed. They shut the house door below, never noting our
absence, it was so full of people. She made no stay at the
stairs’-head, but mounted farther, to the garret where
Heathcliff was confined, and called him. He stubbornly
declined answering for a while: she persevered, and finally
persuaded him to hold communion with her through the
boards. I let the poor things converse unmolested, till I
supposed the songs were going to cease, and the singers to get
some refreshment: then I clambered up the ladder to warn
her. Instead of finding her outside, I heard her voice
within. The little monkey had crept by the skylight of one
garret, along the roof, into the skylight of the other, and it
was with the utmost difficulty I could coax her out again.
When she did come, Heathcliff came with her, and she insisted
that I should take him into the kitchen, as my fellow-servant had
gone to a neighbour’s, to be removed from the sound of our
‘devil’s psalmody,’ as it pleased him to call
it. I told them I intended by no means to encourage their
tricks: but as the prisoner had never broken his fast since
yesterday’s dinner, I would wink at his cheating Mr.
Hindley that once. He went down: I set him a stool by the
fire, and offered him a quantity of good things: but he was sick
and could eat little, and my attempts to entertain him were
thrown away. He leant his two elbows on his knees, and his
chin on his hands and remained rapt in dumb meditation. On
my inquiring the subject of his thoughts, he answered
gravely—‘I’m trying to settle how I shall pay
Hindley back. I don’t care how long I wait, if I can
only do it at last. I hope he will not die before I
do!’
‘For shame, Heathcliff!’ said I. ‘It
is for God to punish wicked people; we should learn to
forgive.’
‘No, God won’t have the satisfaction that I
shall,’ he returned. ‘I only wish I knew the
best way! Let me alone, and I’ll plan it out: while
I’m thinking of that I don’t feel pain.’
‘But, Mr. Lockwood, I forget these tales cannot divert
you. I’m annoyed how I should dream of chattering on
at such a rate; and your gruel cold, and you nodding for
bed! I could have told Heathcliff’s history, all that
you need hear, in half a dozen words.’
* * * * *
Thus interrupting herself, the housekeeper rose, and proceeded
to lay aside her sewing; but I felt incapable of moving from the
hearth, and I was very far from nodding. ‘Sit still,
Mrs. Dean,’ I cried; ‘do sit still another
half-hour. You’ve done just right to tell the story
leisurely. That is the method I like; and you must finish
it in the same style. I am interested in every character
you have mentioned, more or less.’
‘The clock is on the stroke of eleven, sir.’
‘No matter—I’m not accustomed to go to bed
in the long hours. One or two is early enough for a person
who lies till ten.’
‘You shouldn’t lie till ten. There’s
the very prime of the morning gone long before that time. A
person who has not done one-half his day’s work by ten
o’clock, runs a chance of leaving the other half
undone.’
‘Nevertheless, Mrs. Dean, resume your chair; because
to-morrow I intend lengthening the night till afternoon. I
prognosticate for myself an obstinate cold, at least.’
‘I hope not, sir. Well, you must allow me to leap
over some three years; during that space Mrs.
Earnshaw—’
‘No, no, I’ll allow nothing of the sort! Are
you acquainted with the mood of mind in which, if you were seated
alone, and the cat licking its kitten on the rug before you, you
would watch the operation so intently that puss’s neglect
of one ear would put you seriously out of temper?’
‘A terribly lazy mood, I should say.’
‘On the contrary, a tiresomely active one. It is
mine, at present; and, therefore, continue minutely. I
perceive that people in these regions acquire over people in
towns the value that a spider in a dungeon does over a spider in
a cottage, to their various occupants; and yet the deepened
attraction is not entirely owing to the situation of the
looker-on. They do live more in earnest, more in
themselves, and less in surface, change, and frivolous external
things. I could fancy a love for life here almost possible;
and I was a fixed unbeliever in any love of a year’s
standing. One state resembles setting a hungry man down to
a single dish, on which he may concentrate his entire appetite
and do it justice; the other, introducing him to a table laid out
by French cooks: he can perhaps extract as much enjoyment from
the whole; but each part is a mere atom in his regard and
remembrance.’
‘Oh! here we are the same as anywhere else, when you get
to know us,’ observed Mrs. Dean, somewhat puzzled at my
speech.
‘Excuse me,’ I responded; ‘you, my good
friend, are a striking evidence against that assertion.
Excepting a few provincialisms of slight consequence, you have no
marks of the manners which I am habituated to consider as
peculiar to your class. I am sure you have thought a great
deal more than the generality of servants think. You have
been compelled to cultivate your reflective faculties for want of
occasions for frittering your life away in silly
trifles.’
Mrs. Dean laughed.
‘I certainly esteem myself a steady, reasonable kind of
body,’ she said; ‘not exactly from living among the
hills and seeing one set of faces, and one series of actions,
from year’s end to year’s end; but I have undergone
sharp discipline, which has taught me wisdom; and then, I have
read more than you would fancy, Mr. Lockwood. You could not
open a book in this library that I have not looked into, and got
something out of also: unless it be that range of Greek and
Latin, and that of French; and those I know one from another: it
is as much as you can expect of a poor man’s
daughter. However, if I am to follow my story in true
gossip’s fashion, I had better go on; and instead of
leaping three years, I will be content to pass to the next
summer—the summer of 1778, that is nearly twenty-three
years ago.’
CHAPTER VIII
On the morning of a fine June day my first bonny little
nursling, and the last of the ancient Earnshaw stock, was
born. We were busy with the hay in a far-away field, when
the girl that usually brought our breakfasts came running an hour
too soon across the meadow and up the lane, calling me as she
ran.
‘Oh, such a grand bairn!’ she panted out.
‘The finest lad that ever breathed! But the doctor
says missis must go: he says she’s been in a consumption
these many months. I heard him tell Mr. Hindley: and now
she has nothing to keep her, and she’ll be dead before
winter. You must come home directly. You’re to
nurse it, Nelly: to feed it with sugar and milk, and take care of
it day and night. I wish I were you, because it will be all
yours when there is no missis!’
‘But is she very ill?’ I asked, flinging down my
rake and tying my bonnet.
‘I guess she is; yet she looks bravely,’ replied
the girl, ‘and she talks as if she thought of living to see
it grow a man. She’s out of her head for joy,
it’s such a beauty! If I were her I’m certain I
should not die: I should get better at the bare sight of it, in
spite of Kenneth. I was fairly mad at him. Dame
Archer brought the cherub down to master, in the house, and his
face just began to light up, when the old croaker steps forward,
and says he—“Earnshaw, it’s a blessing your
wife has been spared to leave you this son. When she came,
I felt convinced we shouldn’t keep her long; and now, I
must tell you, the winter will probably finish her.
Don’t take on, and fret about it too much: it can’t
be helped. And besides, you should have known better than
to choose such a rush of a lass!”’
‘And what did the master answer?’ I inquired.
‘I think he swore: but I didn’t mind him, I was
straining to see the bairn,’ and she began again to
describe it rapturously. I, as zealous as herself, hurried
eagerly home to admire, on my part; though I was very sad for
Hindley’s sake. He had room in his heart only for two
idols—his wife and himself: he doted on both, and adored
one, and I couldn’t conceive how he would bear the
loss.
When we got to Wuthering Heights, there he stood at the front
door; and, as I passed in, I asked, ‘how was the
baby?’
‘Nearly ready to run about, Nell!’ he replied,
putting on a cheerful smile.
‘And the mistress?’ I ventured to inquire;
‘the doctor says she’s—’
‘Damn the doctor!’ he interrupted,
reddening. ‘Frances is quite right: she’ll be
perfectly well by this time next week. Are you going
up-stairs? will you tell her that I’ll come, if
she’ll promise not to talk. I left her because she
would not hold her tongue; and she must—tell her Mr.
Kenneth says she must be quiet.’
I delivered this message to Mrs. Earnshaw; she seemed in
flighty spirits, and replied merrily, ‘I hardly spoke a
word, Ellen, and there he has gone out twice, crying. Well,
say I promise I won’t speak: but that does not bind me not
to laugh at him!’
Poor soul! Till within a week of her death that gay
heart never failed her; and her husband persisted doggedly, nay,
furiously, in affirming her health improved every day. When
Kenneth warned him that his medicines were useless at that stage
of the malady, and he needn’t put him to further expense by
attending her, he retorted, ‘I know you need
not—she’s well—she does not want any more
attendance from you! She never was in a consumption.
It was a fever; and it is gone: her pulse is as slow as mine now,
and her cheek as cool.’
He told his wife the same story, and she seemed to believe
him; but one night, while leaning on his shoulder, in the act of
saying she thought she should be able to get up to-morrow, a fit
of coughing took her—a very slight one—he raised her
in his arms; she put her two hands about his neck, her face
changed, and she was dead.
As the girl had anticipated, the child Hareton fell wholly
into my hands. Mr. Earnshaw, provided he saw him healthy
and never heard him cry, was contented, as far as regarded
him. For himself, he grew desperate: his sorrow was of that
kind that will not lament. He neither wept nor prayed; he
cursed and defied: execrated God and man, and gave himself up to
reckless dissipation. The servants could not bear his
tyrannical and evil conduct long: Joseph and I were the only two
that would stay. I had not the heart to leave my charge;
and besides, you know, I had been his foster-sister, and excused
his behaviour more readily than a stranger would. Joseph
remained to hector over tenants and labourers; and because it was
his vocation to be where he had plenty of wickedness to
reprove.
The master’s bad ways and bad companions formed a pretty
example for Catherine and Heathcliff. His treatment of the
latter was enough to make a fiend of a saint. And, truly,
it appeared as if the lad
were possessed of something
diabolical at that period. He delighted to witness Hindley
degrading himself past redemption; and became daily more notable
for savage sullenness and ferocity. I could not half tell
what an infernal house we had. The curate dropped calling,
and nobody decent came near us, at last; unless Edgar
Linton’s visits to Miss Cathy might be an exception.
At fifteen she was the queen of the country-side; she had no
peer; and she did turn out a haughty, headstrong creature!
I own I did not like her, after infancy was past; and I vexed her
frequently by trying to bring down her arrogance: she never took
an aversion to me, though. She had a wondrous constancy to
old attachments: even Heathcliff kept his hold on her affections
unalterably; and young Linton, with all his superiority, found it
difficult to make an equally deep impression. He was my
late master: that is his portrait over the fireplace. It
used to hang on one side, and his wife’s on the other; but
hers has been removed, or else you might see something of what
she was. Can you make that out?
Mrs. Dean raised the candle, and I discerned a soft-featured
face, exceedingly resembling the young lady at the Heights, but
more pensive and amiable in expression. It formed a sweet
picture. The long light hair curled slightly on the
temples; the eyes were large and serious; the figure almost too
graceful. I did not marvel how Catherine Earnshaw could
forget her first friend for such an individual. I marvelled
much how he, with a mind to correspond with his person, could
fancy my idea of Catherine Earnshaw.
‘A very agreeable portrait,’ I observed to the
house-keeper. ‘Is it like?’
‘Yes,’ she answered; ‘but he looked better
when he was animated; that is his everyday countenance: he wanted
spirit in general.’
Catherine had kept up her acquaintance with the Lintons since
her five-weeks’ residence among them; and as she had no
temptation to show her rough side in their company, and had the
sense to be ashamed of being rude where she experienced such
invariable courtesy, she imposed unwittingly on the old lady and
gentleman by her ingenious cordiality; gained the admiration of
Isabella, and the heart and soul of her brother: acquisitions
that flattered her from the first—for she was full of
ambition—and led her to adopt a double character without
exactly intending to deceive any one. In the place where
she heard Heathcliff termed a ‘vulgar young ruffian,’
and ‘worse than a brute,’ she took care not to act
like him; but at home she had small inclination to practise
politeness that would only be laughed at, and restrain an unruly
nature when it would bring her neither credit nor praise.
Mr. Edgar seldom mustered courage to visit Wuthering Heights
openly. He had a terror of Earnshaw’s reputation, and
shrunk from encountering him; and yet he was always received with
our best attempts at civility: the master himself avoided
offending him, knowing why he came; and if he could not be
gracious, kept out of the way. I rather think his
appearance there was distasteful to Catherine; she was not
artful, never played the coquette, and had evidently an objection
to her two friends meeting at all; for when Heathcliff expressed
contempt of Linton in his presence, she could not half coincide,
as she did in his absence; and when Linton evinced disgust and
antipathy to Heathcliff, she dared not treat his sentiments with
indifference, as if depreciation of her playmate were of scarcely
any consequence to her. I’ve had many a laugh at her
perplexities and untold troubles, which she vainly strove to hide
from my mockery. That sounds ill-natured: but she was so
proud it became really impossible to pity her distresses, till
she should be chastened into more humility. She did bring
herself, finally, to confess, and to confide in me: there was not
a soul else that she might fashion into an adviser.
Mr. Hindley had gone from home one afternoon, and Heathcliff
presumed to give himself a holiday on the strength of it.
He had reached the age of sixteen then, I think, and without
having bad features, or being deficient in intellect, he
contrived to convey an impression of inward and outward
repulsiveness that his present aspect retains no traces of.
In the first place, he had by that time lost the benefit of his
early education: continual hard work, begun soon and concluded
late, had extinguished any curiosity he once possessed in pursuit
of knowledge, and any love for books or learning. His
childhood’s sense of superiority, instilled into him by the
favours of old Mr. Earnshaw, was faded away. He struggled
long to keep up an equality with Catherine in her studies, and
yielded with poignant though silent regret: but he yielded
completely; and there was no prevailing on him to take a step in
the way of moving upward, when he found he must, necessarily,
sink beneath his former level. Then personal appearance
sympathised with mental deterioration: he acquired a slouching
gait and ignoble look; his naturally reserved disposition was
exaggerated into an almost idiotic excess of unsociable
moroseness; and he took a grim pleasure, apparently, in exciting
the aversion rather than the esteem of his few acquaintances.
Catherine and he were constant companions still at his seasons
of respite from labour; but he had ceased to express his fondness
for her in words, and recoiled with angry suspicion from her
girlish caresses, as if conscious there could be no gratification
in lavishing such marks of affection on him. On the
before-named occasion he came into the house to announce his
intention of doing nothing, while I was assisting Miss Cathy to
arrange her dress: she had not reckoned on his taking it into his
head to be idle; and imagining she would have the whole place to
herself, she managed, by some means, to inform Mr. Edgar of her
brother’s absence, and was then preparing to receive
him.
‘Cathy, are you busy this afternoon?’ asked
Heathcliff. ‘Are you going anywhere?’
‘No, it is raining,’ she answered.
‘Why have you that silk frock on, then?’ he
said. ‘Nobody coming here, I hope?’
‘Not that I know of,’ stammered Miss: ‘but
you should be in the field now, Heathcliff. It is an hour
past dinnertime: I thought you were gone.’
‘Hindley does not often free us from his accursed
presence,’ observed the boy. ‘I’ll not
work any more to-day: I’ll stay with you.’
‘Oh, but Joseph will tell,’ she suggested;
‘you’d better go!’
‘Joseph is loading lime on the further side of Penistone
Crags; it will take him till dark, and he’ll never
know.’
So, saying, he lounged to the fire, and sat down.
Catherine reflected an instant, with knitted brows—she
found it needful to smooth the way for an intrusion.
‘Isabella and Edgar Linton talked of calling this
afternoon,’ she said, at the conclusion of a minute’s
silence. ‘As it rains, I hardly expect them; but they
may come, and if they do, you run the risk of being scolded for
no good.’
‘Order Ellen to say you are engaged, Cathy,’ he
persisted; ‘don’t turn me out for those pitiful,
silly friends of yours! I’m on the point, sometimes,
of complaining that they—but I’ll
not—’
‘That they what?’ cried Catherine, gazing at him
with a troubled countenance. ‘Oh, Nelly!’ she
added petulantly, jerking her head away from my hands,
‘you’ve combed my hair quite out of curl!
That’s enough; let me alone. What are you on the
point of complaining about, Heathcliff?’
‘Nothing—only look at the almanack on that
wall;’ he pointed to a framed sheet hanging near the
window, and continued, ‘The crosses are for the evenings
you have spent with the Lintons, the dots for those spent with
me. Do you see? I’ve marked every
day.’
‘Yes—very foolish: as if I took notice!’
replied Catherine, in a peevish tone. ‘And where is
the sense of that?’
‘To show that I
do take notice,’ said
Heathcliff.
‘And should I always be sitting with you?’ she
demanded, growing more irritated. ‘What good do I
get? What do you talk about? You might be dumb, or a
baby, for anything you say to amuse me, or for anything you do,
either!’
‘You never told me before that I talked too little, or
that you disliked my company, Cathy!’ exclaimed Heathcliff,
in much agitation.
‘It’s no company at all, when people know nothing
and say nothing,’ she muttered.
Her companion rose up, but he hadn’t time to express his
feelings further, for a horse’s feet were heard on the
flags, and having knocked gently, young Linton entered, his face
brilliant with delight at the unexpected summon she had
received. Doubtless Catherine marked the difference between
her friends, as one came in and the other went out. The
contrast resembled what you see in exchanging a bleak, hilly,
coal country for a beautiful fertile valley; and his voice and
greeting were as opposite as his aspect. He had a sweet,
low manner of speaking, and pronounced his words as you do:
that’s less gruff than we talk here, and softer.
‘I’m not come too soon, am I?’ he said,
casting a look at me: I had begun to wipe the plate, and tidy
some drawers at the far end in the dresser.
‘No,’ answered Catherine. ‘What are
you doing there, Nelly?’
‘My work, Miss,’ I replied. (Mr. Hindley had
given me directions to make a third party in any private visits
Linton chose to pay.)
She stepped behind me and whispered crossly, ‘Take
yourself and your dusters off; when company are in the house,
servants don’t commence scouring and cleaning in the room
where they are!’
‘It’s a good opportunity, now that master is
away,’ I answered aloud: ‘he hates me to be fidgeting
over these things in his presence. I’m sure Mr. Edgar
will excuse me.’
‘I hate you to be fidgeting in
my
presence,’ exclaimed the young lady imperiously, not
allowing her guest time to speak: she had failed to recover her
equanimity since the little dispute with Heathcliff.
‘I’m sorry for it, Miss Catherine,’ was my
response; and I proceeded assiduously with my occupation.
She, supposing Edgar could not see her, snatched the cloth
from my hand, and pinched me, with a prolonged wrench, very
spitefully on the arm. I’ve said I did not love her,
and rather relished mortifying her vanity now and then: besides,
she hurt me extremely; so I started up from my knees, and
screamed out, ‘Oh, Miss, that’s a nasty trick!
You have no right to nip me, and I’m not going to bear
it.’
‘I didn’t touch you, you lying creature!’
cried she, her fingers tingling to repeat the act, and her ears
red with rage. She never had power to conceal her passion,
it always set her whole complexion in a blaze.
‘What’s that, then?’ I retorted, showing a
decided purple witness to refute her.
She stamped her foot, wavered a moment, and then, irresistibly
impelled by the naughty spirit within her, slapped me on the
cheek: a stinging blow that filled both eyes with water.
‘Catherine, love! Catherine!’ interposed
Linton, greatly shocked at the double fault of falsehood and
violence which his idol had committed.
‘Leave the room, Ellen!’ she repeated, trembling
all over.
Little Hareton, who followed me everywhere, and was sitting
near me on the floor, at seeing my tears commenced crying
himself, and sobbed out complaints against ‘wicked aunt
Cathy,’ which drew her fury on to his unlucky head: she
seized his shoulders, and shook him till the poor child waxed
livid, and Edgar thoughtlessly laid hold of her hands to deliver
him. In an instant one was wrung free, and the astonished
young man felt it applied over his own ear in a way that could
not be mistaken for jest. He drew back in
consternation. I lifted Hareton in my arms, and walked off
to the kitchen with him, leaving the door of communication open,
for I was curious to watch how they would settle their
disagreement. The insulted visitor moved to the spot where
he had laid his hat, pale and with a quivering lip.
‘That’s right!’ I said to myself.
‘Take warning and begone! It’s a kindness to
let you have a glimpse of her genuine disposition.’
‘Where are you going?’ demanded Catherine,
advancing to the door.
He swerved aside, and attempted to pass.
‘You must not go!’ she exclaimed,
energetically.
‘I must and shall!’ he replied in a subdued
voice.
‘No,’ she persisted, grasping the handle;
‘not yet, Edgar Linton: sit down; you shall not leave me in
that temper. I should be miserable all night, and I
won’t be miserable for you!’
‘Can I stay after you have struck me?’ asked
Linton.
Catherine was mute.
‘You’ve made me afraid and ashamed of you,’
he continued; ‘I’ll not come here again!’
Her eyes began to glisten and her lids to twinkle.
‘And you told a deliberate untruth!’ he said.
‘I didn’t!’ she cried, recovering her
speech; ‘I did nothing deliberately. Well, go, if you
please—get away! And now I’ll
cry—I’ll cry myself sick!’
She dropped down on her knees by a chair, and set to weeping
in serious earnest. Edgar persevered in his resolution as
far as the court; there he lingered. I resolved to
encourage him.
‘Miss is dreadfully wayward, sir,’ I called
out. ‘As bad as any marred child: you’d better
be riding home, or else she will be sick, only to grieve
us.’
The soft thing looked askance through the window: he possessed
the power to depart as much as a cat possesses the power to leave
a mouse half killed, or a bird half eaten. Ah, I thought,
there will be no saving him: he’s doomed, and flies to his
fate! And so it was: he turned abruptly, hastened into the
house again, shut the door behind him; and when I went in a while
after to inform them that Earnshaw had come home rabid drunk,
ready to pull the whole place about our ears (his ordinary frame
of mind in that condition), I saw the quarrel had merely effected
a closer intimacy—had broken the outworks of youthful
timidity, and enabled them to forsake the disguise of friendship,
and confess themselves lovers.
Intelligence of Mr. Hindley’s arrival drove Linton
speedily to his horse, and Catherine to her chamber. I went
to hide little Hareton, and to take the shot out of the
master’s fowling-piece, which he was fond of playing with
in his insane excitement, to the hazard of the lives of any who
provoked, or even attracted his notice too much; and I had hit
upon the plan of removing it, that he might do less mischief if
he did go the length of firing the gun.
CHAPTER IX
He entered, vociferating oaths dreadful to hear; and caught me
in the act of stowing his son away in the kitchen cupboard.
Hareton was impressed with a wholesome terror of encountering
either his wild beast’s fondness or his madman’s
rage; for in one he ran a chance of being squeezed and kissed to
death, and in the other of being flung into the fire, or dashed
against the wall; and the poor thing remained perfectly quiet
wherever I chose to put him.
‘There, I’ve found it out at last!’ cried
Hindley, pulling me back by the skin of my neck, like a
dog. ‘By heaven and hell, you’ve sworn between
you to murder that child! I know how it is, now, that he is
always out of my way. But, with the help of Satan, I shall
make you swallow the carving-knife, Nelly! You
needn’t laugh; for I’ve just crammed Kenneth,
head-downmost, in the Black-horse marsh; and two is the same as
one—and I want to kill some of you: I shall have no rest
till I do!’
‘But I don’t like the carving-knife, Mr.
Hindley,’ I answered; ‘it has been cutting red
herrings. I’d rather be shot, if you
please.’
‘You’d rather be damned!’ he said;
‘and so you shall. No law in England can hinder a man
from keeping his house decent, and mine’s abominable!
Open your mouth.’ He held the knife in his hand, and
pushed its point between my teeth: but, for my part, I was never
much afraid of his vagaries. I spat out, and affirmed it
tasted detestably—I would not take it on any account.
‘Oh!’ said he, releasing me, ‘I see that
hideous little villain is not Hareton: I beg your pardon,
Nell. If it be, he deserves flaying alive for not running
to welcome me, and for screaming as if I were a goblin.
Unnatural cub, come hither! I’ll teach thee to impose
on a good-hearted, deluded father. Now, don’t you
think the lad would be handsomer cropped? It makes a dog
fiercer, and I love something fierce—get me a
scissors—something fierce and trim! Besides,
it’s infernal affectation—devilish conceit it is, to
cherish our ears—we’re asses enough without
them. Hush, child, hush! Well then, it is my darling!
wisht, dry thy eyes—there’s a joy; kiss me.
What! it won’t? Kiss me, Hareton! Damn thee,
kiss me! By God, as if I would rear such a monster!
As sure as I’m living, I’ll break the brat’s
neck.’
Poor Hareton was squalling and kicking in his father’s
arms with all his might, and redoubled his yells when he carried
him up-stairs and lifted him over the banister. I cried out
that he would frighten the child into fits, and ran to rescue
him. As I reached them, Hindley leant forward on the rails
to listen to a noise below; almost forgetting what he had in his
hands. ‘Who is that?’ he asked, hearing some
one approaching the stairs’-foot. I leant forward
also, for the purpose of signing to Heathcliff, whose step I
recognised, not to come further; and, at the instant when my eye
quitted Hareton, he gave a sudden spring, delivered himself from
the careless grasp that held him, and fell.
There was scarcely time to experience a thrill of horror
before we saw that the little wretch was safe. Heathcliff
arrived underneath just at the critical moment; by a natural
impulse he arrested his descent, and setting him on his feet,
looked up to discover the author of the accident. A miser
who has parted with a lucky lottery ticket for five shillings,
and finds next day he has lost in the bargain five thousand
pounds, could not show a blanker countenance than he did on
beholding the figure of Mr. Earnshaw above. It expressed,
plainer than words could do, the intensest anguish at having made
himself the instrument of thwarting his own revenge. Had it
been dark, I daresay he would have tried to remedy the mistake by
smashing Hareton’s skull on the steps; but, we witnessed
his salvation; and I was presently below with my precious charge
pressed to my heart. Hindley descended more leisurely,
sobered and abashed.
‘It is your fault, Ellen,’ he said; ‘you
should have kept him out of sight: you should have taken him from
me! Is he injured anywhere?’
‘Injured!’ I cried angrily; ‘if he is not
killed, he’ll be an idiot! Oh! I wonder his
mother does not rise from her grave to see how you use him.
You’re worse than a heathen—treating your own flesh
and blood in that manner!’ He attempted to touch the
child, who, on finding himself with me, sobbed off his terror
directly. At the first finger his father laid on him,
however, he shrieked again louder than before, and struggled as
if he would go into convulsions.
‘You shall not meddle with him!’ I
continued. ‘He hates you—they all hate
you—that’s the truth! A happy family you have;
and a pretty state you’re come to!’
‘I shall come to a prettier, yet, Nelly,’ laughed
the misguided man, recovering his hardness. ‘At
present, convey yourself and him away. And hark you,
Heathcliff! clear you too quite from my reach and hearing.
I wouldn’t murder you to-night; unless, perhaps, I set the
house on fire: but that’s as my fancy goes.’
While saying this he took a pint bottle of brandy from the
dresser, and poured some into a tumbler.
‘Nay, don’t!’ I entreated. ‘Mr.
Hindley, do take warning. Have mercy on this unfortunate
boy, if you care nothing for yourself!’
‘Any one will do better for him than I shall,’ he
answered.
‘Have mercy on your own soul!’ I said,
endeavouring to snatch the glass from his hand.
‘Not I! On the contrary, I shall have great
pleasure in sending it to perdition to punish its Maker,’
exclaimed the blasphemer. ‘Here’s to its hearty
damnation!’
He drank the spirits and impatiently bade us go; terminating
his command with a sequel of horrid imprecations too bad to
repeat or remember.
‘It’s a pity he cannot kill himself with
drink,’ observed Heathcliff, muttering an echo of curses
back when the door was shut. ‘He’s doing his
very utmost; but his constitution defies him. Mr. Kenneth
says he would wager his mare that he’ll outlive any man on
this side Gimmerton, and go to the grave a hoary sinner; unless
some happy chance out of the common course befall him.’
I went into the kitchen, and sat down to lull my little lamb
to sleep. Heathcliff, as I thought, walked through to the
barn. It turned out afterwards that he only got as far as
the other side the settle, when he flung himself on a bench by
the wall, removed from the fire and remained silent.
I was rocking Hareton on my knee, and humming a song that
began,—
It was far in the night, and the bairnies grat,
The mither beneath the mools heard that,
when Miss Cathy, who had listened to the hubbub from her room,
put her head in, and whispered,—‘Are you alone,
Nelly?’
‘Yes, Miss,’ I replied.
She entered and approached the hearth. I, supposing she
was going to say something, looked up. The expression of
her face seemed disturbed and anxious. Her lips were half
asunder, as if she meant to speak, and she drew a breath; but it
escaped in a sigh instead of a sentence. I resumed my song;
not having forgotten her recent behaviour.
‘Where’s Heathcliff?’ she said, interrupting
me.
‘About his work in the stable,’ was my answer.
He did not contradict me; perhaps he had fallen into a
doze. There followed another long pause, during which I
perceived a drop or two trickle from Catherine’s cheek to
the flags. Is she sorry for her shameful conduct?—I
asked myself. That will be a novelty: but she may come to
the point—as she will—I sha’n’t help
her! No, she felt small trouble regarding any subject, save
her own concerns.
‘Oh, dear!’ she cried at last.
‘I’m very unhappy!’
‘A pity,’ observed I. ‘You’re
hard to please; so many friends and so few cares, and can’t
make yourself content!’
‘Nelly, will you keep a secret for me?’ she
pursued, kneeling down by me, and lifting her winsome eyes to my
face with that sort of look which turns off bad temper, even when
one has all the right in the world to indulge it.
‘Is it worth keeping?’ I inquired, less
sulkily.
‘Yes, and it worries me, and I must let it out! I
want to know what I should do. To-day, Edgar Linton has
asked me to marry him, and I’ve given him an answer.
Now, before I tell you whether it was a consent or denial, you
tell me which it ought to have been.’
‘Really, Miss Catherine, how can I know?’ I
replied. ‘To be sure, considering the exhibition you
performed in his presence this afternoon, I might say it would be
wise to refuse him: since he asked you after that, he must either
be hopelessly stupid or a venturesome fool.’
‘If you talk so, I won’t tell you any more,’
she returned, peevishly rising to her feet. ‘I
accepted him, Nelly. Be quick, and say whether I was
wrong!’
‘You accepted him! Then what good is it discussing
the matter? You have pledged your word, and cannot
retract.’
‘But say whether I should have done so—do!’
she exclaimed in an irritated tone; chafing her hands together,
and frowning.
‘There are many things to be considered before that
question can be answered properly,’ I said,
sententiously. ‘First and foremost, do you love Mr.
Edgar?’
‘Who can help it? Of course I do,’ she
answered.
Then I put her through the following catechism: for a girl of
twenty-two it was not injudicious.
‘Why do you love him, Miss Cathy?’
‘Nonsense, I do—that’s
sufficient.’
‘By no means; you must say why?’
‘Well, because he is handsome, and pleasant to be
with.’
‘Bad!’ was my commentary.
‘And because he is young and cheerful.’
‘Bad, still.’
‘And because he loves me.’
‘Indifferent, coming there.’
‘And he will be rich, and I shall like to be the
greatest woman of the neighbourhood, and I shall be proud of
having such a husband.’
‘Worst of all. And now, say how you love
him?’
‘As everybody loves—You’re silly,
Nelly.’
‘Not at all—Answer.’
‘I love the ground under his feet, and the air over his
head, and everything he touches, and every word he says. I
love all his looks, and all his actions, and him entirely and
altogether. There now!’
‘And why?’
‘Nay; you are making a jest of it: it is exceedingly
ill-natured! It’s no jest to me!’ said the
young lady, scowling, and turning her face to the fire.
‘I’m very far from jesting, Miss Catherine,’
I replied. ‘You love Mr. Edgar because he is
handsome, and young, and cheerful, and rich, and loves you.
The last, however, goes for nothing: you would love him without
that, probably; and with it you wouldn’t, unless he
possessed the four former attractions.’
‘No, to be sure not: I should only pity him—hate
him, perhaps, if he were ugly, and a clown.’
‘But there are several other handsome, rich young men in
the world: handsomer, possibly, and richer than he is. What
should hinder you from loving them?’
‘If there be any, they are out of my way: I’ve
seen none like Edgar.’
‘You may see some; and he won’t always be
handsome, and young, and may not always be rich.’
‘He is now; and I have only to do with the
present. I wish you would speak rationally.’
‘Well, that settles it: if you have only to do with the
present, marry Mr. Linton.’
‘I don’t want your permission for that—I
shall marry him: and yet you have not told me whether
I’m right.’
‘Perfectly right; if people be right to marry only for
the present. And now, let us hear what you are unhappy
about. Your brother will be pleased; the old lady and
gentleman will not object, I think; you will escape from a
disorderly, comfortless home into a wealthy, respectable one; and
you love Edgar, and Edgar loves you. All seems smooth and
easy: where is the obstacle?’
‘
Here! and
here!’ replied Catherine,
striking one hand on her forehead, and the other on her breast:
‘in whichever place the soul lives. In my soul and in
my heart, I’m convinced I’m wrong!’
‘That’s very strange! I cannot make it
out.’
‘It’s my secret. But if you will not mock at
me, I’ll explain it: I can’t do it distinctly; but
I’ll give you a feeling of how I feel.’
She seated herself by me again: her countenance grew sadder
and graver, and her clasped hands trembled.
‘Nelly, do you never dream queer dreams?’ she
said, suddenly, after some minutes’ reflection.
‘Yes, now and then,’ I answered.
‘And so do I. I’ve dreamt in my life dreams
that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas:
they’ve gone through and through me, like wine through
water, and altered the colour of my mind. And this is one:
I’m going to tell it—but take care not to smile at
any part of it.’
‘Oh! don’t, Miss Catherine!’ I cried.
‘We’re dismal enough without conjuring up ghosts and
visions to perplex us. Come, come, be merry and like
yourself! Look at little Hareton!
he’s
dreaming nothing dreary. How sweetly he smiles in his
sleep!’
‘Yes; and how sweetly his father curses in his
solitude! You remember him, I daresay, when he was just
such another as that chubby thing: nearly as young and
innocent. However, Nelly, I shall oblige you to listen:
it’s not long; and I’ve no power to be merry
to-night.’
‘I won’t hear it, I won’t hear it!’ I
repeated, hastily.
I was superstitious about dreams then, and am still; and
Catherine had an unusual gloom in her aspect, that made me dread
something from which I might shape a prophecy, and foresee a
fearful catastrophe. She was vexed, but she did not
proceed. Apparently taking up another subject, she
recommenced in a short time.
‘If I were in heaven, Nelly, I should be extremely
miserable.’
‘Because you are not fit to go there,’ I
answered. ‘All sinners would be miserable in
heaven.’
‘But it is not for that. I dreamt once that I was
there.’
‘I tell you I won’t hearken to your dreams, Miss
Catherine! I’ll go to bed,’ I interrupted
again.
She laughed, and held me down; for I made a motion to leave my
chair.
‘This is nothing,’ cried she: ‘I was only
going to say that heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke
my heart with weeping to come back to earth; and the angels were
so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on
the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing for joy.
That will do to explain my secret, as well as the other.
I’ve no more business to marry Edgar Linton than I have to
be in heaven; and if the wicked man in there had not brought
Heathcliff so low, I shouldn’t have thought of it. It
would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know
how I love him: and that, not because he’s handsome, Nelly,
but because he’s more myself than I am. Whatever our
souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and Linton’s
is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from
fire.’
Ere this speech ended I became sensible of Heathcliff’s
presence. Having noticed a slight movement, I turned my
head, and saw him rise from the bench, and steal out
noiselessly. He had listened till he heard Catherine say it
would degrade her to marry him, and then he stayed to hear no
further. My companion, sitting on the ground, was prevented
by the back of the settle from remarking his presence or
departure; but I started, and bade her hush!
‘Why?’ she asked, gazing nervously round.
‘Joseph is here,’ I answered, catching opportunely
the roll of his cartwheels up the road; ‘and Heathcliff
will come in with him. I’m not sure whether he were
not at the door this moment.’
‘Oh, he couldn’t overhear me at the door!’
said she. ‘Give me Hareton, while you get the supper,
and when it is ready ask me to sup with you. I want to
cheat my uncomfortable conscience, and be convinced that
Heathcliff has no notion of these things. He has not, has
he? He does not know what being in love is!’
‘I see no reason that he should not know, as well as
you,’ I returned; ‘and if you are his choice,
he’ll be the most unfortunate creature that ever was
born! As soon as you become Mrs. Linton, he loses friend,
and love, and all! Have you considered how you’ll
bear the separation, and how he’ll bear to be quite
deserted in the world? Because, Miss
Catherine—’
‘He quite deserted! we separated!’ she exclaimed,
with an accent of indignation. ‘Who is to separate
us, pray? They’ll meet the fate of Milo! Not as
long as I live, Ellen: for no mortal creature. Every Linton
on the face of the earth might melt into nothing before I could
consent to forsake Heathcliff. Oh, that’s not what I
intend—that’s not what I mean! I
shouldn’t be Mrs. Linton were such a price demanded!
He’ll be as much to me as he has been all his
lifetime. Edgar must shake off his antipathy, and tolerate
him, at least. He will, when he learns my true feelings
towards him. Nelly, I see now you think me a selfish
wretch; but did it never strike you that if Heathcliff and I
married, we should be beggars? whereas, if I marry Linton I can
aid Heathcliff to rise, and place him out of my brother’s
power.’
‘With your husband’s money, Miss Catherine?’
I asked. ‘You’ll find him not so pliable as you
calculate upon: and, though I’m hardly a judge, I think
that’s the worst motive you’ve given yet for being
the wife of young Linton.’
‘It is not,’ retorted she; ‘it is the
best! The others were the satisfaction of my whims: and for
Edgar’s sake, too, to satisfy him. This is for the
sake of one who comprehends in his person my feelings to Edgar
and myself. I cannot express it; but surely you and
everybody have a notion that there is or should be an existence
of yours beyond you. What were the use of my creation, if I
were entirely contained here? My great miseries in this
world have been Heathcliff’s miseries, and I watched and
felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is
himself. If all else perished, and
he remained,
I should still continue to be; and if all else remained,
and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty
stranger: I should not seem a part of it.—My love for
Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it,
I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love
for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of
little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I
am
Heathcliff! He’s always, always in my mind: not as a
pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as
my own being. So don’t talk of our separation again:
it is impracticable; and—’
She paused, and hid her face in the folds of my gown; but I
jerked it forcibly away. I was out of patience with her
folly!
‘If I can make any sense of your nonsense, Miss,’
I said, ‘it only goes to convince me that you are ignorant
of the duties you undertake in marrying; or else that you are a
wicked, unprincipled girl. But trouble me with no more
secrets: I’ll not promise to keep them.’
‘You’ll keep that?’ she asked, eagerly.
‘No, I’ll not promise,’ I repeated.
She was about to insist, when the entrance of Joseph finished
our conversation; and Catherine removed her seat to a corner, and
nursed Hareton, while I made the supper. After it was
cooked, my fellow-servant and I began to quarrel who should carry
some to Mr. Hindley; and we didn’t settle it till all was
nearly cold. Then we came to the agreement that we would
let him ask, if he wanted any; for we feared particularly to go
into his presence when he had been some time alone.
‘And how isn’t that nowt comed in fro’
th’ field, be this time? What is he about? girt idle
seeght!’ demanded the old man, looking round for
Heathcliff.
‘I’ll call him,’ I replied.
‘He’s in the barn, I’ve no doubt.’
I went and called, but got no answer. On returning, I
whispered to Catherine that he had heard a good part of what she
said, I was sure; and told how I saw him quit the kitchen just as
she complained of her brother’s conduct regarding
him. She jumped up in a fine fright, flung Hareton on to
the settle, and ran to seek for her friend herself; not taking
leisure to consider why she was so flurried, or how her talk
would have affected him. She was absent such a while that
Joseph proposed we should wait no longer. He cunningly
conjectured they were staying away in order to avoid hearing his
protracted blessing. They were ‘ill eneugh for ony
fahl manners,’ he affirmed. And on their behalf he
added that night a special prayer to the usual
quarter-of-an-hour’s supplication before meat, and would
have tacked another to the end of the grace, had not his young
mistress broken in upon him with a hurried command that he must
run down the road, and, wherever Heathcliff had rambled, find and
make him re-enter directly!
‘I want to speak to him, and I
must, before I go
upstairs,’ she said. ‘And the gate is open: he
is somewhere out of hearing; for he would not reply, though I
shouted at the top of the fold as loud as I could.’
Joseph objected at first; she was too much in earnest,
however, to suffer contradiction; and at last he placed his hat
on his head, and walked grumbling forth. Meantime,
Catherine paced up and down the floor, exclaiming—‘I
wonder where he is—I wonder where he can be! What did
I say, Nelly? I’ve forgotten. Was he vexed at
my bad humour this afternoon? Dear! tell me what I’ve
said to grieve him? I do wish he’d come. I do
wish he would!’
‘What a noise for nothing!’ I cried, though rather
uneasy myself. ‘What a trifle scares you!
It’s surely no great cause of alarm that Heathcliff should
take a moonlight saunter on the moors, or even lie too sulky to
speak to us in the hay-loft. I’ll engage he’s
lurking there. See if I don’t ferret him
out!’
I departed to renew my search; its result was disappointment,
and Joseph’s quest ended in the same.
‘Yon lad gets war und war!’ observed he on
re-entering. ‘He’s left th’ gate at
t’ full swing, and Miss’s pony has trodden dahn two
rigs o’ corn, and plottered through, raight o’er into
t’ meadow! Hahsomdiver, t’ maister ‘ull
play t’ devil to-morn, and he’ll do weel.
He’s patience itsseln wi’ sich careless, offald
craters—patience itsseln he is! Bud he’ll not
be soa allus—yah’s see, all on ye! Yah
mun’n’t drive him out of his heead for
nowt!’
‘Have you found Heathcliff, you ass?’ interrupted
Catherine. ‘Have you been looking for him, as I
ordered?’
‘I sud more likker look for th’ horse,’ he
replied. ‘It ’ud be to more sense. Bud I
can look for norther horse nur man of a neeght loike
this—as black as t’ chimbley! und Heathcliff’s
noan t’ chap to coom at
my whistle—happen
he’ll be less hard o’ hearing wi’
ye!’
It
was a very dark evening for summer: the clouds
appeared inclined to thunder, and I said we had better all sit
down; the approaching rain would be certain to bring him home
without further trouble. However, Catherine would not be
persuaded into tranquillity. She kept wandering to and fro,
from the gate to the door, in a state of agitation which
permitted no repose; and at length took up a permanent situation
on one side of the wall, near the road: where, heedless of my
expostulations and the growling thunder, and the great drops that
began to plash around her, she remained, calling at intervals,
and then listening, and then crying outright. She beat
Hareton, or any child, at a good passionate fit of crying.
About midnight, while we still sat up, the storm came rattling
over the Heights in full fury. There was a violent wind, as
well as thunder, and either one or the other split a tree off at
the corner of the building: a huge bough fell across the roof,
and knocked down a portion of the east chimney-stack, sending a
clatter of stones and soot into the kitchen-fire. We
thought a bolt had fallen in the middle of us; and Joseph swung
on to his knees, beseeching the Lord to remember the patriarchs
Noah and Lot, and, as in former times, spare the righteous,
though he smote the ungodly. I felt some sentiment that it
must be a judgment on us also. The Jonah, in my mind, was
Mr. Earnshaw; and I shook the handle of his den that I might
ascertain if he were yet living. He replied audibly enough,
in a fashion which made my companion vociferate, more clamorously
than before, that a wide distinction might be drawn between
saints like himself and sinners like his master. But the
uproar passed away in twenty minutes, leaving us all unharmed;
excepting Cathy, who got thoroughly drenched for her obstinacy in
refusing to take shelter, and standing bonnetless and shawlless
to catch as much water as she could with her hair and
clothes. She came in and lay down on the settle, all soaked
as she was, turning her face to the back, and putting her hands
before it.
‘Well, Miss!’ I exclaimed, touching her shoulder;
‘you are not bent on getting your death, are you? Do
you know what o’clock it is? Half-past twelve.
Come, come to bed! there’s no use waiting any longer on
that foolish boy: he’ll be gone to Gimmerton, and
he’ll stay there now. He guesses we shouldn’t
wait for him till this late hour: at least, he guesses that only
Mr. Hindley would be up; and he’d rather avoid having the
door opened by the master.’
‘Nay, nay, he’s noan at Gimmerton,’ said
Joseph. ‘I’s niver wonder but he’s at
t’ bothom of a bog-hoile. This visitation
worn’t for nowt, and I wod hev’ ye to look out,
Miss—yah muh be t’ next. Thank Hivin for
all! All warks togither for gooid to them as is chozzen,
and piked out fro’ th’ rubbidge! Yah knaw whet
t’ Scripture ses.’ And he began quoting several
texts, referring us to chapters and verses where we might find
them.
I, having vainly begged the wilful girl to rise and remove her
wet things, left him preaching and her shivering, and betook
myself to bed with little Hareton, who slept as fast as if
everyone had been sleeping round him. I heard Joseph read
on a while afterwards; then I distinguished his slow step on the
ladder, and then I dropped asleep.
Coming down somewhat later than usual, I saw, by the sunbeams
piercing the chinks of the shutters, Miss Catherine still seated
near the fireplace. The house-door was ajar, too; light
entered from its unclosed windows; Hindley had come out, and
stood on the kitchen hearth, haggard and drowsy.
‘What ails you, Cathy?’ he was saying when I
entered: ‘you look as dismal as a drowned whelp. Why
are you so damp and pale, child?’
‘I’ve been wet,’ she answered reluctantly,
‘and I’m cold, that’s all.’
‘Oh, she is naughty!’ I cried, perceiving the
master to be tolerably sober. ‘She got steeped in the
shower of yesterday evening, and there she has sat the night
through, and I couldn’t prevail on her to stir.’
Mr. Earnshaw stared at us in surprise. ‘The night
through,’ he repeated. ‘What kept her up? not
fear of the thunder, surely? That was over hours
since.’
Neither of us wished to mention Heathcliff’s absence, as
long as we could conceal it; so I replied, I didn’t know
how she took it into her head to sit up; and she said
nothing. The morning was fresh and cool; I threw back the
lattice, and presently the room filled with sweet scents from the
garden; but Catherine called peevishly to me, ‘Ellen, shut
the window. I’m starving!’ And her teeth
chattered as she shrank closer to the almost extinguished
embers.
‘She’s ill,’ said Hindley, taking her wrist;
‘I suppose that’s the reason she would not go to
bed. Damn it! I don’t want to be troubled with
more sickness here. What took you into the rain?’
‘Running after t’ lads, as usuald!’ croaked
Joseph, catching an opportunity from our hesitation to thrust in
his evil tongue. ‘If I war yah, maister, I’d
just slam t’ boards i’ their faces all on ’em,
gentle and simple! Never a day ut yah’re off, but yon
cat o’ Linton comes sneaking hither; and Miss Nelly,
shoo’s a fine lass! shoo sits watching for ye i’
t’ kitchen; and as yah’re in at one door, he’s
out at t’other; and, then, wer grand lady goes a-courting
of her side! It’s bonny behaviour, lurking amang
t’ fields, after twelve o’ t’ night, wi’
that fahl, flaysome divil of a gipsy, Heathcliff! They
think
I’m blind; but I’m noan: nowt ut
t’ soart!—I seed young Linton boath coming and going,
and I seed
yah’ (directing his discourse to me),
‘yah gooid fur nowt, slattenly witch! nip up and bolt into
th’ house, t’ minute yah heard t’
maister’s horse-fit clatter up t’ road.’
‘Silence, eavesdropper!’ cried Catherine;
‘none of your insolence before me! Edgar Linton came
yesterday by chance, Hindley; and it was
I who told him to
be off: because I knew you would not like to have met him as you
were.’
‘You lie, Cathy, no doubt,’ answered her brother,
‘and you are a confounded simpleton! But never mind
Linton at present: tell me, were you not with Heathcliff last
night? Speak the truth, now. You need not be afraid
of harming him: though I hate him as much as ever, he did me a
good turn a short time since that will make my conscience tender
of breaking his neck. To prevent it, I shall send him about
his business this very morning; and after he’s gone,
I’d advise you all to look sharp: I shall only have the
more humour for you.’
‘I never saw Heathcliff last night,’ answered
Catherine, beginning to sob bitterly: ‘and if you do turn
him out of doors, I’ll go with him. But, perhaps,
you’ll never have an opportunity: perhaps, he’s
gone.’ Here she burst into uncontrollable grief, and
the remainder of her words were inarticulate.
Hindley lavished on her a torrent of scornful abuse, and bade
her get to her room immediately, or she shouldn’t cry for
nothing! I obliged her to obey; and I shall never forget
what a scene she acted when we reached her chamber: it terrified
me. I thought she was going mad, and I begged Joseph to run
for the doctor. It proved the commencement of delirium: Mr.
Kenneth, as soon as he saw her, pronounced her dangerously ill;
she had a fever. He bled her, and he told me to let her
live on whey and water-gruel, and take care she did not throw
herself downstairs or out of the window; and then he left: for he
had enough to do in the parish, where two or three miles was the
ordinary distance between cottage and cottage.
Though I cannot say I made a gentle nurse, and Joseph and the
master were no better, and though our patient was as wearisome
and headstrong as a patient could be, she weathered it
through. Old Mrs. Linton paid us several visits, to be
sure, and set things to rights, and scolded and ordered us all;
and when Catherine was convalescent, she insisted on conveying
her to Thrushcross Grange: for which deliverance we were very
grateful. But the poor dame had reason to repent of her
kindness: she and her husband both took the fever, and died
within a few days of each other.
Our young lady returned to us saucier and more passionate, and
haughtier than ever. Heathcliff had never been heard of
since the evening of the thunder-storm; and, one day, I had the
misfortune, when she had provoked me exceedingly, to lay the
blame of his disappearance on her: where indeed it belonged, as
she well knew. From that period, for several months, she
ceased to hold any communication with me, save in the relation of
a mere servant. Joseph fell under a ban also: he would
speak his mind, and lecture her all the same as if she were a
little girl; and she esteemed herself a woman, and our mistress,
and thought that her recent illness gave her a claim to be
treated with consideration. Then the doctor had said that
she would not bear crossing much; she ought to have her own way;
and it was nothing less than murder in her eyes for any one to
presume to stand up and contradict her. From Mr. Earnshaw
and his companions she kept aloof; and tutored by Kenneth, and
serious threats of a fit that often attended her rages, her
brother allowed her whatever she pleased to demand, and generally
avoided aggravating her fiery temper. He was rather too
indulgent in humouring her caprices; not from affection, but from
pride: he wished earnestly to see her bring honour to the family
by an alliance with the Lintons, and as long as she let him alone
she might trample on us like slaves, for aught he cared!
Edgar Linton, as multitudes have been before and will be after
him, was infatuated: and believed himself the happiest man alive
on the day he led her to Gimmerton Chapel, three years subsequent
to his father’s death.
Much against my inclination, I was persuaded to leave
Wuthering Heights and accompany her here. Little Hareton was
nearly five years old, and I had just begun to teach him his
letters. We made a sad parting; but Catherine’s tears
were more powerful than ours. When I refused to go, and
when she found her entreaties did not move me, she went lamenting
to her husband and brother. The former offered me
munificent wages; the latter ordered me to pack up: he wanted no
women in the house, he said, now that there was no mistress; and
as to Hareton, the curate should take him in hand,
by-and-by. And so I had but one choice left: to do as I was
ordered. I told the master he got rid of all decent people
only to run to ruin a little faster; I kissed Hareton, said
good-by; and since then he has been a stranger: and it’s
very queer to think it, but I’ve no doubt he has completely
forgotten all about Ellen Dean, and that he was ever more than
all the world to her and she to him!
* * * * *
At this point of the housekeeper’s story she chanced to
glance towards the time-piece over the chimney; and was in
amazement on seeing the minute-hand measure half-past one.
She would not hear of staying a second longer: in truth, I felt
rather disposed to defer the sequel of her narrative
myself. And now that she is vanished to her rest, and I
have meditated for another hour or two, I shall summon courage to
go also, in spite of aching laziness of head and limbs.
CHAPTER X
A charming introduction to a hermit’s life! Four
weeks’ torture, tossing, and sickness! Oh, these
bleak winds and bitter northern skies, and impassable roads, and
dilatory country surgeons! And oh, this dearth of the human
physiognomy! and, worse than all, the terrible intimation of
Kenneth that I need not expect to be out of doors till
spring!
Mr. Heathcliff has just honoured me with a call. About
seven days ago he sent me a brace of grouse—the last of the
season. Scoundrel! He is not altogether guiltless in
this illness of mine; and that I had a great mind to tell
him. But, alas! how could I offend a man who was charitable
enough to sit at my bedside a good hour, and talk on some other
subject than pills and draughts, blisters and leeches? This
is quite an easy interval. I am too weak to read; yet I
feel as if I could enjoy something interesting. Why not
have up Mrs. Dean to finish her tale? I can recollect its
chief incidents, as far as she had gone. Yes: I remember
her hero had run off, and never been heard of for three years;
and the heroine was married. I’ll ring: she’ll
be delighted to find me capable of talking cheerfully. Mrs.
Dean came.
‘It wants twenty minutes, sir, to taking the
medicine,’ she commenced.
‘Away, away with it!’ I replied; ‘I desire
to have—’
‘The doctor says you must drop the powders.’
‘With all my heart! Don’t interrupt
me. Come and take your seat here. Keep your fingers
from that bitter phalanx of vials. Draw your knitting out
of your pocket—that will do—now continue the history
of Mr. Heathcliff, from where you left off, to the present
day. Did he finish his education on the Continent, and come
back a gentleman? or did he get a sizar’s place at college,
or escape to America, and earn honours by drawing blood from his
foster-country? or make a fortune more promptly on the English
highways?’
‘He may have done a little in all these vocations, Mr.
Lockwood; but I couldn’t give my word for any. I
stated before that I didn’t know how he gained his money;
neither am I aware of the means he took to raise his mind from
the savage ignorance into which it was sunk: but, with your
leave, I’ll proceed in my own fashion, if you think it will
amuse and not weary you. Are you feeling better this
morning?’
‘Much.’
‘That’s good news.’
* * * * *
I got Miss Catherine and myself to Thrushcross Grange; and, to
my agreeable disappointment, she behaved infinitely better than I
dared to expect. She seemed almost over-fond of Mr. Linton;
and even to his sister she showed plenty of affection. They
were both very attentive to her comfort, certainly. It was
not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles
embracing the thorn. There were no mutual concessions: one
stood erect, and the others yielded: and who can be ill-natured
and bad-tempered when they encounter neither opposition nor
indifference? I observed that Mr. Edgar had a deep-rooted
fear of ruffling her humour. He concealed it from her; but
if ever he heard me answer sharply, or saw any other servant grow
cloudy at some imperious order of hers, he would show his trouble
by a frown of displeasure that never darkened on his own
account. He many a time spoke sternly to me about my
pertness; and averred that the stab of a knife could not inflict
a worse pang than he suffered at seeing his lady vexed. Not
to grieve a kind master, I learned to be less touchy; and, for
the space of half a year, the gunpowder lay as harmless as sand,
because no fire came near to explode it. Catherine had
seasons of gloom and silence now and then: they were respected
with sympathising silence by her husband, who ascribed them to an
alteration in her constitution, produced by her perilous illness;
as she was never subject to depression of spirits before.
The return of sunshine was welcomed by answering sunshine from
him. I believe I may assert that they were really in
possession of deep and growing happiness.
It ended. Well, we must be for ourselves in the
long run; the mild and generous are only more justly selfish than
the domineering; and it ended when circumstances caused each to
feel that the one’s interest was not the chief
consideration in the other’s thoughts. On a mellow
evening in September, I was coming from the garden with a heavy
basket of apples which I had been gathering. It had got
dusk, and the moon looked over the high wall of the court,
causing undefined shadows to lurk in the corners of the numerous
projecting portions of the building. I set my burden on the
house-steps by the kitchen-door, and lingered to rest, and drew
in a few more breaths of the soft, sweet air; my eyes were on the
moon, and my back to the entrance, when I heard a voice behind me
say,—‘Nelly, is that you?’
It was a deep voice, and foreign in tone; yet there was
something in the manner of pronouncing my name which made it
sound familiar. I turned about to discover who spoke,
fearfully; for the doors were shut, and I had seen nobody on
approaching the steps. Something stirred in the porch; and,
moving nearer, I distinguished a tall man dressed in dark
clothes, with dark face and hair. He leant against the
side, and held his fingers on the latch as if intending to open
for himself. ‘Who can it be?’ I thought.
‘Mr. Earnshaw? Oh, no! The voice has no
resemblance to his.’
‘I have waited here an hour,’ he resumed, while I
continued staring; ‘and the whole of that time all round
has been as still as death. I dared not enter. You do
not know me? Look, I’m not a stranger!’
A ray fell on his features; the cheeks were sallow, and half
covered with black whiskers; the brows lowering, the eyes
deep-set and singular. I remembered the eyes.
‘What!’ I cried, uncertain whether to regard him
as a worldly visitor, and I raised my hands in amazement.
‘What! you come back? Is it really you? Is
it?’
‘Yes, Heathcliff,’ he replied, glancing from me up
to the windows, which reflected a score of glittering moons, but
showed no lights from within. ‘Are they at home?
where is she? Nelly, you are not glad! you needn’t be
so disturbed. Is she here? Speak! I want to
have one word with her—your mistress. Go, and say
some person from Gimmerton desires to see her.’
‘How will she take it?’ I exclaimed.
‘What will she do? The surprise bewilders me—it
will put her out of her head! And you are
Heathcliff! But altered! Nay, there’s no
comprehending it. Have you been for a soldier?’
‘Go and carry my message,’ he interrupted,
impatiently. ‘I’m in hell till you
do!’
He lifted the latch, and I entered; but when I got to the
parlour where Mr. and Mrs. Linton were, I could not persuade
myself to proceed. At length I resolved on making an excuse
to ask if they would have the candles lighted, and I opened the
door.
They sat together in a window whose lattice lay back against
the wall, and displayed, beyond the garden trees, and the wild
green park, the valley of Gimmerton, with a long line of mist
winding nearly to its top (for very soon after you pass the
chapel, as you may have noticed, the sough that runs from the
marshes joins a beck which follows the bend of the glen).
Wuthering Heights rose above this silvery vapour; but our old
house was invisible; it rather dips down on the other side.
Both the room and its occupants, and the scene they gazed on,
looked wondrously peaceful. I shrank reluctantly from
performing my errand; and was actually going away leaving it
unsaid, after having put my question about the candles, when a
sense of my folly compelled me to return, and mutter, ‘A
person from Gimmerton wishes to see you ma’am.’
‘What does he want?’ asked Mrs. Linton.
‘I did not question him,’ I answered.
‘Well, close the curtains, Nelly,’ she said;
‘and bring up tea. I’ll be back again
directly.’
She quitted the apartment; Mr. Edgar inquired, carelessly, who
it was.
‘Some one mistress does not expect,’ I
replied. ‘That Heathcliff—you recollect him,
sir—who used to live at Mr. Earnshaw’s.’
‘What! the gipsy—the ploughboy?’ he
cried. ‘Why did you not say so to
Catherine?’
‘Hush! you must not call him by those names,
master,’ I said. ‘She’d be sadly grieved
to hear you. She was nearly heartbroken when he ran
off. I guess his return will make a jubilee to
her.’
Mr. Linton walked to a window on the other side of the room
that overlooked the court. He unfastened it, and leant
out. I suppose they were below, for he exclaimed quickly:
‘Don’t stand there, love! Bring the person in,
if it be anyone particular.’ Ere long, I heard the
click of the latch, and Catherine flew up-stairs, breathless and
wild; too excited to show gladness: indeed, by her face, you
would rather have surmised an awful calamity.
‘Oh, Edgar, Edgar!’ she panted, flinging her arms
round his neck. ‘Oh, Edgar darling!
Heathcliff’s come back—he is!’ And she
tightened her embrace to a squeeze.
‘Well, well,’ cried her husband, crossly,
‘don’t strangle me for that! He never struck me
as such a marvellous treasure. There is no need to be
frantic!’
‘I know you didn’t like him,’ she answered,
repressing a little the intensity of her delight.
‘Yet, for my sake, you must be friends now. Shall I
tell him to come up?’
‘Here,’ he said, ‘into the
parlour?’
‘Where else?’ she asked.
He looked vexed, and suggested the kitchen as a more suitable
place for him. Mrs. Linton eyed him with a droll
expression—half angry, half laughing at his
fastidiousness.
‘No,’ she added, after a while; ‘I cannot
sit in the kitchen. Set two tables here, Ellen: one for
your master and Miss Isabella, being gentry; the other for
Heathcliff and myself, being of the lower orders. Will that
please you, dear? Or must I have a fire lighted
elsewhere? If so, give directions. I’ll run
down and secure my guest. I’m afraid the joy is too
great to be real!’
She was about to dart off again; but Edgar arrested her.
‘You bid him step up,’ he said, addressing
me; ‘and, Catherine, try to be glad, without being
absurd. The whole household need not witness the sight of
your welcoming a runaway servant as a brother.’
I descended, and found Heathcliff waiting under the porch,
evidently anticipating an invitation to enter. He followed
my guidance without waste of words, and I ushered him into the
presence of the master and mistress, whose flushed cheeks
betrayed signs of warm talking. But the lady’s glowed
with another feeling when her friend appeared at the door: she
sprang forward, took both his hands, and led him to Linton; and
then she seized Linton’s reluctant fingers and crushed them
into his. Now, fully revealed by the fire and candlelight,
I was amazed, more than ever, to behold the transformation of
Heathcliff. He had grown a tall, athletic, well-formed man;
beside whom my master seemed quite slender and youth-like.
His upright carriage suggested the idea of his having been in the
army. His countenance was much older in expression and
decision of feature than Mr. Linton’s; it looked
intelligent, and retained no marks of former degradation. A
half-civilised ferocity lurked yet in the depressed brows and
eyes full of black fire, but it was subdued; and his manner was
even dignified: quite divested of roughness, though stern for
grace. My master’s surprise equalled or exceeded
mine: he remained for a minute at a loss how to address the
ploughboy, as he had called him. Heathcliff dropped his
slight hand, and stood looking at him coolly till he chose to
speak.
‘Sit down, sir,’ he said, at length.
‘Mrs. Linton, recalling old times, would have me give you a
cordial reception; and, of course, I am gratified when anything
occurs to please her.’
‘And I also,’ answered Heathcliff,
‘especially if it be anything in which I have a part.
I shall stay an hour or two willingly.’
He took a seat opposite Catherine, who kept her gaze fixed on
him as if she feared he would vanish were she to remove it.
He did not raise his to her often: a quick glance now and then
sufficed; but it flashed back, each time more confidently, the
undisguised delight he drank from hers. They were too much
absorbed in their mutual joy to suffer embarrassment. Not
so Mr. Edgar: he grew pale with pure annoyance: a feeling that
reached its climax when his lady rose, and stepping across the
rug, seized Heathcliff’s hands again, and laughed like one
beside herself.
‘I shall think it a dream to-morrow!’ she
cried. ‘I shall not be able to believe that I have
seen, and touched, and spoken to you once more. And yet,
cruel Heathcliff! you don’t deserve this welcome. To
be absent and silent for three years, and never to think of
me!’
‘A little more than you have thought of me,’ he
murmured. ‘I heard of your marriage, Cathy, not long
since; and, while waiting in the yard below, I meditated this
plan—just to have one glimpse of your face, a stare of
surprise, perhaps, and pretended pleasure; afterwards settle my
score with Hindley; and then prevent the law by doing execution
on myself. Your welcome has put these ideas out of my mind;
but beware of meeting me with another aspect next time!
Nay, you’ll not drive me off again. You were really
sorry for me, were you? Well, there was cause.
I’ve fought through a bitter life since I last heard your
voice; and you must forgive me, for I struggled only for
you!’
‘Catherine, unless we are to have cold tea, please to
come to the table,’ interrupted Linton, striving to
preserve his ordinary tone, and a due measure of
politeness. ‘Mr. Heathcliff will have a long walk,
wherever he may lodge to-night; and I’m thirsty.’
She took her post before the urn; and Miss Isabella came,
summoned by the bell; then, having handed their chairs forward, I
left the room. The meal hardly endured ten minutes.
Catherine’s cup was never filled: she could neither eat nor
drink. Edgar had made a slop in his saucer, and scarcely
swallowed a mouthful. Their guest did not protract his stay
that evening above an hour longer. I asked, as he departed,
if he went to Gimmerton?
‘No, to Wuthering Heights,’ he answered:
‘Mr. Earnshaw invited me, when I called this
morning.’
Mr. Earnshaw invited him! and he called on Mr.
Earnshaw! I pondered this sentence painfully, after he was
gone. Is he turning out a bit of a hypocrite, and coming
into the country to work mischief under a cloak? I mused: I
had a presentiment in the bottom of my heart that he had better
have remained away.
About the middle of the night, I was wakened from my first nap
by Mrs. Linton gliding into my chamber, taking a seat on my
bedside, and pulling me by the hair to rouse me.
‘I cannot rest, Ellen,’ she said, by way of
apology. ‘And I want some living creature to keep me
company in my happiness! Edgar is sulky, because I’m
glad of a thing that does not interest him: he refuses to open
his mouth, except to utter pettish, silly speeches; and he
affirmed I was cruel and selfish for wishing to talk when he was
so sick and sleepy. He always contrives to be sick at the
least cross! I gave a few sentences of commendation to
Heathcliff, and he, either for a headache or a pang of envy,
began to cry: so I got up and left him.’
‘What use is it praising Heathcliff to him?’ I
answered. ‘As lads they had an aversion to each
other, and Heathcliff would hate just as much to hear him
praised: it’s human nature. Let Mr. Linton alone
about him, unless you would like an open quarrel between
them.’
‘But does it not show great weakness?’ pursued
she. ‘I’m not envious: I never feel hurt at the
brightness of Isabella’s yellow hair and the whiteness of
her skin, at her dainty elegance, and the fondness all the family
exhibit for her. Even you, Nelly, if we have a dispute
sometimes, you back Isabella at once; and I yield like a foolish
mother: I call her a darling, and flatter her into a good
temper. It pleases her brother to see us cordial, and that
pleases me. But they are very much alike: they are spoiled
children, and fancy the world was made for their accommodation;
and though I humour both, I think a smart chastisement might
improve them all the same.’
‘You’re mistaken, Mrs. Linton,’ said
I. ‘They humour you: I know what there would be to do
if they did not. You can well afford to indulge their
passing whims as long as their business is to anticipate all your
desires. You may, however, fall out, at last, over
something of equal consequence to both sides; and then those you
term weak are very capable of being as obstinate as
you.’
‘And then we shall fight to the death,
sha’n’t we, Nelly?’ she returned,
laughing. ‘No! I tell you, I have such faith in
Linton’s love, that I believe I might kill him, and he
wouldn’t wish to retaliate.’
I advised her to value him the more for his affection.
‘I do,’ she answered, ‘but he needn’t
resort to whining for trifles. It is childish and, instead
of melting into tears because I said that Heathcliff was now
worthy of anyone’s regard, and it would honour the first
gentleman in the country to be his friend, he ought to have said
it for me, and been delighted from sympathy. He must get
accustomed to him, and he may as well like him: considering how
Heathcliff has reason to object to him, I’m sure he behaved
excellently!’
‘What do you think of his going to Wuthering
Heights?’ I inquired. ‘He is reformed in every
respect, apparently: quite a Christian: offering the right hand
of fellowship to his enemies all around!’
‘He explained it,’ she replied. ‘I
wonder as much as you. He said he called to gather
information concerning me from you, supposing you resided there
still; and Joseph told Hindley, who came out and fell to
questioning him of what he had been doing, and how he had been
living; and finally, desired him to walk in. There were
some persons sitting at cards; Heathcliff joined them; my brother
lost some money to him, and, finding him plentifully supplied, he
requested that he would come again in the evening: to which he
consented. Hindley is too reckless to select his
acquaintance prudently: he doesn’t trouble himself to
reflect on the causes he might have for mistrusting one whom he
has basely injured. But Heathcliff affirms his principal
reason for resuming a connection with his ancient persecutor is a
wish to install himself in quarters at walking distance from the
Grange, and an attachment to the house where we lived together;
and likewise a hope that I shall have more opportunities of
seeing him there than I could have if he settled in
Gimmerton. He means to offer liberal payment for permission
to lodge at the Heights; and doubtless my brother’s
covetousness will prompt him to accept the terms: he was always
greedy; though what he grasps with one hand he flings away with
the other.’
‘It’s a nice place for a young man to fix his
dwelling in!’ said I. ‘Have you no fear of the
consequences, Mrs. Linton?’
‘None for my friend,’ she replied: ‘his
strong head will keep him from danger; a little for Hindley: but
he can’t be made morally worse than he is; and I stand
between him and bodily harm. The event of this evening has
reconciled me to God and humanity! I had risen in angry
rebellion against Providence. Oh, I’ve endured very,
very bitter misery, Nelly! If that creature knew how
bitter, he’d be ashamed to cloud its removal with idle
petulance. It was kindness for him which induced me to bear
it alone: had I expressed the agony I frequently felt, he would
have been taught to long for its alleviation as ardently as
I. However, it’s over, and I’ll take no revenge
on his folly; I can afford to suffer anything hereafter!
Should the meanest thing alive slap me on the cheek, I’d
not only turn the other, but I’d ask pardon for provoking
it; and, as a proof, I’ll go make my peace with Edgar
instantly. Good-night! I’m an angel!’
In this self-complacent conviction she departed; and the
success of her fulfilled resolution was obvious on the morrow:
Mr. Linton had not only abjured his peevishness (though his
spirits seemed still subdued by Catherine’s exuberance of
vivacity), but he ventured no objection to her taking Isabella
with her to Wuthering Heights in the afternoon; and she rewarded
him with such a summer of sweetness and affection in return as
made the house a paradise for several days; both master and
servants profiting from the perpetual sunshine.
Heathcliff—Mr. Heathcliff I should say in
future—used the liberty of visiting at Thrushcross Grange
cautiously, at first: he seemed estimating how far its owner
would bear his intrusion. Catherine, also, deemed it
judicious to moderate her expressions of pleasure in receiving
him; and he gradually established his right to be expected.
He retained a great deal of the reserve for which his boyhood was
remarkable; and that served to repress all startling
demonstrations of feeling. My master’s uneasiness
experienced a lull, and further circumstances diverted it into
another channel for a space.
His new source of trouble sprang from the not anticipated
misfortune of Isabella Linton evincing a sudden and irresistible
attraction towards the tolerated guest. She was at that
time a charming young lady of eighteen; infantile in manners,
though possessed of keen wit, keen feelings, and a keen temper,
too, if irritated. Her brother, who loved her tenderly, was
appalled at this fantastic preference. Leaving aside the
degradation of an alliance with a nameless man, and the possible
fact that his property, in default of heirs male, might pass into
such a one’s power, he had sense to comprehend
Heathcliff’s disposition: to know that, though his exterior
was altered, his mind was unchangeable and unchanged. And
he dreaded that mind: it revolted him: he shrank forebodingly
from the idea of committing Isabella to its keeping. He
would have recoiled still more had he been aware that her
attachment rose unsolicited, and was bestowed where it awakened
no reciprocation of sentiment; for the minute he discovered its
existence he laid the blame on Heathcliff’s deliberate
designing.
We had all remarked, during some time, that Miss Linton
fretted and pined over something. She grew cross and
wearisome; snapping at and teasing Catherine continually, at the
imminent risk of exhausting her limited patience. We
excused her, to a certain extent, on the plea of ill-health: she
was dwindling and fading before our eyes. But one day, when
she had been peculiarly wayward, rejecting her breakfast,
complaining that the servants did not do what she told them; that
the mistress would allow her to be nothing in the house, and
Edgar neglected her; that she had caught a cold with the doors
being left open, and we let the parlour fire go out on purpose to
vex her, with a hundred yet more frivolous accusations, Mrs.
Linton peremptorily insisted that she should get to bed; and,
having scolded her heartily, threatened to send for the
doctor. Mention of Kenneth caused her to exclaim,
instantly, that her health was perfect, and it was only
Catherine’s harshness which made her unhappy.
‘How can you say I am harsh, you naughty
fondling?’ cried the mistress, amazed at the unreasonable
assertion. ‘You are surely losing your reason.
When have I been harsh, tell me?’
‘Yesterday,’ sobbed Isabella, ‘and
now!’
‘Yesterday!’ said her sister-in-law.
‘On what occasion?’
‘In our walk along the moor: you told me to ramble where
I pleased, while you sauntered on with Mr. Heathcliff!’
‘And that’s your notion of harshness?’ said
Catherine, laughing. ‘It was no hint that your
company was superfluous? We didn’t care whether you
kept with us or not; I merely thought Heathcliff’s talk
would have nothing entertaining for your ears.’
‘Oh, no,’ wept the young lady; ‘you wished
me away, because you knew I liked to be there!’
‘Is she sane?’ asked Mrs. Linton, appealing to
me. ‘I’ll repeat our conversation, word for
word, Isabella; and you point out any charm it could have had for
you.’
‘I don’t mind the conversation,’ she
answered: ‘I wanted to be with—’
‘Well?’ said Catherine, perceiving her hesitate to
complete the sentence.
‘With him: and I won’t be always sent off!’
she continued, kindling up. ‘You are a dog in the
manger, Cathy, and desire no one to be loved but
yourself!’
‘You are an impertinent little monkey!’ exclaimed
Mrs. Linton, in surprise. ‘But I’ll not believe
this idiotcy! It is impossible that you can covet the
admiration of Heathcliff—that you consider him an agreeable
person! I hope I have misunderstood you,
Isabella?’
‘No, you have not,’ said the infatuated
girl. ‘I love him more than ever you loved Edgar, and
he might love me, if you would let him!’
‘I wouldn’t be you for a kingdom, then!’
Catherine declared, emphatically: and she seemed to speak
sincerely. ‘Nelly, help me to convince her of her
madness. Tell her what Heathcliff is: an unreclaimed
creature, without refinement, without cultivation; an arid
wilderness of furze and whinstone. I’d as soon put
that little canary into the park on a winter’s day, as
recommend you to bestow your heart on him! It is deplorable
ignorance of his character, child, and nothing else, which makes
that dream enter your head. Pray, don’t imagine that
he conceals depths of benevolence and affection beneath a stern
exterior! He’s not a rough diamond—a
pearl-containing oyster of a rustic: he’s a fierce,
pitiless, wolfish man. I never say to him, “Let this
or that enemy alone, because it would be ungenerous or cruel to
harm them;” I say, “Let them alone, because I
should hate them to be wronged:” and he’d crush you
like a sparrow’s egg, Isabella, if he found you a
troublesome charge. I know he couldn’t love a Linton;
and yet he’d be quite capable of marrying your fortune and
expectations: avarice is growing with him a besetting sin.
There’s my picture: and I’m his friend—so much
so, that had he thought seriously to catch you, I should,
perhaps, have held my tongue, and let you fall into his
trap.’
Miss Linton regarded her sister-in-law with indignation.
‘For shame! for shame!’ she repeated,
angrily. ‘You are worse than twenty foes, you
poisonous friend!’
‘Ah! you won’t believe me, then?’ said
Catherine. ‘You think I speak from wicked
selfishness?’
‘I’m certain you do,’ retorted Isabella;
‘and I shudder at you!’
‘Good!’ cried the other. ‘Try for
yourself, if that be your spirit: I have done, and yield the
argument to your saucy insolence.’—
‘And I must suffer for her egotism!’ she sobbed,
as Mrs. Linton left the room. ‘All, all is against
me: she has blighted my single consolation. But she uttered
falsehoods, didn’t she? Mr. Heathcliff is not a
fiend: he has an honourable soul, and a true one, or how could he
remember her?’
‘Banish him from your thoughts, Miss,’ I
said. ‘He’s a bird of bad omen: no mate for
you. Mrs. Linton spoke strongly, and yet I can’t
contradict her. She is better acquainted with his heart
than I, or any one besides; and she never would represent him as
worse than he is. Honest people don’t hide their
deeds. How has he been living? how has he got rich? why is
he staying at Wuthering Heights, the house of a man whom he
abhors? They say Mr. Earnshaw is worse and worse since he
came. They sit up all night together continually, and
Hindley has been borrowing money on his land, and does nothing
but play and drink: I heard only a week ago—it was Joseph
who told me—I met him at Gimmerton: “Nelly,” he
said, “we’s hae a crowner’s ‘quest enow,
at ahr folks’. One on ’em ’s a’most
getten his finger cut off wi’ hauding t’ other
fro’ stickin’ hisseln loike a cawlf.
That’s maister, yeah knaw, ’at ’s soa up
o’ going tuh t’ grand ’sizes. He’s
noan feared o’ t’ bench o’ judges, norther
Paul, nur Peter, nur John, nur Matthew, nor noan on ’em,
not he! He fair likes—he langs to set his brazened
face agean ’em! And yon bonny lad Heathcliff, yah
mind, he’s a rare ’un. He can girn a laugh as
well ’s onybody at a raight divil’s jest. Does
he niver say nowt of his fine living amang us, when he goes to
t’ Grange? This is t’ way on ’t:—up
at sun-down: dice, brandy, cloised shutters, und
can’le-light till next day at noon: then, t’fooil
gangs banning und raving to his cham’er, makking dacent
fowks dig thur fingers i’ thur lugs fur varry shame;
un’ the knave, why he can caint his brass, un’ ate,
un’ sleep, un’ off to his neighbour’s to gossip
wi’ t’ wife. I’ course, he tells Dame
Catherine how her fathur’s goold runs into his pocket, and
her fathur’s son gallops down t’ broad road, while he
flees afore to oppen t’ pikes!” Now, Miss
Linton, Joseph is an old rascal, but no liar; and, if his account
of Heathcliff’s conduct be true, you would never think of
desiring such a husband, would you?’
‘You are leagued with the rest, Ellen!’ she
replied. ‘I’ll not listen to your
slanders. What malevolence you must have to wish to
convince me that there is no happiness in the world!’
Whether she would have got over this fancy if left to herself,
or persevered in nursing it perpetually, I cannot say: she had
little time to reflect. The day after, there was a
justice-meeting at the next town; my master was obliged to
attend; and Mr. Heathcliff, aware of his absence, called rather
earlier than usual. Catherine and Isabella were sitting in
the library, on hostile terms, but silent: the latter alarmed at
her recent indiscretion, and the disclosure she had made of her
secret feelings in a transient fit of passion; the former, on
mature consideration, really offended with her companion; and, if
she laughed again at her pertness, inclined to make it no
laughing matter to her. She did laugh as she saw Heathcliff
pass the window. I was sweeping the hearth, and I noticed a
mischievous smile on her lips. Isabella, absorbed in her
meditations, or a book, remained till the door opened; and it was
too late to attempt an escape, which she would gladly have done
had it been practicable.
‘Come in, that’s right!’ exclaimed the
mistress, gaily, pulling a chair to the fire. ‘Here
are two people sadly in need of a third to thaw the ice between
them; and you are the very one we should both of us choose.
Heathcliff, I’m proud to show you, at last, somebody that
dotes on you more than myself. I expect you to feel
flattered. Nay, it’s not Nelly; don’t look at
her! My poor little sister-in-law is breaking her heart by
mere contemplation of your physical and moral beauty. It
lies in your own power to be Edgar’s brother! No, no,
Isabella, you sha’n’t run off,’ she continued,
arresting, with feigned playfulness, the confounded girl, who had
risen indignantly. ‘We were quarrelling like cats
about you, Heathcliff; and I was fairly beaten in protestations
of devotion and admiration: and, moreover, I was informed that if
I would but have the manners to stand aside, my rival, as she
will have herself to be, would shoot a shaft into your soul that
would fix you for ever, and send my image into eternal
oblivion!’
‘Catherine!’ said Isabella, calling up her
dignity, and disdaining to struggle from the tight grasp that
held her, ‘I’d thank you to adhere to the truth and
not slander me, even in joke! Mr. Heathcliff, be kind
enough to bid this friend of yours release me: she forgets that
you and I are not intimate acquaintances; and what amuses her is
painful to me beyond expression.’
As the guest answered nothing, but took his seat, and looked
thoroughly indifferent what sentiments she cherished concerning
him, she turned and whispered an earnest appeal for liberty to
her tormentor.
‘By no means!’ cried Mrs. Linton in answer.
‘I won’t be named a dog in the manger again.
You shall stay: now then! Heathcliff, why
don’t you evince satisfaction at my pleasant news?
Isabella swears that the love Edgar has for me is nothing to that
she entertains for you. I’m sure she made some speech
of the kind; did she not, Ellen? And she has fasted ever
since the day before yesterday’s walk, from sorrow and rage
that I despatched her out of your society under the idea of its
being unacceptable.’
‘I think you belie her,’ said Heathcliff, twisting
his chair to face them. ‘She wishes to be out of my
society now, at any rate!’
And he stared hard at the object of discourse, as one might do
at a strange repulsive animal: a centipede from the Indies, for
instance, which curiosity leads one to examine in spite of the
aversion it raises. The poor thing couldn’t bear
that; she grew white and red in rapid succession, and, while
tears beaded her lashes, bent the strength of her small fingers
to loosen the firm clutch of Catherine; and perceiving that as
fast as she raised one finger off her arm another closed down,
and she could not remove the whole together, she began to make
use of her nails; and their sharpness presently ornamented the
detainer’s with crescents of red.
‘There’s a tigress!’ exclaimed Mrs. Linton,
setting her free, and shaking her hand with pain.
‘Begone, for God’s sake, and hide your vixen
face! How foolish to reveal those talons to him.
Can’t you fancy the conclusions he’ll draw?
Look, Heathcliff! they are instruments that will do
execution—you must beware of your eyes.’
‘I’d wrench them off her fingers, if they ever
menaced me,’ he answered, brutally, when the door had
closed after her. ‘But what did you mean by teasing
the creature in that manner, Cathy? You were not speaking
the truth, were you?’
‘I assure you I was,’ she returned.
‘She has been dying for your sake several weeks, and raving
about you this morning, and pouring forth a deluge of abuse,
because I represented your failings in a plain light, for the
purpose of mitigating her adoration. But don’t notice
it further: I wished to punish her sauciness, that’s
all. I like her too well, my dear Heathcliff, to let you
absolutely seize and devour her up.’
‘And I like her too ill to attempt it,’ said he,
‘except in a very ghoulish fashion. You’d hear
of odd things if I lived alone with that mawkish, waxen face: the
most ordinary would be painting on its white the colours of the
rainbow, and turning the blue eyes black, every day or two: they
detestably resemble Linton’s.’
‘Delectably!’ observed Catherine.
‘They are dove’s eyes—angel’s!’
‘She’s her brother’s heir, is she
not?’ he asked, after a brief silence.
‘I should be sorry to think so,’ returned his
companion. ‘Half a dozen nephews shall erase her
title, please heaven! Abstract your mind from the subject
at present: you are too prone to covet your neighbour’s
goods; remember this neighbour’s goods are
mine.’
‘If they were mine, they would be none the less
that,’ said Heathcliff; ‘but though Isabella Linton
may be silly, she is scarcely mad; and, in short, we’ll
dismiss the matter, as you advise.’
From their tongues they did dismiss it; and Catherine,
probably, from her thoughts. The other, I felt certain,
recalled it often in the course of the evening. I saw him
smile to himself—grin rather—and lapse into ominous
musing whenever Mrs. Linton had occasion to be absent from the
apartment.
I determined to watch his movements. My heart invariably
cleaved to the master’s, in preference to Catherine’s
side: with reason I imagined, for he was kind, and trustful, and
honourable; and she—she could not be called
opposite, yet she seemed to allow herself such wide
latitude, that I had little faith in her principles, and still
less sympathy for her feelings. I wanted something to
happen which might have the effect of freeing both Wuthering
Heights and the Grange of Mr. Heathcliff quietly; leaving us as
we had been prior to his advent. His visits were a
continual nightmare to me; and, I suspected, to my master
also. His abode at the Heights was an oppression past
explaining. I felt that God had forsaken the stray sheep
there to its own wicked wanderings, and an evil beast prowled
between it and the fold, waiting his time to spring and
destroy.
CHAPTER XI
Sometimes, while meditating on these things in solitude,
I’ve got up in a sudden terror, and put on my bonnet to go
see how all was at the farm. I’ve persuaded my
conscience that it was a duty to warn him how people talked
regarding his ways; and then I’ve recollected his confirmed
bad habits, and, hopeless of benefiting him, have flinched from
re-entering the dismal house, doubting if I could bear to be
taken at my word.
One time I passed the old gate, going out of my way, on a
journey to Gimmerton. It was about the period that my
narrative has reached: a bright frosty afternoon; the ground
bare, and the road hard and dry. I came to a stone where
the highway branches off on to the moor at your left hand; a
rough sand-pillar, with the letters W. H. cut on its north side,
on the east, G., and on the south-west, T. G. It serves as
a guide-post to the Grange, the Heights, and village. The
sun shone yellow on its grey head, reminding me of summer; and I
cannot say why, but all at once a gush of child’s
sensations flowed into my heart. Hindley and I held it a
favourite spot twenty years before. I gazed long at the
weather-worn block; and, stooping down, perceived a hole near the
bottom still full of snail-shells and pebbles, which we were fond
of storing there with more perishable things; and, as fresh as
reality, it appeared that I beheld my early playmate seated on
the withered turf: his dark, square head bent forward, and his
little hand scooping out the earth with a piece of slate.
‘Poor Hindley!’ I exclaimed, involuntarily. I
started: my bodily eye was cheated into a momentary belief that
the child lifted its face and stared straight into mine! It
vanished in a twinkling; but immediately I felt an irresistible
yearning to be at the Heights. Superstition urged me to
comply with this impulse: supposing he should be dead! I
thought—or should die soon!—supposing it were a sign
of death! The nearer I got to the house the more agitated I
grew; and on catching sight of it I trembled in every limb.
The apparition had outstripped me: it stood looking through the
gate. That was my first idea on observing an elf-locked,
brown-eyed boy setting his ruddy countenance against the
bars. Further reflection suggested this must be Hareton,
my Hareton, not altered greatly since I left him, ten
months since.
‘God bless thee, darling!’ I cried, forgetting
instantaneously my foolish fears. ‘Hareton,
it’s Nelly! Nelly, thy nurse.’
He retreated out of arm’s length, and picked up a large
flint.
‘I am come to see thy father, Hareton,’ I added,
guessing from the action that Nelly, if she lived in his memory
at all, was not recognised as one with me.
He raised his missile to hurl it; I commenced a soothing
speech, but could not stay his hand: the stone struck my bonnet;
and then ensued, from the stammering lips of the little fellow, a
string of curses, which, whether he comprehended them or not,
were delivered with practised emphasis, and distorted his baby
features into a shocking expression of malignity. You may
be certain this grieved more than angered me. Fit to cry, I
took an orange from my pocket, and offered it to propitiate
him. He hesitated, and then snatched it from my hold; as if
he fancied I only intended to tempt and disappoint him. I
showed another, keeping it out of his reach.
‘Who has taught you those fine words, my bairn?’ I
inquired. ‘The curate?’
‘Damn the curate, and thee! Gie me that,’ he
replied.
‘Tell us where you got your lessons, and you shall have
it,’ said I. ‘Who’s your
master?’
‘Devil daddy,’ was his answer.
‘And what do you learn from daddy?’ I
continued.
He jumped at the fruit; I raised it higher. ‘What
does he teach you?’ I asked.
‘Naught,’ said he, ‘but to keep out of his
gait. Daddy cannot bide me, because I swear at
him.’
‘Ah! and the devil teaches you to swear at daddy?’
I observed.
‘Ay—nay,’ he drawled.
‘Who, then?’
‘Heathcliff.’
‘I asked if he liked Mr. Heathcliff.’
‘Ay!’ he answered again.
Desiring to have his reasons for liking him, I could only
gather the sentences—‘I known’t: he pays dad
back what he gies to me—he curses daddy for cursing
me. He says I mun do as I will.’
‘And the curate does not teach you to read and write,
then?’ I pursued.
‘No, I was told the curate should have his—teeth
dashed down his—throat, if he stepped over the
threshold—Heathcliff had promised that!’
I put the orange in his hand, and bade him tell his father
that a woman called Nelly Dean was waiting to speak with him, by
the garden gate. He went up the walk, and entered the
house; but, instead of Hindley, Heathcliff appeared on the
door-stones; and I turned directly and ran down the road as hard
as ever I could race, making no halt till I gained the
guide-post, and feeling as scared as if I had raised a
goblin. This is not much connected with Miss
Isabella’s affair: except that it urged me to resolve
further on mounting vigilant guard, and doing my utmost to check
the spread of such bad influence at the Grange: even though I
should wake a domestic storm, by thwarting Mrs. Linton’s
pleasure.
The next time Heathcliff came my young lady chanced to be
feeding some pigeons in the court. She had never spoken a
word to her sister-in-law for three days; but she had likewise
dropped her fretful complaining, and we found it a great
comfort. Heathcliff had not the habit of bestowing a single
unnecessary civility on Miss Linton, I knew. Now, as soon
as he beheld her, his first precaution was to take a sweeping
survey of the house-front. I was standing by the
kitchen-window, but I drew out of sight. He then stepped
across the pavement to her, and said something: she seemed
embarrassed, and desirous of getting away; to prevent it, he laid
his hand on her arm. She averted her face: he apparently
put some question which she had no mind to answer. There
was another rapid glance at the house, and supposing himself
unseen, the scoundrel had the impudence to embrace her.
‘Judas! Traitor!’ I ejaculated.
‘You are a hypocrite, too, are you? A deliberate
deceiver.’
‘Who is, Nelly?’ said Catherine’s voice at
my elbow: I had been over-intent on watching the pair outside to
mark her entrance.
‘Your worthless friend!’ I answered, warmly:
‘the sneaking rascal yonder. Ah, he has caught a
glimpse of us—he is coming in! I wonder will he have
the heart to find a plausible excuse for making love to Miss,
when he told you he hated her?’
Mrs. Linton saw Isabella tear herself free, and run into the
garden; and a minute after, Heathcliff opened the door. I
couldn’t withhold giving some loose to my indignation; but
Catherine angrily insisted on silence, and threatened to order me
out of the kitchen, if I dared to be so presumptuous as to put in
my insolent tongue.
‘To hear you, people might think you were the
mistress!’ she cried. ‘You want setting down in
your right place! Heathcliff, what are you about, raising
this stir? I said you must let Isabella alone!—I beg
you will, unless you are tired of being received here, and wish
Linton to draw the bolts against you!’
‘God forbid that he should try!’ answered the
black villain. I detested him just then. ‘God
keep him meek and patient! Every day I grow madder after
sending him to heaven!’
‘Hush!’ said Catherine, shutting the inner
door! ‘Don’t vex me. Why have you
disregarded my request? Did she come across you on
purpose?’
‘What is it to you?’ he growled. ‘I
have a right to kiss her, if she chooses; and you have no right
to object. I am not
your husband:
you
needn’t be jealous of me!’
‘I’m not jealous of you,’ replied the
mistress; ‘I’m jealous for you. Clear your
face: you sha’n’t scowl at me! If you like
Isabella, you shall marry her. But do you like her?
Tell the truth, Heathcliff! There, you won’t
answer. I’m certain you don’t.’
‘And would Mr. Linton approve of his sister marrying
that man?’ I inquired.
‘Mr. Linton should approve,’ returned my lady,
decisively.
‘He might spare himself the trouble,’ said
Heathcliff: ‘I could do as well without his
approbation. And as to you, Catherine, I have a mind to
speak a few words now, while we are at it. I want you to be
aware that I
know you have treated me
infernally—infernally! Do you hear? And if you
flatter yourself that I don’t perceive it, you are a fool;
and if you think I can be consoled by sweet words, you are an
idiot: and if you fancy I’ll suffer unrevenged, I’ll
convince you of the contrary, in a very little while!
Meantime, thank you for telling me your sister-in-law’s
secret: I swear I’ll make the most of it. And stand
you aside!’
‘What new phase of his character is this?’
exclaimed Mrs. Linton, in amazement. ‘I’ve
treated you infernally—and you’ll take your
revenge! How will you take it, ungrateful brute? How
have I treated you infernally?’
‘I seek no revenge on you,’ replied Heathcliff,
less vehemently. ‘That’s not the plan.
The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don’t turn
against him; they crush those beneath them. You are welcome
to torture me to death for your amusement, only allow me to amuse
myself a little in the same style, and refrain from insult as
much as you are able. Having levelled my palace,
don’t erect a hovel and complacently admire your own
charity in giving me that for a home. If I imagined you
really wished me to marry Isabel, I’d cut my
throat!’
‘Oh, the evil is that I am
not jealous, is
it?’ cried Catherine. ‘Well, I won’t
repeat my offer of a wife: it is as bad as offering Satan a lost
soul. Your bliss lies, like his, in inflicting
misery. You prove it. Edgar is restored from the
ill-temper he gave way to at your coming; I begin to be secure
and tranquil; and you, restless to know us at peace, appear
resolved on exciting a quarrel. Quarrel with Edgar, if you
please, Heathcliff, and deceive his sister: you’ll hit on
exactly the most efficient method of revenging yourself on
me.’
The conversation ceased. Mrs. Linton sat down by the
fire, flushed and gloomy. The spirit which served her was
growing intractable: she could neither lay nor control it.
He stood on the hearth with folded arms, brooding on his evil
thoughts; and in this position I left them to seek the master,
who was wondering what kept Catherine below so long.
‘Ellen,’ said he, when I entered, ‘have you
seen your mistress?’
‘Yes; she’s in the kitchen, sir,’ I
answered. ‘She’s sadly put out by Mr.
Heathcliff’s behaviour: and, indeed, I do think it’s
time to arrange his visits on another footing.
There’s harm in being too soft, and now it’s come to
this—.’ And I related the scene in the court,
and, as near as I dared, the whole subsequent dispute. I
fancied it could not be very prejudicial to Mrs. Linton; unless
she made it so afterwards, by assuming the defensive for her
guest. Edgar Linton had difficulty in hearing me to the
close. His first words revealed that he did not clear his
wife of blame.
‘This is insufferable!’ he exclaimed.
‘It is disgraceful that she should own him for a friend,
and force his company on me! Call me two men out of the
hall, Ellen. Catherine shall linger no longer to argue with
the low ruffian—I have humoured her enough.’
He descended, and bidding the servants wait in the passage,
went, followed by me, to the kitchen. Its occupants had
recommenced their angry discussion: Mrs. Linton, at least, was
scolding with renewed vigour; Heathcliff had moved to the window,
and hung his head, somewhat cowed by her violent rating
apparently. He saw the master first, and made a hasty
motion that she should be silent; which she obeyed, abruptly, on
discovering the reason of his intimation.
‘How is this?’ said Linton, addressing her;
‘what notion of propriety must you have to remain here,
after the language which has been held to you by that
blackguard? I suppose, because it is his ordinary talk you
think nothing of it: you are habituated to his baseness, and,
perhaps, imagine I can get used to it too!’
‘Have you been listening at the door, Edgar?’
asked the mistress, in a tone particularly calculated to provoke
her husband, implying both carelessness and contempt of his
irritation. Heathcliff, who had raised his eyes at the
former speech, gave a sneering laugh at the latter; on purpose,
it seemed, to draw Mr. Linton’s attention to him. He
succeeded; but Edgar did not mean to entertain him with any high
flights of passion.
‘I’ve been so far forbearing with you, sir,’
he said quietly; ‘not that I was ignorant of your
miserable, degraded character, but I felt you were only partly
responsible for that; and Catherine wishing to keep up your
acquaintance, I acquiesced—foolishly. Your presence
is a moral poison that would contaminate the most virtuous: for
that cause, and to prevent worse consequences, I shall deny you
hereafter admission into this house, and give notice now that I
require your instant departure. Three minutes’ delay
will render it involuntary and ignominious.
Heathcliff measured the height and breadth of the speaker with
an eye full of derision.
‘Cathy, this lamb of yours threatens like a bull!’
he said. ‘It is in danger of splitting its skull
against my knuckles. By God! Mr. Linton, I’m
mortally sorry that you are not worth knocking down!’
My master glanced towards the passage, and signed me to fetch
the men: he had no intention of hazarding a personal
encounter. I obeyed the hint; but Mrs. Linton, suspecting
something, followed; and when I attempted to call them, she
pulled me back, slammed the door to, and locked it.
‘Fair means!’ she said, in answer to her
husband’s look of angry surprise. ‘If you have
not courage to attack him, make an apology, or allow yourself to
be beaten. It will correct you of feigning more valour than
you possess. No, I’ll swallow the key before you
shall get it! I’m delightfully rewarded for my
kindness to each! After constant indulgence of one’s
weak nature, and the other’s bad one, I earn for thanks two
samples of blind ingratitude, stupid to absurdity! Edgar, I
was defending you and yours; and I wish Heathcliff may flog you
sick, for daring to think an evil thought of me!’
It did not need the medium of a flogging to produce that
effect on the master. He tried to wrest the key from
Catherine’s grasp, and for safety she flung it into the
hottest part of the fire; whereupon Mr. Edgar was taken with a
nervous trembling, and his countenance grew deadly pale.
For his life he could not avert that excess of emotion: mingled
anguish and humiliation overcame him completely. He leant
on the back of a chair, and covered his face.
‘Oh, heavens! In old days this would win you
knighthood!’ exclaimed Mrs. Linton. ‘We are
vanquished! we are vanquished! Heathcliff would as soon
lift a finger at you as the king would march his army against a
colony of mice. Cheer up! you sha’n’t be
hurt! Your type is not a lamb, it’s a sucking
leveret.’
‘I wish you joy of the milk-blooded coward,
Cathy!’ said her friend. ‘I compliment you on
your taste. And that is the slavering, shivering thing you
preferred to me! I would not strike him with my fist, but
I’d kick him with my foot, and experience considerable
satisfaction. Is he weeping, or is he going to faint for
fear?’
The fellow approached and gave the chair on which Linton
rested a push. He’d better have kept his distance: my
master quickly sprang erect, and struck him full on the throat a
blow that would have levelled a slighter man. It took his
breath for a minute; and while he choked, Mr. Linton walked out
by the back door into the yard, and from thence to the front
entrance.
‘There! you’ve done with coming here,’ cried
Catherine. ‘Get away, now; he’ll return with a
brace of pistols and half-a-dozen assistants. If he did
overhear us, of course he’d never forgive you.
You’ve played me an ill turn, Heathcliff! But
go—make haste! I’d rather see Edgar at bay than
you.’
‘Do you suppose I’m going with that blow burning
in my gullet?’ he thundered. ‘By hell,
no! I’ll crush his ribs in like a rotten hazel-nut
before I cross the threshold! If I don’t floor him
now, I shall murder him some time; so, as you value his
existence, let me get at him!’
‘He is not coming,’ I interposed, framing a bit of
a lie. ‘There’s the coachman and the two
gardeners; you’ll surely not wait to be thrust into the
road by them! Each has a bludgeon; and master will, very
likely, be watching from the parlour-windows to see that they
fulfil his orders.’
The gardeners and coachman were there: but Linton was with
them. They had already entered the court. Heathcliff,
on the second thoughts, resolved to avoid a struggle against
three underlings: he seized the poker, smashed the lock from the
inner door, and made his escape as they tramped in.
Mrs. Linton, who was very much excited, bade me accompany her
up-stairs. She did not know my share in contributing to the
disturbance, and I was anxious to keep her in ignorance.
‘I’m nearly distracted, Nelly!’ she
exclaimed, throwing herself on the sofa. ‘A thousand
smiths’ hammers are beating in my head! Tell Isabella
to shun me; this uproar is owing to her; and should she or any
one else aggravate my anger at present, I shall get wild.
And, Nelly, say to Edgar, if you see him again to-night, that
I’m in danger of being seriously ill. I wish it may
prove true. He has startled and distressed me
shockingly! I want to frighten him. Besides, he might
come and begin a string of abuse or complainings; I’m
certain I should recriminate, and God knows where we should
end! Will you do so, my good Nelly? You are aware
that I am no way blamable in this matter. What possessed
him to turn listener? Heathcliff’s talk was
outrageous, after you left us; but I could soon have diverted him
from Isabella, and the rest meant nothing. Now all is
dashed wrong; by the fool’s craving to hear evil of self,
that haunts some people like a demon! Had Edgar never
gathered our conversation, he would never have been the worse for
it. Really, when he opened on me in that unreasonable tone
of displeasure after I had scolded Heathcliff till I was hoarse
for him, I did not care hardly what they did to each other;
especially as I felt that, however the scene closed, we should
all be driven asunder for nobody knows how long! Well, if I
cannot keep Heathcliff for my friend—if Edgar will be mean
and jealous, I’ll try to break their hearts by breaking my
own. That will be a prompt way of finishing all, when I am
pushed to extremity! But it’s a deed to be reserved
for a forlorn hope; I’d not take Linton by surprise with
it. To this point he has been discreet in dreading to
provoke me; you must represent the peril of quitting that policy,
and remind him of my passionate temper, verging, when kindled, on
frenzy. I wish you could dismiss that apathy out of that
countenance, and look rather more anxious about me.’
The stolidity with which I received these instructions was, no
doubt, rather exasperating: for they were delivered in perfect
sincerity; but I believed a person who could plan the turning of
her fits of passion to account, beforehand, might, by exerting
her will, manage to control herself tolerably, even while under
their influence; and I did not wish to ‘frighten’ her
husband, as she said, and multiply his annoyances for the purpose
of serving her selfishness. Therefore I said nothing when I
met the master coming towards the parlour; but I took the liberty
of turning back to listen whether they would resume their quarrel
together. He began to speak first.
‘Remain where you are, Catherine,’ he said;
without any anger in his voice, but with much sorrowful
despondency. ‘I shall not stay. I am neither
come to wrangle nor be reconciled; but I wish just to learn
whether, after this evening’s events, you intend to
continue your intimacy with—’
‘Oh, for mercy’s sake,’ interrupted the
mistress, stamping her foot, ‘for mercy’s sake, let
us hear no more of it now! Your cold blood cannot be worked
into a fever: your veins are full of ice-water; but mine are
boiling, and the sight of such chillness makes them
dance.’
‘To get rid of me, answer my question,’ persevered
Mr. Linton. ‘You must answer it; and that violence
does not alarm me. I have found that you can be as stoical
as anyone, when you please. Will you give up Heathcliff
hereafter, or will you give up me? It is impossible for you
to be
my friend and
his at the same time; and I
absolutely
require to know which you choose.’
‘I require to be let alone!’ exclaimed Catherine,
furiously. ‘I demand it! Don’t you see I
can scarcely stand? Edgar, you—you leave
me!’
She rang the bell till it broke with a twang; I entered
leisurely. It was enough to try the temper of a saint, such
senseless, wicked rages! There she lay dashing her head
against the arm of the sofa, and grinding her teeth, so that you
might fancy she would crash them to splinters! Mr. Linton
stood looking at her in sudden compunction and fear. He
told me to fetch some water. She had no breath for
speaking. I brought a glass full; and as she would not
drink, I sprinkled it on her face. In a few seconds she
stretched herself out stiff, and turned up her eyes, while her
cheeks, at once blanched and livid, assumed the aspect of
death. Linton looked terrified.
‘There is nothing in the world the matter,’ I
whispered. I did not want him to yield, though I could not
help being afraid in my heart.
‘She has blood on her lips!’ he said,
shuddering.
‘Never mind!’ I answered, tartly. And I told
him how she had resolved, previous to his coming, on exhibiting a
fit of frenzy. I incautiously gave the account aloud, and
she heard me; for she started up—her hair flying over her
shoulders, her eyes flashing, the muscles of her neck and arms
standing out preternaturally. I made up my mind for broken
bones, at least; but she only glared about her for an instant,
and then rushed from the room. The master directed me to
follow; I did, to her chamber-door: she hindered me from going
further by securing it against me.
As she never offered to descend to breakfast next morning, I
went to ask whether she would have some carried up.
‘No!’ she replied, peremptorily. The same
question was repeated at dinner and tea; and again on the morrow
after, and received the same answer. Mr. Linton, on his
part, spent his time in the library, and did not inquire
concerning his wife’s occupations. Isabella and he
had had an hour’s interview, during which he tried to
elicit from her some sentiment of proper horror for
Heathcliff’s advances: but he could make nothing of her
evasive replies, and was obliged to close the examination
unsatisfactorily; adding, however, a solemn warning, that if she
were so insane as to encourage that worthless suitor, it would
dissolve all bonds of relationship between herself and him.
CHAPTER XII
While Miss Linton moped about the park and garden, always
silent, and almost always in tears; and her brother shut himself
up among books that he never opened—wearying, I guessed,
with a continual vague expectation that Catherine, repenting her
conduct, would come of her own accord to ask pardon, and seek a
reconciliation—and
she fasted pertinaciously, under
the idea, probably, that at every meal Edgar was ready to choke
for her absence, and pride alone held him from running to cast
himself at her feet; I went about my household duties, convinced
that the Grange had but one sensible soul in its walls, and that
lodged in my body. I wasted no condolences on Miss, nor any
expostulations on my mistress; nor did I pay much attention to
the sighs of my master, who yearned to hear his lady’s
name, since he might not hear her voice. I determined they
should come about as they pleased for me; and though it was a
tiresomely slow process, I began to rejoice at length in a faint
dawn of its progress: as I thought at first.
Mrs. Linton, on the third day, unbarred her door, and having
finished the water in her pitcher and decanter, desired a renewed
supply, and a basin of gruel, for she believed she was
dying. That I set down as a speech meant for Edgar’s
ears; I believed no such thing, so I kept it to myself and
brought her some tea and dry toast. She ate and drank
eagerly, and sank back on her pillow again, clenching her hands
and groaning. ‘Oh, I will die,’ she exclaimed,
‘since no one cares anything about me. I wish I had
not taken that.’ Then a good while after I heard her
murmur, ‘No, I’ll not die—he’d be
glad—he does not love me at all—he would never miss
me!’
‘Did you want anything, ma’am?’ I inquired,
still preserving my external composure, in spite of her ghastly
countenance and strange, exaggerated manner.
‘What is that apathetic being doing?’ she
demanded, pushing the thick entangled locks from her wasted
face. ‘Has he fallen into a lethargy, or is he
dead?’
‘Neither,’ replied I; ‘if you mean Mr.
Linton. He’s tolerably well, I think, though his
studies occupy him rather more than they ought: he is continually
among his books, since he has no other society.’
I should not have spoken so if I had known her true condition,
but I could not get rid of the notion that she acted a part of
her disorder.
‘Among his books!’ she cried, confounded.
‘And I dying! I on the brink of the grave! My
God! does he know how I’m altered?’ continued she,
staring at her reflection in a mirror hanging against the
opposite wall. ‘Is that Catherine Linton?
He imagines me in a pet—in play, perhaps. Cannot you
inform him that it is frightful earnest? Nelly, if it be
not too late, as soon as I learn how he feels, I’ll choose
between these two: either to starve at once—that would be
no punishment unless he had a heart—or to recover, and
leave the country. Are you speaking the truth about him
now? Take care. Is he actually so utterly indifferent
for my life?’
‘Why, ma’am,’ I answered, ‘the master
has no idea of your being deranged; and of course he does not
fear that you will let yourself die of hunger.’
‘You think not? Cannot you tell him I will?’
she returned. ‘Persuade him! speak of your own mind:
say you are certain I will!’
‘No, you forget, Mrs. Linton,’ I suggested,
‘that you have eaten some food with a relish this evening,
and to-morrow you will perceive its good effects.’
‘If I were only sure it would kill him,’ she
interrupted, ‘I’d kill myself directly! These
three awful nights I’ve never closed my lids—and oh,
I’ve been tormented! I’ve been haunted,
Nelly! But I begin to fancy you don’t like me.
How strange! I thought, though everybody hated and despised
each other, they could not avoid loving me. And they have
all turned to enemies in a few hours: they have, I’m
positive; the people here. How dreary to meet death,
surrounded by their cold faces! Isabella, terrified and
repelled, afraid to enter the room, it would be so dreadful to
watch Catherine go. And Edgar standing solemnly by to see
it over; then offering prayers of thanks to God for restoring
peace to his house, and going back to his
books!
What in the name of all that feels has he to do with
books, when I am dying?’
She could not bear the notion which I had put into her head of
Mr. Linton’s philosophical resignation. Tossing
about, she increased her feverish bewilderment to madness, and
tore the pillow with her teeth; then raising herself up all
burning, desired that I would open the window. We were in
the middle of winter, the wind blew strong from the north-east,
and I objected. Both the expressions flitting over her
face, and the changes of her moods, began to alarm me terribly;
and brought to my recollection her former illness, and the
doctor’s injunction that she should not be crossed. A
minute previously she was violent; now, supported on one arm, and
not noticing my refusal to obey her, she seemed to find childish
diversion in pulling the feathers from the rents she had just
made, and ranging them on the sheet according to their different
species: her mind had strayed to other associations.
‘That’s a turkey’s,’ she murmured to
herself; ‘and this is a wild duck’s; and this is a
pigeon’s. Ah, they put pigeons’ feathers in the
pillows—no wonder I couldn’t die! Let me take
care to throw it on the floor when I lie down. And here is
a moor-cock’s; and this—I should know it among a
thousand—it’s a lapwing’s. Bonny bird;
wheeling over our heads in the middle of the moor. It
wanted to get to its nest, for the clouds had touched the swells,
and it felt rain coming. This feather was picked up from
the heath, the bird was not shot: we saw its nest in the winter,
full of little skeletons. Heathcliff set a trap over it,
and the old ones dared not come. I made him promise
he’d never shoot a lapwing after that, and he
didn’t. Yes, here are more! Did he shoot my
lapwings, Nelly? Are they red, any of them? Let me
look.’
‘Give over with that baby-work!’ I interrupted,
dragging the pillow away, and turning the holes towards the
mattress, for she was removing its contents by handfuls.
‘Lie down and shut your eyes: you’re wandering.
There’s a mess! The down is flying about like
snow.’
I went here and there collecting it.
‘I see in you, Nelly,’ she continued dreamily,
‘an aged woman: you have grey hair and bent
shoulders. This bed is the fairy cave under Penistone
crags, and you are gathering elf-bolts to hurt our heifers;
pretending, while I am near, that they are only locks of
wool. That’s what you’ll come to fifty years
hence: I know you are not so now. I’m not wandering:
you’re mistaken, or else I should believe you really
were that withered hag, and I should think I
was
under Penistone Crags; and I’m conscious it’s night,
and there are two candles on the table making the black press
shine like jet.’
‘The black press? where is that?’ I asked.
‘You are talking in your sleep!’
‘It’s against the wall, as it always is,’
she replied. ‘It
does appear odd—I see a
face in it!’
‘There’s no press in the room, and never
was,’ said I, resuming my seat, and looping up the curtain
that I might watch her.
‘Don’t
you see that face?’ she
inquired, gazing earnestly at the mirror.
And say what I could, I was incapable of making her comprehend
it to be her own; so I rose and covered it with a shawl.
‘It’s behind there still!’ she pursued,
anxiously. ‘And it stirred. Who is it? I
hope it will not come out when you are gone! Oh!
Nelly, the room is haunted! I’m afraid of being
alone!’
I took her hand in mine, and bid her be composed; for a
succession of shudders convulsed her frame, and she would keep
straining her gaze towards the glass.
‘There’s nobody here!’ I insisted.
‘It was
yourself, Mrs. Linton: you knew it a while
since.’
‘Myself!’ she gasped, ‘and the clock is
striking twelve! It’s true, then! that’s
dreadful!’
Her fingers clutched the clothes, and gathered them over her
eyes. I attempted to steal to the door with an intention of
calling her husband; but I was summoned back by a piercing
shriek—the shawl had dropped from the frame.
‘Why, what is the matter?’ cried I.
‘Who is coward now? Wake up! That is the
glass—the mirror, Mrs. Linton; and you see yourself in it,
and there am I too by your side.’
Trembling and bewildered, she held me fast, but the horror
gradually passed from her countenance; its paleness gave place to
a glow of shame.
‘Oh, dear! I thought I was at home,’ she
sighed. ‘I thought I was lying in my chamber at
Wuthering Heights. Because I’m weak, my brain got
confused, and I screamed unconsciously. Don’t say
anything; but stay with me. I dread sleeping: my dreams
appal me.’
‘A sound sleep would do you good, ma’am,’ I
answered: ‘and I hope this suffering will prevent your
trying starving again.’
‘Oh, if I were but in my own bed in the old
house!’ she went on bitterly, wringing her hands.
‘And that wind sounding in the firs by the lattice.
Do let me feel it—it comes straight down the moor—do
let me have one breath!’ To pacify her I held the
casement ajar a few seconds. A cold blast rushed through; I
closed it, and returned to my post. She lay still now, her
face bathed in tears. Exhaustion of body had entirely
subdued her spirit: our fiery Catherine was no better than a
wailing child.
‘How long is it since I shut myself in here?’ she
asked, suddenly reviving.
‘It was Monday evening,’ I replied, ‘and
this is Thursday night, or rather Friday morning, at
present.’
‘What! of the same week?’ she exclaimed.
‘Only that brief time?’
‘Long enough to live on nothing but cold water and
ill-temper,’ observed I.
‘Well, it seems a weary number of hours,’ she
muttered doubtfully: ‘it must be more. I remember
being in the parlour after they had quarrelled, and Edgar being
cruelly provoking, and me running into this room desperate.
As soon as ever I had barred the door, utter blackness
overwhelmed me, and I fell on the floor. I couldn’t
explain to Edgar how certain I felt of having a fit, or going
raging mad, if he persisted in teasing me! I had no command
of tongue, or brain, and he did not guess my agony, perhaps: it
barely left me sense to try to escape from him and his
voice. Before I recovered sufficiently to see and hear, it
began to be dawn, and, Nelly, I’ll tell you what I thought,
and what has kept recurring and recurring till I feared for my
reason. I thought as I lay there, with my head against that
table leg, and my eyes dimly discerning the grey square of the
window, that I was enclosed in the oak-panelled bed at home; and
my heart ached with some great grief which, just waking, I could
not recollect. I pondered, and worried myself to discover
what it could be, and, most strangely, the whole last seven years
of my life grew a blank! I did not recall that they had
been at all. I was a child; my father was just buried, and
my misery arose from the separation that Hindley had ordered
between me and Heathcliff. I was laid alone, for the first
time; and, rousing from a dismal doze after a night of weeping, I
lifted my hand to push the panels aside: it struck the
table-top! I swept it along the carpet, and then memory
burst in: my late anguish was swallowed in a paroxysm of
despair. I cannot say why I felt so wildly wretched: it
must have been temporary derangement; for there is scarcely
cause. But, supposing at twelve years old I had been
wrenched from the Heights, and every early association, and my
all in all, as Heathcliff was at that time, and been converted at
a stroke into Mrs. Linton, the lady of Thrushcross Grange, and
the wife of a stranger: an exile, and outcast, thenceforth, from
what had been my world. You may fancy a glimpse of the
abyss where I grovelled! Shake your head as you will,
Nelly, you have helped to unsettle me! You should have
spoken to Edgar, indeed you should, and compelled him to leave me
quiet! Oh, I’m burning! I wish I were out of
doors! I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy,
and free; and laughing at injuries, not maddening under
them! Why am I so changed? why does my blood rush into a
hell of tumult at a few words? I’m sure I should be
myself were I once among the heather on those hills. Open
the window again wide: fasten it open! Quick, why
don’t you move?’
‘Because I won’t give you your death of
cold,’ I answered.
‘You won’t give me a chance of life, you
mean,’ she said, sullenly. ‘However, I’m
not helpless yet; I’ll open it myself.’
And sliding from the bed before I could hinder her, she
crossed the room, walking very uncertainly, threw it back, and
bent out, careless of the frosty air that cut about her shoulders
as keen as a knife. I entreated, and finally attempted to
force her to retire. But I soon found her delirious
strength much surpassed mine (she was delirious, I became
convinced by her subsequent actions and ravings). There was
no moon, and everything beneath lay in misty darkness: not a
light gleamed from any house, far or near all had been
extinguished long ago: and those at Wuthering Heights were never
visible—still she asserted she caught their shining.
‘Look!’ she cried eagerly, ‘that’s my
room with the candle in it, and the trees swaying before it; and
the other candle is in Joseph’s garret. Joseph sits
up late, doesn’t he? He’s waiting till I come
home that he may lock the gate. Well, he’ll wait a
while yet. It’s a rough journey, and a sad heart to
travel it; and we must pass by Gimmerton Kirk to go that
journey! We’ve braved its ghosts often together, and
dared each other to stand among the graves and ask them to
come. But, Heathcliff, if I dare you now, will you
venture? If you do, I’ll keep you. I’ll
not lie there by myself: they may bury me twelve feet deep, and
throw the church down over me, but I won’t rest till you
are with me. I never will!’
She paused, and resumed with a strange smile.
‘He’s considering—he’d rather I’d
come to him! Find a way, then! not through that
kirkyard. You are slow! Be content, you always
followed me!’
Perceiving it vain to argue against her insanity, I was
planning how I could reach something to wrap about her, without
quitting my hold of herself (for I could not trust her alone by
the gaping lattice), when, to my consternation, I heard the
rattle of the door-handle, and Mr. Linton entered. He had
only then come from the library; and, in passing through the
lobby, had noticed our talking and been attracted by curiosity,
or fear, to examine what it signified, at that late hour.
‘Oh, sir!’ I cried, checking the exclamation risen
to his lips at the sight which met him, and the bleak atmosphere
of the chamber. ‘My poor mistress is ill, and she
quite masters me: I cannot manage her at all; pray, come and
persuade her to go to bed. Forget your anger, for
she’s hard to guide any way but her own.’
‘Catherine ill?’ he said, hastening to us.
‘Shut the window, Ellen! Catherine!
why—’
He was silent. The haggardness of Mrs. Linton’s
appearance smote him speechless, and he could only glance from
her to me in horrified astonishment.
‘She’s been fretting here,’ I continued,
‘and eating scarcely anything, and never complaining: she
would admit none of us till this evening, and so we
couldn’t inform you of her state, as we were not aware of
it ourselves; but it is nothing.’
I felt I uttered my explanations awkwardly; the master
frowned. ‘It is nothing, is it, Ellen Dean?’ he
said sternly. ‘You shall account more clearly for
keeping me ignorant of this!’ And he took his wife in
his arms, and looked at her with anguish.
At first she gave him no glance of recognition: he was
invisible to her abstracted gaze. The delirium was not
fixed, however; having weaned her eyes from contemplating the
outer darkness, by degrees she centred her attention on him, and
discovered who it was that held her.
‘Ah! you are come, are you, Edgar Linton?’ she
said, with angry animation. ‘You are one of those
things that are ever found when least wanted, and when you are
wanted, never! I suppose we shall have plenty of
lamentations now—I see we shall—but they can’t
keep me from my narrow home out yonder: my resting-place, where
I’m bound before spring is over! There it is: not
among the Lintons, mind, under the chapel-roof, but in the open
air, with a head-stone; and you may please yourself whether you
go to them or come to me!’
‘Catherine, what have you done?’ commenced the
master. ‘Am I nothing to you any more? Do you
love that wretch Heath—’
‘Hush!’ cried Mrs. Linton. ‘Hush, this
moment! You mention that name and I end the matter
instantly by a spring from the window! What you touch at
present you may have; but my soul will be on that hill-top before
you lay hands on me again. I don’t want you, Edgar:
I’m past wanting you. Return to your books.
I’m glad you possess a consolation, for all you had in me
is gone.’
‘Her mind wanders, sir,’ I interposed.
‘She has been talking nonsense the whole evening; but let
her have quiet, and proper attendance, and she’ll
rally. Hereafter, we must be cautious how we vex
her.’
‘I desire no further advice from you,’ answered
Mr. Linton. ‘You knew your mistress’s nature,
and you encouraged me to harass her. And not to give me one
hint of how she has been these three days! It was
heartless! Months of sickness could not cause such a
change!’
I began to defend myself, thinking it too bad to be blamed for
another’s wicked waywardness. ‘I knew Mrs.
Linton’s nature to be headstrong and domineering,’
cried I: ‘but I didn’t know that you wished to foster
her fierce temper! I didn’t know that, to humour her,
I should wink at Mr. Heathcliff. I performed the duty of a
faithful servant in telling you, and I have got a faithful
servant’s wages! Well, it will teach me to be careful
next time. Next time you may gather intelligence for
yourself!’
‘The next time you bring a tale to me you shall quit my
service, Ellen Dean,’ he replied.
‘You’d rather hear nothing about it, I suppose,
then, Mr. Linton?’ said I. ‘Heathcliff has your
permission to come a-courting to Miss, and to drop in at every
opportunity your absence offers, on purpose to poison the
mistress against you?’
Confused as Catherine was, her wits were alert at applying our
conversation.
‘Ah! Nelly has played traitor,’ she
exclaimed, passionately. ‘Nelly is my hidden
enemy. You witch! So you do seek elf-bolts to hurt
us! Let me go, and I’ll make her rue!
I’ll make her howl a recantation!’
A maniac’s fury kindled under her brows; she struggled
desperately to disengage herself from Linton’s arms.
I felt no inclination to tarry the event; and, resolving to seek
medical aid on my own responsibility, I quitted the chamber.
In passing the garden to reach the road, at a place where a
bridle hook is driven into the wall, I saw something white moved
irregularly, evidently by another agent than the wind.
Notwithstanding my hurry, I stayed to examine it, lest ever after
I should have the conviction impressed on my imagination that it
was a creature of the other world. My surprise and
perplexity were great on discovering, by touch more than vision,
Miss Isabella’s springer, Fanny, suspended by a
handkerchief, and nearly at its last gasp. I quickly
released the animal, and lifted it into the garden. I had
seen it follow its mistress up-stairs when she went to bed; and
wondered much how it could have got out there, and what
mischievous person had treated it so. While untying the
knot round the hook, it seemed to me that I repeatedly caught the
beat of horses’ feet galloping at some distance; but there
were such a number of things to occupy my reflections that I
hardly gave the circumstance a thought: though it was a strange
sound, in that place, at two o’clock in the morning.
Mr. Kenneth was fortunately just issuing from his house to see
a patient in the village as I came up the street; and my account
of Catherine Linton’s malady induced him to accompany me
back immediately. He was a plain rough man; and he made no
scruple to speak his doubts of her surviving this second attack;
unless she were more submissive to his directions than she had
shown herself before.
‘Nelly Dean,’ said he, ‘I can’t help
fancying there’s an extra cause for this. What has
there been to do at the Grange? We’ve odd reports up
here. A stout, hearty lass like Catherine does not fall ill
for a trifle; and that sort of people should not either.
It’s hard work bringing them through fevers, and such
things. How did it begin?’
‘The master will inform you,’ I answered;
‘but you are acquainted with the Earnshaws’ violent
dispositions, and Mrs. Linton caps them all. I may say
this; it commenced in a quarrel. She was struck during a
tempest of passion with a kind of fit. That’s her
account, at least: for she flew off in the height of it, and
locked herself up. Afterwards, she refused to eat, and now
she alternately raves and remains in a half dream; knowing those
about her, but having her mind filled with all sorts of strange
ideas and illusions.’
‘Mr. Linton will be sorry?’ observed Kenneth,
interrogatively.
‘Sorry? he’ll break his heart should anything
happen!’ I replied. ‘Don’t alarm him more
than necessary.’
‘Well, I told him to beware,’ said my companion;
‘and he must bide the consequences of neglecting my
warning! Hasn’t he been intimate with Mr. Heathcliff
lately?’
‘Heathcliff frequently visits at the Grange,’
answered I, ‘though more on the strength of the mistress
having known him when a boy, than because the master likes his
company. At present he’s discharged from the trouble
of calling; owing to some presumptuous aspirations after Miss
Linton which he manifested. I hardly think he’ll be
taken in again.’
‘And does Miss Linton turn a cold shoulder on
him?’ was the doctor’s next question.
‘I’m not in her confidence,’ returned I,
reluctant to continue the subject.
‘No, she’s a sly one,’ he remarked, shaking
his head. ‘She keeps her own counsel! But
she’s a real little fool. I have it from good
authority that last night (and a pretty night it was!) she and
Heathcliff were walking in the plantation at the back of your
house above two hours; and he pressed her not to go in again, but
just mount his horse and away with him! My informant said
she could only put him off by pledging her word of honour to be
prepared on their first meeting after that: when it was to be he
didn’t hear; but you urge Mr. Linton to look
sharp!’
This news filled me with fresh fears; I outstripped Kenneth,
and ran most of the way back. The little dog was yelping in
the garden yet. I spared a minute to open the gate for it,
but instead of going to the house door, it coursed up and down
snuffing the grass, and would have escaped to the road, had I not
seized it and conveyed it in with me. On ascending to
Isabella’s room, my suspicions were confirmed: it was
empty. Had I been a few hours sooner Mrs. Linton’s
illness might have arrested her rash step. But what could
be done now? There was a bare possibility of overtaking
them if pursued instantly.
I could not pursue them,
however; and I dared not rouse the family, and fill the place
with confusion; still less unfold the business to my master,
absorbed as he was in his present calamity, and having no heart
to spare for a second grief! I saw nothing for it but to
hold my tongue, and suffer matters to take their course; and
Kenneth being arrived, I went with a badly composed countenance
to announce him. Catherine lay in a troubled sleep: her
husband had succeeded in soothing the excess of frenzy; he now
hung over her pillow, watching every shade and every change of
her painfully expressive features.
The doctor, on examining the case for himself, spoke hopefully
to him of its having a favourable termination, if we could only
preserve around her perfect and constant tranquillity. To
me, he signified the threatening danger was not so much death, as
permanent alienation of intellect.
I did not close my eyes that night, nor did Mr. Linton:
indeed, we never went to bed; and the servants were all up long
before the usual hour, moving through the house with stealthy
tread, and exchanging whispers as they encountered each other in
their vocations. Every one was active but Miss Isabella;
and they began to remark how sound she slept: her brother, too,
asked if she had risen, and seemed impatient for her presence,
and hurt that she showed so little anxiety for her
sister-in-law. I trembled lest he should send me to call
her; but I was spared the pain of being the first proclaimant of
her flight. One of the maids, a thoughtless girl, who had
been on an early errand to Gimmerton, came panting up-stairs,
open-mouthed, and dashed into the chamber, crying: ‘Oh,
dear, dear! What mun we have next? Master, master,
our young lady—’
‘Hold your noise!’ cried, I hastily, enraged at
her clamorous manner.
‘Speak lower, Mary—What is the matter?’ said
Mr. Linton. ‘What ails your young lady?’
‘She’s gone, she’s gone! Yon’
Heathcliff’s run off wi’ her!’ gasped the
girl.
‘That is not true!’ exclaimed Linton, rising in
agitation. ‘It cannot be: how has the idea entered
your head? Ellen Dean, go and seek her. It is
incredible: it cannot be.’
As he spoke he took the servant to the door, and then repeated
his demand to know her reasons for such an assertion.
‘Why, I met on the road a lad that fetches milk
here,’ she stammered, ‘and he asked whether we
weren’t in trouble at the Grange. I thought he meant
for missis’s sickness, so I answered, yes. Then says
he, “There’s somebody gone after ’em, I
guess?” I stared. He saw I knew nought about
it, and he told how a gentleman and lady had stopped to have a
horse’s shoe fastened at a blacksmith’s shop, two
miles out of Gimmerton, not very long after midnight! and how the
blacksmith’s lass had got up to spy who they were: she knew
them both directly. And she noticed the
man—Heathcliff it was, she felt certain: nob’dy could
mistake him, besides—put a sovereign in her father’s
hand for payment. The lady had a cloak about her face; but
having desired a sup of water, while she drank it fell back, and
she saw her very plain. Heathcliff held both bridles as
they rode on, and they set their faces from the village, and went
as fast as the rough roads would let them. The lass said
nothing to her father, but she told it all over Gimmerton this
morning.’
I ran and peeped, for form’s sake, into Isabella’s
room; confirming, when I returned, the servant’s
statement. Mr. Linton had resumed his seat by the bed; on
my re-entrance, he raised his eyes, read the meaning of my blank
aspect, and dropped them without giving an order, or uttering a
word.
‘Are we to try any measures for overtaking and bringing
her back,’ I inquired. ‘How should we
do?’
‘She went of her own accord,’ answered the master;
‘she had a right to go if she pleased. Trouble me no
more about her. Hereafter she is only my sister in name:
not because I disown her, but because she has disowned
me.’
And that was all he said on the subject: he did not make
single inquiry further, or mention her in any way, except
directing me to send what property she had in the house to her
fresh home, wherever it was, when I knew it.
CHAPTER XIII
For two months the fugitives remained absent; in those two
months, Mrs. Linton encountered and conquered the worst shock of
what was denominated a brain fever. No mother could have
nursed an only child more devotedly than Edgar tended her.
Day and night he was watching, and patiently enduring all the
annoyances that irritable nerves and a shaken reason could
inflict; and, though Kenneth remarked that what he saved from the
grave would only recompense his care by forming the source of
constant future anxiety—in fact, that his health and
strength were being sacrificed to preserve a mere ruin of
humanity—he knew no limits in gratitude and joy when
Catherine’s life was declared out of danger; and hour after
hour he would sit beside her, tracing the gradual return to
bodily health, and flattering his too sanguine hopes with the
illusion that her mind would settle back to its right balance
also, and she would soon be entirely her former self.
The first time she left her chamber was at the commencement of
the following March. Mr. Linton had put on her pillow, in
the morning, a handful of golden crocuses; her eye, long stranger
to any gleam of pleasure, caught them in waking, and shone
delighted as she gathered them eagerly together.
‘These are the earliest flowers at the Heights,’
she exclaimed. ‘They remind me of soft thaw winds,
and warm sunshine, and nearly melted snow. Edgar, is there
not a south wind, and is not the snow almost gone?’
‘The snow is quite gone down here, darling,’
replied her husband; ‘and I only see two white spots on the
whole range of moors: the sky is blue, and the larks are singing,
and the becks and brooks are all brim full. Catherine, last
spring at this time, I was longing to have you under this roof;
now, I wish you were a mile or two up those hills: the air blows
so sweetly, I feel that it would cure you.’
‘I shall never be there but once more,’ said the
invalid; ‘and then you’ll leave me, and I shall
remain for ever. Next spring you’ll long again to
have me under this roof, and you’ll look back and think you
were happy to-day.’
Linton lavished on her the kindest caresses, and tried to
cheer her by the fondest words; but, vaguely regarding the
flowers, she let the tears collect on her lashes and stream down
her cheeks unheeding. We knew she was really better, and,
therefore, decided that long confinement to a single place
produced much of this despondency, and it might be partially
removed by a change of scene. The master told me to light a
fire in the many-weeks’ deserted parlour, and to set an
easy-chair in the sunshine by the window; and then he brought her
down, and she sat a long while enjoying the genial heat, and, as
we expected, revived by the objects round her: which, though
familiar, were free from the dreary associations investing her
hated sick chamber. By evening she seemed greatly
exhausted; yet no arguments could persuade her to return to that
apartment, and I had to arrange the parlour sofa for her bed,
till another room could be prepared. To obviate the fatigue
of mounting and descending the stairs, we fitted up this, where
you lie at present—on the same floor with the parlour; and
she was soon strong enough to move from one to the other, leaning
on Edgar’s arm. Ah, I thought myself, she might
recover, so waited on as she was. And there was double
cause to desire it, for on her existence depended that of
another: we cherished the hope that in a little while Mr.
Linton’s heart would be gladdened, and his lands secured
from a stranger’s gripe, by the birth of an heir.
I should mention that Isabella sent to her brother, some six
weeks from her departure, a short note, announcing her marriage
with Heathcliff. It appeared dry and cold; but at the
bottom was dotted in with pencil an obscure apology, and an
entreaty for kind remembrance and reconciliation, if her
proceeding had offended him: asserting that she could not help it
then, and being done, she had now no power to repeal it.
Linton did not reply to this, I believe; and, in a fortnight
more, I got a long letter, which I considered odd, coming from
the pen of a bride just out of the honeymoon. I’ll
read it: for I keep it yet. Any relic of the dead is
precious, if they were valued living.
* * * * *
Dear Ellen, it begins,—I came
last night to Wuthering Heights, and heard, for the first time,
that Catherine has been, and is yet, very ill. I must not
write to her, I suppose, and my brother is either too angry or
too distressed to answer what I sent him. Still, I must
write to somebody, and the only choice left me is you.
Inform Edgar that I’d give the world to see his face
again—that my heart returned to Thrushcross Grange in
twenty-four hours after I left it, and is there at this moment,
full of warm feelings for him, and Catherine! I
can’t follow it though—(these words are
underlined)—they need not expect me, and they may draw what
conclusions they please; taking care, however, to lay nothing at
the door of my weak will or deficient affection.
The remainder of the letter is for yourself alone. I
want to ask you two questions: the first is,—How did you
contrive to preserve the common sympathies of human nature when
you resided here? I cannot recognise any sentiment which
those around share with me.
The second question I have great interest in; it is
this—Is Mr. Heathcliff a man? If so, is he mad?
And if not, is he a devil? I sha’n’t tell my
reasons for making this inquiry; but I beseech you to explain, if
you can, what I have married: that is, when you call to see me;
and you must call, Ellen, very soon. Don’t write, but
come, and bring me something from Edgar.
Now, you shall hear how I have been received in my new home,
as I am led to imagine the Heights will be. It is to amuse
myself that I dwell on such subjects as the lack of external
comforts: they never occupy my thoughts, except at the moment
when I miss them. I should laugh and dance for joy, if I
found their absence was the total of my miseries, and the rest
was an unnatural dream!
The sun set behind the Grange as we turned on to the moors; by
that, I judged it to be six o’clock; and my companion
halted half an hour, to inspect the park, and the gardens, and,
probably, the place itself, as well as he could; so it was dark
when we dismounted in the paved yard of the farm-house, and your
old fellow-servant, Joseph, issued out to receive us by the light
of a dip candle. He did it with a courtesy that redounded
to his credit. His first act was to elevate his torch to a
level with my face, squint malignantly, project his under-lip,
and turn away. Then he took the two horses, and led them
into the stables; reappearing for the purpose of locking the
outer gate, as if we lived in an ancient castle.
Heathcliff stayed to speak to him, and I entered the
kitchen—a dingy, untidy hole; I daresay you would not know
it, it is so changed since it was in your charge. By the
fire stood a ruffianly child, strong in limb and dirty in garb,
with a look of Catherine in his eyes and about his mouth.
‘This is Edgar’s legal nephew,’ I
reflected—‘mine in a manner; I must shake hands,
and—yes—I must kiss him. It is right to
establish a good understanding at the beginning.’
I approached, and, attempting to take his chubby fist,
said—‘How do you do, my dear?’
He replied in a jargon I did not comprehend.
‘Shall you and I be friends, Hareton?’ was my next
essay at conversation.
An oath, and a threat to set Throttler on me if I did not
‘frame off’ rewarded my perseverance.
‘Hey, Throttler, lad!’ whispered the little
wretch, rousing a half-bred bull-dog from its lair in a
corner. ‘Now, wilt thou be ganging?’ he asked
authoritatively.
Love for my life urged a compliance; I stepped over the
threshold to wait till the others should enter. Mr.
Heathcliff was nowhere visible; and Joseph, whom I followed to
the stables, and requested to accompany me in, after staring and
muttering to himself, screwed up his nose and
replied—‘Mim! mim! mim! Did iver Christian body
hear aught like it? Mincing un’ munching! How
can I tell whet ye say?’
‘I say, I wish you to come with me into the
house!’ I cried, thinking him deaf, yet highly disgusted at
his rudeness.
‘None o’ me! I getten summut else to
do,’ he answered, and continued his work; moving his
lantern jaws meanwhile, and surveying my dress and countenance
(the former a great deal too fine, but the latter, I’m
sure, as sad as he could desire) with sovereign contempt.
I walked round the yard, and through a wicket, to another
door, at which I took the liberty of knocking, in hopes some more
civil servant might show himself. After a short suspense,
it was opened by a tall, gaunt man, without neckerchief, and
otherwise extremely slovenly; his features were lost in masses of
shaggy hair that hung on his shoulders; and his eyes, too,
were like a ghostly Catherine’s with all their beauty
annihilated.
‘What’s your business here?’ he demanded,
grimly. ‘Who are you?’
‘My name was Isabella Linton,’ I replied.
‘You’ve seen me before, sir. I’m lately
married to Mr. Heathcliff, and he has brought me here—I
suppose, by your permission.’
‘Is he come back, then?’ asked the hermit, glaring
like a hungry wolf.
‘Yes—we came just now,’ I said; ‘but
he left me by the kitchen door; and when I would have gone in,
your little boy played sentinel over the place, and frightened me
off by the help of a bull-dog.’
‘It’s well the hellish villain has kept his
word!’ growled my future host, searching the darkness
beyond me in expectation of discovering Heathcliff; and then he
indulged in a soliloquy of execrations, and threats of what he
would have done had the ‘fiend’ deceived him.
I repented having tried this second entrance, and was almost
inclined to slip away before he finished cursing, but ere I could
execute that intention, he ordered me in, and shut and
re-fastened the door. There was a great fire, and that was
all the light in the huge apartment, whose floor had grown a
uniform grey; and the once brilliant pewter-dishes, which used to
attract my gaze when I was a girl, partook of a similar
obscurity, created by tarnish and dust. I inquired whether
I might call the maid, and be conducted to a bedroom! Mr.
Earnshaw vouchsafed no answer. He walked up and down, with
his hands in his pockets, apparently quite forgetting my
presence; and his abstraction was evidently so deep, and his
whole aspect so misanthropical, that I shrank from disturbing him
again.
You’ll not be surprised, Ellen, at my feeling
particularly cheerless, seated in worse than solitude on that
inhospitable hearth, and remembering that four miles distant lay
my delightful home, containing the only people I loved on earth;
and there might as well be the Atlantic to part us, instead of
those four miles: I could not overpass them! I questioned
with myself—where must I turn for comfort? and—mind
you don’t tell Edgar, or Catherine—above every sorrow
beside, this rose pre-eminent: despair at finding nobody who
could or would be my ally against Heathcliff! I had sought
shelter at Wuthering Heights, almost gladly, because I was
secured by that arrangement from living alone with him; but he
knew the people we were coming amongst, and he did not fear their
intermeddling.
I sat and thought a doleful time: the clock struck eight, and
nine, and still my companion paced to and fro, his head bent on
his breast, and perfectly silent, unless a groan or a bitter
ejaculation forced itself out at intervals. I listened to
detect a woman’s voice in the house, and filled the interim
with wild regrets and dismal anticipations, which, at last, spoke
audibly in irrepressible sighing and weeping. I was not
aware how openly I grieved, till Earnshaw halted opposite, in his
measured walk, and gave me a stare of newly-awakened
surprise. Taking advantage of his recovered attention, I
exclaimed—‘I’m tired with my journey, and I
want to go to bed! Where is the maid-servant? Direct
me to her, as she won’t come to me!’
‘We have none,’ he answered; ‘you must wait
on yourself!’
‘Where must I sleep, then?’ I sobbed; I was beyond
regarding self-respect, weighed down by fatigue and
wretchedness.
‘Joseph will show you Heathcliff’s chamber,’
said he; ‘open that door—he’s in
there.’
I was going to obey, but he suddenly arrested me, and added in
the strangest tone—‘Be so good as to turn your lock,
and draw your bolt—don’t omit it!’
‘Well!’ I said. ‘But why, Mr.
Earnshaw?’ I did not relish the notion of
deliberately fastening myself in with Heathcliff.
‘Look here!’ he replied, pulling from his
waistcoat a curiously-constructed pistol, having a double-edged
spring knife attached to the barrel. ‘That’s a
great tempter to a desperate man, is it not? I cannot
resist going up with this every night, and trying his door.
If once I find it open he’s done for; I do it invariably,
even though the minute before I have been recalling a hundred
reasons that should make me refrain: it is some devil that urges
me to thwart my own schemes by killing him. You fight
against that devil for love as long as you may; when the time
comes, not all the angels in heaven shall save him!’
I surveyed the weapon inquisitively. A hideous notion
struck me: how powerful I should be possessing such an
instrument! I took it from his hand, and touched the
blade. He looked astonished at the expression my face
assumed during a brief second: it was not horror, it was
covetousness. He snatched the pistol back, jealously; shut
the knife, and returned it to its concealment.
‘I don’t care if you tell him,’ said
he. ‘Put him on his guard, and watch for him.
You know the terms we are on, I see: his danger does not shock
you.’
‘What has Heathcliff done to you?’ I asked.
‘In what has he wronged you, to warrant this appalling
hatred? Wouldn’t it be wiser to bid him quit the
house?’
‘No!’ thundered Earnshaw; ‘should he offer
to leave me, he’s a dead man: persuade him to attempt it,
and you are a murderess! Am I to lose all, without a
chance of retrieval? Is Hareton to be a beggar? Oh,
damnation! I will have it back; and I’ll have
his gold too; and then his blood; and hell shall have his
soul! It will be ten times blacker with that guest than
ever it was before!’
You’ve acquainted me, Ellen, with your old
master’s habits. He is clearly on the verge of
madness: he was so last night at least. I shuddered to be
near him, and thought on the servant’s ill-bred moroseness
as comparatively agreeable. He now recommenced his moody
walk, and I raised the latch, and escaped into the kitchen.
Joseph was bending over the fire, peering into a large pan that
swung above it; and a wooden bowl of oatmeal stood on the settle
close by. The contents of the pan began to boil, and he
turned to plunge his hand into the bowl; I conjectured that this
preparation was probably for our supper, and, being hungry, I
resolved it should be eatable; so, crying out sharply,
‘I’ll make the porridge!’ I
removed the vessel out of his reach, and proceeded to take off my
hat and riding-habit. ‘Mr. Earnshaw,’ I
continued, ‘directs me to wait on myself: I will.
I’m not going to act the lady among you, for fear I should
starve.’
‘Gooid Lord!’ he muttered, sitting down, and
stroking his ribbed stockings from the knee to the ankle.
‘If there’s to be fresh ortherings—just when I
getten used to two maisters, if I mun hev’ a
mistress set o’er my heead, it’s like time to
be flitting. I niver did think to see t’ day
that I mud lave th’ owld place—but I doubt it’s
nigh at hand!’
This lamentation drew no notice from me: I went briskly to
work, sighing to remember a period when it would have been all
merry fun; but compelled speedily to drive off the
remembrance. It racked me to recall past happiness and the
greater peril there was of conjuring up its apparition, the
quicker the thible ran round, and the faster the handfuls of meal
fell into the water. Joseph beheld my style of cookery with
growing indignation.
‘Thear!’ he ejaculated. ‘Hareton, thou
willn’t sup thy porridge to-neeght; they’ll be naught
but lumps as big as my neive. Thear, agean! I’d
fling in bowl un’ all, if I wer ye! There, pale
t’ guilp off, un’ then ye’ll hae done wi’
‘t. Bang, bang. It’s a mercy t’
bothom isn’t deaved out!’
It was rather a rough mess, I own, when poured into the
basins; four had been provided, and a gallon pitcher of new milk
was brought from the dairy, which Hareton seized and commenced
drinking and spilling from the expansive lip. I
expostulated, and desired that he should have his in a mug;
affirming that I could not taste the liquid treated so
dirtily. The old cynic chose to be vastly offended at this
nicety; assuring me, repeatedly, that ‘the barn was every
bit as good’ as I, ‘and every bit as wollsome,’
and wondering how I could fashion to be so conceited.
Meanwhile, the infant ruffian continued sucking; and glowered up
at me defyingly, as he slavered into the jug.
‘I shall have my supper in another room,’ I
said. ‘Have you no place you call a
parlour?’
‘Parlour!’ he echoed, sneeringly,
‘parlour! Nay, we’ve noa
parlours. If yah dunnut loike wer company,
there’s maister’s; un’ if yah dunnut loike
maister, there’s us.’
‘Then I shall go up-stairs,’ I answered;
‘show me a chamber.’
I put my basin on a tray, and went myself to fetch some more
milk. With great grumblings, the fellow rose, and preceded
me in my ascent: we mounted to the garrets; he opened a door, now
and then, to look into the apartments we passed.
‘Here’s a rahm,’ he said, at last, flinging
back a cranky board on hinges. ‘It’s weel
eneugh to ate a few porridge in. There’s a pack
o’ corn i’ t’ corner, thear, meeterly clane; if
ye’re feared o’ muckying yer grand silk cloes, spread
yer hankerchir o’ t’ top on’t.’
The ‘rahm’ was a kind of lumber-hole smelling
strong of malt and grain; various sacks of which articles were
piled around, leaving a wide, bare space in the middle.
‘Why, man,’ I exclaimed, facing him angrily,
‘this is not a place to sleep in. I wish to see my
bed-room.’
‘Bed-rume!’ he repeated, in a tone of
mockery. ‘Yah’s see all t’
bed-rumes thear is—yon’s mine.’
He pointed into the second garret, only differing from the
first in being more naked about the walls, and having a large,
low, curtainless bed, with an indigo-coloured quilt, at one
end.
‘What do I want with yours?’ I retorted.
‘I suppose Mr. Heathcliff does not lodge at the top of the
house, does he?’
‘Oh! it’s Maister Hathecliff’s
ye’re wanting?’ cried he, as if making a new
discovery. ‘Couldn’t ye ha’ said soa, at
onst? un’ then, I mud ha’ telled ye, baht all this
wark, that that’s just one ye cannut see—he allas
keeps it locked, un’ nob’dy iver mells on’t but
hisseln.’
‘You’ve a nice house, Joseph,’ I could not
refrain from observing, ‘and pleasant inmates; and I think
the concentrated essence of all the madness in the world took up
its abode in my brain the day I linked my fate with theirs!
However, that is not to the present purpose—there are other
rooms. For heaven’s sake be quick, and let me settle
somewhere!’
He made no reply to this adjuration; only plodding doggedly
down the wooden steps, and halting, before an apartment which,
from that halt and the superior quality of its furniture, I
conjectured to be the best one. There was a carpet—a
good one, but the pattern was obliterated by dust; a fireplace
hung with cut-paper, dropping to pieces; a handsome oak-bedstead
with ample crimson curtains of rather expensive material and
modern make; but they had evidently experienced rough usage: the
vallances hung in festoons, wrenched from their rings, and the
iron rod supporting them was bent in an arc on one side, causing
the drapery to trail upon the floor. The chairs were also
damaged, many of them severely; and deep indentations deformed
the panels of the walls. I was endeavouring to gather
resolution for entering and taking possession, when my fool of a
guide announced,—‘This here is t’
maister’s.’ My supper by this time was cold, my
appetite gone, and my patience exhausted. I insisted on
being provided instantly with a place of refuge, and means of
repose.
‘Whear the divil?’ began the religious
elder. ‘The Lord bless us! The Lord forgie
us! Whear the hell wold ye gang? ye marred,
wearisome nowt! Ye’ve seen all but Hareton’s
bit of a cham’er. There’s not another hoile to
lig down in i’ th’ hahse!’
I was so vexed, I flung my tray and its contents on the
ground; and then seated myself at the stairs’-head, hid my
face in my hands, and cried.
‘Ech! ech!’ exclaimed Joseph. ‘Weel
done, Miss Cathy! weel done, Miss Cathy! Howsiver, t’
maister sall just tum’le o’er them brooken pots;
un’ then we’s hear summut; we’s hear how
it’s to be. Gooid-for-naught madling! ye desarve
pining fro’ this to Chrustmas, flinging t’ precious
gifts o’God under fooit i’ yer flaysome rages!
But I’m mista’en if ye shew yer sperrit lang.
Will Hathecliff bide sich bonny ways, think ye? I nobbut
wish he may catch ye i’ that plisky. I nobbut wish he
may.’
And so he went on scolding to his den beneath, taking the
candle with him; and I remained in the dark. The period of
reflection succeeding this silly action compelled me to admit the
necessity of smothering my pride and choking my wrath, and
bestirring myself to remove its effects. An unexpected aid
presently appeared in the shape of Throttler, whom I now
recognised as a son of our old Skulker: it had spent its
whelphood at the Grange, and was given by my father to Mr.
Hindley. I fancy it knew me: it pushed its nose against
mine by way of salute, and then hastened to devour the porridge;
while I groped from step to step, collecting the shattered
earthenware, and drying the spatters of milk from the banister
with my pocket-handkerchief. Our labours were scarcely over
when I heard Earnshaw’s tread in the passage; my assistant
tucked in his tail, and pressed to the wall; I stole into the
nearest doorway. The dog’s endeavour to avoid him was
unsuccessful; as I guessed by a scutter down-stairs, and a
prolonged, piteous yelping. I had better luck: he passed
on, entered his chamber, and shut the door. Directly after
Joseph came up with Hareton, to put him to bed. I had found
shelter in Hareton’s room, and the old man, on seeing me,
said,—‘They’s rahm for boath ye un’ yer
pride, now, I sud think i’ the hahse. It’s
empty; ye may hev’ it all to yerseln, un’ Him as
allus maks a third, i’ sich ill company!’
Gladly did I take advantage of this intimation; and the minute
I flung myself into a chair, by the fire, I nodded, and
slept. My slumber was deep and sweet, though over far too
soon. Mr. Heathcliff awoke me; he had just come in, and
demanded, in his loving manner, what I was doing there? I
told him the cause of my staying up so late—that he had the
key of our room in his pocket. The adjective our
gave mortal offence. He swore it was not, nor ever should
be, mine; and he’d—but I’ll not repeat his
language, nor describe his habitual conduct: he is ingenious and
unresting in seeking to gain my abhorrence! I sometimes
wonder at him with an intensity that deadens my fear: yet, I
assure you, a tiger or a venomous serpent could not rouse terror
in me equal to that which he wakens. He told me of
Catherine’s illness, and accused my brother of causing it
promising that I should be Edgar’s proxy in suffering, till
he could get hold of him.
I do hate him—I am wretched—I have been a
fool! Beware of uttering one breath of this to any one at
the Grange. I shall expect you every day—don’t
disappoint me!—Isabella.
CHAPTER XIV
As soon as I had perused this epistle I went to the master,
and informed him that his sister had arrived at the Heights, and
sent me a letter expressing her sorrow for Mrs. Linton’s
situation, and her ardent desire to see him; with a wish that he
would transmit to her, as early as possible, some token of
forgiveness by me.
‘Forgiveness!’ said Linton. ‘I have
nothing to forgive her, Ellen. You may call at Wuthering
Heights this afternoon, if you like, and say that I am not angry,
but I’m sorry to have lost her; especially as I can never
think she’ll be happy. It is out of the question my
going to see her, however: we are eternally divided; and should
she really wish to oblige me, let her persuade the villain she
has married to leave the country.’
‘And you won’t write her a little note,
sir?’ I asked, imploringly.
‘No,’ he answered. ‘It is
needless. My communication with Heathcliff’s family
shall be as sparing as his with mine. It shall not
exist!’
Mr. Edgar’s coldness depressed me exceedingly; and all
the way from the Grange I puzzled my brains how to put more heart
into what he said, when I repeated it; and how to soften his
refusal of even a few lines to console Isabella. I daresay
she had been on the watch for me since morning: I saw her looking
through the lattice as I came up the garden causeway, and I
nodded to her; but she drew back, as if afraid of being
observed. I entered without knocking. There never was
such a dreary, dismal scene as the formerly cheerful house
presented! I must confess, that if I had been in the young
lady’s place, I would, at least, have swept the hearth, and
wiped the tables with a duster. But she already partook of
the pervading spirit of neglect which encompassed her. Her
pretty face was wan and listless; her hair uncurled: some locks
hanging lankly down, and some carelessly twisted round her
head. Probably she had not touched her dress since yester
evening. Hindley was not there. Mr. Heathcliff sat at
a table, turning over some papers in his pocket-book; but he rose
when I appeared, asked me how I did, quite friendly, and offered
me a chair. He was the only thing there that seemed decent;
and I thought he never looked better. So much had
circumstances altered their positions, that he would certainly
have struck a stranger as a born and bred gentleman; and his wife
as a thorough little slattern! She came forward eagerly to
greet me, and held out one hand to take the expected
letter. I shook my head. She wouldn’t
understand the hint, but followed me to a sideboard, where I went
to lay my bonnet, and importuned me in a whisper to give her
directly what I had brought. Heathcliff guessed the meaning
of her manoeuvres, and said—‘If you have got anything
for Isabella (as no doubt you have, Nelly), give it to her.
You needn’t make a secret of it: we have no secrets between
us.’
‘Oh, I have nothing,’ I replied, thinking it best
to speak the truth at once. ‘My master bid me tell
his sister that she must not expect either a letter or a visit
from him at present. He sends his love, ma’am, and
his wishes for your happiness, and his pardon for the grief you
have occasioned; but he thinks that after this time his household
and the household here should drop intercommunication, as nothing
could come of keeping it up.’
Mrs. Heathcliff’s lip quivered slightly, and she
returned to her seat in the window. Her husband took his
stand on the hearthstone, near me, and began to put questions
concerning Catherine. I told him as much as I thought
proper of her illness, and he extorted from me, by
cross-examination, most of the facts connected with its
origin. I blamed her, as she deserved, for bringing it all
on herself; and ended by hoping that he would follow Mr.
Linton’s example and avoid future interference with his
family, for good or evil.
‘Mrs. Linton is now just recovering,’ I said;
‘she’ll never be like she was, but her life is
spared; and if you really have a regard for her, you’ll
shun crossing her way again: nay, you’ll move out of this
country entirely; and that you may not regret it, I’ll
inform you Catherine Linton is as different now from your old
friend Catherine Earnshaw, as that young lady is different from
me. Her appearance is changed greatly, her character much
more so; and the person who is compelled, of necessity, to be her
companion, will only sustain his affection hereafter by the
remembrance of what she once was, by common humanity, and a sense
of duty!’
‘That is quite possible,’ remarked Heathcliff,
forcing himself to seem calm: ‘quite possible that your
master should have nothing but common humanity and a sense of
duty to fall back upon. But do you imagine that I shall
leave Catherine to his
duty and
humanity? and can
you compare my feelings respecting Catherine to his? Before
you leave this house, I must exact a promise from you that
you’ll get me an interview with her: consent, or refuse, I
will see her! What do you say?’
‘I say, Mr. Heathcliff,’ I replied, ‘you
must not: you never shall, through my means. Another
encounter between you and the master would kill her
altogether.’
‘With your aid that may be avoided,’ he continued;
‘and should there be danger of such an event—should
he be the cause of adding a single trouble more to her
existence—why, I think I shall be justified in going to
extremes! I wish you had sincerity enough to tell me
whether Catherine would suffer greatly from his loss: the fear
that she would restrains me. And there you see the
distinction between our feelings: had he been in my place, and I
in his, though I hated him with a hatred that turned my life to
gall, I never would have raised a hand against him. You may
look incredulous, if you please! I never would have
banished him from her society as long as she desired his.
The moment her regard ceased, I would have torn his heart out,
and drunk his blood! But, till then—if you
don’t believe me, you don’t know me—till then,
I would have died by inches before I touched a single hair of his
head!’
‘And yet,’ I interrupted, ‘you have no
scruples in completely ruining all hopes of her perfect
restoration, by thrusting yourself into her remembrance now, when
she has nearly forgotten you, and involving her in a new tumult
of discord and distress.’
‘You suppose she has nearly forgotten me?’ he
said. ‘Oh, Nelly! you know she has not! You
know as well as I do, that for every thought she spends on Linton
she spends a thousand on me! At a most miserable period of
my life, I had a notion of the kind: it haunted me on my return
to the neighbourhood last summer; but only her own assurance
could make me admit the horrible idea again. And then,
Linton would be nothing, nor Hindley, nor all the dreams that
ever I dreamt. Two words would comprehend my
future—
death and
hell: existence, after
losing her, would be hell. Yet I was a fool to fancy for a
moment that she valued Edgar Linton’s attachment more than
mine. If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he
couldn’t love as much in eighty years as I could in a
day. And Catherine has a heart as deep as I have: the sea
could be as readily contained in that horse-trough as her whole
affection be monopolised by him. Tush! He is scarcely
a degree dearer to her than her dog, or her horse. It is
not in him to be loved like me: how can she love in him what he
has not?’
‘Catherine and Edgar are as fond of each other as any
two people can be,’ cried Isabella, with sudden
vivacity. ‘No one has a right to talk in that manner,
and I won’t hear my brother depreciated in
silence!’
‘Your brother is wondrous fond of you too, isn’t
he?’ observed Heathcliff, scornfully. ‘He turns
you adrift on the world with surprising alacrity.’
‘He is not aware of what I suffer,’ she
replied. ‘I didn’t tell him that.’
‘You have been telling him something, then: you have
written, have you?’
‘To say that I was married, I did write—you saw
the note.’
‘And nothing since?’
‘No.’
‘My young lady is looking sadly the worse for her change
of condition,’ I remarked. ‘Somebody’s
love comes short in her case, obviously; whose, I may guess; but,
perhaps, I shouldn’t say.’
‘I should guess it was her own,’ said
Heathcliff. ‘She degenerates into a mere slut!
She is tired of trying to please me uncommonly early.
You’d hardly credit it, but the very morrow of our wedding
she was weeping to go home. However, she’ll suit this
house so much the better for not being over nice, and I’ll
take care she does not disgrace me by rambling abroad.’
‘Well, sir,’ returned I, ‘I hope
you’ll consider that Mrs. Heathcliff is accustomed to be
looked after and waited on; and that she has been brought up like
an only daughter, whom every one was ready to serve. You
must let her have a maid to keep things tidy about her, and you
must treat her kindly. Whatever be your notion of Mr.
Edgar, you cannot doubt that she has a capacity for strong
attachments, or she wouldn’t have abandoned the elegancies,
and comforts, and friends of her former home, to fix contentedly,
in such a wilderness as this, with you.’
‘She abandoned them under a delusion,’ he
answered; ‘picturing in me a hero of romance, and expecting
unlimited indulgences from my chivalrous devotion. I can
hardly regard her in the light of a rational creature, so
obstinately has she persisted in forming a fabulous notion of my
character and acting on the false impressions she
cherished. But, at last, I think she begins to know me: I
don’t perceive the silly smiles and grimaces that provoked
me at first; and the senseless incapability of discerning that I
was in earnest when I gave her my opinion of her infatuation and
herself. It was a marvellous effort of perspicacity to
discover that I did not love her. I believed, at one time,
no lessons could teach her that! And yet it is poorly
learnt; for this morning she announced, as a piece of appalling
intelligence, that I had actually succeeded in making her hate
me! A positive labour of Hercules, I assure you! If
it be achieved, I have cause to return thanks. Can I trust
your assertion, Isabella? Are you sure you hate me?
If I let you alone for half a day, won’t you come sighing
and wheedling to me again? I daresay she would rather I had
seemed all tenderness before you: it wounds her vanity to have
the truth exposed. But I don’t care who knows that
the passion was wholly on one side: and I never told her a lie
about it. She cannot accuse me of showing one bit of
deceitful softness. The first thing she saw me do, on
coming out of the Grange, was to hang up her little dog; and when
she pleaded for it, the first words I uttered were a wish that I
had the hanging of every being belonging to her, except one:
possibly she took that exception for herself. But no
brutality disgusted her: I suppose she has an innate admiration
of it, if only her precious person were secure from injury!
Now, was it not the depth of absurdity—of genuine idiotcy,
for that pitiful, slavish, mean-minded brach to dream that I
could love her? Tell your master, Nelly, that I never, in
all my life, met with such an abject thing as she is. She
even disgraces the name of Linton; and I’ve sometimes
relented, from pure lack of invention, in my experiments on what
she could endure, and still creep shamefully cringing back!
But tell him, also, to set his fraternal and magisterial heart at
ease: that I keep strictly within the limits of the law. I
have avoided, up to this period, giving her the slightest right
to claim a separation; and, what’s more, she’d thank
nobody for dividing us. If she desired to go, she might:
the nuisance of her presence outweighs the gratification to be
derived from tormenting her!’
‘Mr. Heathcliff,’ said I, ‘this is the talk
of a madman; your wife, most likely, is convinced you are mad;
and, for that reason, she has borne with you hitherto: but now
that you say she may go, she’ll doubtless avail herself of
the permission. You are not so bewitched, ma’am, are
you, as to remain with him of your own accord?’
‘Take care, Ellen!’ answered Isabella, her eyes
sparkling irefully; there was no misdoubting by their expression
the full success of her partner’s endeavours to make
himself detested. ‘Don’t put faith in a single
word he speaks. He’s a lying fiend! a monster, and
not a human being! I’ve been told I might leave him
before; and I’ve made the attempt, but I dare not repeat
it! Only, Ellen, promise you’ll not mention a
syllable of his infamous conversation to my brother or
Catherine. Whatever he may pretend, he wishes to provoke
Edgar to desperation: he says he has married me on purpose to
obtain power over him; and he sha’n’t obtain
it—I’ll die first! I just hope, I pray, that he
may forget his diabolical prudence and kill me! The single
pleasure I can imagine is to die, or to see him dead!’
‘There—that will do for the present!’ said
Heathcliff. ‘If you are called upon in a court of
law, you’ll remember her language, Nelly! And take a
good look at that countenance: she’s near the point which
would suit me. No; you’re not fit to be your own
guardian, Isabella, now; and I, being your legal protector, must
retain you in my custody, however distasteful the obligation may
be. Go up-stairs; I have something to say to Ellen Dean in
private. That’s not the way: up-stairs, I tell
you! Why, this is the road upstairs, child!’
He seized, and thrust her from the room; and returned
muttering—‘I have no pity! I have no
pity! The more the worms writhe, the more I yearn to crush
out their entrails! It is a moral teething; and I grind
with greater energy in proportion to the increase of
pain.’
‘Do you understand what the word pity means?’ I
said, hastening to resume my bonnet. ‘Did you ever
feel a touch of it in your life?’
‘Put that down!’ he interrupted, perceiving my
intention to depart. ‘You are not going yet.
Come here now, Nelly: I must either persuade or compel you to aid
me in fulfilling my determination to see Catherine, and that
without delay. I swear that I meditate no harm: I
don’t desire to cause any disturbance, or to exasperate or
insult Mr. Linton; I only wish to hear from herself how she is,
and why she has been ill; and to ask if anything that I could do
would be of use to her. Last night I was in the Grange
garden six hours, and I’ll return there to-night; and every
night I’ll haunt the place, and every day, till I find an
opportunity of entering. If Edgar Linton meets me, I shall
not hesitate to knock him down, and give him enough to insure his
quiescence while I stay. If his servants oppose me, I shall
threaten them off with these pistols. But wouldn’t it
be better to prevent my coming in contact with them, or their
master? And you could do it so easily. I’d warn
you when I came, and then you might let me in unobserved, as soon
as she was alone, and watch till I departed, your conscience
quite calm: you would be hindering mischief.’
I protested against playing that treacherous part in my
employer’s house: and, besides, I urged the cruelty and
selfishness of his destroying Mrs. Linton’s tranquillity
for his satisfaction. ‘The commonest occurrence
startles her painfully,’ I said. ‘She’s
all nerves, and she couldn’t bear the surprise, I’m
positive. Don’t persist, sir! or else I shall be
obliged to inform my master of your designs; and he’ll take
measures to secure his house and its inmates from any such
unwarrantable intrusions!’
‘In that case I’ll take measures to secure you,
woman!’ exclaimed Heathcliff; ‘you shall not leave
Wuthering Heights till to-morrow morning. It is a foolish
story to assert that Catherine could not bear to see me; and as
to surprising her, I don’t desire it: you must prepare
her—ask her if I may come. You say she never mentions
my name, and that I am never mentioned to her. To whom
should she mention me if I am a forbidden topic in the
house? She thinks you are all spies for her husband.
Oh, I’ve no doubt she’s in hell among you! I
guess by her silence, as much as anything, what she feels.
You say she is often restless, and anxious-looking: is that a
proof of tranquillity? You talk of her mind being
unsettled. How the devil could it be otherwise in her
frightful isolation? And that insipid, paltry creature
attending her from
duty and
humanity! From
pity and
charity! He might as well plant an
oak in a flower-pot, and expect it to thrive, as imagine he can
restore her to vigour in the soil of his shallow cares? Let
us settle it at once: will you stay here, and am I to fight my
way to Catherine over Linton and his footman? Or will you
be my friend, as you have been hitherto, and do what I
request? Decide! because there is no reason for my
lingering another minute, if you persist in your stubborn
ill-nature!’
Well, Mr. Lockwood, I argued and complained, and flatly
refused him fifty times; but in the long run he forced me to an
agreement. I engaged to carry a letter from him to my
mistress; and should she consent, I promised to let him have
intelligence of Linton’s next absence from home, when he
might come, and get in as he was able: I wouldn’t be there,
and my fellow-servants should be equally out of the way.
Was it right or wrong? I fear it was wrong, though
expedient. I thought I prevented another explosion by my
compliance; and I thought, too, it might create a favourable
crisis in Catherine’s mental illness: and then I remembered
Mr. Edgar’s stern rebuke of my carrying tales; and I tried
to smooth away all disquietude on the subject, by affirming, with
frequent iteration, that that betrayal of trust, if it merited so
harsh an appellation, should be the last. Notwithstanding,
my journey homeward was sadder than my journey thither; and many
misgivings I had, ere I could prevail on myself to put the
missive into Mrs. Linton’s hand.
But here is Kenneth; I’ll go down, and tell him how much
better you are. My history is
dree, as we say, and
will serve to while away another morning.
Dree, and dreary! I reflected as the good woman
descended to receive the doctor: and not exactly of the kind
which I should have chosen to amuse me. But never
mind! I’ll extract wholesome medicines from Mrs.
Dean’s bitter herbs; and firstly, let me beware of the
fascination that lurks in Catherine Heathcliff’s brilliant
eyes. I should be in a curious taking if I surrendered my
heart to that young person, and the daughter turned out a second
edition of the mother.
CHAPTER XV
Another week over—and I am so many days nearer health,
and spring! I have now heard all my neighbour’s
history, at different sittings, as the housekeeper could spare
time from more important occupations. I’ll continue
it in her own words, only a little condensed. She is, on
the whole, a very fair narrator, and I don’t think I could
improve her style.
In the evening, she said, the evening of my visit to the
Heights, I knew, as well as if I saw him, that Mr. Heathcliff was
about the place; and I shunned going out, because I still carried
his letter in my pocket, and didn’t want to be threatened
or teased any more. I had made up my mind not to give it
till my master went somewhere, as I could not guess how its
receipt would affect Catherine. The consequence was, that
it did not reach her before the lapse of three days. The
fourth was Sunday, and I brought it into her room after the
family were gone to church. There was a manservant left to
keep the house with me, and we generally made a practice of
locking the doors during the hours of service; but on that
occasion the weather was so warm and pleasant that I set them
wide open, and, to fulfil my engagement, as I knew who would be
coming, I told my companion that the mistress wished very much
for some oranges, and he must run over to the village and get a
few, to be paid for on the morrow. He departed, and I went
up-stairs.
Mrs. Linton sat in a loose white dress, with a light shawl
over her shoulders, in the recess of the open window, as
usual. Her thick, long hair had been partly removed at the
beginning of her illness, and now she wore it simply combed in
its natural tresses over her temples and neck. Her
appearance was altered, as I had told Heathcliff; but when she
was calm, there seemed unearthly beauty in the change. The
flash of her eyes had been succeeded by a dreamy and melancholy
softness; they no longer gave the impression of looking at the
objects around her: they appeared always to gaze beyond, and far
beyond—you would have said out of this world. Then,
the paleness of her face—its haggard aspect having vanished
as she recovered flesh—and the peculiar expression arising
from her mental state, though painfully suggestive of their
causes, added to the touching interest which she awakened;
and—invariably to me, I know, and to any person who saw
her, I should think—refuted more tangible proofs of
convalescence, and stamped her as one doomed to decay.
A book lay spread on the sill before her, and the scarcely
perceptible wind fluttered its leaves at intervals. I
believe Linton had laid it there: for she never endeavoured to
divert herself with reading, or occupation of any kind, and he
would spend many an hour in trying to entice her attention to
some subject which had formerly been her amusement. She was
conscious of his aim, and in her better moods endured his efforts
placidly, only showing their uselessness by now and then
suppressing a wearied sigh, and checking him at last with the
saddest of smiles and kisses. At other times, she would
turn petulantly away, and hide her face in her hands, or even
push him off angrily; and then he took care to let her alone, for
he was certain of doing no good.
Gimmerton chapel bells were still ringing; and the full,
mellow flow of the beck in the valley came soothingly on the
ear. It was a sweet substitute for the yet absent murmur of
the summer foliage, which drowned that music about the Grange
when the trees were in leaf. At Wuthering Heights it always
sounded on quiet days following a great thaw or a season of
steady rain. And of Wuthering Heights Catherine was
thinking as she listened: that is, if she thought or listened at
all; but she had the vague, distant look I mentioned before,
which expressed no recognition of material things either by ear
or eye.
‘There’s a letter for you, Mrs. Linton,’ I
said, gently inserting it in one hand that rested on her
knee. ‘You must read it immediately, because it wants
an answer. Shall I break the seal?’
‘Yes,’ she answered, without altering the direction
of her eyes. I opened it—it was very short.
‘Now,’ I continued, ‘read it.’ She
drew away her hand, and let it fall. I replaced it in her
lap, and stood waiting till it should please her to glance down;
but that movement was so long delayed that at last I
resumed—‘Must I read it, ma’am? It is
from Mr. Heathcliff.’
There was a start and a troubled gleam of recollection, and a
struggle to arrange her ideas. She lifted the letter, and
seemed to peruse it; and when she came to the signature she
sighed: yet still I found she had not gathered its import, for,
upon my desiring to hear her reply, she merely pointed to the
name, and gazed at me with mournful and questioning
eagerness.
‘Well, he wishes to see you,’ said I, guessing her
need of an interpreter. ‘He’s in the garden by
this time, and impatient to know what answer I shall
bring.’
As I spoke, I observed a large dog lying on the sunny grass
beneath raise its ears as if about to bark, and then smoothing
them back, announce, by a wag of the tail, that some one
approached whom it did not consider a stranger. Mrs. Linton
bent forward, and listened breathlessly. The minute after a
step traversed the hall; the open house was too tempting for
Heathcliff to resist walking in: most likely he supposed that I
was inclined to shirk my promise, and so resolved to trust to his
own audacity. With straining eagerness Catherine gazed
towards the entrance of her chamber. He did not hit the
right room directly: she motioned me to admit him, but he found
it out ere I could reach the door, and in a stride or two was at
her side, and had her grasped in his arms.
He neither spoke nor loosed his hold for some five minutes,
during which period he bestowed more kisses than ever he gave in
his life before, I daresay: but then my mistress had kissed him
first, and I plainly saw that he could hardly bear, for downright
agony, to look into her face! The same conviction had
stricken him as me, from the instant he beheld her, that there
was no prospect of ultimate recovery there—she was fated,
sure to die.
‘Oh, Cathy! Oh, my life! how can I bear it?’
was the first sentence he uttered, in a tone that did not seek to
disguise his despair. And now he stared at her so earnestly
that I thought the very intensity of his gaze would bring tears
into his eyes; but they burned with anguish: they did not
melt.
‘What now?’ said Catherine, leaning back, and
returning his look with a suddenly clouded brow: her humour was a
mere vane for constantly varying caprices. ‘You and
Edgar have broken my heart, Heathcliff! And you both come
to bewail the deed to me, as if you were the people to be
pitied! I shall not pity you, not I. You have killed
me—and thriven on it, I think. How strong you
are! How many years do you mean to live after I am
gone?’
Heathcliff had knelt on one knee to embrace her; he attempted
to rise, but she seized his hair, and kept him down.
‘I wish I could hold you,’ she continued,
bitterly, ‘till we were both dead! I shouldn’t
care what you suffered. I care nothing for your
sufferings. Why shouldn’t you suffer? I
do! Will you forget me? Will you be happy when I am
in the earth? Will you say twenty years hence,
“That’s the grave of Catherine Earnshaw? I
loved her long ago, and was wretched to lose her; but it is
past. I’ve loved many others since: my children are
dearer to me than she was; and, at death, I shall not rejoice
that I am going to her: I shall be sorry that I must leave
them!” Will you say so, Heathcliff?’
‘Don’t torture me till I’m as mad as
yourself,’ cried he, wrenching his head free, and grinding
his teeth.
The two, to a cool spectator, made a strange and fearful
picture. Well might Catherine deem that heaven would be a
land of exile to her, unless with her mortal body she cast away
her moral character also. Her present countenance had a
wild vindictiveness in its white cheek, and a bloodless lip and
scintillating eye; and she retained in her closed fingers a
portion of the locks she had been grasping. As to her
companion, while raising himself with one hand, he had taken her
arm with the other; and so inadequate was his stock of gentleness
to the requirements of her condition, that on his letting go I
saw four distinct impressions left blue in the colourless
skin.
‘Are you possessed with a devil,’ he pursued,
savagely, ‘to talk in that manner to me when you are
dying? Do you reflect that all those words will be branded
in my memory, and eating deeper eternally after you have left
me? You know you lie to say I have killed you: and,
Catherine, you know that I could as soon forget you as my
existence! Is it not sufficient for your infernal
selfishness, that while you are at peace I shall writhe in the
torments of hell?’
‘I shall not be at peace,’ moaned Catherine,
recalled to a sense of physical weakness by the violent, unequal
throbbing of her heart, which beat visibly and audibly under this
excess of agitation. She said nothing further till the
paroxysm was over; then she continued, more kindly—
‘I’m not wishing you greater torment than I have,
Heathcliff. I only wish us never to be parted: and should a
word of mine distress you hereafter, think I feel the same
distress underground, and for my own sake, forgive me! Come
here and kneel down again! You never harmed me in your
life. Nay, if you nurse anger, that will be worse to
remember than my harsh words! Won’t you come here
again? Do!’
Heathcliff went to the back of her chair, and leant over, but
not so far as to let her see his face, which was livid with
emotion. She bent round to look at him; he would not permit
it: turning abruptly, he walked to the fireplace, where he stood,
silent, with his back towards us. Mrs. Linton’s
glance followed him suspiciously: every movement woke a new
sentiment in her. After a pause and a prolonged gaze, she
resumed; addressing me in accents of indignant
disappointment:—
‘Oh, you see, Nelly, he would not relent a moment to
keep me out of the grave.
That is how I’m
loved! Well, never mind. That is not
my
Heathcliff. I shall love mine yet; and take him with me:
he’s in my soul. And,’ added she musingly,
‘the thing that irks me most is this shattered prison,
after all. I’m tired of being enclosed here.
I’m wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be
always there: not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for
it through the walls of an aching heart: but really with it, and
in it. Nelly, you think you are better and more fortunate
than I; in full health and strength: you are sorry for
me—very soon that will be altered. I shall be sorry
for
you. I shall be incomparably beyond and above
you all. I
wonder he won’t be near
me!’ She went on to herself. ‘I thought
he wished it. Heathcliff, dear! you should not be sullen
now. Do come to me, Heathcliff.’
In her eagerness she rose and supported herself on the arm of
the chair. At that earnest appeal he turned to her, looking
absolutely desperate. His eyes, wide and wet, at last
flashed fiercely on her; his breast heaved convulsively. An
instant they held asunder, and then how they met I hardly saw,
but Catherine made a spring, and he caught her, and they were
locked in an embrace from which I thought my mistress would never
be released alive: in fact, to my eyes, she seemed directly
insensible. He flung himself into the nearest seat, and on
my approaching hurriedly to ascertain if she had fainted, he
gnashed at me, and foamed like a mad dog, and gathered her to him
with greedy jealousy. I did not feel as if I were in the
company of a creature of my own species: it appeared that he
would not understand, though I spoke to him; so I stood off, and
held my tongue, in great perplexity.
A movement of Catherine’s relieved me a little
presently: she put up her hand to clasp his neck, and bring her
cheek to his as he held her; while he, in return, covering her
with frantic caresses, said wildly—
‘You teach me now how cruel you’ve
been—cruel and false.
Why did you despise
me?
Why did you betray your own heart, Cathy?
I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. You
have killed yourself. Yes, you may kiss me, and cry; and
wring out my kisses and tears: they’ll blight
you—they’ll damn you. You loved me—then
what
right had you to leave me? What
right—answer me—for the poor fancy you felt for
Linton? Because misery and degradation, and death, and
nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us,
you, of your own will, did it. I have not broken
your heart—
you have broken it; and in breaking it,
you have broken mine. So much the worse for me that I am
strong. Do I want to live? What kind of living will
it be when you—oh, God! would
you like to live with
your soul in the grave?’
‘Let me alone. Let me alone,’ sobbed
Catherine. ‘If I’ve done wrong, I’m dying
for it. It is enough! You left me too: but I
won’t upbraid you! I forgive you. Forgive
me!’
‘It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and
feel those wasted hands,’ he answered. ‘Kiss me
again; and don’t let me see your eyes! I forgive what
you have done to me. I love
my murderer—but
yours! How can I?’
They were silent—their faces hid against each other, and
washed by each other’s tears. At least, I suppose the
weeping was on both sides; as it seemed Heathcliff could weep on
a great occasion like this.
I grew very uncomfortable, meanwhile; for the afternoon wore
fast away, the man whom I had sent off returned from his errand,
and I could distinguish, by the shine of the western sun up the
valley, a concourse thickening outside Gimmerton chapel
porch.
‘Service is over,’ I announced. ‘My
master will be here in half an hour.’
Heathcliff groaned a curse, and strained Catherine closer: she
never moved.
Ere long I perceived a group of the servants passing up the
road towards the kitchen wing. Mr. Linton was not far
behind; he opened the gate himself and sauntered slowly up,
probably enjoying the lovely afternoon that breathed as soft as
summer.
‘Now he is here,’ I exclaimed. ‘For
heaven’s sake, hurry down! You’ll not meet any
one on the front stairs. Do be quick; and stay among the
trees till he is fairly in.’
‘I must go, Cathy,’ said Heathcliff, seeking to
extricate himself from his companion’s arms.
‘But if I live, I’ll see you again before you are
asleep. I won’t stray five yards from your
window.’
‘You must not go!’ she answered, holding him as
firmly as her strength allowed. ‘You
shall
not, I tell you.’
‘For one hour,’ he pleaded earnestly.
‘Not for one minute,’ she replied.
‘I
must—Linton will be up
immediately,’ persisted the alarmed intruder.
He would have risen, and unfixed her fingers by the
act—she clung fast, gasping: there was mad resolution in
her face.
‘No!’ she shrieked. ‘Oh, don’t,
don’t go. It is the last time! Edgar will not
hurt us. Heathcliff, I shall die! I shall
die!’
‘Damn the fool! There he is,’ cried
Heathcliff, sinking back into his seat. ‘Hush, my
darling! Hush, hush, Catherine! I’ll
stay. If he shot me so, I’d expire with a blessing on
my lips.’
And there they were fast again. I heard my master
mounting the stairs—the cold sweat ran from my forehead: I
was horrified.
‘Are you going to listen to her ravings?’ I said,
passionately. ‘She does not know what she says.
Will you ruin her, because she has not wit to help herself?
Get up! You could be free instantly. That is the most
diabolical deed that ever you did. We are all done
for—master, mistress, and servant.’
I wrung my hands, and cried out; and Mr. Linton hastened his
step at the noise. In the midst of my agitation, I was
sincerely glad to observe that Catherine’s arms had fallen
relaxed, and her head hung down.
‘She’s fainted, or dead,’ I thought:
‘so much the better. Far better that she should be
dead, than lingering a burden and a misery-maker to all about
her.’
Edgar sprang to his unbidden guest, blanched with astonishment
and rage. What he meant to do I cannot tell; however, the
other stopped all demonstrations, at once, by placing the
lifeless-looking form in his arms.
‘Look there!’ he said. ‘Unless you be
a fiend, help her first—then you shall speak to
me!’
He walked into the parlour, and sat down. Mr. Linton
summoned me, and with great difficulty, and after resorting to
many means, we managed to restore her to sensation; but she was
all bewildered; she sighed, and moaned, and knew nobody.
Edgar, in his anxiety for her, forgot her hated friend. I
did not. I went, at the earliest opportunity, and besought
him to depart; affirming that Catherine was better, and he should
hear from me in the morning how she passed the night.
‘I shall not refuse to go out of doors,’ he
answered; ‘but I shall stay in the garden: and, Nelly, mind
you keep your word to-morrow. I shall be under those
larch-trees. Mind! or I pay another visit, whether Linton
be in or not.’
He sent a rapid glance through the half-open door of the
chamber, and, ascertaining that what I stated was apparently
true, delivered the house of his luckless presence.
CHAPTER XVI
About twelve o’clock that night was born the Catherine
you saw at Wuthering Heights: a puny, seven-months’ child;
and two hours after the mother died, having never recovered
sufficient consciousness to miss Heathcliff, or know Edgar.
The latter’s distraction at his bereavement is a subject
too painful to be dwelt on; its after-effects showed how deep the
sorrow sunk. A great addition, in my eyes, was his being
left without an heir. I bemoaned that, as I gazed on the
feeble orphan; and I mentally abused old Linton for (what was
only natural partiality) the securing his estate to his own
daughter, instead of his son’s. An unwelcomed infant
it was, poor thing! It might have wailed out of life, and
nobody cared a morsel, during those first hours of
existence. We redeemed the neglect afterwards; but its
beginning was as friendless as its end is likely to be.
Next morning—bright and cheerful out of
doors—stole softened in through the blinds of the silent
room, and suffused the couch and its occupant with a mellow,
tender glow. Edgar Linton had his head laid on the pillow,
and his eyes shut. His young and fair features were almost
as deathlike as those of the form beside him, and almost as
fixed: but
his was the hush of exhausted anguish, and
hers of perfect peace. Her brow smooth, her lids
closed, her lips wearing the expression of a smile; no angel in
heaven could be more beautiful than she appeared. And I
partook of the infinite calm in which she lay: my mind was never
in a holier frame than while I gazed on that untroubled image of
Divine rest. I instinctively echoed the words she had
uttered a few hours before: ‘Incomparably beyond and above
us all! Whether still on earth or now in heaven, her spirit
is at home with God!’
I don’t know if it be a peculiarity in me, but I am
seldom otherwise than happy while watching in the chamber of
death, should no frenzied or despairing mourner share the duty
with me. I see a repose that neither earth nor hell can
break, and I feel an assurance of the endless and shadowless
hereafter—the Eternity they have entered—where life
is boundless in its duration, and love in its sympathy, and joy
in its fulness. I noticed on that occasion how much
selfishness there is even in a love like Mr. Linton’s, when
he so regretted Catherine’s blessed release! To be
sure, one might have doubted, after the wayward and impatient
existence she had led, whether she merited a haven of peace at
last. One might doubt in seasons of cold reflection; but
not then, in the presence of her corpse. It asserted its
own tranquillity, which seemed a pledge of equal quiet to its
former inhabitant.
Do you believe such people are happy in the other world,
sir? I’d give a great deal to know.
I declined answering Mrs. Dean’s question, which struck
me as something heterodox. She proceeded:
Retracing the course of Catherine Linton, I fear we have no
right to think she is; but we’ll leave her with her
Maker.
The master looked asleep, and I ventured soon after sunrise to
quit the room and steal out to the pure refreshing air. The
servants thought me gone to shake off the drowsiness of my
protracted watch; in reality, my chief motive was seeing Mr.
Heathcliff. If he had remained among the larches all night,
he would have heard nothing of the stir at the Grange; unless,
perhaps, he might catch the gallop of the messenger going to
Gimmerton. If he had come nearer, he would probably be
aware, from the lights flitting to and fro, and the opening and
shutting of the outer doors, that all was not right within.
I wished, yet feared, to find him. I felt the terrible news
must be told, and I longed to get it over; but how to do it I did
not know. He was there—at least, a few yards further
in the park; leant against an old ash-tree, his hat off, and his
hair soaked with the dew that had gathered on the budded
branches, and fell pattering round him. He had been
standing a long time in that position, for I saw a pair of ousels
passing and repassing scarcely three feet from him, busy in
building their nest, and regarding his proximity no more than
that of a piece of timber. They flew off at my approach,
and he raised his eyes and spoke:—‘She’s
dead!’ he said; ‘I’ve not waited for you to
learn that. Put your handkerchief away—don’t
snivel before me. Damn you all! she wants none of your
tears!’
I was weeping as much for him as her: we do sometimes pity
creatures that have none of the feeling either for themselves or
others. When I first looked into his face, I perceived that
he had got intelligence of the catastrophe; and a foolish notion
struck me that his heart was quelled and he prayed, because his
lips moved and his gaze was bent on the ground.
‘Yes, she’s dead!’ I answered, checking my
sobs and drying my cheeks. ‘Gone to heaven, I hope;
where we may, every one, join her, if we take due warning and
leave our evil ways to follow good!’
‘Did
she take due warning, then?’ asked
Heathcliff, attempting a sneer. ‘Did she die like a
saint? Come, give me a true history of the event. How
did—?’
He endeavoured to pronounce the name, but could not manage it;
and compressing his mouth he held a silent combat with his inward
agony, defying, meanwhile, my sympathy with an unflinching,
ferocious stare. ‘How did she die?’ he resumed,
at last—fain, notwithstanding his hardihood, to have a
support behind him; for, after the struggle, he trembled, in
spite of himself, to his very finger-ends.
‘Poor wretch!’ I thought; ‘you have a heart
and nerves the same as your brother men! Why should you be
anxious to conceal them? Your pride cannot blind God!
You tempt him to wring them, till he forces a cry of
humiliation.’
‘Quietly as a lamb!’ I answered, aloud.
‘She drew a sigh, and stretched herself, like a child
reviving, and sinking again to sleep; and five minutes after I
felt one little pulse at her heart, and nothing more!’
‘And—did she ever mention me?’ he asked,
hesitating, as if he dreaded the answer to his question would
introduce details that he could not bear to hear.
‘Her senses never returned: she recognised nobody from
the time you left her,’ I said. ‘She lies with
a sweet smile on her face; and her latest ideas wandered back to
pleasant early days. Her life closed in a gentle
dream—may she wake as kindly in the other world!’
‘May she wake in torment!’ he cried, with
frightful vehemence, stamping his foot, and groaning in a sudden
paroxysm of ungovernable passion. ‘Why, she’s a
liar to the end! Where is she? Not
there—not in heaven—not
perished—where? Oh! you said you cared nothing for my
sufferings! And I pray one prayer—I repeat it till my
tongue stiffens—Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as
long as I am living; you said I killed you—haunt me,
then! The murdered
do haunt their murderers, I
believe. I know that ghosts
have wandered on
earth. Be with me always—take any form—drive me
mad! only
do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot
find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I
cannot
live without my life! I
cannot live without my
soul!’
He dashed his head against the knotted trunk; and, lifting up
his eyes, howled, not like a man, but like a savage beast being
goaded to death with knives and spears. I observed several
splashes of blood about the bark of the tree, and his hand and
forehead were both stained; probably the scene I witnessed was a
repetition of others acted during the night. It hardly
moved my compassion—it appalled me: still, I felt reluctant
to quit him so. But the moment he recollected himself
enough to notice me watching, he thundered a command for me to
go, and I obeyed. He was beyond my skill to quiet or
console!
Mrs. Linton’s funeral was appointed to take place on the
Friday following her decease; and till then her coffin remained
uncovered, and strewn with flowers and scented leaves, in the
great drawing-room. Linton spent his days and nights there,
a sleepless guardian; and—a circumstance concealed from all
but me—Heathcliff spent his nights, at least, outside,
equally a stranger to repose. I held no communication with
him: still, I was conscious of his design to enter, if he could;
and on the Tuesday, a little after dark, when my master, from
sheer fatigue, had been compelled to retire a couple of hours, I
went and opened one of the windows; moved by his perseverance to
give him a chance of bestowing on the faded image of his idol one
final adieu. He did not omit to avail himself of the
opportunity, cautiously and briefly; too cautiously to betray his
presence by the slightest noise. Indeed, I shouldn’t
have discovered that he had been there, except for the
disarrangement of the drapery about the corpse’s face, and
for observing on the floor a curl of light hair, fastened with a
silver thread; which, on examination, I ascertained to have been
taken from a locket hung round Catherine’s neck.
Heathcliff had opened the trinket and cast out its contents,
replacing them by a black lock of his own. I twisted the
two, and enclosed them together.
Mr. Earnshaw was, of course, invited to attend the remains of
his sister to the grave; he sent no excuse, but he never came; so
that, besides her husband, the mourners were wholly composed of
tenants and servants. Isabella was not asked.
The place of Catherine’s interment, to the surprise of
the villagers, was neither in the chapel under the carved
monument of the Lintons, nor yet by the tombs of her own
relations, outside. It was dug on a green slope in a corner
of the kirk-yard, where the wall is so low that heath and
bilberry-plants have climbed over it from the moor; and
peat-mould almost buries it. Her husband lies in the same
spot now; and they have each a simple headstone above, and a
plain grey block at their feet, to mark the graves.
CHAPTER XVII
That Friday made the last of our fine days for a month.
In the evening the weather broke: the wind shifted from south to
north-east, and brought rain first, and then sleet and
snow. On the morrow one could hardly imagine that there had
been three weeks of summer: the primroses and crocuses were
hidden under wintry drifts; the larks were silent, the young
leaves of the early trees smitten and blackened. And
dreary, and chill, and dismal, that morrow did creep over!
My master kept his room; I took possession of the lonely parlour,
converting it into a nursery: and there I was, sitting with the
moaning doll of a child laid on my knee; rocking it to and fro,
and watching, meanwhile, the still driving flakes build up the
uncurtained window, when the door opened, and some person
entered, out of breath and laughing! My anger was greater
than my astonishment for a minute. I supposed it one of the
maids, and I cried—‘Have done! How dare you
show your giddiness here; What would Mr. Linton say if he heard
you?’
‘Excuse me!’ answered a familiar voice; ‘but
I know Edgar is in bed, and I cannot stop myself.’
With that the speaker came forward to the fire, panting and
holding her hand to her side.
‘I have run the whole way from Wuthering Heights!’
she continued, after a pause; ‘except where I’ve
flown. I couldn’t count the number of falls
I’ve had. Oh, I’m aching all over!
Don’t be alarmed! There shall be an explanation as
soon as I can give it; only just have the goodness to step out
and order the carriage to take me on to Gimmerton, and tell a
servant to seek up a few clothes in my wardrobe.’
The intruder was Mrs. Heathcliff. She certainly seemed
in no laughing predicament: her hair streamed on her shoulders,
dripping with snow and water; she was dressed in the girlish
dress she commonly wore, befitting her age more than her
position: a low frock with short sleeves, and nothing on either
head or neck. The frock was of light silk, and clung to her
with wet, and her feet were protected merely by thin slippers;
add to this a deep cut under one ear, which only the cold
prevented from bleeding profusely, a white face scratched and
bruised, and a frame hardly able to support itself through
fatigue; and you may fancy my first fright was not much allayed
when I had had leisure to examine her.
‘My dear young lady,’ I exclaimed,
‘I’ll stir nowhere, and hear nothing, till you have
removed every article of your clothes, and put on dry things; and
certainly you shall not go to Gimmerton to-night, so it is
needless to order the carriage.’
‘Certainly I shall,’ she said; ‘walking or
riding: yet I’ve no objection to dress myself
decently. And—ah, see how it flows down my neck
now! The fire does make it smart.’
She insisted on my fulfilling her directions, before she would
let me touch her; and not till after the coachman had been
instructed to get ready, and a maid set to pack up some necessary
attire, did I obtain her consent for binding the wound and
helping to change her garments.
‘Now, Ellen,’ she said, when my task was finished
and she was seated in an easy-chair on the hearth, with a cup of
tea before her, ‘you sit down opposite me, and put poor
Catherine’s baby away: I don’t like to see it!
You mustn’t think I care little for Catherine, because I
behaved so foolishly on entering: I’ve cried, too,
bitterly—yes, more than any one else has reason to
cry. We parted unreconciled, you remember, and I
sha’n’t forgive myself. But, for all that, I
was not going to sympathise with him—the brute beast!
Oh, give me the poker! This is the last thing of his I have
about me:’ she slipped the gold ring from her third finger,
and threw it on the floor. ‘I’ll smash
it!’ she continued, striking it with childish spite,
‘and then I’ll burn it!’ and she took and
dropped the misused article among the coals. ‘There!
he shall buy another, if he gets me back again. He’d
be capable of coming to seek me, to tease Edgar. I dare not
stay, lest that notion should possess his wicked head! And
besides, Edgar has not been kind, has he? And I won’t
come suing for his assistance; nor will I bring him into more
trouble. Necessity compelled me to seek shelter here;
though, if I had not learned he was out of the way, I’d
have halted at the kitchen, washed my face, warmed myself, got
you to bring what I wanted, and departed again to anywhere out of
the reach of my accursed—of that incarnate goblin!
Ah, he was in such a fury! If he had caught me!
It’s a pity Earnshaw is not his match in strength: I
wouldn’t have run till I’d seen him all but
demolished, had Hindley been able to do it!’
‘Well, don’t talk so fast, Miss!’ I
interrupted; ‘you’ll disorder the handkerchief I have
tied round your face, and make the cut bleed again. Drink
your tea, and take breath, and give over laughing: laughter is
sadly out of place under this roof, and in your
condition!’
‘An undeniable truth,’ she replied.
‘Listen to that child! It maintains a constant
wail—send it out of my hearing for an hour; I
sha’n’t stay any longer.’
I rang the bell, and committed it to a servant’s care;
and then I inquired what had urged her to escape from Wuthering
Heights in such an unlikely plight, and where she meant to go, as
she refused remaining with us.
‘I ought, and I wished to remain,’ answered she,
‘to cheer Edgar and take care of the baby, for two things,
and because the Grange is my right home. But I tell you he
wouldn’t let me! Do you think he could bear to see me
grow fat and merry—could bear to think that we were
tranquil, and not resolve on poisoning our comfort? Now, I
have the satisfaction of being sure that he detests me, to the
point of its annoying him seriously to have me within ear-shot or
eyesight: I notice, when I enter his presence, the muscles of his
countenance are involuntarily distorted into an expression of
hatred; partly arising from his knowledge of the good causes I
have to feel that sentiment for him, and partly from original
aversion. It is strong enough to make me feel pretty
certain that he would not chase me over England, supposing I
contrived a clear escape; and therefore I must get quite
away. I’ve recovered from my first desire to be
killed by him: I’d rather he’d kill himself! He
has extinguished my love effectually, and so I’m at my
ease. I can recollect yet how I loved him; and can dimly
imagine that I could still be loving him, if—no, no!
Even if he had doted on me, the devilish nature would have
revealed its existence somehow. Catherine had an awfully
perverted taste to esteem him so dearly, knowing him so
well. Monster! would that he could be blotted out of
creation, and out of my memory!’
‘Hush, hush! He’s a human being,’ I
said. ‘Be more charitable: there are worse men than
he is yet!’
‘He’s not a human being,’ she retorted;
‘and he has no claim on my charity. I gave him my
heart, and he took and pinched it to death, and flung it back to
me. People feel with their hearts, Ellen: and since he has
destroyed mine, I have not power to feel for him: and I would
not, though he groaned from this to his dying day, and wept tears
of blood for Catherine! No, indeed, indeed, I
wouldn’t!’ And here Isabella began to cry; but,
immediately dashing the water from her lashes, she
recommenced. ‘You asked, what has driven me to flight
at last? I was compelled to attempt it, because I had
succeeded in rousing his rage a pitch above his malignity.
Pulling out the nerves with red hot pincers requires more
coolness than knocking on the head. He was worked up to
forget the fiendish prudence he boasted of, and proceeded to
murderous violence. I experienced pleasure in being able to
exasperate him: the sense of pleasure woke my instinct of
self-preservation, so I fairly broke free; and if ever I come
into his hands again he is welcome to a signal revenge.
‘Yesterday, you know, Mr. Earnshaw should have been at
the funeral. He kept himself sober for the
purpose—tolerably sober: not going to bed mad at six
o’clock and getting up drunk at twelve. Consequently,
he rose, in suicidal low spirits, as fit for the church as for a
dance; and instead, he sat down by the fire and swallowed gin or
brandy by tumblerfuls.
‘Heathcliff—I shudder to name him! has been a
stranger in the house from last Sunday till to-day. Whether
the angels have fed him, or his kin beneath, I cannot tell; but
he has not eaten a meal with us for nearly a week. He has
just come home at dawn, and gone up-stairs to his chamber;
locking himself in—as if anybody dreamt of coveting his
company! There he has continued, praying like a Methodist:
only the deity he implored is senseless dust and ashes; and God,
when addressed, was curiously confounded with his own black
father! After concluding these precious orisons—and
they lasted generally till he grew hoarse and his voice was
strangled in his throat—he would be off again; always
straight down to the Grange! I wonder Edgar did not send
for a constable, and give him into custody! For me, grieved
as I was about Catherine, it was impossible to avoid regarding
this season of deliverance from degrading oppression as a
holiday.
‘I recovered spirits sufficient to bear Joseph’s
eternal lectures without weeping, and to move up and down the
house less with the foot of a frightened thief than
formerly. You wouldn’t think that I should cry at
anything Joseph could say; but he and Hareton are detestable
companions. I’d rather sit with Hindley, and hear his
awful talk, than with “t’ little maister” and
his staunch supporter, that odious old man! When Heathcliff
is in, I’m often obliged to seek the kitchen and their
society, or starve among the damp uninhabited chambers; when he
is not, as was the case this week, I establish a table and chair
at one corner of the house fire, and never mind how Mr. Earnshaw
may occupy himself; and he does not interfere with my
arrangements. He is quieter now than he used to be, if no
one provokes him: more sullen and depressed, and less
furious. Joseph affirms he’s sure he’s an
altered man: that the Lord has touched his heart, and he is saved
“so as by fire.” I’m puzzled to detect
signs of the favourable change: but it is not my business.
‘Yester-evening I sat in my nook reading some old books
till late on towards twelve. It seemed so dismal to go
up-stairs, with the wild snow blowing outside, and my thoughts
continually reverting to the kirk-yard and the new-made
grave! I dared hardly lift my eyes from the page before me,
that melancholy scene so instantly usurped its place.
Hindley sat opposite, his head leant on his hand; perhaps
meditating on the same subject. He had ceased drinking at a
point below irrationality, and had neither stirred nor spoken
during two or three hours. There was no sound through the
house but the moaning wind, which shook the windows every now and
then, the faint crackling of the coals, and the click of my
snuffers as I removed at intervals the long wick of the
candle. Hareton and Joseph were probably fast asleep in
bed. It was very, very sad: and while I read I sighed, for
it seemed as if all joy had vanished from the world, never to be
restored.
‘The doleful silence was broken at length by the sound
of the kitchen latch: Heathcliff had returned from his watch
earlier than usual; owing, I suppose, to the sudden storm.
That entrance was fastened, and we heard him coming round to get
in by the other. I rose with an irrepressible expression of
what I felt on my lips, which induced my companion, who had been
staring towards the door, to turn and look at me.
‘“I’ll keep him out five minutes,” he
exclaimed. “You won’t object?”
‘“No, you may keep him out the whole night for
me,” I answered. “Do! put the key in the lock,
and draw the bolts.”
‘Earnshaw accomplished this ere his guest reached the
front; he then came and brought his chair to the other side of my
table, leaning over it, and searching in my eyes for a sympathy
with the burning hate that gleamed from his: as he both looked
and felt like an assassin, he couldn’t exactly find that;
but he discovered enough to encourage him to speak.
‘“You, and I,” he said, “have each a
great debt to settle with the man out yonder! If we were
neither of us cowards, we might combine to discharge it.
Are you as soft as your brother? Are you willing to endure
to the last, and not once attempt a repayment?”
‘“I’m weary of enduring now,” I
replied; “and I’d be glad of a retaliation that
wouldn’t recoil on myself; but treachery and violence are
spears pointed at both ends; they wound those who resort to them
worse than their enemies.”
‘“Treachery and violence are a just return for
treachery and violence!” cried Hindley. “Mrs.
Heathcliff, I’ll ask you to do nothing; but sit still and
be dumb. Tell me now, can you? I’m sure you
would have as much pleasure as I in witnessing the conclusion of
the fiend’s existence; he’ll be
your death
unless you overreach him; and he’ll be
my
ruin. Damn the hellish villain! He knocks at the door
as if he were master here already! Promise to hold your
tongue, and before that clock strikes—it wants three
minutes of one—you’re a free woman!”
‘He took the implements which I described to you in my
letter from his breast, and would have turned down the
candle. I snatched it away, however, and seized his
arm.
‘“I’ll not hold my tongue!” I said;
“you mustn’t touch him. Let the door remain
shut, and be quiet!”
‘“No! I’ve formed my resolution, and
by God I’ll execute it!” cried the desperate
being. “I’ll do you a kindness in spite of
yourself, and Hareton justice! And you needn’t
trouble your head to screen me; Catherine is gone. Nobody
alive would regret me, or be ashamed, though I cut my throat this
minute—and it’s time to make an end!”
‘I might as well have struggled with a bear, or reasoned
with a lunatic. The only resource left me was to run to a
lattice and warn his intended victim of the fate which awaited
him.
‘“You’d better seek shelter somewhere else
to-night!” I exclaimed, in rather a triumphant tone.
“Mr. Earnshaw has a mind to shoot you, if you persist in
endeavouring to enter.”
‘“You’d better open the door,
you—” he answered, addressing me by some elegant term
that I don’t care to repeat.
‘“I shall not meddle in the matter,” I
retorted again. “Come in and get shot, if you
please. I’ve done my duty.”
‘With that I shut the window and returned to my place by
the fire; having too small a stock of hypocrisy at my command to
pretend any anxiety for the danger that menaced him.
Earnshaw swore passionately at me: affirming that I loved the
villain yet; and calling me all sorts of names for the base
spirit I evinced. And I, in my secret heart (and conscience
never reproached me), thought what a blessing it would be for
him should Heathcliff put him out of misery; and what a
blessing for
me should he send Heathcliff to his right
abode! As I sat nursing these reflections, the casement
behind me was banged on to the floor by a blow from the latter
individual, and his black countenance looked blightingly
through. The stanchions stood too close to suffer his
shoulders to follow, and I smiled, exulting in my fancied
security. His hair and clothes were whitened with snow, and
his sharp cannibal teeth, revealed by cold and wrath, gleamed
through the dark.
‘“Isabella, let me in, or I’ll make you
repent!” he “girned,” as Joseph calls it.
‘“I cannot commit murder,” I replied.
“Mr. Hindley stands sentinel with a knife and loaded
pistol.”
‘“Let me in by the kitchen door,” he
said.
‘“Hindley will be there before me,” I
answered: “and that’s a poor love of yours that
cannot bear a shower of snow! We were left at peace in our
beds as long as the summer moon shone, but the moment a blast of
winter returns, you must run for shelter! Heathcliff, if I
were you, I’d go stretch myself over her grave and die like
a faithful dog. The world is surely not worth living in
now, is it? You had distinctly impressed on me the idea
that Catherine was the whole joy of your life: I can’t
imagine how you think of surviving her loss.”
‘“He’s there, is he?” exclaimed my
companion, rushing to the gap. “If I can get my arm
out I can hit him!”
‘I’m afraid, Ellen, you’ll set me down as
really wicked; but you don’t know all, so don’t
judge. I wouldn’t have aided or abetted an attempt on
even
his life for anything. Wish that he were dead,
I must; and therefore I was fearfully disappointed, and unnerved
by terror for the consequences of my taunting speech, when he
flung himself on Earnshaw’s weapon and wrenched it from his
grasp.
‘The charge exploded, and the knife, in springing back,
closed into its owner’s wrist. Heathcliff pulled it
away by main force, slitting up the flesh as it passed on, and
thrust it dripping into his pocket. He then took a stone,
struck down the division between two windows, and sprang
in. His adversary had fallen senseless with excessive pain
and the flow of blood, that gushed from an artery or a large
vein. The ruffian kicked and trampled on him, and dashed
his head repeatedly against the flags, holding me with one hand,
meantime, to prevent me summoning Joseph. He exerted
preterhuman self-denial in abstaining from finishing him
completely; but getting out of breath, he finally desisted, and
dragged the apparently inanimate body on to the settle.
There he tore off the sleeve of Earnshaw’s coat, and bound
up the wound with brutal roughness; spitting and cursing during
the operation as energetically as he had kicked before.
Being at liberty, I lost no time in seeking the old servant; who,
having gathered by degrees the purport of my hasty tale, hurried
below, gasping, as he descended the steps two at once.
‘“What is ther to do, now? what is ther to do,
now?”
‘“There’s this to do,” thundered
Heathcliff, “that your master’s mad; and should he
last another month, I’ll have him to an asylum. And
how the devil did you come to fasten me out, you toothless
hound? Don’t stand muttering and mumbling
there. Come, I’m not going to nurse him. Wash
that stuff away; and mind the sparks of your candle—it is
more than half brandy!”
‘“And so ye’ve been murthering on
him?” exclaimed Joseph, lifting his hands and eyes in
horror. “If iver I seed a seeght loike this!
May the Lord—”
‘Heathcliff gave him a push on to his knees in the
middle of the blood, and flung a towel to him; but instead of
proceeding to dry it up, he joined his hands and began a prayer,
which excited my laughter from its odd phraseology. I was
in the condition of mind to be shocked at nothing: in fact, I was
as reckless as some malefactors show themselves at the foot of
the gallows.
‘“Oh, I forgot you,” said the tyrant.
“You shall do that. Down with you. And you
conspire with him against me, do you, viper? There, that is
work fit for you!”
‘He shook me till my teeth rattled, and pitched me
beside Joseph, who steadily concluded his supplications, and then
rose, vowing he would set off for the Grange directly. Mr.
Linton was a magistrate, and though he had fifty wives dead, he
should inquire into this. He was so obstinate in his
resolution, that Heathcliff deemed it expedient to compel from my
lips a recapitulation of what had taken place; standing over me,
heaving with malevolence, as I reluctantly delivered the account
in answer to his questions. It required a great deal of
labour to satisfy the old man that Heathcliff was not the
aggressor; especially with my hardly-wrung replies.
However, Mr. Earnshaw soon convinced him that he was alive still;
Joseph hastened to administer a dose of spirits, and by their
succour his master presently regained motion and
consciousness. Heathcliff, aware that his opponent was
ignorant of the treatment received while insensible, called him
deliriously intoxicated; and said he should not notice his
atrocious conduct further, but advised him to get to bed.
To my joy, he left us, after giving this judicious counsel, and
Hindley stretched himself on the hearthstone. I departed to
my own room, marvelling that I had escaped so easily.
‘This morning, when I came down, about half an hour
before noon, Mr. Earnshaw was sitting by the fire, deadly sick;
his evil genius, almost as gaunt and ghastly, leant against the
chimney. Neither appeared inclined to dine, and, having
waited till all was cold on the table, I commenced alone.
Nothing hindered me from eating heartily, and I experienced a
certain sense of satisfaction and superiority, as, at intervals,
I cast a look towards my silent companions, and felt the comfort
of a quiet conscience within me. After I had done, I
ventured on the unusual liberty of drawing near the fire, going
round Earnshaw’s seat, and kneeling in the corner beside
him.
‘Heathcliff did not glance my way, and I gazed up, and
contemplated his features almost as confidently as if they had
been turned to stone. His forehead, that I once thought so
manly, and that I now think so diabolical, was shaded with a
heavy cloud; his basilisk eyes were nearly quenched by
sleeplessness, and weeping, perhaps, for the lashes were wet
then: his lips devoid of their ferocious sneer, and sealed in an
expression of unspeakable sadness. Had it been another, I
would have covered my face in the presence of such grief.
In
his case, I was gratified; and, ignoble as it seems to
insult a fallen enemy, I couldn’t miss this chance of
sticking in a dart: his weakness was the only time when I could
taste the delight of paying wrong for wrong.’
‘Fie, fie, Miss!’ I interrupted. ‘One
might suppose you had never opened a Bible in your life. If
God afflict your enemies, surely that ought to suffice you.
It is both mean and presumptuous to add your torture to
his!’
‘In general I’ll allow that it would be,
Ellen,’ she continued; ‘but what misery laid on
Heathcliff could content me, unless I have a hand in it?
I’d rather he suffered less, if I might cause his
sufferings and he might
know that I was the cause.
Oh, I owe him so much. On only one condition can I hope to
forgive him. It is, if I may take an eye for an eye, a
tooth for a tooth; for every wrench of agony return a wrench:
reduce him to my level. As he was the first to injure, make
him the first to implore pardon; and then—why then, Ellen,
I might show you some generosity. But it is utterly
impossible I can ever be revenged, and therefore I cannot forgive
him. Hindley wanted some water, and I handed him a glass,
and asked him how he was.
‘“Not as ill as I wish,” he replied.
“But leaving out my arm, every inch of me is as sore as if
I had been fighting with a legion of imps!”
‘“Yes, no wonder,” was my next remark.
“Catherine used to boast that she stood between you and
bodily harm: she meant that certain persons would not hurt you
for fear of offending her. It’s well people
don’t
really rise from their grave, or, last night,
she might have witnessed a repulsive scene! Are not you
bruised, and cut over your chest and shoulders?”
‘“I can’t say,” he answered,
“but what do you mean? Did he dare to strike me when
I was down?”
‘“He trampled on and kicked you, and dashed you on
the ground,” I whispered. “And his mouth
watered to tear you with his teeth; because he’s only half
man: not so much, and the rest fiend.”
‘Mr. Earnshaw looked up, like me, to the countenance of
our mutual foe; who, absorbed in his anguish, seemed insensible
to anything around him: the longer he stood, the plainer his
reflections revealed their blackness through his features.
‘“Oh, if God would but give me strength to
strangle him in my last agony, I’d go to hell with
joy,” groaned the impatient man, writhing to rise, and
sinking back in despair, convinced of his inadequacy for the
struggle.
‘“Nay, it’s enough that he has murdered one
of you,” I observed aloud. “At the Grange,
every one knows your sister would have been living now had it not
been for Mr. Heathcliff. After all, it is preferable to be
hated than loved by him. When I recollect how happy we
were—how happy Catherine was before he came—I’m
fit to curse the day.”
‘Most likely, Heathcliff noticed more the truth of what
was said, than the spirit of the person who said it. His
attention was roused, I saw, for his eyes rained down tears among
the ashes, and he drew his breath in suffocating sighs. I
stared full at him, and laughed scornfully. The clouded
windows of hell flashed a moment towards me; the fiend which
usually looked out, however, was so dimmed and drowned that I did
not fear to hazard another sound of derision.
‘“Get up, and begone out of my sight,” said
the mourner.
‘I guessed he uttered those words, at least, though his
voice was hardly intelligible.
‘“I beg your pardon,” I replied.
“But I loved Catherine too; and her brother requires
attendance, which, for her sake, I shall supply. Now, that
she’s dead, I see her in Hindley: Hindley has exactly her
eyes, if you had not tried to gouge them out, and made them black
and red; and her—”
‘“Get up, wretched idiot, before I stamp you to
death!” he cried, making a movement that caused me to make
one also.
‘“But then,” I continued, holding myself
ready to flee, “if poor Catherine had trusted you, and
assumed the ridiculous, contemptible, degrading title of Mrs.
Heathcliff, she would soon have presented a similar
picture!
She wouldn’t have borne your
abominable behaviour quietly: her detestation and disgust must
have found voice.”
‘The back of the settle and Earnshaw’s person
interposed between me and him; so instead of endeavouring to
reach me, he snatched a dinner-knife from the table and flung it
at my head. It struck beneath my ear, and stopped the
sentence I was uttering; but, pulling it out, I sprang to the
door and delivered another; which I hope went a little deeper
than his missile. The last glimpse I caught of him was a
furious rush on his part, checked by the embrace of his host; and
both fell locked together on the hearth. In my flight
through the kitchen I bid Joseph speed to his master; I knocked
over Hareton, who was hanging a litter of puppies from a
chair-back in the doorway; and, blessed as a soul escaped from
purgatory, I bounded, leaped, and flew down the steep road; then,
quitting its windings, shot direct across the moor, rolling over
banks, and wading through marshes: precipitating myself, in fact,
towards the beacon-light of the Grange. And far rather
would I be condemned to a perpetual dwelling in the infernal
regions than, even for one night, abide beneath the roof of
Wuthering Heights again.’
Isabella ceased speaking, and took a drink of tea; then she
rose, and bidding me put on her bonnet, and a great shawl I had
brought, and turning a deaf ear to my entreaties for her to
remain another hour, she stepped on to a chair, kissed
Edgar’s and Catherine’s portraits, bestowed a similar
salute on me, and descended to the carriage, accompanied by
Fanny, who yelped wild with joy at recovering her mistress.
She was driven away, never to revisit this neighbourhood: but a
regular correspondence was established between her and my master
when things were more settled. I believe her new abode was
in the south, near London; there she had a son born a few months
subsequent to her escape. He was christened Linton, and,
from the first, she reported him to be an ailing, peevish
creature.
Mr. Heathcliff, meeting me one day in the village, inquired
where she lived. I refused to tell. He remarked that
it was not of any moment, only she must beware of coming to her
brother: she should not be with him, if he had to keep her
himself. Though I would give no information, he discovered,
through some of the other servants, both her place of residence
and the existence of the child. Still, he didn’t
molest her: for which forbearance she might thank his aversion, I
suppose. He often asked about the infant, when he saw me;
and on hearing its name, smiled grimly, and observed: ‘They
wish me to hate it too, do they?’
‘I don’t think they wish you to know anything
about it,’ I answered.
‘But I’ll have it,’ he said, ‘when I
want it. They may reckon on that!’
Fortunately its mother died before the time arrived; some
thirteen years after the decease of Catherine, when Linton was
twelve, or a little more.
On the day succeeding Isabella’s unexpected visit I had
no opportunity of speaking to my master: he shunned conversation,
and was fit for discussing nothing. When I could get him to
listen, I saw it pleased him that his sister had left her
husband; whom he abhorred with an intensity which the mildness of
his nature would scarcely seem to allow. So deep and
sensitive was his aversion, that he refrained from going anywhere
where he was likely to see or hear of Heathcliff. Grief,
and that together, transformed him into a complete hermit: he
threw up his office of magistrate, ceased even to attend church,
avoided the village on all occasions, and spent a life of entire
seclusion within the limits of his park and grounds; only varied
by solitary rambles on the moors, and visits to the grave of his
wife, mostly at evening, or early morning before other wanderers
were abroad. But he was too good to be thoroughly unhappy
long.
He didn’t pray for Catherine’s
soul to haunt him. Time brought resignation, and a
melancholy sweeter than common joy. He recalled her memory
with ardent, tender love, and hopeful aspiring to the better
world; where he doubted not she was gone.
And he had earthly consolation and affections also. For
a few days, I said, he seemed regardless of the puny successor to
the departed: that coldness melted as fast as snow in April, and
ere the tiny thing could stammer a word or totter a step it
wielded a despot’s sceptre in his heart. It was named
Catherine; but he never called it the name in full, as he had
never called the first Catherine short: probably because
Heathcliff had a habit of doing so. The little one was
always Cathy: it formed to him a distinction from the mother, and
yet a connection with her; and his attachment sprang from its
relation to her, far more than from its being his own.
I used to draw a comparison between him and Hindley Earnshaw,
and perplex myself to explain satisfactorily why their conduct
was so opposite in similar circumstances. They had both
been fond husbands, and were both attached to their children; and
I could not see how they shouldn’t both have taken the same
road, for good or evil. But, I thought in my mind, Hindley,
with apparently the stronger head, has shown himself sadly the
worse and the weaker man. When his ship struck, the captain
abandoned his post; and the crew, instead of trying to save her,
rushed into riot and confusion, leaving no hope for their
luckless vessel. Linton, on the contrary, displayed the
true courage of a loyal and faithful soul: he trusted God; and
God comforted him. One hoped, and the other despaired: they
chose their own lots, and were righteously doomed to endure
them. But you’ll not want to hear my moralising, Mr.
Lockwood; you’ll judge, as well as I can, all these things:
at least, you’ll think you will, and that’s the
same. The end of Earnshaw was what might have been
expected; it followed fast on his sister’s: there were
scarcely six months between them. We, at the Grange, never
got a very succinct account of his state preceding it; all that I
did learn was on occasion of going to aid in the preparations for
the funeral. Mr. Kenneth came to announce the event to my
master.
‘Well, Nelly,’ said he, riding into the yard one
morning, too early not to alarm me with an instant presentiment
of bad news, ‘it’s yours and my turn to go into
mourning at present. Who’s given us the slip now, do
you think?’
‘Who?’ I asked in a flurry.
‘Why, guess!’ he returned, dismounting, and
slinging his bridle on a hook by the door. ‘And nip
up the corner of your apron: I’m certain you’ll need
it.’
‘Not Mr. Heathcliff, surely?’ I exclaimed.
‘What! would you have tears for him?’ said the
doctor. ‘No, Heathcliff’s a tough young fellow:
he looks blooming to-day. I’ve just seen him.
He’s rapidly regaining flesh since he lost his better
half.’
‘Who is it, then, Mr. Kenneth?’ I repeated
impatiently.
‘Hindley Earnshaw! Your old friend Hindley,’
he replied, ‘and my wicked gossip: though he’s been
too wild for me this long while. There! I said we
should draw water. But cheer up! He died true to his
character: drunk as a lord. Poor lad! I’m
sorry, too. One can’t help missing an old companion:
though he had the worst tricks with him that ever man imagined,
and has done me many a rascally turn. He’s barely
twenty-seven, it seems; that’s your own age: who would have
thought you were born in one year?’
I confess this blow was greater to me than the shock of Mrs.
Linton’s death: ancient associations lingered round my
heart; I sat down in the porch and wept as for a blood relation,
desiring Mr. Kenneth to get another servant to introduce him to
the master. I could not hinder myself from pondering on the
question—‘Had he had fair play?’ Whatever
I did, that idea would bother me: it was so tiresomely
pertinacious that I resolved on requesting leave to go to
Wuthering Heights, and assist in the last duties to the
dead. Mr. Linton was extremely reluctant to consent, but I
pleaded eloquently for the friendless condition in which he lay;
and I said my old master and foster-brother had a claim on my
services as strong as his own. Besides, I reminded him that
the child Hareton was his wife’s nephew, and, in the
absence of nearer kin, he ought to act as its guardian; and he
ought to and must inquire how the property was left, and look
over the concerns of his brother-in-law. He was unfit for
attending to such matters then, but he bid me speak to his
lawyer; and at length permitted me to go. His lawyer had
been Earnshaw’s also: I called at the village, and asked
him to accompany me. He shook his head, and advised that
Heathcliff should be let alone; affirming, if the truth were
known, Hareton would be found little else than a beggar.
‘His father died in debt,’ he said; ‘the
whole property is mortgaged, and the sole chance for the natural
heir is to allow him an opportunity of creating some interest in
the creditor’s heart, that he may be inclined to deal
leniently towards him.’
When I reached the Heights, I explained that I had come to see
everything carried on decently; and Joseph, who appeared in
sufficient distress, expressed satisfaction at my presence.
Mr. Heathcliff said he did not perceive that I was wanted; but I
might stay and order the arrangements for the funeral, if I
chose.
‘Correctly,’ he remarked, ‘that fool’s
body should be buried at the cross-roads, without ceremony of any
kind. I happened to leave him ten minutes yesterday
afternoon, and in that interval he fastened the two doors of the
house against me, and he has spent the night in drinking himself
to death deliberately! We broke in this morning, for we
heard him sporting like a horse; and there he was, laid over the
settle: flaying and scalping would not have wakened him. I
sent for Kenneth, and he came; but not till the beast had changed
into carrion: he was both dead and cold, and stark; and so
you’ll allow it was useless making more stir about
him!’
The old servant confirmed this statement, but muttered:
‘I’d rayther he’d goan hisseln for t’
doctor! I sud ha’ taen tent o’ t’
maister better nor him—and he warn’t deead when I
left, naught o’ t’ soart!’
I insisted on the funeral being respectable. Mr.
Heathcliff said I might have my own way there too: only, he
desired me to remember that the money for the whole affair came
out of his pocket. He maintained a hard, careless
deportment, indicative of neither joy nor sorrow: if anything, it
expressed a flinty gratification at a piece of difficult work
successfully executed. I observed once, indeed, something
like exultation in his aspect: it was just when the people were
bearing the coffin from the house. He had the hypocrisy to
represent a mourner: and previous to following with Hareton, he
lifted the unfortunate child on to the table and muttered, with
peculiar gusto, ‘Now, my bonny lad, you are
mine! And we’ll see if one tree won’t
grow as crooked as another, with the same wind to twist
it!’ The unsuspecting thing was pleased at this
speech: he played with Heathcliff’s whiskers, and stroked
his cheek; but I divined its meaning, and observed tartly,
‘That boy must go back with me to Thrushcross Grange,
sir. There is nothing in the world less yours than he
is!’
‘Does Linton say so?’ he demanded.
‘Of course—he has ordered me to take him,’ I
replied.
‘Well,’ said the scoundrel, ‘we’ll not
argue the subject now: but I have a fancy to try my hand at
rearing a young one; so intimate to your master that I must
supply the place of this with my own, if he attempt to remove
it. I don’t engage to let Hareton go undisputed; but
I’ll be pretty sure to make the other come! Remember
to tell him.’
This hint was enough to bind our hands. I repeated its
substance on my return; and Edgar Linton, little interested at
the commencement, spoke no more of interfering. I’m
not aware that he could have done it to any purpose, had he been
ever so willing.
The guest was now the master of Wuthering Heights: he held
firm possession, and proved to the attorney—who, in his
turn, proved it to Mr. Linton—that Earnshaw had mortgaged
every yard of land he owned for cash to supply his mania for
gaming; and he, Heathcliff, was the mortgagee. In that
manner Hareton, who should now be the first gentleman in the
neighbourhood, was reduced to a state of complete dependence on
his father’s inveterate enemy; and lives in his own house
as a servant, deprived of the advantage of wages: quite unable to
right himself, because of his friendlessness, and his ignorance
that he has been wronged.
CHAPTER XVIII
The twelve years, continued Mrs. Dean, following that dismal
period were the happiest of my life: my greatest troubles in
their passage rose from our little lady’s trifling
illnesses, which she had to experience in common with all
children, rich and poor. For the rest, after the first six
months, she grew like a larch, and could walk and talk too, in
her own way, before the heath blossomed a second time over Mrs.
Linton’s dust. She was the most winning thing that
ever brought sunshine into a desolate house: a real beauty in
face, with the Earnshaws’ handsome dark eyes, but the
Lintons’ fair skin and small features, and yellow curling
hair. Her spirit was high, though not rough, and qualified
by a heart sensitive and lively to excess in its
affections. That capacity for intense attachments reminded
me of her mother: still she did not resemble her: for she could
be soft and mild as a dove, and she had a gentle voice and
pensive expression: her anger was never furious; her love never
fierce: it was deep and tender. However, it must be
acknowledged, she had faults to foil her gifts. A
propensity to be saucy was one; and a perverse will, that
indulged children invariably acquire, whether they be good
tempered or cross. If a servant chanced to vex her, it was
always—‘I shall tell papa!’ And if he
reproved her, even by a look, you would have thought it a
heart-breaking business: I don’t believe he ever did speak
a harsh word to her. He took her education entirely on
himself, and made it an amusement. Fortunately, curiosity
and a quick intellect made her an apt scholar: she learned
rapidly and eagerly, and did honour to his teaching.
Till she reached the age of thirteen she had not once been
beyond the range of the park by herself. Mr. Linton would
take her with him a mile or so outside, on rare occasions; but he
trusted her to no one else. Gimmerton was an unsubstantial
name in her ears; the chapel, the only building she had
approached or entered, except her own home. Wuthering
Heights and Mr. Heathcliff did not exist for her: she was a
perfect recluse; and, apparently, perfectly contented.
Sometimes, indeed, while surveying the country from her nursery
window, she would observe—
‘Ellen, how long will it be before I can walk to the top
of those hills? I wonder what lies on the other
side—is it the sea?’
‘No, Miss Cathy,’ I would answer; ‘it is
hills again, just like these.’
‘And what are those golden rocks like when you stand
under them?’ she once asked.
The abrupt descent of Penistone Crags particularly attracted
her notice; especially when the setting sun shone on it and the
topmost heights, and the whole extent of landscape besides lay in
shadow. I explained that they were bare masses of stone,
with hardly enough earth in their clefts to nourish a stunted
tree.
‘And why are they bright so long after it is evening
here?’ she pursued.
‘Because they are a great deal higher up than we
are,’ replied I; ‘you could not climb them, they are
too high and steep. In winter the frost is always there
before it comes to us; and deep into summer I have found snow
under that black hollow on the north-east side!’
‘Oh, you have been on them!’ she cried
gleefully. ‘Then I can go, too, when I am a
woman. Has papa been, Ellen?’
‘Papa would tell you, Miss,’ I answered, hastily,
‘that they are not worth the trouble of visiting. The
moors, where you ramble with him, are much nicer; and Thrushcross
Park is the finest place in the world.’
‘But I know the park, and I don’t know
those,’ she murmured to herself. ‘And I should
delight to look round me from the brow of that tallest point: my
little pony Minny shall take me some time.’
One of the maids mentioning the Fairy Cave, quite turned her
head with a desire to fulfil this project: she teased Mr. Linton
about it; and he promised she should have the journey when she
got older. But Miss Catherine measured her age by months,
and, ‘Now, am I old enough to go to Penistone Crags?’
was the constant question in her mouth. The road thither
wound close by Wuthering Heights. Edgar had not the heart
to pass it; so she received as constantly the answer, ‘Not
yet, love: not yet.’
I said Mrs. Heathcliff lived above a dozen years after
quitting her husband. Her family were of a delicate
constitution: she and Edgar both lacked the ruddy health that you
will generally meet in these parts. What her last illness
was, I am not certain: I conjecture, they died of the same thing,
a kind of fever, slow at its commencement, but incurable, and
rapidly consuming life towards the close. She wrote to
inform her brother of the probable conclusion of a
four-months’ indisposition under which she had suffered,
and entreated him to come to her, if possible; for she had much
to settle, and she wished to bid him adieu, and deliver Linton
safely into his hands. Her hope was that Linton might be
left with him, as he had been with her: his father, she would
fain convince herself, had no desire to assume the burden of his
maintenance or education. My master hesitated not a moment
in complying with her request: reluctant as he was to leave home
at ordinary calls, he flew to answer this; commanding Catherine
to my peculiar vigilance, in his absence, with reiterated orders
that she must not wander out of the park, even under my escort he
did not calculate on her going unaccompanied.
He was away three weeks. The first day or two my charge
sat in a corner of the library, too sad for either reading or
playing: in that quiet state she caused me little trouble; but it
was succeeded by an interval of impatient, fretful weariness; and
being too busy, and too old then, to run up and down amusing her,
I hit on a method by which she might entertain herself. I
used to send her on her travels round the grounds—now on
foot, and now on a pony; indulging her with a patient audience of
all her real and imaginary adventures when she returned.
The summer shone in full prime; and she took such a taste for
this solitary rambling that she often contrived to remain out
from breakfast till tea; and then the evenings were spent in
recounting her fanciful tales. I did not fear her breaking
bounds; because the gates were generally locked, and I thought
she would scarcely venture forth alone, if they had stood wide
open. Unluckily, my confidence proved misplaced.
Catherine came to me, one morning, at eight o’clock, and
said she was that day an Arabian merchant, going to cross the
Desert with his caravan; and I must give her plenty of provision
for herself and beasts: a horse, and three camels, personated by
a large hound and a couple of pointers. I got together good
store of dainties, and slung them in a basket on one side of the
saddle; and she sprang up as gay as a fairy, sheltered by her
wide-brimmed hat and gauze veil from the July sun, and trotted
off with a merry laugh, mocking my cautious counsel to avoid
galloping, and come back early. The naughty thing never
made her appearance at tea. One traveller, the hound, being
an old dog and fond of its ease, returned; but neither Cathy, nor
the pony, nor the two pointers were visible in any direction: I
despatched emissaries down this path, and that path, and at last
went wandering in search of her myself. There was a
labourer working at a fence round a plantation, on the borders of
the grounds. I inquired of him if he had seen our young
lady.
‘I saw her at morn,’ he replied: ‘she would
have me to cut her a hazel switch, and then she leapt her
Galloway over the hedge yonder, where it is lowest, and galloped
out of sight.’
You may guess how I felt at hearing this news. It struck
me directly she must have started for Penistone Crags.
‘What will become of her?’ I ejaculated, pushing
through a gap which the man was repairing, and making straight to
the high-road. I walked as if for a wager, mile after mile,
till a turn brought me in view of the Heights; but no Catherine
could I detect, far or near. The Crags lie about a mile and
a half beyond Mr. Heathcliff’s place, and that is four from
the Grange, so I began to fear night would fall ere I could reach
them. ‘And what if she should have slipped in
clambering among them,’ I reflected, ‘and been
killed, or broken some of her bones?’ My suspense was
truly painful; and, at first, it gave me delightful relief to
observe, in hurrying by the farmhouse, Charlie, the fiercest of
the pointers, lying under a window, with swelled head and
bleeding ear. I opened the wicket and ran to the door,
knocking vehemently for admittance. A woman whom I knew,
and who formerly lived at Gimmerton, answered: she had been
servant there since the death of Mr. Earnshaw.
‘Ah,’ said she, ‘you are come a-seeking your
little mistress! Don’t be frightened.
She’s here safe: but I’m glad it isn’t the
master.’
‘He is not at home then, is he?’ I panted, quite
breathless with quick walking and alarm.
‘No, no,’ she replied: ‘both he and Joseph
are off, and I think they won’t return this hour or
more. Step in and rest you a bit.’
I entered, and beheld my stray lamb seated on the hearth,
rocking herself in a little chair that had been her
mother’s when a child. Her hat was hung against the
wall, and she seemed perfectly at home, laughing and chattering,
in the best spirits imaginable, to Hareton—now a great,
strong lad of eighteen—who stared at her with considerable
curiosity and astonishment: comprehending precious little of the
fluent succession of remarks and questions which her tongue never
ceased pouring forth.
‘Very well, Miss!’ I exclaimed, concealing my joy
under an angry countenance. ‘This is your last ride,
till papa comes back. I’ll not trust you over the
threshold again, you naughty, naughty girl!’
‘Aha, Ellen!’ she cried, gaily, jumping up and
running to my side. ‘I shall have a pretty story to
tell to-night; and so you’ve found me out. Have you
ever been here in your life before?’
‘Put that hat on, and home at once,’ said I.
‘I’m dreadfully grieved at you, Miss Cathy:
you’ve done extremely wrong! It’s no use
pouting and crying: that won’t repay the trouble I’ve
had, scouring the country after you. To think how Mr.
Linton charged me to keep you in; and you stealing off so!
It shows you are a cunning little fox, and nobody will put faith
in you any more.’
‘What have I done?’ sobbed she, instantly
checked. ‘Papa charged me nothing: he’ll not
scold me, Ellen—he’s never cross, like
you!’
‘Come, come!’ I repeated. ‘I’ll
tie the riband. Now, let us have no petulance. Oh,
for shame! You thirteen years old, and such a
baby!’
This exclamation was caused by her pushing the hat from her
head, and retreating to the chimney out of my reach.
‘Nay,’ said the servant, ‘don’t be
hard on the bonny lass, Mrs. Dean. We made her stop:
she’d fain have ridden forwards, afeard you should be
uneasy. Hareton offered to go with her, and I thought he
should: it’s a wild road over the hills.’
Hareton, during the discussion, stood with his hands in his
pockets, too awkward to speak; though he looked as if he did not
relish my intrusion.
‘How long am I to wait?’ I continued, disregarding
the woman’s interference. ‘It will be dark in
ten minutes. Where is the pony, Miss Cathy? And where
is Phoenix? I shall leave you, unless you be quick; so
please yourself.’
‘The pony is in the yard,’ she replied, ‘and
Phoenix is shut in there. He’s bitten—and so is
Charlie. I was going to tell you all about it; but you are
in a bad temper, and don’t deserve to hear.’
I picked up her hat, and approached to reinstate it; but
perceiving that the people of the house took her part, she
commenced capering round the room; and on my giving chase, ran
like a mouse over and under and behind the furniture, rendering
it ridiculous for me to pursue. Hareton and the woman
laughed, and she joined them, and waxed more impertinent still;
till I cried, in great irritation,—‘Well, Miss Cathy,
if you were aware whose house this is you’d be glad enough
to get out.’
‘It’s
your father’s, isn’t
it?’ said she, turning to Hareton.
‘Nay,’ he replied, looking down, and blushing
bashfully.
He could not stand a steady gaze from her eyes, though they
were just his own.
‘Whose then—your master’s?’ she
asked.
He coloured deeper, with a different feeling, muttered an
oath, and turned away.
‘Who is his master?’ continued the tiresome girl,
appealing to me. ‘He talked about “our
house,” and “our folk.” I thought he had
been the owner’s son. And he never said Miss: he
should have done, shouldn’t he, if he’s a
servant?’
Hareton grew black as a thunder-cloud at this childish
speech. I silently shook my questioner, and at last
succeeded in equipping her for departure.
‘Now, get my horse,’ she said, addressing her
unknown kinsman as she would one of the stable-boys at the
Grange. ‘And you may come with me. I want to
see where the goblin-hunter rises in the marsh, and to hear about
the
fairishes, as you call them: but make haste!
What’s the matter? Get my horse, I say.’
‘I’ll see thee damned before I be
thy
servant!’ growled the lad.
‘You’ll see me
what!’ asked Catherine
in surprise.
‘Damned—thou saucy witch!’ he replied.
‘There, Miss Cathy! you see you have got into pretty
company,’ I interposed. ‘Nice words to be used
to a young lady! Pray don’t begin to dispute with
him. Come, let us seek for Minny ourselves, and
begone.’
‘But, Ellen,’ cried she, staring fixed in
astonishment, ‘how dare he speak so to me?
Mustn’t he be made to do as I ask him? You wicked
creature, I shall tell papa what you said.—Now,
then!’
Hareton did not appear to feel this threat; so the tears
sprang into her eyes with indignation. ‘You bring the
pony,’ she exclaimed, turning to the woman, ‘and let
my dog free this moment!’
‘Softly, Miss,’ answered she addressed;
‘you’ll lose nothing by being civil. Though Mr.
Hareton, there, be not the master’s son, he’s your
cousin: and I was never hired to serve you.’
‘
He my cousin!’ cried Cathy, with a
scornful laugh.
‘Yes, indeed,’ responded her reprover.
‘Oh, Ellen! don’t let them say such things,’
she pursued in great trouble. ‘Papa is gone to fetch
my cousin from London: my cousin is a gentleman’s
son. That my—’ she stopped, and wept outright;
upset at the bare notion of relationship with such a clown.
‘Hush, hush!’ I whispered; ‘people can have
many cousins and of all sorts, Miss Cathy, without being any the
worse for it; only they needn’t keep their company, if they
be disagreeable and bad.’
‘He’s not—he’s not my cousin,
Ellen!’ she went on, gathering fresh grief from reflection,
and flinging herself into my arms for refuge from the idea.
I was much vexed at her and the servant for their mutual
revelations; having no doubt of Linton’s approaching
arrival, communicated by the former, being reported to Mr.
Heathcliff; and feeling as confident that Catherine’s first
thought on her father’s return would be to seek an
explanation of the latter’s assertion concerning her
rude-bred kindred. Hareton, recovering from his disgust at
being taken for a servant, seemed moved by her distress; and,
having fetched the pony round to the door, he took, to propitiate
her, a fine crooked-legged terrier whelp from the kennel, and
putting it into her hand, bid her whist! for he meant
nought. Pausing in her lamentations, she surveyed him with
a glance of awe and horror, then burst forth anew.
I could scarcely refrain from smiling at this antipathy to the
poor fellow; who was a well-made, athletic youth, good-looking in
features, and stout and healthy, but attired in garments
befitting his daily occupations of working on the farm and
lounging among the moors after rabbits and game. Still, I
thought I could detect in his physiognomy a mind owning better
qualities than his father ever possessed. Good things lost
amid a wilderness of weeds, to be sure, whose rankness far
over-topped their neglected growth; yet, notwithstanding,
evidence of a wealthy soil, that might yield luxuriant crops
under other and favourable circumstances. Mr. Heathcliff, I
believe, had not treated him physically ill; thanks to his
fearless nature, which offered no temptation to that course of
oppression: he had none of the timid susceptibility that would
have given zest to ill-treatment, in Heathcliff’s
judgment. He appeared to have bent his malevolence on
making him a brute: he was never taught to read or write; never
rebuked for any bad habit which did not annoy his keeper; never
led a single step towards virtue, or guarded by a single precept
against vice. And from what I heard, Joseph contributed
much to his deterioration, by a narrow-minded partiality which
prompted him to flatter and pet him, as a boy, because he was the
head of the old family. And as he had been in the habit of
accusing Catherine Earnshaw and Heathcliff, when children, of
putting the master past his patience, and compelling him to seek
solace in drink by what he termed their ‘offald
ways,’ so at present he laid the whole burden of
Hareton’s faults on the shoulders of the usurper of his
property. If the lad swore, he wouldn’t correct him:
nor however culpably he behaved. It gave Joseph
satisfaction, apparently, to watch him go the worst lengths: he
allowed that the lad was ruined: that his soul was abandoned to
perdition; but then he reflected that Heathcliff must answer for
it. Hareton’s blood would be required at his hands;
and there lay immense consolation in that thought. Joseph
had instilled into him a pride of name, and of his lineage; he
would, had he dared, have fostered hate between him and the
present owner of the Heights: but his dread of that owner
amounted to superstition; and he confined his feelings regarding
him to muttered innuendoes and private comminations. I
don’t pretend to be intimately acquainted with the mode of
living customary in those days at Wuthering Heights: I only speak
from hearsay; for I saw little. The villagers affirmed Mr.
Heathcliff was
near, and a cruel hard landlord to his
tenants; but the house, inside, had regained its ancient aspect
of comfort under female management, and the scenes of riot common
in Hindley’s time were not now enacted within its
walls. The master was too gloomy to seek companionship with
any people, good or bad; and he is yet.
This, however, is not making progress with my story.
Miss Cathy rejected the peace-offering of the terrier, and
demanded her own dogs, Charlie and Phoenix. They came
limping and hanging their heads; and we set out for home, sadly
out of sorts, every one of us. I could not wring from my
little lady how she had spent the day; except that, as I
supposed, the goal of her pilgrimage was Penistone Crags; and she
arrived without adventure to the gate of the farm-house, when
Hareton happened to issue forth, attended by some canine
followers, who attacked her train. They had a smart battle,
before their owners could separate them: that formed an
introduction. Catherine told Hareton who she was, and where
she was going; and asked him to show her the way: finally,
beguiling him to accompany her. He opened the mysteries of
the Fairy Cave, and twenty other queer places. But, being
in disgrace, I was not favoured with a description of the
interesting objects she saw. I could gather, however, that
her guide had been a favourite till she hurt his feelings by
addressing him as a servant; and Heathcliff’s housekeeper
hurt hers by calling him her cousin. Then the language he
had held to her rankled in her heart; she who was always
‘love,’ and ‘darling,’ and
‘queen,’ and ‘angel,’ with everybody at
the Grange, to be insulted so shockingly by a stranger! She
did not comprehend it; and hard work I had to obtain a promise
that she would not lay the grievance before her father. I
explained how he objected to the whole household at the Heights,
and how sorry he would be to find she had been there; but I
insisted most on the fact, that if she revealed my negligence of
his orders, he would perhaps be so angry that I should have to
leave; and Cathy couldn’t bear that prospect: she pledged
her word, and kept it for my sake. After all, she was a
sweet little girl.
CHAPTER XIX
A letter, edged with black, announced the day of my
master’s return. Isabella was dead; and he wrote to bid me
get mourning for his daughter, and arrange a room, and other
accommodations, for his youthful nephew. Catherine ran wild
with joy at the idea of welcoming her father back; and indulged
most sanguine anticipations of the innumerable excellencies of
her ‘real’ cousin. The evening of their
expected arrival came. Since early morning she had been
busy ordering her own small affairs; and now attired in her new
black frock—poor thing! her aunt’s death impressed
her with no definite sorrow—she obliged me, by constant
worrying, to walk with her down through the grounds to meet
them.
‘Linton is just six months younger than I am,’ she
chattered, as we strolled leisurely over the swells and hollows
of mossy turf, under shadow of the trees. ‘How
delightful it will be to have him for a playfellow! Aunt
Isabella sent papa a beautiful lock of his hair; it was lighter
than mine—more flaxen, and quite as fine. I have it
carefully preserved in a little glass box; and I’ve often
thought what a pleasure it would be to see its owner. Oh! I
am happy—and papa, dear, dear papa! Come, Ellen, let
us run! come, run.’
She ran, and returned and ran again, many times before my
sober footsteps reached the gate, and then she seated herself on
the grassy bank beside the path, and tried to wait patiently; but
that was impossible: she couldn’t be still a minute.
‘How long they are!’ she exclaimed.
‘Ah, I see, some dust on the road—they are
coming! No! When will they be here? May we not
go a little way—half a mile, Ellen, only just half a
mile? Do say Yes: to that clump of birches at the
turn!’
I refused staunchly. At length her suspense was ended:
the travelling carriage rolled in sight. Miss Cathy
shrieked and stretched out her arms as soon as she caught her
father’s face looking from the window. He descended,
nearly as eager as herself; and a considerable interval elapsed
ere they had a thought to spare for any but themselves.
While they exchanged caresses I took a peep in to see after
Linton. He was asleep in a corner, wrapped in a warm,
fur-lined cloak, as if it had been winter. A pale,
delicate, effeminate boy, who might have been taken for my
master’s younger brother, so strong was the resemblance:
but there was a sickly peevishness in his aspect that Edgar
Linton never had. The latter saw me looking; and having
shaken hands, advised me to close the door, and leave him
undisturbed; for the journey had fatigued him. Cathy would
fain have taken one glance, but her father told her to come, and
they walked together up the park, while I hastened before to
prepare the servants.
‘Now, darling,’ said Mr. Linton, addressing his
daughter, as they halted at the bottom of the front steps:
‘your cousin is not so strong or so merry as you are, and
he has lost his mother, remember, a very short time since;
therefore, don’t expect him to play and run about with you
directly. And don’t harass him much by talking: let
him be quiet this evening, at least, will you?’
‘Yes, yes, papa,’ answered Catherine: ‘but I
do want to see him; and he hasn’t once looked
out.’
The carriage stopped; and the sleeper being roused, was lifted
to the ground by his uncle.
‘This is your cousin Cathy, Linton,’ he said,
putting their little hands together. ‘She’s
fond of you already; and mind you don’t grieve her by
crying to-night. Try to be cheerful now; the travelling is
at an end, and you have nothing to do but rest and amuse yourself
as you please.’
‘Let me go to bed, then,’ answered the boy,
shrinking from Catherine’s salute; and he put his fingers
to remove incipient tears.
‘Come, come, there’s a good child,’ I
whispered, leading him in. ‘You’ll make her
weep too—see how sorry she is for you!’
I do not know whether it was sorrow for him, but his cousin
put on as sad a countenance as himself, and returned to her
father. All three entered, and mounted to the library,
where tea was laid ready. I proceeded to remove
Linton’s cap and mantle, and placed him on a chair by the
table; but he was no sooner seated than he began to cry
afresh. My master inquired what was the matter.
‘I can’t sit on a chair,’ sobbed the
boy.
‘Go to the sofa, then, and Ellen shall bring you some
tea,’ answered his uncle patiently.
He had been greatly tried, during the journey, I felt
convinced, by his fretful ailing charge. Linton slowly
trailed himself off, and lay down. Cathy carried a
footstool and her cup to his side. At first she sat silent;
but that could not last: she had resolved to make a pet of her
little cousin, as she would have him to be; and she commenced
stroking his curls, and kissing his cheek, and offering him tea
in her saucer, like a baby. This pleased him, for he was
not much better: he dried his eyes, and lightened into a faint
smile.
‘Oh, he’ll do very well,’ said the master to
me, after watching them a minute. ‘Very well, if we
can keep him, Ellen. The company of a child of his own age
will instil new spirit into him soon, and by wishing for strength
he’ll gain it.’
‘Ay, if we can keep him!’ I mused to myself; and
sore misgivings came over me that there was slight hope of
that. And then, I thought, how ever will that weakling live
at Wuthering Heights? Between his father and Hareton, what
playmates and instructors they’ll be. Our doubts were
presently decided—even earlier than I expected. I had
just taken the children up-stairs, after tea was finished, and
seen Linton asleep—he would not suffer me to leave him till
that was the case—I had come down, and was standing by the
table in the hall, lighting a bedroom candle for Mr. Edgar, when
a maid stepped out of the kitchen and informed me that Mr.
Heathcliff’s servant Joseph was at the door, and wished to
speak with the master.
‘I shall ask him what he wants first,’ I said, in
considerable trepidation. ‘A very unlikely hour to be
troubling people, and the instant they have returned from a long
journey. I don’t think the master can see
him.’
Joseph had advanced through the kitchen as I uttered these
words, and now presented himself in the hall. He was donned
in his Sunday garments, with his most sanctimonious and sourest
face, and, holding his hat in one hand, and his stick in the
other, he proceeded to clean his shoes on the mat.
‘Good-evening, Joseph,’ I said, coldly.
‘What business brings you here to-night?’
‘It’s Maister Linton I mun spake to,’ he
answered, waving me disdainfully aside.
‘Mr. Linton is going to bed; unless you have something
particular to say, I’m sure he won’t hear it
now,’ I continued. ‘You had better sit down in
there, and entrust your message to me.’
‘Which is his rahm?’ pursued the fellow, surveying
the range of closed doors.
I perceived he was bent on refusing my mediation, so very
reluctantly I went up to the library, and announced the
unseasonable visitor, advising that he should be dismissed till
next day. Mr. Linton had no time to empower me to do so,
for Joseph mounted close at my heels, and, pushing into the
apartment, planted himself at the far side of the table, with his
two fists clapped on the head of his stick, and began in an
elevated tone, as if anticipating opposition—
‘Hathecliff has sent me for his lad, and I munn’t
goa back ‘bout him.’
Edgar Linton was silent a minute; an expression of exceeding
sorrow overcast his features: he would have pitied the child on
his own account; but, recalling Isabella’s hopes and fears,
and anxious wishes for her son, and her commendations of him to
his care, he grieved bitterly at the prospect of yielding him up,
and searched in his heart how it might be avoided. No plan
offered itself: the very exhibition of any desire to keep him
would have rendered the claimant more peremptory: there was
nothing left but to resign him. However, he was not going
to rouse him from his sleep.
‘Tell Mr. Heathcliff,’ he answered calmly,
‘that his son shall come to Wuthering Heights
to-morrow. He is in bed, and too tired to go the distance
now. You may also tell him that the mother of Linton
desired him to remain under my guardianship; and, at present, his
health is very precarious.’
‘Noa!’ said Joseph, giving a thud with his prop on
the floor, and assuming an authoritative air. ‘Noa!
that means naught. Hathecliff maks noa ‘count
o’ t’ mother, nor ye norther; but he’ll
heu’ his lad; und I mun tak’ him—soa now ye
knaw!’
‘You shall not to-night!’ answered Linton
decisively. ‘Walk down stairs at once, and repeat to
your master what I have said. Ellen, show him down.
Go—’
And, aiding the indignant elder with a lift by the arm, he rid
the room of him and closed the door.
‘Varrah weell!’ shouted Joseph, as he slowly drew
off. ‘To-morn, he’s come hisseln, and thrust
him out, if ye darr!’
CHAPTER XX
To obviate the danger of this threat being fulfilled, Mr.
Linton commissioned me to take the boy home early, on
Catherine’s pony; and, said he—‘As we shall now
have no influence over his destiny, good or bad, you must say
nothing of where he is gone to my daughter: she cannot associate
with him hereafter, and it is better for her to remain in
ignorance of his proximity; lest she should be restless, and
anxious to visit the Heights. Merely tell her his father
sent for him suddenly, and he has been obliged to leave
us.’
Linton was very reluctant to be roused from his bed at five
o’clock, and astonished to be informed that he must prepare
for further travelling; but I softened off the matter by stating
that he was going to spend some time with his father, Mr.
Heathcliff, who wished to see him so much, he did not like to
defer the pleasure till he should recover from his late
journey.
‘My father!’ he cried, in strange
perplexity. ‘Mamma never told me I had a
father. Where does he live? I’d rather stay
with uncle.’
‘He lives a little distance from the Grange,’ I
replied; ‘just beyond those hills: not so far, but you may
walk over here when you get hearty. And you should be glad
to go home, and to see him. You must try to love him, as
you did your mother, and then he will love you.’
‘But why have I not heard of him before?’ asked
Linton. ‘Why didn’t mamma and he live together,
as other people do?’
‘He had business to keep him in the north,’ I
answered, ‘and your mother’s health required her to
reside in the south.’
‘And why didn’t mamma speak to me about
him?’ persevered the child. ‘She often talked
of uncle, and I learnt to love him long ago. How am I to
love papa? I don’t know him.’
‘Oh, all children love their parents,’ I
said. ‘Your mother, perhaps, thought you would want
to be with him if she mentioned him often to you. Let us
make haste. An early ride on such a beautiful morning is
much preferable to an hour’s more sleep.’
‘Is
she to go with us,’ he demanded,
‘the little girl I saw yesterday?’
‘Not now,’ replied I.
‘Is uncle?’ he continued.
‘No, I shall be your companion there,’ I said.
Linton sank back on his pillow and fell into a brown
study.
‘I won’t go without uncle,’ he cried at
length: ‘I can’t tell where you mean to take
me.’
I attempted to persuade him of the naughtiness of showing
reluctance to meet his father; still he obstinately resisted any
progress towards dressing, and I had to call for my
master’s assistance in coaxing him out of bed. The
poor thing was finally got off, with several delusive assurances
that his absence should be short: that Mr. Edgar and Cathy would
visit him, and other promises, equally ill-founded, which I
invented and reiterated at intervals throughout the way.
The pure heather-scented air, the bright sunshine, and the gentle
canter of Minny, relieved his despondency after a while. He
began to put questions concerning his new home, and its
inhabitants, with greater interest and liveliness.
‘Is Wuthering Heights as pleasant a place as Thrushcross
Grange?’ he inquired, turning to take a last glance into
the valley, whence a light mist mounted and formed a fleecy cloud
on the skirts of the blue.
‘It is not so buried in trees,’ I replied,
‘and it is not quite so large, but you can see the country
beautifully all round; and the air is healthier for
you—fresher and drier. You will, perhaps, think the
building old and dark at first; though it is a respectable house:
the next best in the neighbourhood. And you will have such
nice rambles on the moors. Hareton Earnshaw—that is,
Miss Cathy’s other cousin, and so yours in a
manner—will show you all the sweetest spots; and you can
bring a book in fine weather, and make a green hollow your study;
and, now and then, your uncle may join you in a walk: he does,
frequently, walk out on the hills.’
‘And what is my father like?’ he asked.
‘Is he as young and handsome as uncle?’
‘He’s as young,’ said I; ‘but he has
black hair and eyes, and looks sterner; and he is taller and
bigger altogether. He’ll not seem to you so gentle
and kind at first, perhaps, because it is not his way: still,
mind you, be frank and cordial with him; and naturally
he’ll be fonder of you than any uncle, for you are his
own.’
‘Black hair and eyes!’ mused Linton.
‘I can’t fancy him. Then I am not like him, am
I?’
‘Not much,’ I answered: not a morsel, I thought,
surveying with regret the white complexion and slim frame of my
companion, and his large languid eyes—his mother’s
eyes, save that, unless a morbid touchiness kindled them a
moment, they had not a vestige of her sparkling spirit.
‘How strange that he should never come to see mamma and
me!’ he murmured. ‘Has he ever seen me?
If he has, I must have been a baby. I remember not a single
thing about him!’
‘Why, Master Linton,’ said I, ‘three hundred
miles is a great distance; and ten years seem very different in
length to a grown-up person compared with what they do to
you. It is probable Mr. Heathcliff proposed going from
summer to summer, but never found a convenient opportunity; and
now it is too late. Don’t trouble him with questions
on the subject: it will disturb him, for no good.’
The boy was fully occupied with his own cogitations for the
remainder of the ride, till we halted before the farmhouse
garden-gate. I watched to catch his impressions in his
countenance. He surveyed the carved front and low-browed
lattices, the straggling gooseberry-bushes and crooked firs, with
solemn intentness, and then shook his head: his private feelings
entirely disapproved of the exterior of his new abode. But
he had sense to postpone complaining: there might be compensation
within. Before he dismounted, I went and opened the
door. It was half-past six; the family had just finished
breakfast: the servant was clearing and wiping down the
table. Joseph stood by his master’s chair telling
some tale concerning a lame horse; and Hareton was preparing for
the hayfield.
‘Hallo, Nelly!’ said Mr. Heathcliff, when he saw
me. ‘I feared I should have to come down and fetch my
property myself. You’ve brought it, have you?
Let us see what we can make of it.’
He got up and strode to the door: Hareton and Joseph followed
in gaping curiosity. Poor Linton ran a frightened eye over
the faces of the three.
‘Sure-ly,’ said Joseph after a grave inspection,
‘he’s swopped wi’ ye, Maister, an’
yon’s his lass!’
Heathcliff, having stared his son into an ague of confusion,
uttered a scornful laugh.
‘God! what a beauty! what a lovely, charming
thing!’ he exclaimed. ‘Hav’n’t they
reared it on snails and sour milk, Nelly? Oh, damn my soul!
but that’s worse than I expected—and the devil knows
I was not sanguine!’
I bid the trembling and bewildered child get down, and
enter. He did not thoroughly comprehend the meaning of his
father’s speech, or whether it were intended for him:
indeed, he was not yet certain that the grim, sneering stranger
was his father. But he clung to me with growing
trepidation; and on Mr. Heathcliff’s taking a seat and
bidding him ‘come hither’ he hid his face on my
shoulder and wept.
‘Tut, tut!’ said Heathcliff, stretching out a hand
and dragging him roughly between his knees, and then holding up
his head by the chin. ‘None of that nonsense!
We’re not going to hurt thee, Linton—isn’t that
thy name? Thou art thy mother’s child,
entirely! Where is my share in thee, puling
chicken?’
He took off the boy’s cap and pushed back his thick
flaxen curls, felt his slender arms and his small fingers; during
which examination Linton ceased crying, and lifted his great blue
eyes to inspect the inspector.
‘Do you know me?’ asked Heathcliff, having
satisfied himself that the limbs were all equally frail and
feeble.
‘No,’ said Linton, with a gaze of vacant fear.
‘You’ve heard of me, I daresay?’
‘No,’ he replied again.
‘No! What a shame of your mother, never to waken
your filial regard for me! You are my son, then, I’ll
tell you; and your mother was a wicked slut to leave you in
ignorance of the sort of father you possessed. Now,
don’t wince, and colour up! Though it is something to
see you have not white blood. Be a good lad; and I’ll
do for you. Nelly, if you be tired you may sit down; if
not, get home again. I guess you’ll report what you
hear and see to the cipher at the Grange; and this thing
won’t be settled while you linger about it.’
‘Well,’ replied I, ‘I hope you’ll be
kind to the boy, Mr. Heathcliff, or you’ll not keep him
long; and he’s all you have akin in the wide world, that
you will ever know—remember.’
‘I’ll be very kind to him, you needn’t
fear,’ he said, laughing. ‘Only nobody else
must be kind to him: I’m jealous of monopolising his
affection. And, to begin my kindness, Joseph, bring the lad
some breakfast. Hareton, you infernal calf, begone to your
work. Yes, Nell,’ he added, when they had departed,
‘my son is prospective owner of your place, and I should
not wish him to die till I was certain of being his
successor. Besides, he’s
mine, and I want the
triumph of seeing
my descendant fairly lord of their
estates; my child hiring their children to till their
fathers’ lands for wages. That is the sole
consideration which can make me endure the whelp: I despise him
for himself, and hate him for the memories he revives! But
that consideration is sufficient: he’s as safe with me, and
shall be tended as carefully as your master tends his own.
I have a room up-stairs, furnished for him in handsome style;
I’ve engaged a tutor, also, to come three times a week,
from twenty miles’ distance, to teach him what he pleases
to learn. I’ve ordered Hareton to obey him: and in
fact I’ve arranged everything with a view to preserve the
superior and the gentleman in him, above his associates. I
do regret, however, that he so little deserves the trouble: if I
wished any blessing in the world, it was to find him a worthy
object of pride; and I’m bitterly disappointed with the
whey-faced, whining wretch!’
While he was speaking, Joseph returned bearing a basin of
milk-porridge, and placed it before Linton: who stirred round the
homely mess with a look of aversion, and affirmed he could not
eat it. I saw the old man-servant shared largely in his
master’s scorn of the child; though he was compelled to
retain the sentiment in his heart, because Heathcliff plainly
meant his underlings to hold him in honour.
‘Cannot ate it?’ repeated he, peering in
Linton’s face, and subduing his voice to a whisper, for
fear of being overheard. ‘But Maister Hareton nivir
ate naught else, when he wer a little ’un; and what wer
gooid enough for him’s gooid enough for ye, I’s
rayther think!’
‘I
sha’n’t eat it!’ answered
Linton, snappishly. ‘Take it away.’
Joseph snatched up the food indignantly, and brought it to
us.
‘Is there aught ails th’ victuals?’ he
asked, thrusting the tray under Heathcliff’s nose.
‘What should ail them?’ he said.
‘Wah!’ answered Joseph, ‘yon dainty chap
says he cannut ate ’em. But I guess it’s
raight! His mother wer just soa—we wer a’most
too mucky to sow t’ corn for makking her breead.’
‘Don’t mention his mother to me,’ said the
master, angrily. ‘Get him something that he can eat,
that’s all. What is his usual food, Nelly?’
I suggested boiled milk or tea; and the housekeeper received
instructions to prepare some. Come, I reflected, his
father’s selfishness may contribute to his comfort.
He perceives his delicate constitution, and the necessity of
treating him tolerably. I’ll console Mr. Edgar by
acquainting him with the turn Heathcliff’s humour has
taken. Having no excuse for lingering longer, I slipped
out, while Linton was engaged in timidly rebuffing the advances
of a friendly sheep-dog. But he was too much on the alert
to be cheated: as I closed the door, I heard a cry, and a frantic
repetition of the words—
‘Don’t leave me! I’ll not stay
here! I’ll not stay here!’
Then the latch was raised and fell: they did not suffer him to
come forth. I mounted Minny, and urged her to a trot; and
so my brief guardianship ended.
CHAPTER XXI
We had sad work with little Cathy that day: she rose in high
glee, eager to join her cousin, and such passionate tears and
lamentations followed the news of his departure that Edgar
himself was obliged to soothe her, by affirming he should come
back soon: he added, however, ‘if I can get him’; and
there were no hopes of that. This promise poorly pacified
her; but time was more potent; and though still at intervals she
inquired of her father when Linton would return, before she did
see him again his features had waxed so dim in her memory that
she did not recognise him.
When I chanced to encounter the housekeeper of Wuthering
Heights, in paying business visits to Gimmerton, I used to ask
how the young master got on; for he lived almost as secluded as
Catherine herself, and was never to be seen. I could gather
from her that he continued in weak health, and was a tiresome
inmate. She said Mr. Heathcliff seemed to dislike him ever
longer and worse, though he took some trouble to conceal it: he
had an antipathy to the sound of his voice, and could not do at
all with his sitting in the same room with him many minutes
together. There seldom passed much talk between them:
Linton learnt his lessons and spent his evenings in a small
apartment they called the parlour: or else lay in bed all day:
for he was constantly getting coughs, and colds, and aches, and
pains of some sort.
‘And I never know such a fainthearted creature,’
added the woman; ‘nor one so careful of hisseln. He
will go on, if I leave the window open a bit late in the
evening. Oh! it’s killing, a breath of night
air! And he must have a fire in the middle of summer; and
Joseph’s bacca-pipe is poison; and he must always have
sweets and dainties, and always milk, milk for ever—heeding
naught how the rest of us are pinched in winter; and there
he’ll sit, wrapped in his furred cloak in his chair by the
fire, with some toast and water or other slop on the hob to sip
at; and if Hareton, for pity, comes to amuse him—Hareton is
not bad-natured, though he’s rough—they’re sure
to part, one swearing and the other crying. I believe the
master would relish Earnshaw’s thrashing him to a mummy, if
he were not his son; and I’m certain he would be fit to
turn him out of doors, if he knew half the nursing he gives
hisseln. But then he won’t go into danger of
temptation: he never enters the parlour, and should Linton show
those ways in the house where he is, he sends him up-stairs
directly.’
I divined, from this account, that utter lack of sympathy had
rendered young Heathcliff selfish and disagreeable, if he were
not so originally; and my interest in him, consequently, decayed:
though still I was moved with a sense of grief at his lot, and a
wish that he had been left with us. Mr. Edgar encouraged me
to gain information: he thought a great deal about him, I fancy,
and would have run some risk to see him; and he told me once to
ask the housekeeper whether he ever came into the village?
She said he had only been twice, on horseback, accompanying his
father; and both times he pretended to be quite knocked up for
three or four days afterwards. That housekeeper left, if I
recollect rightly, two years after he came; and another, whom I
did not know, was her successor; she lives there still.
Time wore on at the Grange in its former pleasant way till
Miss Cathy reached sixteen. On the anniversary of her birth
we never manifested any signs of rejoicing, because it was also
the anniversary of my late mistress’s death. Her
father invariably spent that day alone in the library; and
walked, at dusk, as far as Gimmerton kirkyard, where he would
frequently prolong his stay beyond midnight. Therefore
Catherine was thrown on her own resources for amusement.
This twentieth of March was a beautiful spring day, and when her
father had retired, my young lady came down dressed for going
out, and said she asked to have a ramble on the edge of the moor
with me: Mr. Linton had given her leave, if we went only a short
distance and were back within the hour.
‘So make haste, Ellen!’ she cried. ‘I
know where I wish to go; where a colony of moor-game are settled:
I want to see whether they have made their nests yet.’
‘That must be a good distance up,’ I answered;
‘they don’t breed on the edge of the moor.’
‘No, it’s not,’ she said.
‘I’ve gone very near with papa.’
I put on my bonnet and sallied out, thinking nothing more of
the matter. She bounded before me, and returned to my side,
and was off again like a young greyhound; and, at first, I found
plenty of entertainment in listening to the larks singing far and
near, and enjoying the sweet, warm sunshine; and watching her, my
pet and my delight, with her golden ringlets flying loose behind,
and her bright cheek, as soft and pure in its bloom as a wild
rose, and her eyes radiant with cloudless pleasure. She was
a happy creature, and an angel, in those days. It’s a
pity she could not be content.
‘Well,’ said I, ‘where are your moor-game,
Miss Cathy? We should be at them: the Grange park-fence is
a great way off now.’
‘Oh, a little further—only a little further,
Ellen,’ was her answer, continually. ‘Climb to
that hillock, pass that bank, and by the time you reach the other
side I shall have raised the birds.’
But there were so many hillocks and banks to climb and pass,
that, at length, I began to be weary, and told her we must halt,
and retrace our steps. I shouted to her, as she had
outstripped me a long way; she either did not hear or did not
regard, for she still sprang on, and I was compelled to
follow. Finally, she dived into a hollow; and before I came
in sight of her again, she was two miles nearer Wuthering Heights
than her own home; and I beheld a couple of persons arrest her,
one of whom I felt convinced was Mr. Heathcliff himself.
Cathy had been caught in the fact of plundering, or, at least,
hunting out the nests of the grouse. The Heights were
Heathcliff’s land, and he was reproving the poacher.
‘I’ve neither taken any nor found any,’ she
said, as I toiled to them, expanding her hands in corroboration
of the statement. ‘I didn’t mean to take them;
but papa told me there were quantities up here, and I wished to
see the eggs.’
Heathcliff glanced at me with an ill-meaning smile, expressing
his acquaintance with the party, and, consequently, his
malevolence towards it, and demanded who ‘papa’
was?
‘Mr. Linton of Thrushcross Grange,’ she
replied. ‘I thought you did not know me, or you
wouldn’t have spoken in that way.’
‘You suppose papa is highly esteemed and respected,
then?’ he said, sarcastically.
‘And what are you?’ inquired Catherine, gazing
curiously on the speaker. ‘That man I’ve seen
before. Is he your son?’
She pointed to Hareton, the other individual, who had gained
nothing but increased bulk and strength by the addition of two
years to his age: he seemed as awkward and rough as ever.
‘Miss Cathy,’ I interrupted, ‘it will be
three hours instead of one that we are out, presently. We
really must go back.’
‘No, that man is not my son,’ answered Heathcliff,
pushing me aside. ‘But I have one, and you have seen
him before too; and, though your nurse is in a hurry, I think
both you and she would be the better for a little rest.
Will you just turn this nab of heath, and walk into my
house? You’ll get home earlier for the ease; and you
shall receive a kind welcome.’
I whispered Catherine that she mustn’t, on any account,
accede to the proposal: it was entirely out of the question.
‘Why?’ she asked, aloud. ‘I’m
tired of running, and the ground is dewy: I can’t sit
here. Let us go, Ellen. Besides, he says I have seen
his son. He’s mistaken, I think; but I guess where he
lives: at the farmhouse I visited in coming from Penistone
Crags. Don’t you?’
‘I do. Come, Nelly, hold your tongue—it will
be a treat for her to look in on us. Hareton, get forwards
with the lass. You shall walk with me, Nelly.’
‘No, she’s not going to any such place,’ I
cried, struggling to release my arm, which he had seized: but she
was almost at the door-stones already, scampering round the brow
at full speed. Her appointed companion did not pretend to
escort her: he shied off by the road-side, and vanished.
‘Mr. Heathcliff, it’s very wrong,’ I
continued: ‘you know you mean no good. And there
she’ll see Linton, and all will be told as soon as ever we
return; and I shall have the blame.’
‘I want her to see Linton,’ he answered;
‘he’s looking better these few days; it’s not
often he’s fit to be seen. And we’ll soon
persuade her to keep the visit secret: where is the harm of
it?’
‘The harm of it is, that her father would hate me if he
found I suffered her to enter your house; and I am convinced you
have a bad design in encouraging her to do so,’ I
replied.
‘My design is as honest as possible. I’ll
inform you of its whole scope,’ he said. ‘That
the two cousins may fall in love, and get married.
I’m acting generously to your master: his young chit has no
expectations, and should she second my wishes she’ll be
provided for at once as joint successor with Linton.’
‘If Linton died,’ I answered, ‘and his life
is quite uncertain, Catherine would be the heir.’
‘No, she would not,’ he said. ‘There
is no clause in the will to secure it so: his property would go
to me; but, to prevent disputes, I desire their union, and am
resolved to bring it about.’
‘And I’m resolved she shall never approach your
house with me again,’ I returned, as we reached the gate,
where Miss Cathy waited our coming.
Heathcliff bade me be quiet; and, preceding us up the path,
hastened to open the door. My young lady gave him several
looks, as if she could not exactly make up her mind what to think
of him; but now he smiled when he met her eye, and softened his
voice in addressing her; and I was foolish enough to imagine the
memory of her mother might disarm him from desiring her
injury. Linton stood on the hearth. He had been out
walking in the fields, for his cap was on, and he was calling to
Joseph to bring him dry shoes. He had grown tall of his
age, still wanting some months of sixteen. His features
were pretty yet, and his eye and complexion brighter than I
remembered them, though with merely temporary lustre borrowed
from the salubrious air and genial sun.
‘Now, who is that?’ asked Mr. Heathcliff, turning
to Cathy. ‘Can you tell?’
‘Your son?’ she said, having doubtfully surveyed,
first one and then the other.
‘Yes, yes,’ answered he: ‘but is this the
only time you have beheld him? Think! Ah! you have a
short memory. Linton, don’t you recall your cousin,
that you used to tease us so with wishing to see?’
‘What, Linton!’ cried Cathy, kindling into joyful
surprise at the name. ‘Is that little Linton?
He’s taller than I am! Are you Linton?’
The youth stepped forward, and acknowledged himself: she
kissed him fervently, and they gazed with wonder at the change
time had wrought in the appearance of each. Catherine had
reached her full height; her figure was both plump and slender,
elastic as steel, and her whole aspect sparkling with health and
spirits. Linton’s looks and movements were very
languid, and his form extremely slight; but there was a grace in
his manner that mitigated these defects, and rendered him not
unpleasing. After exchanging numerous marks of fondness
with him, his cousin went to Mr. Heathcliff, who lingered by the
door, dividing his attention between the objects inside and those
that lay without: pretending, that is, to observe the latter, and
really noting the former alone.
‘And you are my uncle, then!’ she cried, reaching
up to salute him. ‘I thought I liked you, though you
were cross at first. Why don’t you visit at the
Grange with Linton? To live all these years such close
neighbours, and never see us, is odd: what have you done so
for?’
‘I visited it once or twice too often before you were
born,’ he answered. ‘There—damn it!
If you have any kisses to spare, give them to Linton: they are
thrown away on me.’
‘Naughty Ellen!’ exclaimed Catherine, flying to
attack me next with her lavish caresses. ‘Wicked
Ellen! to try to hinder me from entering. But I’ll
take this walk every morning in future: may I, uncle? and
sometimes bring papa. Won’t you be glad to see
us?’
‘Of course,’ replied the uncle, with a hardly
suppressed grimace, resulting from his deep aversion to both the
proposed visitors. ‘But stay,’ he continued,
turning towards the young lady. ‘Now I think of it,
I’d better tell you. Mr. Linton has a prejudice
against me: we quarrelled at one time of our lives, with
unchristian ferocity; and, if you mention coming here to him,
he’ll put a veto on your visits altogether.
Therefore, you must not mention it, unless you be careless of
seeing your cousin hereafter: you may come, if you will, but you
must not mention it.’
‘Why did you quarrel?’ asked Catherine,
considerably crestfallen.
‘He thought me too poor to wed his sister,’
answered Heathcliff, ‘and was grieved that I got her: his
pride was hurt, and he’ll never forgive it.’
‘That’s wrong!’ said the young lady:
‘some time I’ll tell him so. But Linton and I
have no share in your quarrel. I’ll not come here,
then; he shall come to the Grange.’
‘It will be too far for me,’ murmured her cousin:
‘to walk four miles would kill me. No, come here,
Miss Catherine, now and then: not every morning, but once or
twice a week.’
The father launched towards his son a glance of bitter
contempt.
‘I am afraid, Nelly, I shall lose my labour,’ he
muttered to me. ‘Miss Catherine, as the ninny calls
her, will discover his value, and send him to the devil.
Now, if it had been Hareton!—Do you know that, twenty times
a day, I covet Hareton, with all his degradation? I’d
have loved the lad had he been some one else. But I think
he’s safe from
her love. I’ll pit him
against that paltry creature, unless it bestir itself
briskly. We calculate it will scarcely last till it is
eighteen. Oh, confound the vapid thing! He’s
absorbed in drying his feet, and never looks at
her.—Linton!’
‘Yes, father,’ answered the boy.
‘Have you nothing to show your cousin anywhere about,
not even a rabbit or a weasel’s nest? Take her into
the garden, before you change your shoes; and into the stable to
see your horse.’
‘Wouldn’t you rather sit here?’ asked
Linton, addressing Cathy in a tone which expressed reluctance to
move again.
‘I don’t know,’ she replied, casting a
longing look to the door, and evidently eager to be active.
He kept his seat, and shrank closer to the fire.
Heathcliff rose, and went into the kitchen, and from thence to
the yard, calling out for Hareton. Hareton responded, and
presently the two re-entered. The young man had been
washing himself, as was visible by the glow on his cheeks and his
wetted hair.
‘Oh, I’ll ask
you, uncle,’ cried Miss
Cathy, recollecting the housekeeper’s assertion.
‘That is not my cousin, is he?’
‘Yes,’ he, replied, ‘your mother’s
nephew. Don’t you like him!’
Catherine looked queer.
‘Is he not a handsome lad?’ he continued.
The uncivil little thing stood on tiptoe, and whispered a
sentence in Heathcliff’s ear. He laughed; Hareton
darkened: I perceived he was very sensitive to suspected slights,
and had obviously a dim notion of his inferiority. But his
master or guardian chased the frown by exclaiming—
‘You’ll be the favourite among us, Hareton!
She says you are a—What was it? Well, something very
flattering. Here! you go with her round the farm. And
behave like a gentleman, mind! Don’t use any bad
words; and don’t stare when the young lady is not looking
at you, and be ready to hide your face when she is; and, when you
speak, say your words slowly, and keep your hands out of your
pockets. Be off, and entertain her as nicely as you
can.’
He watched the couple walking past the window. Earnshaw
had his countenance completely averted from his companion.
He seemed studying the familiar landscape with a stranger’s
and an artist’s interest. Catherine took a sly look
at him, expressing small admiration. She then turned her
attention to seeking out objects of amusement for herself, and
tripped merrily on, lilting a tune to supply the lack of
conversation.
‘I’ve tied his tongue,’ observed
Heathcliff. ‘He’ll not venture a single
syllable all the time! Nelly, you recollect me at his
age—nay, some years younger. Did I ever look so
stupid: so “gaumless,” as Joseph calls it?’
‘Worse,’ I replied, ‘because more sullen
with it.’
‘I’ve a pleasure in him,’ he continued,
reflecting aloud. ‘He has satisfied my
expectations. If he were a born fool I should not enjoy it
half so much. But he’s no fool; and I can sympathise
with all his feelings, having felt them myself. I know what
he suffers now, for instance, exactly: it is merely a beginning
of what he shall suffer, though. And he’ll never be
able to emerge from his bathos of coarseness and ignorance.
I’ve got him faster than his scoundrel of a father secured
me, and lower; for he takes a pride in his brutishness.
I’ve taught him to scorn everything extra-animal as silly
and weak. Don’t you think Hindley would be proud of
his son, if he could see him? almost as proud as I am of
mine. But there’s this difference; one is gold put to
the use of paving-stones, and the other is tin polished to ape a
service of silver.
Mine has nothing valuable about
it; yet I shall have the merit of making it go as far as such
poor stuff can go.
His had first-rate qualities, and
they are lost: rendered worse than unavailing. I have
nothing to regret; he would have more than any but I are aware
of. And the best of it is, Hareton is damnably fond of
me! You’ll own that I’ve outmatched Hindley
there. If the dead villain could rise from his grave to
abuse me for his offspring’s wrongs, I should have the fun
of seeing the said offspring fight him back again, indignant that
he should dare to rail at the one friend he has in the
world!’
Heathcliff chuckled a fiendish laugh at the idea. I made
no reply, because I saw that he expected none. Meantime,
our young companion, who sat too removed from us to hear what was
said, began to evince symptoms of uneasiness, probably repenting
that he had denied himself the treat of Catherine’s society
for fear of a little fatigue. His father remarked the
restless glances wandering to the window, and the hand
irresolutely extended towards his cap.
‘Get up, you idle boy!’ he exclaimed, with assumed
heartiness.
‘Away after them! they are just at the corner, by the
stand of hives.’
Linton gathered his energies, and left the hearth. The
lattice was open, and, as he stepped out, I heard Cathy inquiring
of her unsociable attendant what was that inscription over the
door? Hareton stared up, and scratched his head like a true
clown.
‘It’s some damnable writing,’ he
answered. ‘I cannot read it.’
‘Can’t read it?’ cried Catherine; ‘I
can read it: it’s English. But I want to know why it
is there.’
Linton giggled: the first appearance of mirth he had
exhibited.
‘He does not know his letters,’ he said to his
cousin. ‘Could you believe in the existence of such a
colossal dunce?’
‘Is he all as he should be?’ asked Miss Cathy,
seriously; ‘or is he simple: not right? I’ve
questioned him twice now, and each time he looked so stupid I
think he does not understand me. I can hardly understand
him, I’m sure!’
Linton repeated his laugh, and glanced at Hareton tauntingly;
who certainly did not seem quite clear of comprehension at that
moment.
‘There’s nothing the matter but laziness; is
there, Earnshaw?’ he said. ‘My cousin fancies
you are an idiot. There you experience the consequence of
scorning “book-larning,” as you would say. Have
you noticed, Catherine, his frightful Yorkshire
pronunciation?’
‘Why, where the devil is the use on’t?’
growled Hareton, more ready in answering his daily
companion. He was about to enlarge further, but the two
youngsters broke into a noisy fit of merriment: my giddy miss
being delighted to discover that she might turn his strange talk
to matter of amusement.
‘Where is the use of the devil in that sentence?’
tittered Linton. ‘Papa told you not to say any bad
words, and you can’t open your mouth without one. Do
try to behave like a gentleman, now do!’
‘If thou weren’t more a lass than a lad, I’d
fell thee this minute, I would; pitiful lath of a crater!’
retorted the angry boor, retreating, while his face burnt with
mingled rage and mortification! for he was conscious of being
insulted, and embarrassed how to resent it.
Mr. Heathcliff having overheard the conversation, as well as
I, smiled when he saw him go; but immediately afterwards cast a
look of singular aversion on the flippant pair, who remained
chattering in the door-way: the boy finding animation enough
while discussing Hareton’s faults and deficiencies, and
relating anecdotes of his goings on; and the girl relishing his
pert and spiteful sayings, without considering the ill-nature
they evinced. I began to dislike, more than to
compassionate Linton, and to excuse his father in some measure
for holding him cheap.
We stayed till afternoon: I could not tear Miss Cathy away
sooner; but happily my master had not quitted his apartment, and
remained ignorant of our prolonged absence. As we walked
home, I would fain have enlightened my charge on the characters
of the people we had quitted: but she got it into her head that I
was prejudiced against them.
‘Aha!’ she cried, ‘you take papa’s
side, Ellen: you are partial I know; or else you wouldn’t
have cheated me so many years into the notion that Linton lived a
long way from here. I’m really extremely angry; only
I’m so pleased I can’t show it! But you must
hold your tongue about
my uncle; he’s my uncle,
remember; and I’ll scold papa for quarrelling with
him.’
And so she ran on, till I relinquished the endeavour to
convince her of her mistake. She did not mention the visit
that night, because she did not see Mr. Linton. Next day it
all came out, sadly to my chagrin; and still I was not altogether
sorry: I thought the burden of directing and warning would be
more efficiently borne by him than me. But he was too timid
in giving satisfactory reasons for his wish that she should shun
connection with the household of the Heights, and Catherine liked
good reasons for every restraint that harassed her petted
will.
‘Papa!’ she exclaimed, after the morning’s
salutations, ‘guess whom I saw yesterday, in my walk on the
moors. Ah, papa, you started! you’ve not done right,
have you, now? I saw—but listen, and you shall hear
how I found you out; and Ellen, who is in league with you, and
yet pretended to pity me so, when I kept hoping, and was always
disappointed about Linton’s coming back!’
She gave a faithful account of her excursion and its
consequences; and my master, though he cast more than one
reproachful look at me, said nothing till she had
concluded. Then he drew her to him, and asked if she knew
why he had concealed Linton’s near neighbourhood from
her? Could she think it was to deny her a pleasure that she
might harmlessly enjoy?
‘It was because you disliked Mr. Heathcliff,’ she
answered.
‘Then you believe I care more for my own feelings than
yours, Cathy?’ he said. ‘No, it was not because
I disliked Mr. Heathcliff, but because Mr. Heathcliff dislikes
me; and is a most diabolical man, delighting to wrong and ruin
those he hates, if they give him the slightest opportunity.
I knew that you could not keep up an acquaintance with your
cousin without being brought into contact with him; and I knew he
would detest you on my account; so for your own good, and nothing
else, I took precautions that you should not see Linton
again. I meant to explain this some time as you grew older,
and I’m sorry I delayed it.’
‘But Mr. Heathcliff was quite cordial, papa,’
observed Catherine, not at all convinced; ‘and he
didn’t object to our seeing each other: he said I might
come to his house when I pleased; only I must not tell you,
because you had quarrelled with him, and would not forgive him
for marrying aunt Isabella. And you won’t.
You are the one to be blamed: he is willing to let us be
friends, at least; Linton and I; and you are not.’
My master, perceiving that she would not take his word for her
uncle-in-law’s evil disposition, gave a hasty sketch of his
conduct to Isabella, and the manner in which Wuthering Heights
became his property. He could not bear to discourse long
upon the topic; for though he spoke little of it, he still felt
the same horror and detestation of his ancient enemy that had
occupied his heart ever since Mrs. Linton’s death.
‘She might have been living yet, if it had not been for
him!’ was his constant bitter reflection; and, in his eyes,
Heathcliff seemed a murderer. Miss Cathy—conversant
with no bad deeds except her own slight acts of disobedience,
injustice, and passion, arising from hot temper and
thoughtlessness, and repented of on the day they were
committed—was amazed at the blackness of spirit that could
brood on and cover revenge for years, and deliberately prosecute
its plans without a visitation of remorse. She appeared so
deeply impressed and shocked at this new view of human
nature—excluded from all her studies and all her ideas till
now—that Mr. Edgar deemed it unnecessary to pursue the
subject. He merely added: ‘You will know hereafter,
darling, why I wish you to avoid his house and family; now return
to your old employments and amusements, and think no more about
them.’
Catherine kissed her father, and sat down quietly to her
lessons for a couple of hours, according to custom; then she
accompanied him into the grounds, and the whole day passed as
usual: but in the evening, when she had retired to her room, and
I went to help her to undress, I found her crying, on her knees
by the bedside.
‘Oh, fie, silly child!’ I exclaimed.
‘If you had any real griefs you’d be ashamed to waste
a tear on this little contrariety. You never had one shadow
of substantial sorrow, Miss Catherine. Suppose, for a
minute, that master and I were dead, and you were by yourself in
the world: how would you feel, then? Compare the present
occasion with such an affliction as that, and be thankful for the
friends you have, instead of coveting more.’
‘I’m not crying for myself, Ellen,’ she
answered, ‘it’s for him. He expected to see me
again to-morrow, and there he’ll be so disappointed: and
he’ll wait for me, and I sha’n’t
come!’
‘Nonsense!’ said I, ‘do you imagine he has
thought as much of you as you have of him? Hasn’t he
Hareton for a companion? Not one in a hundred would weep at
losing a relation they had just seen twice, for two
afternoons. Linton will conjecture how it is, and trouble
himself no further about you.’
‘But may I not write a note to tell him why I cannot
come?’ she asked, rising to her feet. ‘And just
send those books I promised to lend him? His books are not
as nice as mine, and he wanted to have them extremely, when I
told him how interesting they were. May I not,
Ellen?’
‘No, indeed! no, indeed!’ replied I with
decision. ‘Then he would write to you, and
there’d never be an end of it. No, Miss Catherine,
the acquaintance must be dropped entirely: so papa expects, and I
shall see that it is done.’
‘But how can one little note—?’ she
recommenced, putting on an imploring countenance.
‘Silence!’ I interrupted. ‘We’ll
not begin with your little notes. Get into bed.’
She threw at me a very naughty look, so naughty that I would
not kiss her good-night at first: I covered her up, and shut her
door, in great displeasure; but, repenting half-way, I returned
softly, and lo! there was Miss standing at the table with a bit
of blank paper before her and a pencil in her hand, which she
guiltily slipped out of sight on my entrance.
‘You’ll get nobody to take that, Catherine,’
I said, ‘if you write it; and at present I shall put out
your candle.’
I set the extinguisher on the flame, receiving as I did so a
slap on my hand and a petulant ‘cross thing!’ I
then quitted her again, and she drew the bolt in one of her
worst, most peevish humours. The letter was finished and
forwarded to its destination by a milk-fetcher who came from the
village; but that I didn’t learn till some time
afterwards. Weeks passed on, and Cathy recovered her
temper; though she grew wondrous fond of stealing off to corners
by herself and often, if I came near her suddenly while reading,
she would start and bend over the book, evidently desirous to
hide it; and I detected edges of loose paper sticking out beyond
the leaves. She also got a trick of coming down early in
the morning and lingering about the kitchen, as if she were
expecting the arrival of something; and she had a small drawer in
a cabinet in the library, which she would trifle over for hours,
and whose key she took special care to remove when she left
it.
One day, as she inspected this drawer, I observed that the
playthings and trinkets which recently formed its contents were
transmuted into bits of folded paper. My curiosity and
suspicions were roused; I determined to take a peep at her
mysterious treasures; so, at night, as soon as she and my master
were safe upstairs, I searched, and readily found among my house
keys one that would fit the lock. Having opened, I emptied
the whole contents into my apron, and took them with me to
examine at leisure in my own chamber. Though I could not
but suspect, I was still surprised to discover that they were a
mass of correspondence—daily almost, it must have
been—from Linton Heathcliff: answers to documents forwarded
by her. The earlier dated were embarrassed and short;
gradually, however, they expanded into copious love-letters,
foolish, as the age of the writer rendered natural, yet with
touches here and there which I thought were borrowed from a more
experienced source. Some of them struck me as singularly
odd compounds of ardour and flatness; commencing in strong
feeling, and concluding in the affected, wordy style that a
schoolboy might use to a fancied, incorporeal sweetheart.
Whether they satisfied Cathy I don’t know; but they
appeared very worthless trash to me. After turning over as
many as I thought proper, I tied them in a handkerchief and set
them aside, relocking the vacant drawer.
Following her habit, my young lady descended early, and
visited the kitchen: I watched her go to the door, on the arrival
of a certain little boy; and, while the dairymaid filled his can,
she tucked something into his jacket pocket, and plucked
something out. I went round by the garden, and laid wait
for the messenger; who fought valorously to defend his trust, and
we spilt the milk between us; but I succeeded in abstracting the
epistle; and, threatening serious consequences if he did not look
sharp home, I remained under the wall and perused Miss
Cathy’s affectionate composition. It was more simple
and more eloquent than her cousin’s: very pretty and very
silly. I shook my head, and went meditating into the
house. The day being wet, she could not divert herself with
rambling about the park; so, at the conclusion of her morning
studies, she resorted to the solace of the drawer. Her
father sat reading at the table; and I, on purpose, had sought a
bit of work in some unripped fringes of the window-curtain,
keeping my eye steadily fixed on her proceedings. Never did
any bird flying back to a plundered nest, which it had left
brimful of chirping young ones, express more complete despair, in
its anguished cries and flutterings, than she by her single
‘Oh!’ and the change that transfigured her late happy
countenance. Mr. Linton looked up.
‘What is the matter, love? Have you hurt
yourself?’ he said.
His tone and look assured her
he had not been the
discoverer of the hoard.
‘No, papa!’ she gasped. ‘Ellen! Ellen!
come up-stairs—I’m sick!’
I obeyed her summons, and accompanied her out.
‘Oh, Ellen! you have got them,’ she commenced
immediately, dropping on her knees, when we were enclosed
alone. ‘Oh, give them to me, and I’ll never,
never do so again! Don’t tell papa. You have
not told papa, Ellen? say you have not? I’ve been
exceedingly naughty, but I won’t do it any more!’
With a grave severity in my manner I bade her stand up.
‘So,’ I exclaimed, ‘Miss Catherine, you are
tolerably far on, it seems: you may well be ashamed of
them! A fine bundle of trash you study in your leisure
hours, to be sure: why, it’s good enough to be
printed! And what do you suppose the master will think when
I display it before him? I hav’n’t shown it
yet, but you needn’t imagine I shall keep your ridiculous
secrets. For shame! and you must have led the way in
writing such absurdities: he would not have thought of beginning,
I’m certain.’
‘I didn’t! I didn’t!’ sobbed
Cathy, fit to break her heart. ‘I didn’t once
think of loving him till—’
‘
Loving!’ cried I, as scornfully as I could
utter the word. ‘
Loving! Did anybody
ever hear the like! I might just as well talk of loving the
miller who comes once a year to buy our corn. Pretty
loving, indeed! and both times together you have seen Linton
hardly four hours in your life! Now here is the babyish
trash. I’m going with it to the library; and
we’ll see what your father says to such
loving.’
She sprang at her precious epistles, but I held them above my
head; and then she poured out further frantic entreaties that I
would burn them—do anything rather than show them.
And being really fully as much inclined to laugh as
scold—for I esteemed it all girlish vanity—I at
length relented in a measure, and asked,—‘If I
consent to burn them, will you promise faithfully neither to send
nor receive a letter again, nor a book (for I perceive you have
sent him books), nor locks of hair, nor rings, nor
playthings?’
‘We don’t send playthings,’ cried Catherine,
her pride overcoming her shame.
‘Nor anything at all, then, my lady?’ I
said. ‘Unless you will, here I go.’
‘I promise, Ellen!’ she cried, catching my
dress. ‘Oh, put them in the fire, do, do!’
But when I proceeded to open a place with the poker the
sacrifice was too painful to be borne. She earnestly
supplicated that I would spare her one or two.
‘One or two, Ellen, to keep for Linton’s
sake!’
I unknotted the handkerchief, and commenced dropping them in
from an angle, and the flame curled up the chimney.
‘I will have one, you cruel wretch!’ she screamed,
darting her hand into the fire, and drawing forth some
half-consumed fragments, at the expense of her fingers.
‘Very well—and I will have some to exhibit to
papa!’ I answered, shaking back the rest into the
bundle, and turning anew to the door.
She emptied her blackened pieces into the flames, and motioned
me to finish the immolation. It was done; I stirred up the
ashes, and interred them under a shovelful of coals; and she
mutely, and with a sense of intense injury, retired to her
private apartment. I descended to tell my master that the
young lady’s qualm of sickness was almost gone, but I
judged it best for her to lie down a while. She
wouldn’t dine; but she reappeared at tea, pale, and red
about the eyes, and marvellously subdued in outward aspect.
Next morning I answered the letter by a slip of paper, inscribed,
‘Master Heathcliff is requested to send no more notes to
Miss Linton, as she will not receive them.’ And,
henceforth, the little boy came with vacant pockets.
CHAPTER XXII
Summer drew to an end, and early autumn: it was past
Michaelmas, but the harvest was late that year, and a few of our
fields were still uncleared. Mr. Linton and his daughter
would frequently walk out among the reapers; at the carrying of
the last sheaves they stayed till dusk, and the evening happening
to be chill and damp, my master caught a bad cold, that settled
obstinately on his lungs, and confined him indoors throughout the
whole of the winter, nearly without intermission.
Poor Cathy, frightened from her little romance, had been
considerably sadder and duller since its abandonment; and her
father insisted on her reading less, and taking more
exercise. She had his companionship no longer; I esteemed
it a duty to supply its lack, as much as possible, with mine: an
inefficient substitute; for I could only spare two or three
hours, from my numerous diurnal occupations, to follow her
footsteps, and then my society was obviously less desirable than
his.
On an afternoon in October, or the beginning of
November—a fresh watery afternoon, when the turf and paths
were rustling with moist, withered leaves, and the cold blue sky
was half hidden by clouds—dark grey streamers, rapidly
mounting from the west, and boding abundant rain—I
requested my young lady to forego her ramble, because I was
certain of showers. She refused; and I unwillingly donned a
cloak, and took my umbrella to accompany her on a stroll to the
bottom of the park: a formal walk which she generally affected if
low-spirited—and that she invariably was when Mr. Edgar had
been worse than ordinary, a thing never known from his
confession, but guessed both by her and me from his increased
silence and the melancholy of his countenance. She went
sadly on: there was no running or bounding now, though the chill
wind might well have tempted her to race. And often, from
the side of my eye, I could detect her raising a hand, and
brushing something off her cheek. I gazed round for a means
of diverting her thoughts. On one side of the road rose a
high, rough bank, where hazels and stunted oaks, with their roots
half exposed, held uncertain tenure: the soil was too loose for
the latter; and strong winds had blown some nearly
horizontal. In summer Miss Catherine delighted to climb
along these trunks, and sit in the branches, swinging twenty feet
above the ground; and I, pleased with her agility and her light,
childish heart, still considered it proper to scold every time I
caught her at such an elevation, but so that she knew there was
no necessity for descending. From dinner to tea she would
lie in her breeze-rocked cradle, doing nothing except singing old
songs—my nursery lore—to herself, or watching the
birds, joint tenants, feed and entice their young ones to fly: or
nestling with closed lids, half thinking, half dreaming, happier
than words can express.
‘Look, Miss!’ I exclaimed, pointing to a nook
under the roots of one twisted tree. ‘Winter is not
here yet. There’s a little flower up yonder, the last
bud from the multitude of bluebells that clouded those turf steps
in July with a lilac mist. Will you clamber up, and pluck
it to show to papa?’ Cathy stared a long time at the
lonely blossom trembling in its earthy shelter, and replied, at
length—‘No, I’ll not touch it: but it looks
melancholy, does it not, Ellen?’
‘Yes,’ I observed, ‘about as starved and
suckless as you: your cheeks are bloodless; let us take hold of
hands and run. You’re so low, I daresay I shall keep
up with you.’
‘No,’ she repeated, and continued sauntering on,
pausing at intervals to muse over a bit of moss, or a tuft of
blanched grass, or a fungus spreading its bright orange among the
heaps of brown foliage; and, ever and anon, her hand was lifted
to her averted face.
‘Catherine, why are you crying, love?’ I asked,
approaching and putting my arm over her shoulder.
‘You mustn’t cry because papa has a cold; be thankful
it is nothing worse.’
She now put no further restraint on her tears; her breath was
stifled by sobs.
‘Oh, it will be something worse,’ she said.
‘And what shall I do when papa and you leave me, and I am
by myself? I can’t forget your words, Ellen; they are
always in my ear. How life will be changed, how dreary the
world will be, when papa and you are dead.’
‘None can tell whether you won’t die before
us,’ I replied. ‘It’s wrong to anticipate
evil. We’ll hope there are years and years to come
before any of us go: master is young, and I am strong, and hardly
forty-five. My mother lived till eighty, a canty dame to
the last. And suppose Mr. Linton were spared till he saw
sixty, that would be more years than you have counted,
Miss. And would it not be foolish to mourn a calamity above
twenty years beforehand?’
‘But Aunt Isabella was younger than papa,’ she
remarked, gazing up with timid hope to seek further
consolation.
‘Aunt Isabella had not you and me to nurse her,’ I
replied. ‘She wasn’t as happy as Master: she
hadn’t as much to live for. All you need do, is to
wait well on your father, and cheer him by letting him see you
cheerful; and avoid giving him anxiety on any subject: mind that,
Cathy! I’ll not disguise but you might kill him if
you were wild and reckless, and cherished a foolish, fanciful
affection for the son of a person who would be glad to have him
in his grave; and allowed him to discover that you fretted over
the separation he has judged it expedient to make.’
‘I fret about nothing on earth except papa’s
illness,’ answered my companion. ‘I care for
nothing in comparison with papa. And I’ll
never—never—oh, never, while I have my senses, do an
act or say a word to vex him. I love him better than
myself, Ellen; and I know it by this: I pray every night that I
may live after him; because I would rather be miserable than that
he should be: that proves I love him better than
myself.’
‘Good words,’ I replied. ‘But deeds
must prove it also; and after he is well, remember you
don’t forget resolutions formed in the hour of
fear.’
As we talked, we neared a door that opened on the road; and my
young lady, lightening into sunshine again, climbed up and seated
herself on the top of the wall, reaching over to gather some hips
that bloomed scarlet on the summit branches of the wild-rose
trees shadowing the highway side: the lower fruit had
disappeared, but only birds could touch the upper, except from
Cathy’s present station. In stretching to pull them,
her hat fell off; and as the door was locked, she proposed
scrambling down to recover it. I bid her be cautious lest
she got a fall, and she nimbly disappeared. But the return
was no such easy matter: the stones were smooth and neatly
cemented, and the rose-bushes and black-berry stragglers could
yield no assistance in re-ascending. I, like a fool,
didn’t recollect that, till I heard her laughing and
exclaiming—‘Ellen! you’ll have to fetch the
key, or else I must run round to the porter’s lodge.
I can’t scale the ramparts on this side!’
‘Stay where you are,’ I answered; ‘I have my
bundle of keys in my pocket: perhaps I may manage to open it; if
not, I’ll go.’
Catherine amused herself with dancing to and fro before the
door, while I tried all the large keys in succession. I had
applied the last, and found that none would do; so, repeating my
desire that she would remain there, I was about to hurry home as
fast as I could, when an approaching sound arrested me. It
was the trot of a horse; Cathy’s dance stopped also.
‘Who is that?’ I whispered.
‘Ellen, I wish you could open the door,’ whispered
back my companion, anxiously.
‘Ho, Miss Linton!’ cried a deep voice (the
rider’s), ‘I’m glad to meet you.
Don’t be in haste to enter, for I have an explanation to
ask and obtain.’
‘I sha’n’t speak to you, Mr.
Heathcliff,’ answered Catherine. ‘Papa says you
are a wicked man, and you hate both him and me; and Ellen says
the same.’
‘That is nothing to the purpose,’ said
Heathcliff. (He it was.) ‘I don’t hate my
son, I suppose; and it is concerning him that I demand your
attention. Yes; you have cause to blush. Two or three
months since, were you not in the habit of writing to Linton?
making love in play, eh? You deserved, both of you,
flogging for that! You especially, the elder; and less
sensitive, as it turns out. I’ve got your letters,
and if you give me any pertness I’ll send them to your
father. I presume you grew weary of the amusement and
dropped it, didn’t you? Well, you dropped Linton with
it into a Slough of Despond. He was in earnest: in love,
really. As true as I live, he’s dying for you;
breaking his heart at your fickleness: not figuratively, but
actually. Though Hareton has made him a standing jest for
six weeks, and I have used more serious measures, and attempted
to frighten him out of his idiotcy, he gets worse daily; and
he’ll be under the sod before summer, unless you restore
him!’
‘How can you lie so glaringly to the poor child?’
I called from the inside. ‘Pray ride on! How
can you deliberately get up such paltry falsehoods? Miss
Cathy, I’ll knock the lock off with a stone: you
won’t believe that vile nonsense. You can feel in
yourself it is impossible that a person should die for love of a
stranger.’
‘I was not aware there were eavesdroppers,’
muttered the detected villain. ‘Worthy Mrs. Dean, I
like you, but I don’t like your double-dealing,’ he
added aloud. ‘How could
you lie so glaringly
as to affirm I hated the “poor child”? and invent
bugbear stories to terrify her from my door-stones?
Catherine Linton (the very name warms me), my bonny lass, I shall
be from home all this week; go and see if have not spoken truth:
do, there’s a darling! Just imagine your father in my
place, and Linton in yours; then think how you would value your
careless lover if he refused to stir a step to comfort you, when
your father himself entreated him; and don’t, from pure
stupidity, fall into the same error. I swear, on my
salvation, he’s going to his grave, and none but you can
save him!’
The lock gave way and I issued out.
‘I swear Linton is dying,’ repeated Heathcliff,
looking hard at me. ‘And grief and disappointment are
hastening his death. Nelly, if you won’t let her go,
you can walk over yourself. But I shall not return till
this time next week; and I think your master himself would
scarcely object to her visiting her cousin.’
‘Come in,’ said I, taking Cathy by the arm and
half forcing her to re-enter; for she lingered, viewing with
troubled eyes the features of the speaker, too stern to express
his inward deceit.
He pushed his horse close, and, bending down,
observed—‘Miss Catherine, I’ll own to you that
I have little patience with Linton; and Hareton and Joseph have
less. I’ll own that he’s with a harsh
set. He pines for kindness, as well as love; and a kind
word from you would be his best medicine. Don’t mind
Mrs. Dean’s cruel cautions; but be generous, and contrive
to see him. He dreams of you day and night, and cannot be
persuaded that you don’t hate him, since you neither write
nor call.’
I closed the door, and rolled a stone to assist the loosened
lock in holding it; and spreading my umbrella, I drew my charge
underneath: for the rain began to drive through the moaning
branches of the trees, and warned us to avoid delay. Our
hurry prevented any comment on the encounter with Heathcliff, as
we stretched towards home; but I divined instinctively that
Catherine’s heart was clouded now in double darkness.
Her features were so sad, they did not seem hers: she evidently
regarded what she had heard as every syllable true.
The master had retired to rest before we came in. Cathy
stole to his room to inquire how he was; he had fallen
asleep. She returned, and asked me to sit with her in the
library. We took our tea together; and afterwards she lay
down on the rug, and told me not to talk, for she was
weary. I got a book, and pretended to read. As soon
as she supposed me absorbed in my occupation, she recommenced her
silent weeping: it appeared, at present, her favourite
diversion. I suffered her to enjoy it a while; then I
expostulated: deriding and ridiculing all Mr. Heathcliff’s
assertions about his son, as if I were certain she would
coincide. Alas! I hadn’t skill to counteract
the effect his account had produced: it was just what he
intended.
‘You may be right, Ellen,’ she answered;
‘but I shall never feel at ease till I know. And I
must tell Linton it is not my fault that I don’t write, and
convince him that I shall not change.’
What use were anger and protestations against her silly
credulity? We parted that night—hostile; but next day
beheld me on the road to Wuthering Heights, by the side of my
wilful young mistress’s pony. I couldn’t bear
to witness her sorrow: to see her pale, dejected countenance, and
heavy eyes: and I yielded, in the faint hope that Linton himself
might prove, by his reception of us, how little of the tale was
founded on fact.
CHAPTER XXIII
The rainy night had ushered in a misty morning—half
frost, half drizzle—and temporary brooks crossed our
path—gurgling from the uplands. My feet were
thoroughly wetted; I was cross and low; exactly the humour suited
for making the most of these disagreeable things. We
entered the farm-house by the kitchen way, to ascertain whether
Mr. Heathcliff were really absent: because I put slight faith in
his own affirmation.
Joseph seemed sitting in a sort of elysium alone, beside a
roaring fire; a quart of ale on the table near him, bristling
with large pieces of toasted oat-cake; and his black, short pipe
in his mouth. Catherine ran to the hearth to warm
herself. I asked if the master was in? My question
remained so long unanswered, that I thought the old man had grown
deaf, and repeated it louder.
‘Na—ay!’ he snarled, or rather screamed
through his nose. ‘Na—ay! yah muh goa back
whear yah coom frough.’
‘Joseph!’ cried a peevish voice, simultaneously
with me, from the inner room. ‘How often am I to call
you? There are only a few red ashes now. Joseph! come
this moment.’
Vigorous puffs, and a resolute stare into the grate, declared
he had no ear for this appeal. The housekeeper and Hareton
were invisible; one gone on an errand, and the other at his work,
probably. We knew Linton’s tones, and entered.
‘Oh, I hope you’ll die in a garret, starved to
death!’ said the boy, mistaking our approach for that of
his negligent attendant.
He stopped on observing his error: his cousin flew to him.
‘Is that you, Miss Linton?’ he said, raising his
head from the arm of the great chair, in which he reclined.
‘No—don’t kiss me: it takes my breath.
Dear me! Papa said you would call,’ continued he,
after recovering a little from Catherine’s embrace; while
she stood by looking very contrite. ‘Will you shut
the door, if you please? you left it open; and those—those
detestable creatures won’t bring coals to the
fire. It’s so cold!’
I stirred up the cinders, and fetched a scuttleful
myself. The invalid complained of being covered with ashes;
but he had a tiresome cough, and looked feverish and ill, so I
did not rebuke his temper.
‘Well, Linton,’ murmured Catherine, when his
corrugated brow relaxed, ‘are you glad to see me? Can
I do you any good?’
‘Why didn’t you come before?’ he
asked. ‘You should have come, instead of
writing. It tired me dreadfully writing those long
letters. I’d far rather have talked to you.
Now, I can neither bear to talk, nor anything else. I
wonder where Zillah is! Will you’ (looking at me)
‘step into the kitchen and see?’
I had received no thanks for my other service; and being
unwilling to run to and fro at his behest, I
replied—‘Nobody is out there but Joseph.’
‘I want to drink,’ he exclaimed fretfully, turning
away. ‘Zillah is constantly gadding off to Gimmerton
since papa went: it’s miserable! And I’m
obliged to come down here—they resolved never to hear me
up-stairs.’
‘Is your father attentive to you, Master
Heathcliff?’ I asked, perceiving Catherine to be checked in
her friendly advances.
‘Attentive? He makes them a little more attentive
at least,’ he cried. ‘The wretches! Do
you know, Miss Linton, that brute Hareton laughs at me! I
hate him! indeed, I hate them all: they are odious
beings.’
Cathy began searching for some water; she lighted on a pitcher
in the dresser, filled a tumbler, and brought it. He bid
her add a spoonful of wine from a bottle on the table; and having
swallowed a small portion, appeared more tranquil, and said she
was very kind.
‘And are you glad to see me?’ asked she,
reiterating her former question and pleased to detect the faint
dawn of a smile.
‘Yes, I am. It’s something new to hear a
voice like yours!’ he replied. ‘But I have been
vexed, because you wouldn’t come. And papa swore it
was owing to me: he called me a pitiful, shuffling, worthless
thing; and said you despised me; and if he had been in my place,
he would be more the master of the Grange than your father by
this time. But you don’t despise me, do you,
Miss—?’
‘I wish you would say Catherine, or Cathy,’
interrupted my young lady. ‘Despise you?
No! Next to papa and Ellen, I love you better than anybody
living. I don’t love Mr. Heathcliff, though; and I
dare not come when he returns: will he stay away many
days?’
‘Not many,’ answered Linton; ‘but he goes on
to the moors frequently, since the shooting season commenced; and
you might spend an hour or two with me in his absence. Do
say you will. I think I should not be peevish with you:
you’d not provoke me, and you’d always be ready to
help me, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Catherine, stroking his long soft
hair: ‘if I could only get papa’s consent, I’d
spend half my time with you. Pretty Linton! I wish
you were my brother.’
‘And then you would like me as well as your
father?’ observed he, more cheerfully. ‘But
papa says you would love me better than him and all the world, if
you were my wife; so I’d rather you were that.’
‘No, I should never love anybody better than
papa,’ she returned gravely. ‘And people hate
their wives, sometimes; but not their sisters and brothers: and
if you were the latter, you would live with us, and papa would be
as fond of you as he is of me.’
Linton denied that people ever hated their wives; but Cathy
affirmed they did, and, in her wisdom, instanced his own
father’s aversion to her aunt. I endeavoured to stop
her thoughtless tongue. I couldn’t succeed till
everything she knew was out. Master Heathcliff, much
irritated, asserted her relation was false.
‘Papa told me; and papa does not tell falsehoods,’
she answered pertly.
‘
My papa scorns yours!’ cried Linton.
‘He calls him a sneaking fool.’
‘Yours is a wicked man,’ retorted Catherine;
‘and you are very naughty to dare to repeat what he
says. He must be wicked to have made Aunt Isabella leave
him as she did.’
‘She didn’t leave him,’ said the boy;
‘you sha’n’t contradict me.’
‘She did,’ cried my young lady.
‘Well, I’ll tell you something!’ said
Linton. ‘Your mother hated your father: now
then.’
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Catherine, too enraged to
continue.
‘And she loved mine,’ added he.
‘You little liar! I hate you now!’ she
panted, and her face grew red with passion.
‘She did! she did!’ sang Linton, sinking into the
recess of his chair, and leaning back his head to enjoy the
agitation of the other disputant, who stood behind.
‘Hush, Master Heathcliff!’ I said;
‘that’s your father’s tale, too, I
suppose.’
‘It isn’t: you hold your tongue!’ he
answered. ‘She did, she did, Catherine! she did, she
did!’
Cathy, beside herself, gave the chair a violent push, and
caused him to fall against one arm. He was immediately
seized by a suffocating cough that soon ended his triumph.
It lasted so long that it frightened even me. As to his
cousin, she wept with all her might, aghast at the mischief she
had done: though she said nothing. I held him till the fit
exhausted itself. Then he thrust me away, and leant his
head down silently. Catherine quelled her lamentations
also, took a seat opposite, and looked solemnly into the
fire.
‘How do you feel now, Master Heathcliff?’ I
inquired, after waiting ten minutes.
‘I wish
she felt as I do,’ he replied:
‘spiteful, cruel thing! Hareton never touches me: he
never struck me in his life. And I was better to-day: and
there—’ his voice died in a whimper.
‘
I didn’t strike you!’ muttered
Cathy, chewing her lip to prevent another burst of emotion.
He sighed and moaned like one under great suffering, and kept
it up for a quarter of an hour; on purpose to distress his cousin
apparently, for whenever he caught a stifled sob from her he put
renewed pain and pathos into the inflexions of his voice.
‘I’m sorry I hurt you, Linton,’ she said at
length, racked beyond endurance. ‘But I
couldn’t have been hurt by that little push, and I had no
idea that you could, either: you’re not much, are you,
Linton? Don’t let me go home thinking I’ve done
you harm. Answer! speak to me.’
‘I can’t speak to you,’ he murmured;
‘you’ve hurt me so that I shall lie awake all night
choking with this cough. If you had it you’d know
what it was; but
you’ll be comfortably asleep while
I’m in agony, and nobody near me. I wonder how you
would like to pass those fearful nights!’ And he
began to wail aloud, for very pity of himself.
‘Since you are in the habit of passing dreadful
nights,’ I said, ‘it won’t be Miss who spoils
your ease: you’d be the same had she never come.
However, she shall not disturb you again; and perhaps
you’ll get quieter when we leave you.’
‘Must I go?’ asked Catherine dolefully, bending
over him. ‘Do you want me to go, Linton?’
‘You can’t alter what you’ve done,’ he
replied pettishly, shrinking from her, ‘unless you alter it
for the worse by teasing me into a fever.’
‘Well, then, I must go?’ she repeated.
‘Let me alone, at least,’ said he; ‘I
can’t bear your talking.’
She lingered, and resisted my persuasions to departure a
tiresome while; but as he neither looked up nor spoke, she
finally made a movement to the door, and I followed. We
were recalled by a scream. Linton had slid from his seat on
to the hearthstone, and lay writhing in the mere perverseness of
an indulged plague of a child, determined to be as grievous and
harassing as it can. I thoroughly gauged his disposition
from his behaviour, and saw at once it would be folly to attempt
humouring him. Not so my companion: she ran back in terror,
knelt down, and cried, and soothed, and entreated, till he grew
quiet from lack of breath: by no means from compunction at
distressing her.
‘I shall lift him on to the settle,’ I said,
‘and he may roll about as he pleases: we can’t stop
to watch him. I hope you are satisfied, Miss Cathy, that
you are not the person to benefit him; and that his condition of
health is not occasioned by attachment to you. Now, then,
there he is! Come away: as soon as he knows there is nobody
by to care for his nonsense, he’ll be glad to lie
still.’
She placed a cushion under his head, and offered him some
water; he rejected the latter, and tossed uneasily on the former,
as if it were a stone or a block of wood. She tried to put
it more comfortably.
‘I can’t do with that,’ he said;
‘it’s not high enough.’
Catherine brought another to lay above it.
‘That’s too high,’ murmured the provoking
thing.
‘How must I arrange it, then?’ she asked
despairingly.
He twined himself up to her, as she half knelt by the settle,
and converted her shoulder into a support.
‘No, that won’t do,’ I said.
‘You’ll be content with the cushion, Master
Heathcliff. Miss has wasted too much time on you already:
we cannot remain five minutes longer.’
‘Yes, yes, we can!’ replied Cathy.
‘He’s good and patient now. He’s
beginning to think I shall have far greater misery than he will
to-night, if I believe he is the worse for my visit: and then I
dare not come again. Tell the truth about it, Linton; for I
musn’t come, if I have hurt you.’
‘You must come, to cure me,’ he answered.
‘You ought to come, because you have hurt me: you know you
have extremely! I was not as ill when you entered as I am
at present—was I?’
‘But you’ve made yourself ill by crying and being
in a passion.—I didn’t do it all,’ said his
cousin. ‘However, we’ll be friends now.
And you want me: you would wish to see me sometimes,
really?’
‘I told you I did,’ he replied impatiently.
‘Sit on the settle and let me lean on your knee.
That’s as mamma used to do, whole afternoons
together. Sit quite still and don’t talk: but you may
sing a song, if you can sing; or you may say a nice long
interesting ballad—one of those you promised to teach me;
or a story. I’d rather have a ballad, though:
begin.’
Catherine repeated the longest she could remember. The
employment pleased both mightily. Linton would have
another, and after that another, notwithstanding my strenuous
objections; and so they went on until the clock struck twelve,
and we heard Hareton in the court, returning for his dinner.
‘And to-morrow, Catherine, will you be here
to-morrow?’ asked young Heathcliff, holding her frock as
she rose reluctantly.
‘No,’ I answered, ‘nor next day
neither.’ She, however, gave a different response
evidently, for his forehead cleared as she stooped and whispered
in his ear.
‘You won’t go to-morrow, recollect, Miss!’ I
commenced, when we were out of the house. ‘You are
not dreaming of it, are you?’
She smiled.
‘Oh, I’ll take good care,’ I continued:
‘I’ll have that lock mended, and you can escape by no
way else.’
‘I can get over the wall,’ she said
laughing. ‘The Grange is not a prison, Ellen, and you
are not my gaoler. And besides, I’m almost seventeen:
I’m a woman. And I’m certain Linton would
recover quickly if he had me to look after him. I’m
older than he is, you know, and wiser: less childish, am I
not? And he’ll soon do as I direct him, with some
slight coaxing. He’s a pretty little darling when
he’s good. I’d make such a pet of him, if he
were mine. We should never quarrel, should we after we
were used to each other? Don’t you like him,
Ellen?’
‘Like him!’ I exclaimed. ‘The
worst-tempered bit of a sickly slip that ever struggled into its
teens. Happily, as Mr. Heathcliff conjectured, he’ll
not win twenty. I doubt whether he’ll see spring,
indeed. And small loss to his family whenever he drops
off. And lucky it is for us that his father took him: the
kinder he was treated, the more tedious and selfish he’d
be. I’m glad you have no chance of having him for a
husband, Miss Catherine.’
My companion waxed serious at hearing this speech. To
speak of his death so regardlessly wounded her feelings.
‘He’s younger than I,’ she answered, after a
protracted pause of meditation, ‘and he ought to live the
longest: he will—he must live as long as I do.
He’s as strong now as when he first came into the north;
I’m positive of that. It’s only a cold that
ails him, the same as papa has. You say papa will get
better, and why shouldn’t he?’
‘Well, well,’ I cried, ‘after all, we
needn’t trouble ourselves; for listen, Miss,—and
mind, I’ll keep my word,—if you attempt going to
Wuthering Heights again, with or without me, I shall inform Mr.
Linton, and, unless he allow it, the intimacy with your cousin
must not be revived.’
‘It has been revived,’ muttered Cathy,
sulkily.
‘Must not be continued, then,’ I said.
‘We’ll see,’ was her reply, and she set off
at a gallop, leaving me to toil in the rear.
We both reached home before our dinner-time; my master
supposed we had been wandering through the park, and therefore he
demanded no explanation of our absence. As soon as I
entered I hastened to change my soaked shoes and stockings; but
sitting such awhile at the Heights had done the mischief.
On the succeeding morning I was laid up, and during three weeks I
remained incapacitated for attending to my duties: a calamity
never experienced prior to that period, and never, I am thankful
to say, since.
My little mistress behaved like an angel in coming to wait on
me, and cheer my solitude; the confinement brought me exceedingly
low. It is wearisome, to a stirring active body: but few
have slighter reasons for complaint than I had. The moment
Catherine left Mr. Linton’s room she appeared at my
bedside. Her day was divided between us; no amusement
usurped a minute: she neglected her meals, her studies, and her
play; and she was the fondest nurse that ever watched. She
must have had a warm heart, when she loved her father so, to give
so much to me. I said her days were divided between us; but
the master retired early, and I generally needed nothing after
six o’clock, thus the evening was her own. Poor
thing! I never considered what she did with herself after
tea. And though frequently, when she looked in to bid me
good-night, I remarked a fresh colour in her cheeks and a
pinkness over her slender fingers, instead of fancying the line
borrowed from a cold ride across the moors, I laid it to the
charge of a hot fire in the library.
CHAPTER XXIV
At the close of three weeks I was able to quit my chamber and
move about the house. And on the first occasion of my
sitting up in the evening I asked Catherine to read to me,
because my eyes were weak. We were in the library, the
master having gone to bed: she consented, rather unwillingly, I
fancied; and imagining my sort of books did not suit her, I bid
her please herself in the choice of what she perused. She
selected one of her own favourites, and got forward steadily
about an hour; then came frequent questions.
‘Ellen, are not you tired? Hadn’t you better
lie down now? You’ll be sick, keeping up so long,
Ellen.’
‘No, no, dear, I’m not tired,’ I returned,
continually.
Perceiving me immovable, she essayed another method of showing
her disrelish for her occupation. It changed to yawning,
and stretching, and—
‘Ellen, I’m tired.’
‘Give over then and talk,’ I answered.
That was worse: she fretted and sighed, and looked at her
watch till eight, and finally went to her room, completely
overdone with sleep; judging by her peevish, heavy look, and the
constant rubbing she inflicted on her eyes. The following
night she seemed more impatient still; and on the third from
recovering my company she complained of a headache, and left
me. I thought her conduct odd; and having remained alone a
long while, I resolved on going and inquiring whether she were
better, and asking her to come and lie on the sofa, instead of
up-stairs in the dark. No Catherine could I discover
up-stairs, and none below. The servants affirmed they had
not seen her. I listened at Mr. Edgar’s door; all was
silence. I returned to her apartment, extinguished my
candle, and seated myself in the window.
The moon shone bright; a sprinkling of snow covered the
ground, and I reflected that she might, possibly, have taken it
into her head to walk about the garden, for refreshment. I
did detect a figure creeping along the inner fence of the park;
but it was not my young mistress: on its emerging into the light,
I recognised one of the grooms. He stood a considerable
period, viewing the carriage-road through the grounds; then
started off at a brisk pace, as if he had detected something, and
reappeared presently, leading Miss’s pony; and there she
was, just dismounted, and walking by its side. The man took
his charge stealthily across the grass towards the stable.
Cathy entered by the casement-window of the drawing-room, and
glided noiselessly up to where I awaited her. She put the
door gently too, slipped off her snowy shoes, untied her hat, and
was proceeding, unconscious of my espionage, to lay aside her
mantle, when I suddenly rose and revealed myself. The
surprise petrified her an instant: she uttered an inarticulate
exclamation, and stood fixed.
‘My dear Miss Catherine,’ I began, too vividly
impressed by her recent kindness to break into a scold,
‘where have you been riding out at this hour? And why
should you try to deceive me by telling a tale? Where have
you been? Speak!’
‘To the bottom of the park,’ she stammered.
‘I didn’t tell a tale.’
‘And nowhere else?’ I demanded.
‘No,’ was the muttered reply.
‘Oh, Catherine!’ I cried, sorrowfully.
‘You know you have been doing wrong, or you wouldn’t
be driven to uttering an untruth to me. That does grieve
me. I’d rather be three months ill, than hear you
frame a deliberate lie.’
She sprang forward, and bursting into tears, threw her arms
round my neck.
‘Well, Ellen, I’m so afraid of you being
angry,’ she said. ‘Promise not to be angry, and
you shall know the very truth: I hate to hide it.’
We sat down in the window-seat; I assured her I would not
scold, whatever her secret might be, and I guessed it, of course;
so she commenced—
‘I’ve been to Wuthering Heights, Ellen, and
I’ve never missed going a day since you fell ill; except
thrice before, and twice after you left your room. I gave
Michael books and pictures to prepare Minny every evening, and to
put her back in the stable: you mustn’t scold him either,
mind. I was at the Heights by half-past six, and generally
stayed till half-past eight, and then galloped home. It was
not to amuse myself that I went: I was often wretched all the
time. Now and then I was happy: once in a week
perhaps. At first, I expected there would be sad work
persuading you to let me keep my word to Linton: for I had
engaged to call again next day, when we quitted him; but, as you
stayed up-stairs on the morrow, I escaped that trouble.
While Michael was refastening the lock of the park door in the
afternoon, I got possession of the key, and told him how my
cousin wished me to visit him, because he was sick, and
couldn’t come to the Grange; and how papa would object to
my going: and then I negotiated with him about the pony. He
is fond of reading, and he thinks of leaving soon to get married;
so he offered, if I would lend him books out of the library, to
do what I wished: but I preferred giving him my own, and that
satisfied him better.
‘On my second visit Linton seemed in lively spirits; and
Zillah (that is their housekeeper) made us a clean room and a
good fire, and told us that, as Joseph was out at a
prayer-meeting and Hareton Earnshaw was off with his
dogs—robbing our woods of pheasants, as I heard
afterwards—we might do what we liked. She brought me
some warm wine and gingerbread, and appeared exceedingly
good-natured, and Linton sat in the arm-chair, and I in the
little rocking chair on the hearth-stone, and we laughed and
talked so merrily, and found so much to say: we planned where we
would go, and what we would do in summer. I needn’t
repeat that, because you would call it silly.
‘One time, however, we were near quarrelling. He
said the pleasantest manner of spending a hot July day was lying
from morning till evening on a bank of heath in the middle of the
moors, with the bees humming dreamily about among the bloom, and
the larks singing high up overhead, and the blue sky and bright
sun shining steadily and cloudlessly. That was his most
perfect idea of heaven’s happiness: mine was rocking in a
rustling green tree, with a west wind blowing, and bright white
clouds flitting rapidly above; and not only larks, but throstles,
and blackbirds, and linnets, and cuckoos pouring out music on
every side, and the moors seen at a distance, broken into cool
dusky dells; but close by great swells of long grass undulating
in waves to the breeze; and woods and sounding water, and the
whole world awake and wild with joy. He wanted all to lie
in an ecstasy of peace; I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a
glorious jubilee. I said his heaven would be only half
alive; and he said mine would be drunk: I said I should fall
asleep in his; and he said he could not breathe in mine, and
began to grow very snappish. At last, we agreed to try
both, as soon as the right weather came; and then we kissed each
other and were friends.
‘After sitting still an hour, I looked at the great room
with its smooth uncarpeted floor, and thought how nice it would
be to play in, if we removed the table; and I asked Linton to
call Zillah in to help us, and we’d have a game at
blindman’s-buff; she should try to catch us: you used to,
you know, Ellen. He wouldn’t: there was no pleasure
in it, he said; but he consented to play at ball with me.
We found two in a cupboard, among a heap of old toys, tops, and
hoops, and battledores and shuttlecocks. One was marked C.,
and the other H.; I wished to have the C., because that stood for
Catherine, and the H. might be for Heathcliff, his name; but the
bran came out of H., and Linton didn’t like it. I
beat him constantly: and he got cross again, and coughed, and
returned to his chair. That night, though, he easily
recovered his good humour: he was charmed with two or three
pretty songs—
your songs, Ellen; and when I was
obliged to go, he begged and entreated me to come the following
evening; and I promised. Minny and I went flying home as
light as air; and I dreamt of Wuthering Heights and my sweet,
darling cousin, till morning.
‘On the morrow I was sad; partly because you were
poorly, and partly that I wished my father knew, and approved of
my excursions: but it was beautiful moonlight after tea; and, as
I rode on, the gloom cleared. I shall have another happy
evening, I thought to myself; and what delights me more, my
pretty Linton will. I trotted up their garden, and was
turning round to the back, when that fellow Earnshaw met me, took
my bridle, and bid me go in by the front entrance. He
patted Minny’s neck, and said she was a bonny beast, and
appeared as if he wanted me to speak to him. I only told
him to leave my horse alone, or else it would kick him. He
answered in his vulgar accent, “It wouldn’t do mitch
hurt if it did;” and surveyed its legs with a smile.
I was half inclined to make it try; however, he moved off to open
the door, and, as he raised the latch, he looked up to the
inscription above, and said, with a stupid mixture of awkwardness
and elation: “Miss Catherine! I can read yon,
now.”
‘“Wonderful,” I exclaimed. “Pray
let us hear you—you
are grown clever!”
‘He spelt, and drawled over by syllables, the
name—“Hareton Earnshaw.”
‘“And the figures?” I cried, encouragingly,
perceiving that he came to a dead halt.
‘“I cannot tell them yet,” he answered.
‘“Oh, you dunce!” I said, laughing heartily
at his failure.
‘The fool stared, with a grin hovering about his lips,
and a scowl gathering over his eyes, as if uncertain whether he
might not join in my mirth: whether it were not pleasant
familiarity, or what it really was, contempt. I settled his
doubts, by suddenly retrieving my gravity and desiring him to
walk away, for I came to see Linton, not him. He
reddened—I saw that by the moonlight—dropped his hand
from the latch, and skulked off, a picture of mortified
vanity. He imagined himself to be as accomplished as
Linton, I suppose, because he could spell his own name; and was
marvellously discomfited that I didn’t think the
same.’
‘Stop, Miss Catherine, dear!’—I
interrupted. ‘I shall not scold, but I don’t
like your conduct there. If you had remembered that Hareton
was your cousin as much as Master Heathcliff, you would have felt
how improper it was to behave in that way. At least, it was
praiseworthy ambition for him to desire to be as accomplished as
Linton; and probably he did not learn merely to show off: you had
made him ashamed of his ignorance before, I have no doubt; and he
wished to remedy it and please you. To sneer at his
imperfect attempt was very bad breeding. Had you been
brought up in his circumstances, would you be less rude? He
was as quick and as intelligent a child as ever you were; and
I’m hurt that he should be despised now, because that base
Heathcliff has treated him so unjustly.’
‘Well, Ellen, you won’t cry about it, will
you?’ she exclaimed, surprised at my earnestness.
‘But wait, and you shall hear if he conned his A B C to
please me; and if it were worth while being civil to the
brute. I entered; Linton was lying on the settle, and half
got up to welcome me.
‘“I’m ill to-night, Catherine, love,”
he said; “and you must have all the talk, and let me
listen. Come, and sit by me. I was sure you
wouldn’t break your word, and I’ll make you promise
again, before you go.”
‘I knew now that I mustn’t tease him, as he was
ill; and I spoke softly and put no questions, and avoided
irritating him in any way. I had brought some of my nicest
books for him: he asked me to read a little of one, and I was
about to comply, when Earnshaw burst the door open: having
gathered venom with reflection. He advanced direct to us,
seized Linton by the arm, and swung him off the seat.
‘“Get to thy own room!” he said, in a voice
almost inarticulate with passion; and his face looked swelled and
furious. “Take her there if she comes to see thee:
thou shalln’t keep me out of this. Begone wi’
ye both!”
‘He swore at us, and left Linton no time to answer,
nearly throwing him into the kitchen; and he clenched his fist as
I followed, seemingly longing to knock me down. I was
afraid for a moment, and I let one volume fall; he kicked it
after me, and shut us out. I heard a malignant, crackly
laugh by the fire, and turning, beheld that odious Joseph
standing rubbing his bony hands, and quivering.
‘“I wer sure he’d sarve ye out!
He’s a grand lad! He’s getten t’ raight
sperrit in him!
He knaws—ay, he knaws, as weel
as I do, who sud be t’ maister yonder—Ech, ech,
ech! He made ye skift properly! Ech, ech,
ech!”
‘“Where must we go?” I asked of my cousin,
disregarding the old wretch’s mockery.
‘Linton was white and trembling. He was not pretty
then, Ellen: oh, no! he looked frightful; for his thin face and
large eyes were wrought into an expression of frantic, powerless
fury. He grasped the handle of the door, and shook it: it
was fastened inside.
‘“If you don’t let me in, I’ll kill
you!—If you don’t let me in, I’ll kill
you!” he rather shrieked than said. “Devil!
devil!—I’ll kill you—I’ll kill
you!”
Joseph uttered his croaking laugh again.
‘“Thear, that’s t’ father!” he
cried. “That’s father! We’ve allas
summut o’ either side in us. Niver heed, Hareton,
lad—dunnut be ‘feard—he cannot get at
thee!”
‘I took hold of Linton’s hands, and tried to pull
him away; but he shrieked so shockingly that I dared not
proceed. At last his cries were choked by a dreadful fit of
coughing; blood gushed from his mouth, and he fell on the
ground. I ran into the yard, sick with terror; and called
for Zillah, as loud as I could. She soon heard me: she was
milking the cows in a shed behind the barn, and hurrying from her
work, she inquired what there was to do? I hadn’t
breath to explain; dragging her in, I looked about for
Linton. Earnshaw had come out to examine the mischief he
had caused, and he was then conveying the poor thing
up-stairs. Zillah and I ascended after him; but he stopped
me at the top of the steps, and said I shouldn’t go in: I
must go home. I exclaimed that he had killed Linton, and I
would enter. Joseph locked the door, and declared I
should do “no sich stuff,” and asked me whether I
were “bahn to be as mad as him.” I stood crying
till the housekeeper reappeared. She affirmed he would be
better in a bit, but he couldn’t do with that shrieking and
din; and she took me, and nearly carried me into the house.
‘Ellen, I was ready to tear my hair off my head! I
sobbed and wept so that my eyes were almost blind; and the
ruffian you have such sympathy with stood opposite: presuming
every now and then to bid me “wisht,” and denying
that it was his fault; and, finally, frightened by my assertions
that I would tell papa, and that he should be put in prison and
hanged, he commenced blubbering himself, and hurried out to hide
his cowardly agitation. Still, I was not rid of him: when
at length they compelled me to depart, and I had got some hundred
yards off the premises, he suddenly issued from the shadow of the
road-side, and checked Minny and took hold of me.
‘“Miss Catherine, I’m ill grieved,” he
began, “but it’s rayther too bad—”
‘I gave him a cut with my whip, thinking perhaps he
would murder me. He let go, thundering one of his horrid
curses, and I galloped home more than half out of my senses.
‘I didn’t bid you good-night that evening, and I
didn’t go to Wuthering Heights the next: I wished to go
exceedingly; but I was strangely excited, and dreaded to hear
that Linton was dead, sometimes; and sometimes shuddered at the
thought of encountering Hareton. On the third day I took
courage: at least, I couldn’t bear longer suspense, and
stole off once more. I went at five o’clock, and
walked; fancying I might manage to creep into the house, and up
to Linton’s room, unobserved. However, the dogs gave
notice of my approach. Zillah received me, and saying
“the lad was mending nicely,” showed me into a small,
tidy, carpeted apartment, where, to my inexpressible joy, I
beheld Linton laid on a little sofa, reading one of my
books. But he would neither speak to me nor look at me,
through a whole hour, Ellen: he has such an unhappy temper.
And what quite confounded me, when he did open his mouth, it was
to utter the falsehood that I had occasioned the uproar, and
Hareton was not to blame! Unable to reply, except
passionately, I got up and walked from the room. He sent
after me a faint “Catherine!” He did not reckon
on being answered so: but I wouldn’t turn back; and the
morrow was the second day on which I stayed at home, nearly
determined to visit him no more. But it was so miserable
going to bed and getting up, and never hearing anything about
him, that my resolution melted into air before it was properly
formed. It had appeared wrong to take the journey once; now
it seemed wrong to refrain. Michael came to ask if he must
saddle Minny; I said “Yes,” and considered myself
doing a duty as she bore me over the hills. I was forced to
pass the front windows to get to the court: it was no use trying
to conceal my presence.
‘“Young master is in the house,” said
Zillah, as she saw me making for the parlour. I went in;
Earnshaw was there also, but he quitted the room directly.
Linton sat in the great arm-chair half asleep; walking up to the
fire, I began in a serious tone, partly meaning it to be
true—
‘“As you don’t like me, Linton, and as you
think I come on purpose to hurt you, and pretend that I do so
every time, this is our last meeting: let us say good-bye; and
tell Mr. Heathcliff that you have no wish to see me, and that he
mustn’t invent any more falsehoods on the
subject.”
‘“Sit down and take your hat off,
Catherine,” he answered. “You are so much
happier than I am, you ought to be better. Papa talks
enough of my defects, and shows enough scorn of me, to make it
natural I should doubt myself. I doubt whether I am not
altogether as worthless as he calls me, frequently; and then I
feel so cross and bitter, I hate everybody! I am worthless,
and bad in temper, and bad in spirit, almost always; and, if you
choose, you may say good-bye: you’ll get rid of an
annoyance. Only, Catherine, do me this justice: believe
that if I might be as sweet, and as kind, and as good as you are,
I would be; as willingly, and more so, than as happy and as
healthy. And believe that your kindness has made me love
you deeper than if I deserved your love: and though I
couldn’t, and cannot help showing my nature to you, I
regret it and repent it; and shall regret and repent it till I
die!”
‘I felt he spoke the truth; and I felt I must forgive
him: and, though we should quarrel the next moment, I must
forgive him again. We were reconciled; but we cried, both
of us, the whole time I stayed: not entirely for sorrow; yet I
was sorry Linton had that distorted nature.
He’ll never let his friends be at ease, and he’ll
never be at ease himself! I have always gone to his little
parlour, since that night; because his father returned the day
after.
‘About three times, I think, we have been merry and
hopeful, as we were the first evening; the rest of my visits were
dreary and troubled: now with his selfishness and spite, and now
with his sufferings: but I’ve learned to endure the former
with nearly as little resentment as the latter. Mr.
Heathcliff purposely avoids me: I have hardly seen him at
all. Last Sunday, indeed, coming earlier than usual, I
heard him abusing poor Linton cruelly for his conduct of the
night before. I can’t tell how he knew of it, unless
he listened. Linton had certainly behaved provokingly:
however, it was the business of nobody but me, and I interrupted
Mr. Heathcliff’s lecture by entering and telling him
so. He burst into a laugh, and went away, saying he was
glad I took that view of the matter. Since then, I’ve
told Linton he must whisper his bitter things. Now, Ellen,
you have heard all. I can’t be prevented from going
to Wuthering Heights, except by inflicting misery on two people;
whereas, if you’ll only not tell papa, my going need
disturb the tranquillity of none. You’ll not tell,
will you? It will be very heartless, if you do.’
‘I’ll make up my mind on that point by to-morrow,
Miss Catherine,’ I replied. ‘It requires some
study; and so I’ll leave you to your rest, and go think it
over.’
I thought it over aloud, in my master’s presence;
walking straight from her room to his, and relating the whole
story: with the exception of her conversations with her cousin,
and any mention of Hareton. Mr. Linton was alarmed and
distressed, more than he would acknowledge to me. In the
morning, Catherine learnt my betrayal of her confidence, and she
learnt also that her secret visits were to end. In vain she
wept and writhed against the interdict, and implored her father
to have pity on Linton: all she got to comfort her was a promise
that he would write and give him leave to come to the Grange when
he pleased; but explaining that he must no longer expect to see
Catherine at Wuthering Heights. Perhaps, had he been aware
of his nephew’s disposition and state of health, he would
have seen fit to withhold even that slight consolation.
CHAPTER XXV
‘These things happened last winter, sir,’ said
Mrs. Dean; ‘hardly more than a year ago. Last winter,
I did not think, at another twelve months’ end, I should be
amusing a stranger to the family with relating them! Yet,
who knows how long you’ll be a stranger? You’re
too young to rest always contented, living by yourself; and I
some way fancy no one could see Catherine Linton and not love
her. You smile; but why do you look so lively and
interested when I talk about her? and why have you asked me to
hang her picture over your fireplace? and why—?’
‘Stop, my good friend!’ I cried. ‘It
may be very possible that
I should love her; but would she
love me? I doubt it too much to venture my tranquillity by
running into temptation: and then my home is not here.
I’m of the busy world, and to its arms I must return.
Go on. Was Catherine obedient to her father’s
commands?’
‘She was,’ continued the housekeeper.
‘Her affection for him was still the chief sentiment in her
heart; and he spoke without anger: he spoke in the deep
tenderness of one about to leave his treasure amid perils and
foes, where his remembered words would be the only aid that he
could bequeath to guide her. He said to me, a few days
afterwards, “I wish my nephew would write, Ellen, or
call. Tell me, sincerely, what you think of him: is he
changed for the better, or is there a prospect of improvement, as
he grows a man?”
‘“He’s very delicate, sir,” I replied;
“and scarcely likely to reach manhood: but this I can say,
he does not resemble his father; and if Miss Catherine had the
misfortune to marry him, he would not be beyond her control:
unless she were extremely and foolishly indulgent. However,
master, you’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted with
him and see whether he would suit her: it wants four years and
more to his being of age.”’
Edgar sighed; and, walking to the window, looked out towards
Gimmerton Kirk. It was a misty afternoon, but the February
sun shone dimly, and we could just distinguish the two fir-trees
in the yard, and the sparely-scattered gravestones.
‘I’ve prayed often,’ he half soliloquised,
‘for the approach of what is coming; and now I begin to
shrink, and fear it. I thought the memory of the hour I
came down that glen a bridegroom would be less sweet than the
anticipation that I was soon, in a few months, or, possibly,
weeks, to be carried up, and laid in its lonely hollow!
Ellen, I’ve been very happy with my little Cathy: through
winter nights and summer days she was a living hope at my
side. But I’ve been as happy musing by myself among
those stones, under that old church: lying, through the long June
evenings, on the green mound of her mother’s grave, and
wishing—yearning for the time when I might lie beneath
it. What can I do for Cathy? How must I quit
her? I’d not care one moment for Linton being
Heathcliff’s son; nor for his taking her from me, if he
could console her for my loss. I’d not care that
Heathcliff gained his ends, and triumphed in robbing me of my
last blessing! But should Linton be unworthy—only a
feeble tool to his father—I cannot abandon her to
him! And, hard though it be to crush her buoyant spirit, I
must persevere in making her sad while I live, and leaving her
solitary when I die. Darling! I’d rather resign
her to God, and lay her in the earth before me.’
‘Resign her to God as it is, sir,’ I answered,
‘and if we should lose you—which may He
forbid—under His providence, I’ll stand her friend
and counsellor to the last. Miss Catherine is a good girl:
I don’t fear that she will go wilfully wrong; and people
who do their duty are always finally rewarded.’
Spring advanced; yet my master gathered no real strength,
though he resumed his walks in the grounds with his
daughter. To her inexperienced notions, this itself was a
sign of convalescence; and then his cheek was often flushed, and
his eyes were bright; she felt sure of his recovering. On
her seventeenth birthday, he did not visit the churchyard: it was
raining, and I observed—‘You’ll surely not go
out to-night, sir?’
He answered,—‘No, I’ll defer it this year a
little longer.’ He wrote again to Linton, expressing
his great desire to see him; and, had the invalid been
presentable, I’ve no doubt his father would have permitted
him to come. As it was, being instructed, he returned an
answer, intimating that Mr. Heathcliff objected to his calling at
the Grange; but his uncle’s kind remembrance delighted him,
and he hoped to meet him sometimes in his rambles, and personally
to petition that his cousin and he might not remain long so
utterly divided.
That part of his letter was simple, and probably his
own. Heathcliff knew he could plead eloquently for
Catherine’s company, then.
‘I do not ask,’ he said, ‘that she may visit
here; but am I never to see her, because my father forbids me to
go to her home, and you forbid her to come to mine? Do, now
and then, ride with her towards the Heights; and let us exchange
a few words, in your presence! We have done nothing to
deserve this separation; and you are not angry with me: you have
no reason to dislike me, you allow, yourself. Dear uncle!
send me a kind note to-morrow, and leave to join you anywhere you
please, except at Thrushcross Grange. I believe an
interview would convince you that my father’s character is
not mine: he affirms I am more your nephew than his son; and
though I have faults which render me unworthy of Catherine, she
has excused them, and for her sake, you should also. You
inquire after my health—it is better; but while I remain
cut off from all hope, and doomed to solitude, or the society of
those who never did and never will like me, how can I be cheerful
and well?’
Edgar, though he felt for the boy, could not consent to grant
his request; because he could not accompany Catherine. He
said, in summer, perhaps, they might meet: meantime, he wished
him to continue writing at intervals, and engaged to give him
what advice and comfort he was able by letter; being well aware
of his hard position in his family. Linton complied; and
had he been unrestrained, would probably have spoiled all by
filling his epistles with complaints and lamentations: but his
father kept a sharp watch over him; and, of course, insisted on
every line that my master sent being shown; so, instead of
penning his peculiar personal sufferings and distresses, the
themes constantly uppermost in his thoughts, he harped on the
cruel obligation of being held asunder from his friend and love;
and gently intimated that Mr. Linton must allow an interview
soon, or he should fear he was purposely deceiving him with empty
promises.
Cathy was a powerful ally at home; and between them they at
length persuaded my master to acquiesce in their having a ride or
a walk together about once a week, under my guardianship, and on
the moors nearest the Grange: for June found him still
declining. Though he had set aside yearly a portion of his
income for my young lady’s fortune, he had a natural desire
that she might retain—or at least return in a short time
to—the house of her ancestors; and he considered her only
prospect of doing that was by a union with his heir; he had no
idea that the latter was failing almost as fast as himself; nor
had any one, I believe: no doctor visited the Heights, and no one
saw Master Heathcliff to make report of his condition among
us. I, for my part, began to fancy my forebodings were
false, and that he must be actually rallying, when he mentioned
riding and walking on the moors, and seemed so earnest in
pursuing his object. I could not picture a father treating
a dying child as tyrannically and wickedly as I afterwards
learned Heathcliff had treated him, to compel this apparent
eagerness: his efforts redoubling the more imminently his
avaricious and unfeeling plans were threatened with defeat by
death.
CHAPTER XXVI
Summer was already past its prime, when Edgar reluctantly
yielded his assent to their entreaties, and Catherine and I set
out on our first ride to join her cousin. It was a close,
sultry day: devoid of sunshine, but with a sky too dappled and
hazy to threaten rain: and our place of meeting had been fixed at
the guide-stone, by the cross-roads. On arriving there,
however, a little herd-boy, despatched as a messenger, told us
that,—‘Maister Linton wer just o’ this side
th’ Heights: and he’d be mitch obleeged to us to gang
on a bit further.’
‘Then Master Linton has forgot the first injunction of
his uncle,’ I observed: ‘he bid us keep on the Grange
land, and here we are off at once.’
‘Well, we’ll turn our horses’ heads round
when we reach him,’ answered my companion; ‘our
excursion shall lie towards home.’
But when we reached him, and that was scarcely a quarter of a
mile from his own door, we found he had no horse; and we were
forced to dismount, and leave ours to graze. He lay on the
heath, awaiting our approach, and did not rise till we came
within a few yards. Then he walked so feebly, and looked so
pale, that I immediately exclaimed,—‘Why, Master
Heathcliff, you are not fit for enjoying a ramble this
morning. How ill you do look!’
Catherine surveyed him with grief and astonishment: she
changed the ejaculation of joy on her lips to one of alarm; and
the congratulation on their long-postponed meeting to an anxious
inquiry, whether he were worse than usual?
‘No—better—better!’ he panted,
trembling, and retaining her hand as if he needed its support,
while his large blue eyes wandered timidly over her; the
hollowness round them transforming to haggard wildness the
languid expression they once possessed.
‘But you have been worse,’ persisted his cousin;
‘worse than when I saw you last; you are thinner,
and—’
‘I’m tired,’ he interrupted,
hurriedly. ‘It is too hot for walking, let us rest
here. And, in the morning, I often feel sick—papa
says I grow so fast.’
Badly satisfied, Cathy sat down, and he reclined beside
her.
‘This is something like your paradise,’ said she,
making an effort at cheerfulness. ‘You recollect the
two days we agreed to spend in the place and way each thought
pleasantest? This is nearly yours, only there are clouds;
but then they are so soft and mellow: it is nicer than
sunshine. Next week, if you can, we’ll ride down to
the Grange Park, and try mine.’
Linton did not appear to remember what she talked of and he
had evidently great difficulty in sustaining any kind of
conversation. His lack of interest in the subjects she
started, and his equal incapacity to contribute to her
entertainment, were so obvious that she could not conceal her
disappointment. An indefinite alteration had come over his
whole person and manner. The pettishness that might be
caressed into fondness, had yielded to a listless apathy; there
was less of the peevish temper of a child which frets and teases
on purpose to be soothed, and more of the self-absorbed
moroseness of a confirmed invalid, repelling consolation, and
ready to regard the good-humoured mirth of others as an
insult. Catherine perceived, as well as I did, that he held
it rather a punishment, than a gratification, to endure our
company; and she made no scruple of proposing, presently, to
depart. That proposal, unexpectedly, roused Linton from his
lethargy, and threw him into a strange state of agitation.
He glanced fearfully towards the Heights, begging she would
remain another half-hour, at least.
‘But I think,’ said Cathy, ‘you’d be
more comfortable at home than sitting here; and I cannot amuse
you to-day, I see, by my tales, and songs, and chatter: you have
grown wiser than I, in these six months; you have little taste
for my diversions now: or else, if I could amuse you, I’d
willingly stay.’
‘Stay to rest yourself,’ he replied.
‘And, Catherine, don’t think or say that I’m
very unwell: it is the heavy weather and heat that make me
dull; and I walked about, before you came, a great deal for
me. Tell uncle I’m in tolerable health, will
you?’
‘I’ll tell him that
you say so,
Linton. I couldn’t affirm that you are,’
observed my young lady, wondering at his pertinacious assertion
of what was evidently an untruth.
‘And be here again next Thursday,’ continued he,
shunning her puzzled gaze. ‘And give him my thanks
for permitting you to come—my best thanks, Catherine.
And—and, if you
did meet my father, and he asked you
about me, don’t lead him to suppose that I’ve been
extremely silent and stupid: don’t look sad and downcast,
as you are doing—he’ll be angry.’
‘I care nothing for his anger,’ exclaimed Cathy,
imagining she would be its object.
‘But I do,’ said her cousin, shuddering.
‘
Don’t provoke him against me, Catherine, for
he is very hard.’
‘Is he severe to you, Master Heathcliff?’ I
inquired. ‘Has he grown weary of indulgence, and
passed from passive to active hatred?’
Linton looked at me, but did not answer; and, after keeping
her seat by his side another ten minutes, during which his head
fell drowsily on his breast, and he uttered nothing except
suppressed moans of exhaustion or pain, Cathy began to seek
solace in looking for bilberries, and sharing the produce of her
researches with me: she did not offer them to him, for she saw
further notice would only weary and annoy.
‘Is it half-an-hour now, Ellen?’ she whispered in
my ear, at last. ‘I can’t tell why we should
stay. He’s asleep, and papa will be wanting us
back.’
‘Well, we must not leave him asleep,’ I answered;
‘wait till he wakes, and be patient. You were mighty
eager to set off, but your longing to see poor Linton has soon
evaporated!’
‘Why did
he wish to see me?’ returned
Catherine. ‘In his crossest humours, formerly, I
liked him better than I do in his present curious mood.
It’s just as if it were a task he was compelled to
perform—this interview—for fear his father should
scold him. But I’m hardly going to come to give Mr.
Heathcliff pleasure; whatever reason he may have for ordering
Linton to undergo this penance. And, though I’m glad
he’s better in health, I’m sorry he’s so much
less pleasant, and so much less affectionate to me.’
‘You think
he is better in health, then?’ I
said.
‘Yes,’ she answered; ‘because he always made
such a great deal of his sufferings, you know. He is not
tolerably well, as he told me to tell papa; but he’s
better, very likely.’
‘There you differ with me, Miss Cathy,’ I
remarked; ‘I should conjecture him to be far
worse.’
Linton here started from his slumber in bewildered terror, and
asked if any one had called his name.
‘No,’ said Catherine; ‘unless in
dreams. I cannot conceive how you manage to doze out of
doors, in the morning.’
‘I thought I heard my father,’ he gasped, glancing
up to the frowning nab above us. ‘You are sure nobody
spoke?’
‘Quite sure,’ replied his cousin.
‘Only Ellen and I were disputing concerning your
health. Are you truly stronger, Linton, than when we
separated in winter? If you be, I’m certain one thing
is not stronger—your regard for me: speak,—are
you?’
The tears gushed from Linton’s eyes as he answered,
‘Yes, yes, I am!’ And, still under the spell of
the imaginary voice, his gaze wandered up and down to detect its
owner.
Cathy rose. ‘For to-day we must part,’ she
said. ‘And I won’t conceal that I have been
sadly disappointed with our meeting; though I’ll mention it
to nobody but you: not that I stand in awe of Mr.
Heathcliff.’
‘Hush,’ murmured Linton; ‘for God’s
sake, hush! He’s coming.’ And he clung to
Catherine’s arm, striving to detain her; but at that
announcement she hastily disengaged herself, and whistled to
Minny, who obeyed her like a dog.
‘I’ll be here next Thursday,’ she cried,
springing to the saddle. ‘Good-bye. Quick,
Ellen!’
And so we left him, scarcely conscious of our departure, so
absorbed was he in anticipating his father’s approach.
Before we reached home, Catherine’s displeasure softened
into a perplexed sensation of pity and regret, largely blended
with vague, uneasy doubts about Linton’s actual
circumstances, physical and social: in which I partook, though I
counselled her not to say much; for a second journey would make
us better judges. My master requested an account of our
ongoings. His nephew’s offering of thanks was duly
delivered, Miss Cathy gently touching on the rest: I also threw
little light on his inquiries, for I hardly knew what to hide and
what to reveal.
CHAPTER XXVII
Seven days glided away, every one marking its course by the
henceforth rapid alteration of Edgar Linton’s state.
The havoc that months had previously wrought was now emulated by
the inroads of hours. Catherine we would fain have deluded
yet; but her own quick spirit refused to delude her: it divined
in secret, and brooded on the dreadful probability, gradually
ripening into certainty. She had not the heart to mention
her ride, when Thursday came round; I mentioned it for her, and
obtained permission to order her out of doors: for the library,
where her father stopped a short time daily—the brief
period he could bear to sit up—and his chamber, had become
her whole world. She grudged each moment that did not find
her bending over his pillow, or seated by his side. Her
countenance grew wan with watching and sorrow, and my master
gladly dismissed her to what he flattered himself would be a
happy change of scene and society; drawing comfort from the hope
that she would not now be left entirely alone after his
death.
He had a fixed idea, I guessed by several observations he let
fall, that, as his nephew resembled him in person, he would
resemble him in mind; for Linton’s letters bore few or no
indications of his defective character. And I, through
pardonable weakness, refrained from correcting the error; asking
myself what good there would be in disturbing his last moments
with information that he had neither power nor opportunity to
turn to account.
We deferred our excursion till the afternoon; a golden
afternoon of August: every breath from the hills so full of life,
that it seemed whoever respired it, though dying, might
revive. Catherine’s face was just like the
landscape—shadows and sunshine flitting over it in rapid
succession; but the shadows rested longer, and the sunshine was
more transient; and her poor little heart reproached itself for
even that passing forgetfulness of its cares.
We discerned Linton watching at the same spot he had selected
before. My young mistress alighted, and told me that, as
she was resolved to stay a very little while, I had better hold
the pony and remain on horseback; but I dissented: I
wouldn’t risk losing sight of the charge committed to me a
minute; so we climbed the slope of heath together. Master
Heathcliff received us with greater animation on this occasion:
not the animation of high spirits though, nor yet of joy; it
looked more like fear.
‘It is late!’ he said, speaking short and with
difficulty. ‘Is not your father very ill? I
thought you wouldn’t come.’
‘
Why won’t you be candid?’ cried
Catherine, swallowing her greeting. ‘Why cannot you
say at once you don’t want me? It is strange, Linton,
that for the second time you have brought me here on purpose,
apparently to distress us both, and for no reason
besides!’
Linton shivered, and glanced at her, half supplicating, half
ashamed; but his cousin’s patience was not sufficient to
endure this enigmatical behaviour.
‘My father
is very ill,’ she said;
‘and why am I called from his bedside? Why
didn’t you send to absolve me from my promise, when you
wished I wouldn’t keep it? Come! I desire an
explanation: playing and trifling are completely banished out of
my mind; and I can’t dance attendance on your affectations
now!’
‘My affectations!’ he murmured; ‘what are
they? For heaven’s sake, Catherine, don’t look
so angry! Despise me as much as you please; I am a
worthless, cowardly wretch: I can’t be scorned enough; but
I’m too mean for your anger. Hate my father, and
spare me for contempt.’
‘Nonsense!’ cried Catherine in a passion.
‘Foolish, silly boy! And there! he trembles: as if I
were really going to touch him! You needn’t bespeak
contempt, Linton: anybody will have it spontaneously at your
service. Get off! I shall return home: it is folly
dragging you from the hearth-stone, and pretending—what do
we pretend? Let go my frock! If I pitied you for
crying and looking so very frightened, you should spurn such
pity. Ellen, tell him how disgraceful this conduct
is. Rise, and don’t degrade yourself into an abject
reptile—
don’t!’
With streaming face and an expression of agony, Linton had
thrown his nerveless frame along the ground: he seemed convulsed
with exquisite terror.
‘Oh!’ he sobbed, ‘I cannot bear it!
Catherine, Catherine, I’m a traitor, too, and I dare not
tell you! But leave me, and I shall be killed!
Dear Catherine, my life is in your hands: and you have
said you loved me, and if you did, it wouldn’t harm
you. You’ll not go, then? kind, sweet, good
Catherine! And perhaps you
will consent—and
he’ll let me die with you!’
My young lady, on witnessing his intense anguish, stooped to
raise him. The old feeling of indulgent tenderness overcame
her vexation, and she grew thoroughly moved and alarmed.
‘Consent to what?’ she asked. ‘To
stay! tell me the meaning of this strange talk, and I will.
You contradict your own words, and distract me! Be calm and
frank, and confess at once all that weighs on your heart.
You wouldn’t injure me, Linton, would you? You
wouldn’t let any enemy hurt me, if you could prevent
it? I’ll believe you are a coward, for yourself, but
not a cowardly betrayer of your best friend.’
‘But my father threatened me,’ gasped the boy,
clasping his attenuated fingers, ‘and I dread him—I
dread him! I
dare not tell!’
‘Oh, well!’ said Catherine, with scornful
compassion, ‘keep your secret:
I’m no
coward. Save yourself: I’m not afraid!’
Her magnanimity provoked his tears: he wept wildly, kissing
her supporting hands, and yet could not summon courage to speak
out. I was cogitating what the mystery might be, and
determined Catherine should never suffer to benefit him or any
one else, by my good will; when, hearing a rustle among the ling,
I looked up and saw Mr. Heathcliff almost close upon us,
descending the Heights. He didn’t cast a glance
towards my companions, though they were sufficiently near for
Linton’s sobs to be audible; but hailing me in the almost
hearty tone he assumed to none besides, and the sincerity of
which I couldn’t avoid doubting, he said—
‘It is something to see you so near to my house,
Nelly. How are you at the Grange? Let us hear.
The rumour goes,’ he added, in a lower tone, ‘that
Edgar Linton is on his death-bed: perhaps they exaggerate his
illness?’
‘No; my master is dying,’ I replied: ‘it is
true enough. A sad thing it will be for us all, but a
blessing for him!’
‘How long will he last, do you think?’ he
asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
‘Because,’ he continued, looking at the two young
people, who were fixed under his eye—Linton appeared as if
he could not venture to stir or raise his head, and Catherine
could not move, on his account—‘because that lad
yonder seems determined to beat me; and I’d thank his uncle
to be quick, and go before him! Hallo! has the whelp been
playing that game long? I
did give him some lessons
about snivelling. Is he pretty lively with Miss Linton
generally?’
‘Lively? no—he has shown the greatest
distress,’ I answered. ‘To see him, I should
say, that instead of rambling with his sweetheart on the hills,
he ought to be in bed, under the hands of a doctor.’
‘He shall be, in a day or two,’ muttered
Heathcliff. ‘But first—get up, Linton!
Get up!’ he shouted. ‘Don’t grovel on the
ground there up, this moment!’
Linton had sunk prostrate again in another paroxysm of
helpless fear, caused by his father’s glance towards him, I
suppose: there was nothing else to produce such
humiliation. He made several efforts to obey, but his
little strength was annihilated for the time, and he fell back
again with a moan. Mr. Heathcliff advanced, and lifted him
to lean against a ridge of turf.
‘Now,’ said he, with curbed ferocity,
‘I’m getting angry and if you don’t command
that paltry spirit of yours—
damn you! get up
directly!’
‘I will, father,’ he panted. ‘Only,
let me alone, or I shall faint. I’ve done as you
wished, I’m sure. Catherine will tell you that
I—that I—have been cheerful. Ah! keep by me,
Catherine; give me your hand.’
‘Take mine,’ said his father; ‘stand on your
feet. There now—she’ll lend you her arm:
that’s right, look at her. You would imagine I was
the devil himself, Miss Linton, to excite such horror. Be
so kind as to walk home with him, will you? He shudders if
I touch him.’
‘Linton dear!’ whispered Catherine, ‘I
can’t go to Wuthering Heights: papa has forbidden me.
He’ll not harm you: why are you so afraid?’
‘I can never re-enter that house,’ he
answered. ‘I’m
not to re-enter it
without you!’
‘Stop!’ cried his father. ‘We’ll
respect Catherine’s filial scruples. Nelly, take him
in, and I’ll follow your advice concerning the doctor,
without delay.’
‘You’ll do well,’ replied I.
‘But I must remain with my mistress: to mind your son is
not my business.’
‘You are very stiff,’ said Heathcliff, ‘I
know that: but you’ll force me to pinch the baby and make
it scream before it moves your charity. Come, then, my
hero. Are you willing to return, escorted by me?’
He approached once more, and made as if he would seize the
fragile being; but, shrinking back, Linton clung to his cousin,
and implored her to accompany him, with a frantic importunity
that admitted no denial. However I disapproved, I
couldn’t hinder her: indeed, how could she have refused him
herself? What was filling him with dread we had no means of
discerning; but there he was, powerless under its gripe, and any
addition seemed capable of shocking him into idiotcy. We
reached the threshold; Catherine walked in, and I stood waiting
till she had conducted the invalid to a chair, expecting her out
immediately; when Mr. Heathcliff, pushing me forward,
exclaimed—‘My house is not stricken with the plague,
Nelly; and I have a mind to be hospitable to-day: sit down, and
allow me to shut the door.’
He shut and locked it also. I started.
‘You shall have tea before you go home,’ he
added. ‘I am by myself. Hareton is gone with
some cattle to the Lees, and Zillah and Joseph are off on a
journey of pleasure; and, though I’m used to being alone,
I’d rather have some interesting company, if I can get
it. Miss Linton, take your seat by
him. I give
you what I have: the present is hardly worth accepting; but I
have nothing else to offer. It is Linton, I mean. How
she does stare! It’s odd what a savage feeling I have
to anything that seems afraid of me! Had I been born where
laws are less strict and tastes less dainty, I should treat
myself to a slow vivisection of those two, as an evening’s
amusement.’
He drew in his breath, struck the table, and swore to himself,
‘By hell! I hate them.’
‘I am not afraid of you!’ exclaimed Catherine, who
could not hear the latter part of his speech. She stepped
close up; her black eyes flashing with passion and
resolution. ‘Give me that key: I will have it!’
she said. ‘I wouldn’t eat or drink here, if I
were starving.’
Heathcliff had the key in his hand that remained on the
table. He looked up, seized with a sort of surprise at her
boldness; or, possibly, reminded, by her voice and glance, of the
person from whom she inherited it. She snatched at the
instrument, and half succeeded in getting it out of his loosened
fingers: but her action recalled him to the present; he recovered
it speedily.
‘Now, Catherine Linton,’ he said, ‘stand
off, or I shall knock you down; and, that will make Mrs. Dean
mad.’
Regardless of this warning, she captured his closed hand and
its contents again. ‘We
will go!’ she repeated,
exerting her utmost efforts to cause the iron muscles to relax;
and finding that her nails made no impression, she applied her
teeth pretty sharply. Heathcliff glanced at me a glance
that kept me from interfering a moment. Catherine was too
intent on his fingers to notice his face. He opened them
suddenly, and resigned the object of dispute; but, ere she had
well secured it, he seized her with the liberated hand, and,
pulling her on his knee, administered with the other a shower of
terrific slaps on both sides of the head, each sufficient to have
fulfilled his threat, had she been able to fall.
At this diabolical violence I rushed on him furiously.
‘You villain!’ I began to cry, ‘you
villain!’ A touch on the chest silenced me: I am
stout, and soon put out of breath; and, what with that and the
rage, I staggered dizzily back and felt ready to suffocate, or to
burst a blood-vessel. The scene was over in two minutes;
Catherine, released, put her two hands to her temples, and looked
just as if she were not sure whether her ears were off or
on. She trembled like a reed, poor thing, and leant against
the table perfectly bewildered.
‘I know how to chastise children, you see,’ said
the scoundrel, grimly, as he stooped to repossess himself of the
key, which had dropped to the floor. ‘Go to Linton
now, as I told you; and cry at your ease! I shall be your
father, to-morrow—all the father you’ll have in a few
days—and you shall have plenty of that. You can bear
plenty; you’re no weakling: you shall have a daily taste,
if I catch such a devil of a temper in your eyes
again!’
Cathy ran to me instead of Linton, and knelt down and put her
burning cheek on my lap, weeping aloud. Her cousin had
shrunk into a corner of the settle, as quiet as a mouse,
congratulating himself, I dare say, that the correction had
alighted on another than him. Mr. Heathcliff, perceiving us
all confounded, rose, and expeditiously made the tea
himself. The cups and saucers were laid ready. He
poured it out, and handed me a cup.
‘Wash away your spleen,’ he said. ‘And
help your own naughty pet and mine. It is not poisoned,
though I prepared it. I’m going out to seek your
horses.’
Our first thought, on his departure, was to force an exit
somewhere. We tried the kitchen door, but that was fastened
outside: we looked at the windows—they were too narrow for
even Cathy’s little figure.
‘Master Linton,’ I cried, seeing we were regularly
imprisoned, ‘you know what your diabolical father is after,
and you shall tell us, or I’ll box your ears, as he has
done your cousin’s.’
‘Yes, Linton, you must tell,’ said
Catherine. ‘It was for your sake I came; and it will
be wickedly ungrateful if you refuse.’
‘Give me some tea, I’m thirsty, and then
I’ll tell you,’ he answered. ‘Mrs. Dean,
go away. I don’t like you standing over me.
Now, Catherine, you are letting your tears fall into my
cup. I won’t drink that. Give me
another.’ Catherine pushed another to him, and wiped
her face. I felt disgusted at the little wretch’s
composure, since he was no longer in terror for himself.
The anguish he had exhibited on the moor subsided as soon as ever
he entered Wuthering Heights; so I guessed he had been menaced
with an awful visitation of wrath if he failed in decoying us
there; and, that accomplished, he had no further immediate
fears.
‘Papa wants us to be married,’ he continued, after
sipping some of the liquid. ‘And he knows your papa
wouldn’t let us marry now; and he’s afraid of my
dying if we wait; so we are to be married in the morning, and you
are to stay here all night; and, if you do as he wishes, you
shall return home next day, and take me with you.’
‘Take you with her, pitiful changeling!’ I
exclaimed. ‘
You marry? Why, the man is
mad! or he thinks us fools, every one. And do you imagine
that beautiful young lady, that healthy, hearty girl, will tie
herself to a little perishing monkey like you? Are you
cherishing the notion that anybody, let alone Miss Catherine
Linton, would have you for a husband? You want whipping for
bringing us in here at all, with your dastardly puling tricks:
and—don’t look so silly, now! I’ve a very
good mind to shake you severely, for your contemptible treachery,
and your imbecile conceit.’
I did give him a slight shaking; but it brought on the cough,
and he took to his ordinary resource of moaning and weeping, and
Catherine rebuked me.
‘Stay all night? No,’ she said, looking
slowly round. ‘Ellen, I’ll burn that door down
but I’ll get out.’
And she would have commenced the execution of her threat
directly, but Linton was up in alarm for his dear self
again. He clasped her in his two feeble arms
sobbing:—‘Won’t you have me, and save me? not
let me come to the Grange? Oh, darling Catherine! you
mustn’t go and leave, after all. You
must obey
my father—you
must!’
‘I must obey my own,’ she replied, ‘and
relieve him from this cruel suspense. The whole
night! What would he think? He’ll be distressed
already. I’ll either break or burn a way out of the
house. Be quiet! You’re in no danger; but if
you hinder me—Linton, I love papa better than
you!’ The mortal terror he felt of Mr.
Heathcliff’s anger restored to the boy his coward’s
eloquence. Catherine was near distraught: still, she
persisted that she must go home, and tried entreaty in her turn,
persuading him to subdue his selfish agony. While they were
thus occupied, our jailor re-entered.
‘Your beasts have trotted off,’ he said,
‘and—now Linton! snivelling again? What has she
been doing to you? Come, come—have done, and get to
bed. In a month or two, my lad, you’ll be able to pay
her back her present tyrannies with a vigorous hand.
You’re pining for pure love, are you not? nothing else in
the world: and she shall have you! There, to bed!
Zillah won’t be here to-night; you must undress
yourself. Hush! hold your noise! Once in your own
room, I’ll not come near you: you needn’t fear.
By chance, you’ve managed tolerably. I’ll look
to the rest.’
He spoke these words, holding the door open for his son to
pass, and the latter achieved his exit exactly as a spaniel might
which suspected the person who attended on it of designing a
spiteful squeeze. The lock was re-secured. Heathcliff
approached the fire, where my mistress and I stood silent.
Catherine looked up, and instinctively raised her hand to her
cheek: his neighbourhood revived a painful sensation.
Anybody else would have been incapable of regarding the childish
act with sternness, but he scowled on her and
muttered—‘Oh! you are not afraid of me? Your
courage is well disguised: you seem damnably afraid!’
‘I
am afraid now,’ she replied,
‘because, if I stay, papa will be miserable: and how can I
endure making him miserable—when he—when he—Mr.
Heathcliff, let
me go home! I promise to marry
Linton: papa would like me to: and I love him. Why should
you wish to force me to do what I’ll willingly do of
myself?’
‘Let him dare to force you,’ I cried.
‘There’s law in the land, thank God! there is; though
we be in an out-of-the-way place. I’d inform if he
were my own son: and it’s felony without benefit of
clergy!’
‘Silence!’ said the ruffian. ‘To the
devil with your clamour! I don’t want
you to
speak. Miss Linton, I shall enjoy myself remarkably in
thinking your father will be miserable: I shall not sleep for
satisfaction. You could have hit on no surer way of fixing
your residence under my roof for the next twenty-four hours than
informing me that such an event would follow. As to your
promise to marry Linton, I’ll take care you shall keep it;
for you shall not quit this place till it is
fulfilled.’
‘Send Ellen, then, to let papa know I’m
safe!’ exclaimed Catherine, weeping bitterly.
‘Or marry me now. Poor papa! Ellen, he’ll
think we’re lost. What shall we do?’
‘Not he! He’ll think you are tired of
waiting on him, and run off for a little amusement,’
answered Heathcliff. ‘You cannot deny that you
entered my house of your own accord, in contempt of his
injunctions to the contrary. And it is quite natural that
you should desire amusement at your age; and that you would weary
of nursing a sick man, and that man
only your
father. Catherine, his happiest days were over when your
days began. He cursed you, I dare say, for coming into the
world (I did, at least); and it would just do if he cursed you as
he went out of it. I’d join him. I
don’t love you! How should I? Weep away.
As far as I can see, it will be your chief diversion hereafter;
unless Linton make amends for other losses: and your provident
parent appears to fancy he may. His letters of advice and
consolation entertained me vastly. In his last he
recommended my jewel to be careful of his; and kind to her when
he got her. Careful and kind—that’s
paternal. But Linton requires his whole stock of care and
kindness for himself. Linton can play the little tyrant
well. He’ll undertake to torture any number of cats,
if their teeth be drawn and their claws pared. You’ll
be able to tell his uncle fine tales of his
kindness, when
you get home again, I assure you.’
‘You’re right there!’ I said; ‘explain
your son’s character. Show his resemblance to
yourself: and then, I hope, Miss Cathy will think twice before
she takes the cockatrice!’
‘I don’t much mind speaking of his amiable
qualities now,’ he answered; ‘because she must either
accept him or remain a prisoner, and you along with her, till
your master dies. I can detain you both, quite concealed,
here. If you doubt, encourage her to retract her word, and
you’ll have an opportunity of judging!’
‘I’ll not retract my word,’ said
Catherine. ‘I’ll marry him within this hour, if
I may go to Thrushcross Grange afterwards. Mr. Heathcliff,
you’re a cruel man, but you’re not a fiend; and you
won’t, from
mere malice, destroy irrevocably all my
happiness. If papa thought I had left him on purpose, and
if he died before I returned, could I bear to live?
I’ve given over crying: but I’m going to kneel here,
at your knee; and I’ll not get up, and I’ll not take
my eyes from your face till you look back at me! No,
don’t turn away!
do look! you’ll see nothing
to provoke you. I don’t hate you. I’m not
angry that you struck me. Have you never loved
anybody in all your life, uncle?
never? Ah!
you must look once. I’m so wretched, you can’t
help being sorry and pitying me.’
‘Keep your eft’s fingers off; and move, or
I’ll kick you!’ cried Heathcliff, brutally repulsing
her. ‘I’d rather be hugged by a snake.
How the devil can you dream of fawning on me? I
detest you!’
He shrugged his shoulders: shook himself, indeed, as if his
flesh crept with aversion; and thrust back his chair; while I got
up, and opened my mouth, to commence a downright torrent of
abuse. But I was rendered dumb in the middle of the first
sentence, by a threat that I should be shown into a room by
myself the very next syllable I uttered. It was growing
dark—we heard a sound of voices at the garden-gate.
Our host hurried out instantly:
he had his wits about him;
we had not. There was a talk of two or three
minutes, and he returned alone.
‘I thought it had been your cousin Hareton,’ I
observed to Catherine. ‘I wish he would arrive!
Who knows but he might take our part?’
‘It was three servants sent to seek you from the
Grange,’ said Heathcliff, overhearing me. ‘You
should have opened a lattice and called out: but I could swear
that chit is glad you didn’t. She’s glad to be
obliged to stay, I’m certain.’
At learning the chance we had missed, we both gave vent to our
grief without control; and he allowed us to wail on till nine
o’clock. Then he bid us go upstairs, through the
kitchen, to Zillah’s chamber; and I whispered my companion
to obey: perhaps we might contrive to get through the window
there, or into a garret, and out by its skylight. The
window, however, was narrow, like those below, and the garret
trap was safe from our attempts; for we were fastened in as
before. We neither of us lay down: Catherine took her
station by the lattice, and watched anxiously for morning; a deep
sigh being the only answer I could obtain to my frequent
entreaties that she would try to rest. I seated myself in a
chair, and rocked to and fro, passing harsh judgment on my many
derelictions of duty; from which, it struck me then, all the
misfortunes of my employers sprang. It was not the case, in
reality, I am aware; but it was, in my imagination, that dismal
night; and I thought Heathcliff himself less guilty than I.
At seven o’clock he came, and inquired if Miss Linton
had risen. She ran to the door immediately, and answered,
‘Yes.’ ‘Here, then,’ he said,
opening it, and pulling her out. I rose to follow, but he
turned the lock again. I demanded my release.
‘Be patient,’ he replied; ‘I’ll send
up your breakfast in a while.’
I thumped on the panels, and rattled the latch angrily and
Catherine asked why I was still shut up? He answered, I
must try to endure it another hour, and they went away. I
endured it two or three hours; at length, I heard a footstep: not
Heathcliff’s.
‘I’ve brought you something to eat,’ said a
voice; ‘oppen t’ door!’
Complying eagerly, I beheld Hareton, laden with food enough to
last me all day.
‘Tak’ it,’ he added, thrusting the tray into
my hand.
‘Stay one minute,’ I began.
‘Nay,’ cried he, and retired, regardless of any
prayers I could pour forth to detain him.
And there I remained enclosed the whole day, and the whole of
the next night; and another, and another. Five nights and
four days I remained, altogether, seeing nobody but Hareton once
every morning; and he was a model of a jailor: surly, and dumb,
and deaf to every attempt at moving his sense of justice or
compassion.
CHAPTER XXVIII
On the fifth morning, or rather afternoon, a different step
approached—lighter and shorter; and, this time, the person
entered the room. It was Zillah; donned in her scarlet
shawl, with a black silk bonnet on her head, and a willow-basket
swung to her arm.
‘Eh, dear! Mrs. Dean!’ she exclaimed.
‘Well! there is a talk about you at Gimmerton. I
never thought but you were sunk in the Blackhorse marsh, and
missy with you, till master told me you’d been found, and
he’d lodged you here! What! and you must have got on
an island, sure? And how long were you in the hole?
Did master save you, Mrs. Dean? But you’re not so
thin—you’ve not been so poorly, have you?’
‘Your master is a true scoundrel!’ I
replied. ‘But he shall answer for it. He
needn’t have raised that tale: it shall all be laid
bare!’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Zillah.
‘It’s not his tale: they tell that in the
village—about your being lost in the marsh; and I calls to
Earnshaw, when I come in—“Eh, they’s queer
things, Mr. Hareton, happened since I went off. It’s
a sad pity of that likely young lass, and cant Nelly
Dean.” He stared. I thought he had not heard
aught, so I told him the rumour. The master listened, and
he just smiled to himself, and said, “If they have been in
the marsh, they are out now, Zillah. Nelly Dean is lodged,
at this minute, in your room. You can tell her to flit,
when you go up; here is the key. The bog-water got into her
head, and she would have run home quite flighty; but I fixed her
till she came round to her senses. You can bid her go to
the Grange at once, if she be able, and carry a message from me,
that her young lady will follow in time to attend the
squire’s funeral.”’
‘Mr. Edgar is not dead?’ I gasped.
‘Oh! Zillah, Zillah!’
‘No, no; sit you down, my good mistress,’ she
replied; ‘you’re right sickly yet. He’s
not dead; Doctor Kenneth thinks he may last another day. I
met him on the road and asked.’
Instead of sitting down, I snatched my outdoor things, and
hastened below, for the way was free. On entering the
house, I looked about for some one to give information of
Catherine. The place was filled with sunshine, and the door
stood wide open; but nobody seemed at hand. As I hesitated
whether to go off at once, or return and seek my mistress, a
slight cough drew my attention to the hearth. Linton lay on
the settle, sole tenant, sucking a stick of sugar-candy, and
pursuing my movements with apathetic eyes. ‘Where is
Miss Catherine?’ I demanded sternly, supposing I could
frighten him into giving intelligence, by catching him thus,
alone. He sucked on like an innocent.
‘Is she gone?’ I said.
‘No,’ he replied; ‘she’s upstairs:
she’s not to go; we won’t let her.’
‘You won’t let her, little idiot!’ I
exclaimed. ‘Direct me to her room immediately, or
I’ll make you sing out sharply.’
‘Papa would make you sing out, if you attempted to get
there,’ he answered. ‘He says I’m not to
be soft with Catherine: she’s my wife, and it’s
shameful that she should wish to leave me. He says she
hates me and wants me to die, that she may have my money; but she
shan’t have it: and she shan’t go home! She
never shall!—she may cry, and be sick as much as she
pleases!’
He resumed his former occupation, closing his lids, as if he
meant to drop asleep.
‘Master Heathcliff,’ I resumed, ‘have you
forgotten all Catherine’s kindness to you last winter, when
you affirmed you loved her, and when she brought you books and
sung you songs, and came many a time through wind and snow to see
you? She wept to miss one evening, because you would be
disappointed; and you felt then that she was a hundred times too
good to you: and now you believe the lies your father tells,
though you know he detests you both. And you join him
against her. That’s fine gratitude, is it
not?’
The corner of Linton’s mouth fell, and he took the
sugar-candy from his lips.
‘Did she come to Wuthering Heights because she hated
you?’ I continued. ‘Think for yourself!
As to your money, she does not even know that you will have
any. And you say she’s sick; and yet you leave her
alone, up there in a strange house! You who have felt what
it is to be so neglected! You could pity your own
sufferings; and she pitied them, too; but you won’t pity
hers! I shed tears, Master Heathcliff, you see—an
elderly woman, and a servant merely—and you, after
pretending such affection, and having reason to worship her
almost, store every tear you have for yourself, and lie there
quite at ease. Ah! you’re a heartless, selfish
boy!’
‘I can’t stay with her,’ he answered
crossly. ‘I’ll not stay by myself. She
cries so I can’t bear it. And she won’t give
over, though I say I’ll call my father. I did call
him once, and he threatened to strangle her if she was not quiet;
but she began again the instant he left the room, moaning and
grieving all night long, though I screamed for vexation that I
couldn’t sleep.’
‘Is Mr. Heathcliff out?’ I inquired, perceiving
that the wretched creature had no power to sympathize with his
cousin’s mental tortures.
‘He’s in the court,’ he replied,
‘talking to Doctor Kenneth; who says uncle is dying, truly,
at last. I’m glad, for I shall be master of the
Grange after him. Catherine always spoke of it as her
house. It isn’t hers! It’s mine: papa
says everything she has is mine. All her nice books are
mine; she offered to give me them, and her pretty birds, and her
pony Minny, if I would get the key of our room, and let her out;
but I told her she had nothing to give, they were all, all
mine. And then she cried, and took a little picture from
her neck, and said I should have that; two pictures in a gold
case, on one side her mother, and on the other uncle, when they
were young. That was yesterday—I said they were mine,
too; and tried to get them from her. The spiteful thing
wouldn’t let me: she pushed me off, and hurt me. I
shrieked out—that frightens her—she heard papa
coming, and she broke the hinges and divided the case, and gave
me her mother’s portrait; the other she attempted to hide:
but papa asked what was the matter, and I explained it. He
took the one I had away, and ordered her to resign hers to me;
she refused, and he—he struck her down, and wrenched it off
the chain, and crushed it with his foot.’
‘And were you pleased to see her struck?’ I asked:
having my designs in encouraging his talk.
‘I winked,’ he answered: ‘I wink to see my
father strike a dog or a horse, he does it so hard. Yet I
was glad at first—she deserved punishing for pushing me:
but when papa was gone, she made me come to the window and showed
me her cheek cut on the inside, against her teeth, and her mouth
filling with blood; and then she gathered up the bits of the
picture, and went and sat down with her face to the wall, and she
has never spoken to me since: and I sometimes think she
can’t speak for pain. I don’t like to think so;
but she’s a naughty thing for crying continually; and she
looks so pale and wild, I’m afraid of her.’
‘And you can get the key if you choose?’ I
said.
‘Yes, when I am up-stairs,’ he answered;
‘but I can’t walk up-stairs now.’
‘In what apartment is it?’ I asked.
‘Oh,’ he cried, ‘I shan’t tell
you where it is. It is our secret. Nobody,
neither Hareton nor Zillah, is to know. There! you’ve
tired me—go away, go away!’ And he turned his
face on to his arm, and shut his eyes again.
I considered it best to depart without seeing Mr. Heathcliff,
and bring a rescue for my young lady from the Grange. On
reaching it, the astonishment of my fellow-servants to see me,
and their joy also, was intense; and when they heard that their
little mistress was safe, two or three were about to hurry up and
shout the news at Mr. Edgar’s door: but I bespoke the
announcement of it myself. How changed I found him, even in
those few days! He lay an image of sadness and resignation
awaiting his death. Very young he looked: though his actual
age was thirty-nine, one would have called him ten years younger,
at least. He thought of Catherine; for he murmured her
name. I touched his hand, and spoke.
‘Catherine is coming, dear master!’ I whispered;
‘she is alive and well; and will be here, I hope,
to-night.’
I trembled at the first effects of this intelligence: he half
rose up, looked eagerly round the apartment, and then sank back
in a swoon. As soon as he recovered, I related our
compulsory visit, and detention at the Heights. I said
Heathcliff forced me to go in: which was not quite true. I
uttered as little as possible against Linton; nor did I describe
all his father’s brutal conduct—my intentions being
to add no bitterness, if I could help it, to his already
over-flowing cup.
He divined that one of his enemy’s purposes was to
secure the personal property, as well as the estate, to his son:
or rather himself; yet why he did not wait till his decease was a
puzzle to my master, because ignorant how nearly he and his
nephew would quit the world together. However, he felt that
his will had better be altered: instead of leaving
Catherine’s fortune at her own disposal, he determined to
put it in the hands of trustees for her use during life, and for
her children, if she had any, after her. By that means, it
could not fall to Mr. Heathcliff should Linton die.
Having received his orders, I despatched a man to fetch the
attorney, and four more, provided with serviceable weapons, to
demand my young lady of her jailor. Both parties were
delayed very late. The single servant returned first.
He said Mr. Green, the lawyer, was out when he arrived at his
house, and he had to wait two hours for his re-entrance; and then
Mr. Green told him he had a little business in the village that
must be done; but he would be at Thrushcross Grange before
morning. The four men came back unaccompanied also.
They brought word that Catherine was ill: too ill to quit her
room; and Heathcliff would not suffer them to see her. I
scolded the stupid fellows well for listening to that tale, which
I would not carry to my master; resolving to take a whole bevy up
to the Heights, at day-light, and storm it literally, unless the
prisoner were quietly surrendered to us. Her father
shall see her, I vowed, and vowed again, if that devil be
killed on his own doorstones in trying to prevent it!
Happily, I was spared the journey and the trouble. I had
gone down-stairs at three o’clock to fetch a jug of water;
and was passing through the hall with it in my hand, when a sharp
knock at the front door made me jump. ‘Oh! it is
Green,’ I said, recollecting myself—‘only
Green,’ and I went on, intending to send somebody else to
open it; but the knock was repeated: not loud, and still
importunately. I put the jug on the banister and hastened
to admit him myself. The harvest moon shone clear
outside. It was not the attorney. My own sweet little
mistress sprang on my neck sobbing, ‘Ellen, Ellen! Is
papa alive?’
‘Yes,’ I cried: ‘yes, my angel, he is, God
be thanked, you are safe with us again!’
She wanted to run, breathless as she was, up-stairs to Mr.
Linton’s room; but I compelled her to sit down on a chair,
and made her drink, and washed her pale face, chafing it into a
faint colour with my apron. Then I said I must go first,
and tell of her arrival; imploring her to say, she should be
happy with young Heathcliff. She stared, but soon
comprehending why I counselled her to utter the falsehood, she
assured me she would not complain.
I couldn’t abide to be present at their meeting. I
stood outside the chamber-door a quarter of an hour, and hardly
ventured near the bed, then. All was composed, however:
Catherine’s despair was as silent as her father’s
joy. She supported him calmly, in appearance; and he fixed
on her features his raised eyes that seemed dilating with
ecstasy.
He died blissfully, Mr. Lockwood: he died so. Kissing
her cheek, he murmured,—‘I am going to her; and you,
darling child, shall come to us!’ and never stirred or
spoke again; but continued that rapt, radiant gaze, till his
pulse imperceptibly stopped and his soul departed. None
could have noticed the exact minute of his death, it was so
entirely without a struggle.
Whether Catherine had spent her tears, or whether the grief
were too weighty to let them flow, she sat there dry-eyed till
the sun rose: she sat till noon, and would still have remained
brooding over that deathbed, but I insisted on her coming away
and taking some repose. It was well I succeeded in removing
her, for at dinner-time appeared the lawyer, having called at
Wuthering Heights to get his instructions how to behave. He
had sold himself to Mr. Heathcliff: that was the cause of his
delay in obeying my master’s summons. Fortunately, no
thought of worldly affairs crossed the latter’s mind, to
disturb him, after his daughter’s arrival.
Mr. Green took upon himself to order everything and everybody
about the place. He gave all the servants but me, notice to
quit. He would have carried his delegated authority to the
point of insisting that Edgar Linton should not be buried beside
his wife, but in the chapel, with his family. There was the
will, however, to hinder that, and my loud protestations against
any infringement of its directions. The funeral was hurried
over; Catherine, Mrs. Linton Heathcliff now, was suffered to stay
at the Grange till her father’s corpse had quitted it.
She told me that her anguish had at last spurred Linton to
incur the risk of liberating her. She heard the men I sent
disputing at the door, and she gathered the sense of
Heathcliff’s answer. It drove her desperate.
Linton who had been conveyed up to the little parlour soon after
I left, was terrified into fetching the key before his father
re-ascended. He had the cunning to unlock and re-lock the
door, without shutting it; and when he should have gone to bed,
he begged to sleep with Hareton, and his petition was granted for
once. Catherine stole out before break of day. She
dared not try the doors lest the dogs should raise an alarm; she
visited the empty chambers and examined their windows; and,
luckily, lighting on her mother’s, she got easily out of
its lattice, and on to the ground, by means of the fir-tree close
by. Her accomplice suffered for his share in the escape,
notwithstanding his timid contrivances.
CHAPTER XXIX
The evening after the funeral, my young lady and I were seated
in the library; now musing mournfully—one of us
despairingly—on our loss, now venturing conjectures as to
the gloomy future.
We had just agreed the best destiny which could await
Catherine would be a permission to continue resident at the
Grange; at least during Linton’s life: he being allowed to
join her there, and I to remain as housekeeper. That seemed
rather too favourable an arrangement to be hoped for; and yet I
did hope, and began to cheer up under the prospect of retaining
my home and my employment, and, above all, my beloved young
mistress; when a servant—one of the discarded ones, not yet
departed—rushed hastily in, and said ‘that devil
Heathcliff’ was coming through the court: should he fasten
the door in his face?
If we had been mad enough to order that proceeding, we had not
time. He made no ceremony of knocking or announcing his
name: he was master, and availed himself of the master’s
privilege to walk straight in, without saying a word. The
sound of our informant’s voice directed him to the library;
he entered and motioning him out, shut the door.
It was the same room into which he had been ushered, as a
guest, eighteen years before: the same moon shone through the
window; and the same autumn landscape lay outside. We had
not yet lighted a candle, but all the apartment was visible, even
to the portraits on the wall: the splendid head of Mrs. Linton,
and the graceful one of her husband. Heathcliff advanced to
the hearth. Time had little altered his person
either. There was the same man: his dark face rather
sallower and more composed, his frame a stone or two heavier,
perhaps, and no other difference. Catherine had risen with
an impulse to dash out, when she saw him.
‘Stop!’ he said, arresting her by the arm.
‘No more runnings away! Where would you go?
I’m come to fetch you home; and I hope you’ll be a
dutiful daughter and not encourage my son to further
disobedience. I was embarrassed how to punish him when I
discovered his part in the business: he’s such a cobweb, a
pinch would annihilate him; but you’ll see by his look that
he has received his due! I brought him down one evening,
the day before yesterday, and just set him in a chair, and never
touched him afterwards. I sent Hareton out, and we had the
room to ourselves. In two hours, I called Joseph to carry
him up again; and since then my presence is as potent on his
nerves as a ghost; and I fancy he sees me often, though I am not
near. Hareton says he wakes and shrieks in the night by the
hour together, and calls you to protect him from me; and, whether
you like your precious mate, or not, you must come: he’s
your concern now; I yield all my interest in him to
you.’
‘Why not let Catherine continue here,’ I pleaded,
‘and send Master Linton to her? As you hate them
both, you’d not miss them: they can only be a daily plague
to your unnatural heart.’
‘I’m seeking a tenant for the Grange,’ he
answered; ‘and I want my children about me, to be
sure. Besides, that lass owes me her services for her
bread. I’m not going to nurture her in luxury and
idleness after Linton is gone. Make haste and get ready,
now; and don’t oblige me to compel you.’
‘I shall,’ said Catherine. ‘Linton is
all I have to love in the world, and though you have done what
you could to make him hateful to me, and me to him, you cannot
make us hate each other. And I defy you to hurt him when I
am by, and I defy you to frighten me!’
‘You are a boastful champion,’ replied Heathcliff;
‘but I don’t like you well enough to hurt him: you
shall get the full benefit of the torment, as long as it
lasts. It is not I who will make him hateful to
you—it is his own sweet spirit. He’s as bitter
as gall at your desertion and its consequences: don’t
expect thanks for this noble devotion. I heard him draw a
pleasant picture to Zillah of what he would do if he were as
strong as I: the inclination is there, and his very weakness will
sharpen his wits to find a substitute for strength.’
‘I know he has a bad nature,’ said Catherine:
‘he’s your son. But I’m glad I’ve a
better, to forgive it; and I know he loves me, and for that
reason I love him. Mr. Heathcliff
you have
nobody to love you; and, however miserable you make us, we
shall still have the revenge of thinking that your cruelty arises
from your greater misery. You
are miserable, are you
not? Lonely, like the devil, and envious like him?
Nobody loves you—
nobody will cry for you when
you die! I wouldn’t be you!’
Catherine spoke with a kind of dreary triumph: she seemed to
have made up her mind to enter into the spirit of her future
family, and draw pleasure from the griefs of her enemies.
‘You shall be sorry to be yourself presently,’
said her father-in-law, ‘if you stand there another
minute. Begone, witch, and get your things!’
She scornfully withdrew. In her absence I began to beg
for Zillah’s place at the Heights, offering to resign mine
to her; but he would suffer it on no account. He bid me be
silent; and then, for the first time, allowed himself a glance
round the room and a look at the pictures. Having studied
Mrs. Linton’s, he said—‘I shall have that
home. Not because I need it, but—’ He
turned abruptly to the fire, and continued, with what, for lack
of a better word, I must call a smile—‘I’ll
tell you what I did yesterday! I got the sexton, who was
digging Linton’s grave, to remove the earth off her coffin
lid, and I opened it. I thought, once, I would have stayed
there: when I saw her face again—it is hers yet!—he
had hard work to stir me; but he said it would change if the air
blew on it, and so I struck one side of the coffin loose, and
covered it up: not Linton’s side, damn him! I wish
he’d been soldered in lead. And I bribed the sexton
to pull it away when I’m laid there, and slide mine out
too; I’ll have it made so: and then by the time Linton gets
to us he’ll not know which is which!’
‘You were very wicked, Mr. Heathcliff!’ I
exclaimed; ‘were you not ashamed to disturb the
dead?’
‘I disturbed nobody, Nelly,’ he replied;
‘and I gave some ease to myself. I shall be a great
deal more comfortable now; and you’ll have a better chance
of keeping me underground, when I get there. Disturbed
her? No! she has disturbed me, night and day, through
eighteen years—incessantly—remorselessly—till
yesternight; and yesternight I was tranquil. I dreamt I was
sleeping the last sleep by that sleeper, with my heart stopped
and my cheek frozen against hers.’
‘And if she had been dissolved into earth, or worse,
what would you have dreamt of then?’ I said.
‘Of dissolving with her, and being more happy
still!’ he answered. ‘Do you suppose I dread
any change of that sort? I expected such a transformation
on raising the lid—but I’m better pleased that it
should not commence till I share it. Besides, unless I had
received a distinct impression of her passionless features, that
strange feeling would hardly have been removed. It began
oddly. You know I was wild after she died; and eternally,
from dawn to dawn, praying her to return to me her spirit!
I have a strong faith in ghosts: I have a conviction that they
can, and do, exist among us! The day she was buried, there
came a fall of snow. In the evening I went to the
churchyard. It blew bleak as winter—all round was
solitary. I didn’t fear that her fool of a husband
would wander up the glen so late; and no one else had business to
bring them there. Being alone, and conscious two yards of
loose earth was the sole barrier between us, I said to
myself—“I’ll have her in my arms again!
If she be cold, I’ll think it is this north wind that
chills
me; and if she be motionless, it is
sleep.” I got a spade from the tool-house, and began
to delve with all my might—it scraped the coffin; I fell to
work with my hands; the wood commenced cracking about the screws;
I was on the point of attaining my object, when it seemed that I
heard a sigh from some one above, close at the edge of the grave,
and bending down. “If I can only get this off,”
I muttered, “I wish they may shovel in the earth over us
both!” and I wrenched at it more desperately still.
There was another sigh, close at my ear. I appeared to feel
the warm breath of it displacing the sleet-laden wind. I
knew no living thing in flesh and blood was by; but, as certainly
as you perceive the approach to some substantial body in the
dark, though it cannot be discerned, so certainly I felt that
Cathy was there: not under me, but on the earth. A sudden
sense of relief flowed from my heart through every limb. I
relinquished my labour of agony, and turned consoled at once:
unspeakably consoled. Her presence was with me: it remained
while I re-filled the grave, and led me home. You may
laugh, if you will; but I was sure I should see her there.
I was sure she was with me, and I could not help talking to
her. Having reached the Heights, I rushed eagerly to the
door. It was fastened; and, I remember, that accursed
Earnshaw and my wife opposed my entrance. I remember
stopping to kick the breath out of him, and then hurrying
up-stairs, to my room and hers. I looked round
impatiently—I felt her by me—I could
almost
see her, and yet I
could not! I ought to have sweat
blood then, from the anguish of my yearning—from the
fervour of my supplications to have but one glimpse! I had
not one. She showed herself, as she often was in life, a
devil to me! And, since then, sometimes more and sometimes
less, I’ve been the sport of that intolerable
torture! Infernal! keeping my nerves at such a stretch
that, if they had not resembled catgut, they would long ago have
relaxed to the feebleness of Linton’s. When I sat in
the house with Hareton, it seemed that on going out I should meet
her; when I walked on the moors I should meet her coming
in. When I went from home I hastened to return; she
must be somewhere at the Heights, I was certain! And
when I slept in her chamber—I was beaten out of that.
I couldn’t lie there; for the moment I closed my eyes, she
was either outside the window, or sliding back the panels, or
entering the room, or even resting her darling head on the same
pillow as she did when a child; and I must open my lids to
see. And so I opened and closed them a hundred times a
night—to be always disappointed! It racked me!
I’ve often groaned aloud, till that old rascal Joseph no
doubt believed that my conscience was playing the fiend inside of
me. Now, since I’ve seen her, I’m
pacified—a little. It was a strange way of killing:
not by inches, but by fractions of hairbreadths, to beguile me
with the spectre of a hope through eighteen years!’
Mr. Heathcliff paused and wiped his forehead; his hair clung
to it, wet with perspiration; his eyes were fixed on the red
embers of the fire, the brows not contracted, but raised next the
temples; diminishing the grim aspect of his countenance, but
imparting a peculiar look of trouble, and a painful appearance of
mental tension towards one absorbing subject. He only half
addressed me, and I maintained silence. I didn’t like
to hear him talk! After a short period he resumed his
meditation on the picture, took it down and leant it against the
sofa to contemplate it at better advantage; and while so occupied
Catherine entered, announcing that she was ready, when her pony
should be saddled.
‘Send that over to-morrow,’ said Heathcliff to me;
then turning to her, he added: ‘You may do without your
pony: it is a fine evening, and you’ll need no ponies at
Wuthering Heights; for what journeys you take, your own feet will
serve you. Come along.’
‘Good-bye, Ellen!’ whispered my dear little
mistress.
As she kissed me, her lips felt like ice. ‘Come
and see me, Ellen; don’t forget.’
‘Take care you do no such thing, Mrs. Dean!’ said
her new father. ‘When I wish to speak to you
I’ll come here. I want none of your prying at my
house!’
He signed her to precede him; and casting back a look that cut
my heart, she obeyed. I watched them, from the window, walk
down the garden. Heathcliff fixed Catherine’s arm
under his: though she disputed the act at first evidently; and
with rapid strides he hurried her into the alley, whose trees
concealed them.
CHAPTER XXX
I have paid a visit to the Heights, but I have not seen her
since she left: Joseph held the door in his hand when I called to
ask after her, and wouldn’t let me pass. He said Mrs.
Linton was ‘thrang,’ and the master was not in.
Zillah has told me something of the way they go on, otherwise I
should hardly know who was dead and who living. She thinks
Catherine haughty, and does not like her, I can guess by her
talk. My young lady asked some aid of her when she first
came; but Mr. Heathcliff told her to follow her own business, and
let his daughter-in-law look after herself; and Zillah willingly
acquiesced, being a narrow-minded, selfish woman. Catherine
evinced a child’s annoyance at this neglect; repaid it with
contempt, and thus enlisted my informant among her enemies, as
securely as if she had done her some great wrong. I had a
long talk with Zillah about six weeks ago, a little before you
came, one day when we foregathered on the moor; and this is what
she told me.
‘The first thing Mrs. Linton did,’ she said,
‘on her arrival at the Heights, was to run up-stairs,
without even wishing good-evening to me and Joseph; she shut
herself into Linton’s room, and remained till
morning. Then, while the master and Earnshaw were at
breakfast, she entered the house, and asked all in a quiver if
the doctor might be sent for? her cousin was very ill.
‘“We know that!” answered Heathcliff;
“but his life is not worth a farthing, and I won’t
spend a farthing on him.”
‘“But I cannot tell how to do,” she said;
“and if nobody will help me, he’ll die!”
‘“Walk out of the room,” cried the master,
“and let me never hear a word more about him! None
here care what becomes of him; if you do, act the nurse; if you
do not, lock him up and leave him.”
‘Then she began to bother me, and I said I’d had
enough plague with the tiresome thing; we each had our tasks, and
hers was to wait on Linton: Mr. Heathcliff bid me leave that
labour to her.
‘How they managed together, I can’t tell. I
fancy he fretted a great deal, and moaned hisseln night and day;
and she had precious little rest: one could guess by her white
face and heavy eyes. She sometimes came into the kitchen
all wildered like, and looked as if she would fain beg
assistance; but I was not going to disobey the master: I never
dare disobey him, Mrs. Dean; and, though I thought it wrong that
Kenneth should not be sent for, it was no concern of mine either
to advise or complain, and I always refused to meddle. Once
or twice, after we had gone to bed, I’ve happened to open
my door again and seen her sitting crying on the
stairs’-top; and then I’ve shut myself in quick, for
fear of being moved to interfere. I did pity her then,
I’m sure: still I didn’t wish to lose my place, you
know.
‘At last, one night she came boldly into my chamber, and
frightened me out of my wits, by saying, “Tell Mr.
Heathcliff that his son is dying—I’m sure he is, this
time. Get up, instantly, and tell him.”
‘Having uttered this speech, she vanished again. I
lay a quarter of an hour listening and trembling. Nothing
stirred—the house was quiet.
‘She’s mistaken, I said to myself.
He’s got over it. I needn’t disturb them; and I
began to doze. But my sleep was marred a second time by a
sharp ringing of the bell—the only bell we have, put up on
purpose for Linton; and the master called to me to see what was
the matter, and inform them that he wouldn’t have that
noise repeated.
‘I delivered Catherine’s message. He cursed
to himself, and in a few minutes came out with a lighted candle,
and proceeded to their room. I followed. Mrs.
Heathcliff was seated by the bedside, with her hands folded on
her knees. Her father-in-law went up, held the light to
Linton’s face, looked at him, and touched him; afterwards
he turned to her.
‘“Now—Catherine,” he said, “how
do you feel?”
‘She was dumb.
‘“How do you feel, Catherine?” he
repeated.
‘“He’s safe, and I’m free,” she
answered: “I should feel well—but,” she
continued, with a bitterness she couldn’t conceal,
“you have left me so long to struggle against death alone,
that I feel and see only death! I feel like
death!”
‘And she looked like it, too! I gave her a little
wine. Hareton and Joseph, who had been wakened by the
ringing and the sound of feet, and heard our talk from outside,
now entered. Joseph was fain, I believe, of the lad’s
removal; Hareton seemed a thought bothered: though he was more
taken up with staring at Catherine than thinking of Linton.
But the master bid him get off to bed again: we didn’t want
his help. He afterwards made Joseph remove the body to his
chamber, and told me to return to mine, and Mrs. Heathcliff
remained by herself.
‘In the morning, he sent me to tell her she must come
down to breakfast: she had undressed, and appeared going to
sleep, and said she was ill; at which I hardly wondered. I
informed Mr. Heathcliff, and he replied,—“Well, let
her be till after the funeral; and go up now and then to get her
what is needful; and, as soon as she seems better, tell
me.”’
Cathy stayed upstairs a fortnight, according to Zillah; who
visited her twice a day, and would have been rather more
friendly, but her attempts at increasing kindness were proudly
and promptly repelled.
Heathcliff went up once, to show her Linton’s
will. He had bequeathed the whole of his, and what had been
her, moveable property, to his father: the poor creature was
threatened, or coaxed, into that act during her week’s
absence, when his uncle died. The lands, being a minor, he
could not meddle with. However, Mr. Heathcliff has claimed
and kept them in his wife’s right and his also: I suppose
legally; at any rate, Catherine, destitute of cash and friends,
cannot disturb his possession.
‘Nobody,’ said Zillah, ‘ever approached her
door, except that once, but I; and nobody asked anything about
her. The first occasion of her coming down into the house
was on a Sunday afternoon. She had cried out, when I
carried up her dinner, that she couldn’t bear any longer
being in the cold; and I told her the master was going to
Thrushcross Grange, and Earnshaw and I needn’t hinder her
from descending; so, as soon as she heard Heathcliff’s
horse trot off, she made her appearance, donned in black, and her
yellow curls combed back behind her ears as plain as a Quaker:
she couldn’t comb them out.
‘Joseph and I generally go to chapel on Sundays:’
the kirk, you know, has no minister now, explained Mrs. Dean; and
they call the Methodists’ or Baptists’ place (I
can’t say which it is) at Gimmerton, a chapel.
‘Joseph had gone,’ she continued, ‘but I
thought proper to bide at home. Young folks are always the
better for an elder’s over-looking; and Hareton, with all
his bashfulness, isn’t a model of nice behaviour. I
let him know that his cousin would very likely sit with us, and
she had been always used to see the Sabbath respected; so he had
as good leave his guns and bits of indoor work alone, while she
stayed. He coloured up at the news, and cast his eyes over
his hands and clothes. The train-oil and gunpowder were
shoved out of sight in a minute. I saw he meant to give her
his company; and I guessed, by his way, he wanted to be
presentable; so, laughing, as I durst not laugh when the master
is by, I offered to help him, if he would, and joked at his
confusion. He grew sullen, and began to swear.
‘Now, Mrs. Dean,’ Zillah went on, seeing me not
pleased by her manner, ‘you happen think your young lady
too fine for Mr. Hareton; and happen you’re right: but I
own I should love well to bring her pride a peg lower. And
what will all her learning and her daintiness do for her,
now? She’s as poor as you or I: poorer, I’ll be
bound: you’re saying, and I’m doing my little all
that road.’
Hareton allowed Zillah to give him her aid; and she flattered
him into a good humour; so, when Catherine came, half forgetting
her former insults, he tried to make himself agreeable, by the
housekeeper’s account.
‘Missis walked in,’ she said, ‘as chill as
an icicle, and as high as a princess. I got up and offered
her my seat in the arm-chair. No, she turned up her nose at
my civility. Earnshaw rose, too, and bid her come to the
settle, and sit close by the fire: he was sure she was
starved.
‘“I’ve been starved a month and more,”
she answered, resting on the word as scornful as she could.
‘And she got a chair for herself, and placed it at a
distance from both of us. Having sat till she was warm, she
began to look round, and discovered a number of books on the
dresser; she was instantly upon her feet again, stretching to
reach them: but they were too high up. Her cousin, after
watching her endeavours a while, at last summoned courage to help
her; she held her frock, and he filled it with the first that
came to hand.
‘That was a great advance for the lad. She
didn’t thank him; still, he felt gratified that she had
accepted his assistance, and ventured to stand behind as she
examined them, and even to stoop and point out what struck his
fancy in certain old pictures which they contained; nor was he
daunted by the saucy style in which she jerked the page from his
finger: he contented himself with going a bit farther back and
looking at her instead of the book. She continued reading,
or seeking for something to read. His attention became, by
degrees, quite centred in the study of her thick silky curls: her
face he couldn’t see, and she couldn’t see him.
And, perhaps, not quite awake to what he did, but attracted like
a child to a candle, at last he proceeded from staring to
touching; he put out his hand and stroked one curl, as gently as
if it were a bird. He might have stuck a knife into her
neck, she started round in such a taking.
‘“Get away this moment! How dare you touch
me? Why are you stopping there?” she cried, in a tone
of disgust. “I can’t endure you!
I’ll go upstairs again, if you come near me.”
‘Mr. Hareton recoiled, looking as foolish as he could
do: he sat down in the settle very quiet, and she continued
turning over her volumes another half hour; finally, Earnshaw
crossed over, and whispered to me.
‘“Will you ask her to read to us, Zillah?
I’m stalled of doing naught; and I do like—I could
like to hear her! Dunnot say I wanted it, but ask of
yourseln.”
‘“Mr. Hareton wishes you would read to us,
ma’am,” I said, immediately. “He’d
take it very kind—he’d be much obliged.”
‘She frowned; and looking up, answered—
‘“Mr. Hareton, and the whole set of you, will be
good enough to understand that I reject any pretence at kindness
you have the hypocrisy to offer! I despise you, and will
have nothing to say to any of you! When I would have given
my life for one kind word, even to see one of your faces, you all
kept off. But I won’t complain to you!
I’m driven down here by the cold; not either to amuse you
or enjoy your society.”
‘“What could I ha’ done?” began
Earnshaw. “How was I to blame?”
‘“Oh! you are an exception,” answered Mrs.
Heathcliff. “I never missed such a concern as
you.”
‘“But I offered more than once, and asked,”
he said, kindling up at her pertness, “I asked Mr.
Heathcliff to let me wake for you—”
‘“Be silent! I’ll go out of doors, or
anywhere, rather than have your disagreeable voice in my
ear!” said my lady.
‘Hareton muttered she might go to hell, for him! and
unslinging his gun, restrained himself from his Sunday
occupations no longer. He talked now, freely enough; and
she presently saw fit to retreat to her solitude: but the frost
had set in, and, in spite of her pride, she was forced to
condescend to our company, more and more. However, I took
care there should be no further scorning at my good nature: ever
since, I’ve been as stiff as herself; and she has no lover
or liker among us: and she does not deserve one; for, let them
say the least word to her, and she’ll curl back without
respect of any one. She’ll snap at the master
himself, and as good as dares him to thrash her; and the more
hurt she gets, the more venomous she grows.’
At first, on hearing this account from Zillah, I determined to
leave my situation, take a cottage, and get Catherine to come and
live with me: but Mr. Heathcliff would as soon permit that as he
would set up Hareton in an independent house; and I can see no
remedy, at present, unless she could marry again; and that scheme
it does not come within my province to arrange.
* * * * *
Thus ended Mrs. Dean’s story. Notwithstanding the
doctor’s prophecy, I am rapidly recovering strength; and
though it be only the second week in January, I propose getting
out on horseback in a day or two, and riding over to Wuthering
Heights, to inform my landlord that I shall spend the next six
months in London; and, if he likes, he may look out for another
tenant to take the place after October. I would not pass
another winter here for much.
CHAPTER XXXI
Yesterday was bright, calm, and frosty. I went to the
Heights as I proposed: my housekeeper entreated me to bear a
little note from her to her young lady, and I did not refuse, for
the worthy woman was not conscious of anything odd in her
request. The front door stood open, but the jealous gate
was fastened, as at my last visit; I knocked and invoked Earnshaw
from among the garden-beds; he unchained it, and I entered.
The fellow is as handsome a rustic as need be seen. I took
particular notice of him this time; but then he does his best
apparently to make the least of his advantages.
I asked if Mr. Heathcliff were at home? He answered, No;
but he would be in at dinner-time. It was eleven
o’clock, and I announced my intention of going in and
waiting for him; at which he immediately flung down his tools and
accompanied me, in the office of watchdog, not as a substitute
for the host.
We entered together; Catherine was there, making herself
useful in preparing some vegetables for the approaching meal; she
looked more sulky and less spirited than when I had seen her
first. She hardly raised her eyes to notice me, and
continued her employment with the same disregard to common forms
of politeness as before; never returning my bow and good-morning
by the slightest acknowledgment.
‘She does not seem so amiable,’ I thought,
‘as Mrs. Dean would persuade me to believe.
She’s a beauty, it is true; but not an angel.’
Earnshaw surlily bid her remove her things to the
kitchen. ‘Remove them yourself,’ she said,
pushing them from her as soon as she had done; and retiring to a
stool by the window, where she began to carve figures of birds
and beasts out of the turnip-parings in her lap. I
approached her, pretending to desire a view of the garden; and,
as I fancied, adroitly dropped Mrs. Dean’s note on to her
knee, unnoticed by Hareton—but she asked aloud, ‘What
is that?’ And chucked it off.
‘A letter from your old acquaintance, the housekeeper at
the Grange,’ I answered; annoyed at her exposing my kind
deed, and fearful lest it should be imagined a missive of my
own. She would gladly have gathered it up at this
information, but Hareton beat her; he seized and put it in his
waistcoat, saying Mr. Heathcliff should look at it first.
Thereat, Catherine silently turned her face from us, and, very
stealthily, drew out her pocket-handkerchief and applied it to
her eyes; and her cousin, after struggling awhile to keep down
his softer feelings, pulled out the letter and flung it on the
floor beside her, as ungraciously as he could. Catherine
caught and perused it eagerly; then she put a few questions to me
concerning the inmates, rational and irrational, of her former
home; and gazing towards the hills, murmured in soliloquy:
‘I should like to be riding Minny down there! I
should like to be climbing up there! Oh! I’m
tired—I’m
stalled, Hareton!’ And
she leant her pretty head back against the sill, with half a yawn
and half a sigh, and lapsed into an aspect of abstracted sadness:
neither caring nor knowing whether we remarked her.
‘Mrs. Heathcliff,’ I said, after sitting some time
mute, ‘you are not aware that I am an acquaintance of
yours? so intimate that I think it strange you won’t come
and speak to me. My housekeeper never wearies of talking
about and praising you; and she’ll be greatly disappointed
if I return with no news of or from you, except that you received
her letter and said nothing!’
She appeared to wonder at this speech, and asked,—
‘Does Ellen like you?’
‘Yes, very well,’ I replied, hesitatingly.
‘You must tell her,’ she continued, ‘that I
would answer her letter, but I have no materials for writing: not
even a book from which I might tear a leaf.’
‘No books!’ I exclaimed. ‘How do you
contrive to live here without them? if I may take the liberty to
inquire. Though provided with a large library, I’m
frequently very dull at the Grange; take my books away, and I
should be desperate!’
‘I was always reading, when I had them,’ said
Catherine; ‘and Mr. Heathcliff never reads; so he took it
into his head to destroy my books. I have not had a glimpse
of one for weeks. Only once, I searched through
Joseph’s store of theology, to his great irritation; and
once, Hareton, I came upon a secret stock in your room—some
Latin and Greek, and some tales and poetry: all old
friends. I brought the last here—and you gathered
them, as a magpie gathers silver spoons, for the mere love of
stealing! They are of no use to you; or else you concealed
them in the bad spirit that, as you cannot enjoy them, nobody
else shall. Perhaps
your envy counselled Mr.
Heathcliff to rob me of my treasures? But I’ve most
of them written on my brain and printed in my heart, and you
cannot deprive me of those!’
Earnshaw blushed crimson when his cousin made this revelation
of his private literary accumulations, and stammered an indignant
denial of her accusations.
‘Mr. Hareton is desirous of increasing his amount of
knowledge,’ I said, coming to his rescue. ‘He
is not
envious, but
emulous of your
attainments. He’ll be a clever scholar in a few
years.’
‘And he wants me to sink into a dunce, meantime,’
answered Catherine. ‘Yes, I hear him trying to spell
and read to himself, and pretty blunders he makes! I wish
you would repeat Chevy Chase as you did yesterday: it was
extremely funny. I heard you; and I heard you turning over
the dictionary to seek out the hard words, and then cursing
because you couldn’t read their explanations!’
The young man evidently thought it too bad that he should be
laughed at for his ignorance, and then laughed at for trying to
remove it. I had a similar notion; and, remembering Mrs.
Dean’s anecdote of his first attempt at enlightening the
darkness in which he had been reared, I
observed,—‘But, Mrs. Heathcliff, we have each had a
commencement, and each stumbled and tottered on the threshold;
had our teachers scorned instead of aiding us, we should stumble
and totter yet.’
‘Oh!’ she replied, ‘I don’t wish to
limit his acquirements: still, he has no right to appropriate
what is mine, and make it ridiculous to me with his vile mistakes
and mispronunciations! Those books, both prose and verse,
are consecrated to me by other associations; and I hate to have
them debased and profaned in his mouth! Besides, of all, he
has selected my favourite pieces that I love the most to repeat,
as if out of deliberate malice.’
Hareton’s chest heaved in silence a minute: he laboured
under a severe sense of mortification and wrath, which it was no
easy task to suppress. I rose, and, from a gentlemanly idea
of relieving his embarrassment, took up my station in the
doorway, surveying the external prospect as I stood. He
followed my example, and left the room; but presently reappeared,
bearing half a dozen volumes in his hands, which he threw into
Catherine’s lap, exclaiming,—‘Take them!
I never want to hear, or read, or think of them again!’
‘I won’t have them now,’ she answered.
‘I shall connect them with you, and hate them.’
She opened one that had obviously been often turned over, and
read a portion in the drawling tone of a beginner; then laughed,
and threw it from her. ‘And listen,’ she
continued, provokingly, commencing a verse of an old ballad in
the same fashion.
But his self-love would endure no further torment: I heard,
and not altogether disapprovingly, a manual check given to her
saucy tongue. The little wretch had done her utmost to hurt
her cousin’s sensitive though uncultivated feelings, and a
physical argument was the only mode he had of balancing the
account, and repaying its effects on the inflictor. He
afterwards gathered the books and hurled them on the fire.
I read in his countenance what anguish it was to offer that
sacrifice to spleen. I fancied that as they consumed, he
recalled the pleasure they had already imparted, and the triumph
and ever-increasing pleasure he had anticipated from them; and I
fancied I guessed the incitement to his secret studies
also. He had been content with daily labour and rough
animal enjoyments, till Catherine crossed his path. Shame
at her scorn, and hope of her approval, were his first prompters
to higher pursuits; and instead of guarding him from one and
winning him to the other, his endeavours to raise himself had
produced just the contrary result.
‘Yes that’s all the good that such a brute as you
can get from them!’ cried Catherine, sucking her damaged
lip, and watching the conflagration with indignant eyes.
‘You’d
better hold your tongue, now,’
he answered fiercely.
And his agitation precluded further speech; he advanced
hastily to the entrance, where I made way for him to pass.
But ere he had crossed the door-stones, Mr. Heathcliff, coming up
the causeway, encountered him, and laying hold of his shoulder
asked,—‘What’s to do now, my lad?’
‘Naught, naught,’ he said, and broke away to enjoy
his grief and anger in solitude.
Heathcliff gazed after him, and sighed.
‘It will be odd if I thwart myself,’ he muttered,
unconscious that I was behind him. ‘But when I look
for his father in his face, I find
her every day
more! How the devil is he so like? I can hardly bear
to see him.’
He bent his eyes to the ground, and walked moodily in.
There was a restless, anxious expression in his
countenance. I had never remarked there before; and he
looked sparer in person. His daughter-in-law, on perceiving
him through the window, immediately escaped to the kitchen, so
that I remained alone.
‘I’m glad to see you out of doors again, Mr.
Lockwood,’ he said, in reply to my greeting; ‘from
selfish motives partly: I don’t think I could readily
supply your loss in this desolation. I’ve wondered
more than once what brought you here.’
‘An idle whim, I fear, sir,’ was my answer;
‘or else an idle whim is going to spirit me away. I
shall set out for London next week; and I must give you warning
that I feel no disposition to retain Thrushcross Grange beyond
the twelve months I agreed to rent it. I believe I shall
not live there any more.’
‘Oh, indeed; you’re tired of being banished from
the world, are you?’ he said. ‘But if you be
coming to plead off paying for a place you won’t occupy,
your journey is useless: I never relent in exacting my due from
any one.’
‘I’m coming to plead off nothing about it,’
I exclaimed, considerably irritated. ‘Should you wish
it, I’ll settle with you now,’ and I drew my
note-book from my pocket.
‘No, no,’ he replied, coolly; ‘you’ll
leave sufficient behind to cover your debts, if you fail to
return: I’m not in such a hurry. Sit down and take
your dinner with us; a guest that is safe from repeating his
visit can generally be made welcome. Catherine! bring the
things in: where are you?’
Catherine reappeared, bearing a tray of knives and forks.
‘You may get your dinner with Joseph,’ muttered
Heathcliff, aside, ‘and remain in the kitchen till he is
gone.’
She obeyed his directions very punctually: perhaps she had no
temptation to transgress. Living among clowns and
misanthropists, she probably cannot appreciate a better class of
people when she meets them.
With Mr. Heathcliff, grim and saturnine, on the one hand, and
Hareton, absolutely dumb, on the other, I made a somewhat
cheerless meal, and bade adieu early. I would have departed
by the back way, to get a last glimpse of Catherine and annoy old
Joseph; but Hareton received orders to lead up my horse, and my
host himself escorted me to the door, so I could not fulfil my
wish.
‘How dreary life gets over in that house!’ I
reflected, while riding down the road. ‘What a
realisation of something more romantic than a fairy tale it would
have been for Mrs. Linton Heathcliff, had she and I struck up an
attachment, as her good nurse desired, and migrated together into
the stirring atmosphere of the town!’
CHAPTER XXXII
1802.—This September I was invited to devastate the
moors of a friend in the north, and on my journey to his abode, I
unexpectedly came within fifteen miles of Gimmerton. The
ostler at a roadside public-house was holding a pail of water to
refresh my horses, when a cart of very green oats, newly reaped,
passed by, and he remarked,—‘Yon’s frough
Gimmerton, nah! They’re allas three wick’ after
other folk wi’ ther harvest.’
‘Gimmerton?’ I repeated—my residence in that
locality had already grown dim and dreamy. ‘Ah!
I know. How far is it from this?’
‘Happen fourteen mile o’er th’ hills; and a
rough road,’ he answered.
A sudden impulse seized me to visit Thrushcross Grange.
It was scarcely noon, and I conceived that I might as well pass
the night under my own roof as in an inn. Besides, I could
spare a day easily to arrange matters with my landlord, and thus
save myself the trouble of invading the neighbourhood
again. Having rested awhile, I directed my servant to
inquire the way to the village; and, with great fatigue to our
beasts, we managed the distance in some three hours.
I left him there, and proceeded down the valley alone.
The grey church looked greyer, and the lonely churchyard
lonelier. I distinguished a moor-sheep cropping the short
turf on the graves. It was sweet, warm weather—too
warm for travelling; but the heat did not hinder me from enjoying
the delightful scenery above and below: had I seen it nearer
August, I’m sure it would have tempted me to waste a month
among its solitudes. In winter nothing more dreary, in
summer nothing more divine, than those glens shut in by hills,
and those bluff, bold swells of heath.
I reached the Grange before sunset, and knocked for
admittance; but the family had retreated into the back premises,
I judged, by one thin, blue wreath, curling from the kitchen
chimney, and they did not hear. I rode into the
court. Under the porch, a girl of nine or ten sat knitting,
and an old woman reclined on the housesteps, smoking a meditative
pipe.
‘Is Mrs. Dean within?’ I demanded of the dame.
‘Mistress Dean? Nay!’ she answered,
‘she doesn’t bide here: shoo’s up at th’
Heights.’
‘Are you the housekeeper, then?’ I continued.
‘Eea, aw keep th’ hause,’ she replied.
‘Well, I’m Mr. Lockwood, the master. Are
there any rooms to lodge me in, I wonder? I wish to stay
all night.’
‘T’ maister!’ she cried in
astonishment. ‘Whet, whoiver knew yah wur
coming? Yah sud ha’ send word. They’s
nowt norther dry nor mensful abaht t’ place: nowt there
isn’t!’
She threw down her pipe and bustled in, the girl followed, and
I entered too; soon perceiving that her report was true, and,
moreover, that I had almost upset her wits by my unwelcome
apparition, I bade her be composed. I would go out for a
walk; and, meantime she must try to prepare a corner of a
sitting-room for me to sup in, and a bedroom to sleep in.
No sweeping and dusting, only good fire and dry sheets were
necessary. She seemed willing to do her best; though she
thrust the hearth-brush into the grates in mistake for the poker,
and malappropriated several other articles of her craft: but I
retired, confiding in her energy for a resting-place against my
return. Wuthering Heights was the goal of my proposed
excursion. An afterthought brought me back, when I had
quitted the court.
‘All well at the Heights?’ I inquired of the
woman.
‘Eea, f’r owt ee knaw!’ she answered,
skurrying away with a pan of hot cinders.
I would have asked why Mrs. Dean had deserted the Grange, but
it was impossible to delay her at such a crisis, so I turned away
and made my exit, rambling leisurely along, with the glow of a
sinking sun behind, and the mild glory of a rising moon in
front—one fading, and the other brightening—as I
quitted the park, and climbed the stony by-road branching off to
Mr. Heathcliff’s dwelling. Before I arrived in sight
of it, all that remained of day was a beamless amber light along
the west: but I could see every pebble on the path, and every
blade of grass, by that splendid moon. I had neither to
climb the gate nor to knock—it yielded to my hand.
That is an improvement, I thought. And I noticed another,
by the aid of my nostrils; a fragrance of stocks and wallflowers
wafted on the air from amongst the homely fruit-trees.
Both doors and lattices were open; and yet, as is usually the
case in a coal-district, a fine red fire illumined the chimney:
the comfort which the eye derives from it renders the extra heat
endurable. But the house of Wuthering Heights is so large
that the inmates have plenty of space for withdrawing out of its
influence; and accordingly what inmates there were had stationed
themselves not far from one of the windows. I could both
see them and hear them talk before I entered, and looked and
listened in consequence; being moved thereto by a mingled sense
of curiosity and envy, that grew as I lingered.
‘Con-
trary!’ said a voice as sweet as a
silver bell. ‘That for the third time, you
dunce! I’m not going to tell you again. Recollect, or
I’ll pull your hair!’
‘Contrary, then,’ answered another, in deep but
softened tones. ‘And now, kiss me, for minding so
well.’
‘No, read it over first correctly, without a single
mistake.’
The male speaker began to read: he was a young man,
respectably dressed and seated at a table, having a book before
him. His handsome features glowed with pleasure, and his
eyes kept impatiently wandering from the page to a small white
hand over his shoulder, which recalled him by a smart slap on the
cheek, whenever its owner detected such signs of
inattention. Its owner stood behind; her light, shining
ringlets blending, at intervals, with his brown looks, as she
bent to superintend his studies; and her face—it was lucky
he could not see her face, or he would never have been so
steady. I could; and I bit my lip in spite, at having
thrown away the chance I might have had of doing something
besides staring at its smiting beauty.
The task was done, not free from further blunders; but the
pupil claimed a reward, and received at least five kisses; which,
however, he generously returned. Then they came to the
door, and from their conversation I judged they were about to
issue out and have a walk on the moors. I supposed I should
be condemned in Hareton Earnshaw’s heart, if not by his
mouth, to the lowest pit in the infernal regions if I showed my
unfortunate person in his neighbourhood then; and feeling very
mean and malignant, I skulked round to seek refuge in the
kitchen. There was unobstructed admittance on that side
also; and at the door sat my old friend Nelly Dean, sewing and
singing a song; which was often interrupted from within by harsh
words of scorn and intolerance, uttered in far from musical
accents.
‘I’d rayther, by th’ haulf, hev’
’em swearing i’ my lugs fro’h morn to neeght,
nor hearken ye hahsiver!’ said the tenant of the kitchen,
in answer to an unheard speech of Nelly’s.
‘It’s a blazing shame, that I cannot oppen t’
blessed Book, but yah set up them glories to sattan, and all
t’ flaysome wickednesses that iver were born into th’
warld! Oh! ye’re a raight nowt; and shoo’s
another; and that poor lad ’ll be lost atween ye.
Poor lad!’ he added, with a groan; ‘he’s
witched: I’m sartin on’t. Oh, Lord, judge
’em, for there’s norther law nor justice among wer
rullers!’
‘No! or we should be sitting in flaming fagots, I
suppose,’ retorted the singer. ‘But wisht, old
man, and read your Bible like a Christian, and never mind
me. This is “Fairy Annie’s
Wedding”—a bonny tune—it goes to a
dance.’
Mrs. Dean was about to recommence, when I advanced; and
recognising me directly, she jumped to her feet,
crying—‘Why, bless you, Mr. Lockwood! How could
you think of returning in this way? All’s shut up at
Thrushcross Grange. You should have given us
notice!’
‘I’ve arranged to be accommodated there, for as
long as I shall stay,’ I answered. ‘I depart
again to-morrow. And how are you transplanted here, Mrs.
Dean? tell me that.’
‘Zillah left, and Mr. Heathcliff wished me to come, soon
after you went to London, and stay till you returned. But,
step in, pray! Have you walked from Gimmerton this
evening?’
‘From the Grange,’ I replied; ‘and while
they make me lodging room there, I want to finish my business
with your master; because I don’t think of having another
opportunity in a hurry.’
‘What business, sir?’ said Nelly, conducting me
into the house. ‘He’s gone out at present, and
won’t return soon.’
‘About the rent,’ I answered.
‘Oh! then it is with Mrs. Heathcliff you must
settle,’ she observed; ‘or rather with me. She
has not learnt to manage her affairs yet, and I act for her:
there’s nobody else.’
I looked surprised.
‘Ah! you have not heard of Heathcliff’s death, I
see,’ she continued.
‘Heathcliff dead!’ I exclaimed, astonished.
‘How long ago?’
‘Three months since: but sit down, and let me take your
hat, and I’ll tell you all about it. Stop, you have
had nothing to eat, have you?’
‘I want nothing: I have ordered supper at home.
You sit down too. I never dreamt of his dying! Let me hear
how it came to pass. You say you don’t expect them
back for some time—the young people?’
‘No—I have to scold them every evening for their
late rambles: but they don’t care for me. At least,
have a drink of our old ale; it will do you good: you seem
weary.’
She hastened to fetch it before I could refuse, and I heard
Joseph asking whether ‘it warn’t a crying scandal
that she should have followers at her time of life? And
then, to get them jocks out o’ t’ maister’s
cellar! He fair shaamed to ‘bide still and see
it.’
She did not stay to retaliate, but re-entered in a minute,
bearing a reaming silver pint, whose contents I lauded with
becoming earnestness. And afterwards she furnished me with
the sequel of Heathcliff’s history. He had a
‘queer’ end, as she expressed it.
I was summoned to Wuthering Heights, within a fortnight of
your leaving us, she said; and I obeyed joyfully, for
Catherine’s sake. My first interview with her grieved and
shocked me: she had altered so much since our separation.
Mr. Heathcliff did not explain his reasons for taking a new mind
about my coming here; he only told me he wanted me, and he was
tired of seeing Catherine: I must make the little parlour my
sitting-room, and keep her with me. It was enough if he were
obliged to see her once or twice a day. She seemed pleased at
this arrangement; and, by degrees, I smuggled over a great number
of books, and other articles, that had formed her amusement at
the Grange; and flattered myself we should get on in tolerable
comfort. The delusion did not last long. Catherine,
contented at first, in a brief space grew irritable and restless.
For one thing, she was forbidden to move out of the garden, and
it fretted her sadly to be confined to its narrow bounds as
spring drew on; for another, in following the house, I was forced
to quit her frequently, and she complained of loneliness: she
preferred quarrelling with Joseph in the kitchen to sitting at
peace in her solitude. I did not mind their skirmishes: but
Hareton was often obliged to seek the kitchen also, when the
master wanted to have the house to himself! and though in the
beginning she either left it at his approach, or quietly joined
in my occupations, and shunned remarking or addressing
him—and though he was always as sullen and silent as
possible—after a while, she changed her behaviour, and
became incapable of letting him alone: talking at him; commenting
on his stupidity and idleness; expressing her wonder how he could
endure the life he lived—how he could sit a whole evening
staring into the fire, and dozing.
‘He’s just like a dog, is he not, Ellen?’
she once observed, ‘or a cart-horse? He does his
work, eats his food, and sleeps eternally! What a blank, dreary
mind he must have! Do you ever dream, Hareton? And,
if you do, what is it about? But you can’t speak to
me!’
Then she looked at him; but he would neither open his mouth
nor look again.
‘He’s, perhaps, dreaming now,’ she
continued. ‘He twitched his shoulder as Juno twitches
hers. Ask him, Ellen.’
‘Mr. Hareton will ask the master to send you up-stairs,
if you don’t behave!’ I said. He had not only
twitched his shoulder but clenched his fist, as if tempted to use
it.
‘I know why Hareton never speaks, when I am in the
kitchen,’ she exclaimed, on another occasion.
‘He is afraid I shall laugh at him. Ellen, what do
you think? He began to teach himself to read once; and,
because I laughed, he burned his books, and dropped it: was he
not a fool?’
‘Were not you naughty?’ I said; ‘answer me
that.’
‘Perhaps I was,’ she went on; ‘but I did not
expect him to be so silly. Hareton, if I gave you a book,
would you take it now? I’ll try!’
She placed one she had been perusing on his hand; he flung it
off, and muttered, if she did not give over, he would break her
neck.
‘Well, I shall put it here,’ she said, ‘in
the table-drawer; and I’m going to bed.’
Then she whispered me to watch whether he touched it, and
departed. But he would not come near it; and so I informed
her in the morning, to her great disappointment. I saw she
was sorry for his persevering sulkiness and indolence: her
conscience reproved her for frightening him off improving
himself: she had done it effectually. But her ingenuity was
at work to remedy the injury: while I ironed, or pursued other
such stationary employments as I could not well do in the
parlour, she would bring some pleasant volume and read it aloud
to me. When Hareton was there, she generally paused in an
interesting part, and left the book lying about: that she did
repeatedly; but he was as obstinate as a mule, and, instead of
snatching at her bait, in wet weather he took to smoking with
Joseph; and they sat like automatons, one on each side of the
fire, the elder happily too deaf to understand her wicked
nonsense, as he would have called it, the younger doing his best
to seem to disregard it. On fine evenings the latter
followed his shooting expeditions, and Catherine yawned and
sighed, and teased me to talk to her, and ran off into the court
or garden the moment I began; and, as a last resource, cried, and
said she was tired of living: her life was useless.
Mr. Heathcliff, who grew more and more disinclined to society,
had almost banished Earnshaw from his apartment. Owing to
an accident at the commencement of March, he became for some days
a fixture in the kitchen. His gun burst while out on the
hills by himself; a splinter cut his arm, and he lost a good deal
of blood before he could reach home. The consequence was
that, perforce, he was condemned to the fireside and
tranquillity, till he made it up again. It suited Catherine
to have him there: at any rate, it made her hate her room
up-stairs more than ever: and she would compel me to find out
business below, that she might accompany me.
On Easter Monday, Joseph went to Gimmerton fair with some
cattle; and, in the afternoon, I was busy getting up linen in the
kitchen. Earnshaw sat, morose as usual, at the chimney
corner, and my little mistress was beguiling an idle hour with
drawing pictures on the window-panes, varying her amusement by
smothered bursts of songs, and whispered ejaculations, and quick
glances of annoyance and impatience in the direction of her
cousin, who steadfastly smoked, and looked into the grate.
At a notice that I could do with her no longer intercepting my
light, she removed to the hearthstone. I bestowed little
attention on her proceedings, but, presently, I heard her
begin—‘I’ve found out, Hareton, that I
want—that I’m glad—that I should like you to be
my cousin now, if you had not grown so cross to me, and so
rough.’
Hareton returned no answer.
‘Hareton, Hareton, Hareton! do you hear?’ she
continued.
‘Get off wi’ ye!’ he growled, with
uncompromising gruffness.
‘Let me take that pipe,’ she said, cautiously
advancing her hand and abstracting it from his mouth.
Before he could attempt to recover it, it was broken, and
behind the fire. He swore at her and seized another.
‘Stop,’ she cried, ‘you must listen to me
first; and I can’t speak while those clouds are floating in
my face.’
‘Will you go to the devil!’ he exclaimed,
ferociously, ‘and let me be!’
‘No,’ she persisted, ‘I won’t: I
can’t tell what to do to make you talk to me; and you are
determined not to understand. When I call you stupid, I
don’t mean anything: I don’t mean that I despise
you. Come, you shall take notice of me, Hareton: you are my
cousin, and you shall own me.’
‘I shall have naught to do wi’ you and your mucky
pride, and your damned mocking tricks!’ he answered.
‘I’ll go to hell, body and soul, before I look
sideways after you again. Side out o’ t’ gate,
now, this minute!’
Catherine frowned, and retreated to the window-seat chewing
her lip, and endeavouring, by humming an eccentric tune, to
conceal a growing tendency to sob.
‘You should be friends with your cousin, Mr.
Hareton,’ I interrupted, ‘since she repents of her
sauciness. It would do you a great deal of good: it would
make you another man to have her for a companion.’
‘A companion!’ he cried; ‘when she hates me,
and does not think me fit to wipe her shoon! Nay, if it
made me a king, I’d not be scorned for seeking her
good-will any more.’
‘It is not I who hate you, it is you who hate me!’
wept Cathy, no longer disguising her trouble. ‘You
hate me as much as Mr. Heathcliff does, and more.’
‘You’re a damned liar,’ began Earnshaw:
‘why have I made him angry, by taking your part, then, a
hundred times? and that when you sneered at and despised me,
and—Go on plaguing me, and I’ll step in yonder, and
say you worried me out of the kitchen!’
‘I didn’t know you took my part,’ she
answered, drying her eyes; ‘and I was miserable and bitter
at everybody; but now I thank you, and beg you to forgive me:
what can I do besides?’
She returned to the hearth, and frankly extended her
hand. He blackened and scowled like a thunder-cloud, and
kept his fists resolutely clenched, and his gaze fixed on the
ground. Catherine, by instinct, must have divined it was
obdurate perversity, and not dislike, that prompted this dogged
conduct; for, after remaining an instant undecided, she stooped
and impressed on his cheek a gentle kiss. The little rogue
thought I had not seen her, and, drawing back, she took her
former station by the window, quite demurely. I shook my
head reprovingly, and then she blushed and
whispered—‘Well! what should I have done,
Ellen? He wouldn’t shake hands, and he wouldn’t
look: I must show him some way that I like him—that I want
to be friends.’
Whether the kiss convinced Hareton, I cannot tell: he was very
careful, for some minutes, that his face should not be seen, and
when he did raise it, he was sadly puzzled where to turn his
eyes.
Catherine employed herself in wrapping a handsome book neatly
in white paper, and having tied it with a bit of ribbon, and
addressed it to ‘Mr. Hareton Earnshaw,’ she desired
me to be her ambassadress, and convey the present to its destined
recipient.
‘And tell him, if he’ll take it, I’ll come
and teach him to read it right,’ she said; ‘and, if
he refuse it, I’ll go upstairs, and never tease him
again.’
I carried it, and repeated the message; anxiously watched by
my employer. Hareton would not open his fingers, so I laid
it on his knee. He did not strike it off, either. I
returned to my work. Catherine leaned her head and arms on
the table, till she heard the slight rustle of the covering being
removed; then she stole away, and quietly seated herself beside
her cousin. He trembled, and his face glowed: all his
rudeness and all his surly harshness had deserted him: he could
not summon courage, at first, to utter a syllable in reply to her
questioning look, and her murmured petition.
‘Say you forgive me, Hareton, do. You can make me
so happy by speaking that little word.’
He muttered something inaudible.
‘And you’ll be my friend?’ added Catherine,
interrogatively.
‘Nay, you’ll be ashamed of me every day of your
life,’ he answered; ‘and the more ashamed, the more
you know me; and I cannot bide it.’
‘So you won’t be my friend?’ she said,
smiling as sweet as honey, and creeping close up.
I overheard no further distinguishable talk, but, on looking
round again, I perceived two such radiant countenances bent over
the page of the accepted book, that I did not doubt the treaty
had been ratified on both sides; and the enemies were,
thenceforth, sworn allies.
The work they studied was full of costly pictures; and those
and their position had charm enough to keep them unmoved till
Joseph came home. He, poor man, was perfectly aghast at the
spectacle of Catherine seated on the same bench with Hareton
Earnshaw, leaning her hand on his shoulder; and confounded at his
favourite’s endurance of her proximity: it affected him too
deeply to allow an observation on the subject that night.
His emotion was only revealed by the immense sighs he drew, as he
solemnly spread his large Bible on the table, and overlaid it
with dirty bank-notes from his pocket-book, the produce of the
day’s transactions. At length he summoned Hareton
from his seat.
‘Tak’ these in to t’ maister, lad,’ he
said, ‘and bide there. I’s gang up to my own
rahm. This hoile’s neither mensful nor seemly for us:
we mun side out and seearch another.’
‘Come, Catherine,’ I said, ‘we must
“side out” too: I’ve done my ironing. Are
you ready to go?’
‘It is not eight o’clock!’ she answered,
rising unwillingly.
‘Hareton, I’ll leave this book upon the
chimney-piece, and I’ll bring some more
to-morrow.’
‘Ony books that yah leave, I shall tak’ into
th’ hahse,’ said Joseph, ‘and it’ll be
mitch if yah find ’em agean; soa, yah may plase
yerseln!’
Cathy threatened that his library should pay for hers; and,
smiling as she passed Hareton, went singing up-stairs: lighter of
heart, I venture to say, than ever she had been under that roof
before; except, perhaps, during her earliest visits to
Linton.
The intimacy thus commenced grew rapidly; though it
encountered temporary interruptions. Earnshaw was not to be
civilized with a wish, and my young lady was no philosopher, and
no paragon of patience; but both their minds tending to the same
point—one loving and desiring to esteem, and the other
loving and desiring to be esteemed—they contrived in the
end to reach it.
You see, Mr. Lockwood, it was easy enough to win Mrs.
Heathcliff’s heart. But now, I’m glad you did
not try. The crown of all my wishes will be the union of
those two. I shall envy no one on their wedding day: there
won’t be a happier woman than myself in England!
CHAPTER XXXIII
On the morrow of that Monday, Earnshaw being still unable to
follow his ordinary employments, and therefore remaining about
the house, I speedily found it would be impracticable to retain
my charge beside me, as heretofore. She got downstairs
before me, and out into the garden, where she had seen her cousin
performing some easy work; and when I went to bid them come to
breakfast, I saw she had persuaded him to clear a large space of
ground from currant and gooseberry bushes, and they were busy
planning together an importation of plants from the Grange.
I was terrified at the devastation which had been accomplished
in a brief half-hour; the black-currant trees were the apple of
Joseph’s eye, and she had just fixed her choice of a
flower-bed in the midst of them.
‘There! That will be all shown to the
master,’ I exclaimed, ‘the minute it is
discovered. And what excuse have you to offer for taking
such liberties with the garden? We shall have a fine
explosion on the head of it: see if we don’t! Mr.
Hareton, I wonder you should have no more wit than to go and make
that mess at her bidding!’
‘I’d forgotten they were Joseph’s,’
answered Earnshaw, rather puzzled; ‘but I’ll tell him
I did it.’
We always ate our meals with Mr. Heathcliff. I held the
mistress’s post in making tea and carving; so I was
indispensable at table. Catherine usually sat by me, but
to-day she stole nearer to Hareton; and I presently saw she would
have no more discretion in her friendship than she had in her
hostility.
‘Now, mind you don’t talk with and notice your
cousin too much,’ were my whispered instructions as we
entered the room. ‘It will certainly annoy Mr.
Heathcliff, and he’ll be mad at you both.’
‘I’m not going to,’ she answered.
The minute after, she had sidled to him, and was sticking
primroses in his plate of porridge.
He dared not speak to her there: he dared hardly look; and yet
she went on teasing, till he was twice on the point of being
provoked to laugh. I frowned, and then she glanced towards
the master: whose mind was occupied on other subjects than his
company, as his countenance evinced; and she grew serious for an
instant, scrutinizing him with deep gravity. Afterwards she
turned, and recommenced her nonsense; at last, Hareton uttered a
smothered laugh. Mr. Heathcliff started; his eye rapidly
surveyed our faces, Catherine met it with her accustomed look of
nervousness and yet defiance, which he abhorred.
‘It is well you are out of my reach,’ he
exclaimed. ‘What fiend possesses you to stare back at
me, continually, with those infernal eyes? Down with them!
and don’t remind me of your existence again. I
thought I had cured you of laughing.’
‘It was me,’ muttered Hareton.
‘What do you say?’ demanded the master.
Hareton looked at his plate, and did not repeat the
confession. Mr. Heathcliff looked at him a bit, and then
silently resumed his breakfast and his interrupted musing.
We had nearly finished, and the two young people prudently
shifted wider asunder, so I anticipated no further disturbance
during that sitting: when Joseph appeared at the door, revealing
by his quivering lip and furious eyes that the outrage committed
on his precious shrubs was detected. He must have seen
Cathy and her cousin about the spot before he examined it, for
while his jaws worked like those of a cow chewing its cud, and
rendered his speech difficult to understand, he began:—
‘I mun hev’ my wage, and I mun goa! I
hed aimed to dee wheare I’d sarved fur sixty year;
and I thowt I’d lug my books up into t’ garret, and
all my bits o’ stuff, and they sud hev’ t’
kitchen to theirseln; for t’ sake o’ quietness.
It wur hard to gie up my awn hearthstun, but I thowt I
could do that! But nah, shoo’s taan my garden
fro’ me, and by th’ heart, maister, I cannot stand
it! Yah may bend to th’ yoak an ye will—I noan
used to ’t, and an old man doesn’t sooin get used to
new barthens. I’d rayther arn my bite an’ my
sup wi’ a hammer in th’ road!’
‘Now, now, idiot!’ interrupted Heathcliff,
‘cut it short! What’s your grievance?
I’ll interfere in no quarrels between you and Nelly.
She may thrust you into the coal-hole for anything I
care.’
‘It’s noan Nelly!’ answered Joseph.
‘I sudn’t shift for Nelly—nasty ill nowt as
shoo is. Thank God!
shoo cannot stale t’ sowl
o’ nob’dy! Shoo wer niver soa handsome, but
what a body mud look at her ‘bout winking. It’s
yon flaysome, graceless quean, that’s witched our lad,
wi’ her bold een and her forrard ways—till—Nay!
it fair brusts my heart! He’s forgotten all
I’ve done for him, and made on him, and goan and riven up a
whole row o’ t’ grandest currant-trees i’
t’ garden!’ and here he lamented outright; unmanned
by a sense of his bitter injuries, and Earnshaw’s
ingratitude and dangerous condition.
‘Is the fool drunk?’ asked Mr. Heathcliff.
‘Hareton, is it you he’s finding fault
with?’
‘I’ve pulled up two or three bushes,’
replied the young man; ‘but I’m going to set
’em again.’
‘And why have you pulled them up?’ said the
master.
Catherine wisely put in her tongue.
‘We wanted to plant some flowers there,’ she
cried. ‘I’m the only person to blame, for I
wished him to do it.’
‘And who the devil gave
you leave to touch a
stick about the place?’ demanded her father-in-law, much
surprised. ‘And who ordered
you to obey
her?’ he added, turning to Hareton.
The latter was speechless; his cousin replied—‘You
shouldn’t grudge a few yards of earth for me to ornament,
when you have taken all my land!’
‘Your land, insolent slut! You never had
any,’ said Heathcliff.
‘And my money,’ she continued; returning his angry
glare, and meantime biting a piece of crust, the remnant of her
breakfast.
‘Silence!’ he exclaimed. ‘Get done,
and begone!’
‘And Hareton’s land, and his money,’ pursued
the reckless thing. ‘Hareton and I are friends now;
and I shall tell him all about you!’
The master seemed confounded a moment: he grew pale, and rose
up, eyeing her all the while, with an expression of mortal
hate.
‘If you strike me, Hareton will strike you,’ she
said; ‘so you may as well sit down.’
‘If Hareton does not turn you out of the room,
I’ll strike him to hell,’ thundered Heathcliff.
‘Damnable witch! dare you pretend to rouse him against
me? Off with her! Do you hear? Fling her into
the kitchen! I’ll kill her, Ellen Dean, if you let
her come into my sight again!’
Hareton tried, under his breath, to persuade her to go.
‘Drag her away!’ he cried, savagely.
‘Are you staying to talk?’ And he approached to
execute his own command.
‘He’ll not obey you, wicked man, any more,’
said Catherine; ‘and he’ll soon detest you as much as
I do.’
‘Wisht! wisht!’ muttered the young man,
reproachfully; ‘I will not hear you speak so to him.
Have done.’
‘But you won’t let him strike me?’ she
cried.
‘Come, then,’ he whispered earnestly.
It was too late: Heathcliff had caught hold of her.
‘Now,
you go!’ he said to Earnshaw.
‘Accursed witch! this time she has provoked me when I could
not bear it; and I’ll make her repent it for
ever!’
He had his hand in her hair; Hareton attempted to release her
locks, entreating him not to hurt her that once.
Heathcliff’s black eyes flashed; he seemed ready to tear
Catherine in pieces, and I was just worked up to risk coming to
the rescue, when of a sudden his fingers relaxed; he shifted his
grasp from her head to her arm, and gazed intently in her
face. Then he drew his hand over his eyes, stood a moment
to collect himself apparently, and turning anew to Catherine,
said, with assumed calmness—‘You must learn to avoid
putting me in a passion, or I shall really murder you some
time! Go with Mrs. Dean, and keep with her; and confine
your insolence to her ears. As to Hareton Earnshaw, if I
see him listen to you, I’ll send him seeking his bread
where he can get it! Your love will make him an outcast and
a beggar. Nelly, take her; and leave me, all of you!
Leave me!’
I led my young lady out: she was too glad of her escape to
resist; the other followed, and Mr. Heathcliff had the room to
himself till dinner. I had counselled Catherine to dine
up-stairs; but, as soon as he perceived her vacant seat, he sent
me to call her. He spoke to none of us, ate very little,
and went out directly afterwards, intimating that he should not
return before evening.
The two new friends established themselves in the house during
his absence; where I heard Hareton sternly check his cousin, on
her offering a revelation of her father-in-law’s conduct to
his father. He said he wouldn’t suffer a word to be
uttered in his disparagement: if he were the devil, it
didn’t signify; he would stand by him; and he’d
rather she would abuse himself, as she used to, than begin on Mr.
Heathcliff. Catherine was waxing cross at this; but he
found means to make her hold her tongue, by asking how she would
like
him to speak ill of her father? Then she
comprehended that Earnshaw took the master’s reputation
home to himself; and was attached by ties stronger than reason
could break—chains, forged by habit, which it would be
cruel to attempt to loosen. She showed a good heart,
thenceforth, in avoiding both complaints and expressions of
antipathy concerning Heathcliff; and confessed to me her sorrow
that she had endeavoured to raise a bad spirit between him and
Hareton: indeed, I don’t believe she has ever breathed a
syllable, in the latter’s hearing, against her oppressor
since.
When this slight disagreement was over, they were friends
again, and as busy as possible in their several occupations of
pupil and teacher. I came in to sit with them, after I had
done my work; and I felt so soothed and comforted to watch them,
that I did not notice how time got on. You know, they both
appeared in a measure my children: I had long been proud of one;
and now, I was sure, the other would be a source of equal
satisfaction. His honest, warm, and intelligent nature
shook off rapidly the clouds of ignorance and degradation in
which it had been bred; and Catherine’s sincere
commendations acted as a spur to his industry. His
brightening mind brightened his features, and added spirit and
nobility to their aspect: I could hardly fancy it the same
individual I had beheld on the day I discovered my little lady at
Wuthering Heights, after her expedition to the Crags. While
I admired and they laboured, dusk drew on, and with it returned
the master. He came upon us quite unexpectedly, entering by
the front way, and had a full view of the whole three, ere we
could raise our heads to glance at him. Well, I reflected,
there was never a pleasanter, or more harmless sight; and it will
be a burning shame to scold them. The red fire-light glowed
on their two bonny heads, and revealed their faces animated with
the eager interest of children; for, though he was twenty-three
and she eighteen, each had so much of novelty to feel and learn,
that neither experienced nor evinced the sentiments of sober
disenchanted maturity.
They lifted their eyes together, to encounter Mr. Heathcliff:
perhaps you have never remarked that their eyes are precisely
similar, and they are those of Catherine Earnshaw. The
present Catherine has no other likeness to her, except a breadth
of forehead, and a certain arch of the nostril that makes her
appear rather haughty, whether she will or not. With
Hareton the resemblance is carried farther: it is singular at all
times,
then it was particularly striking; because his
senses were alert, and his mental faculties wakened to unwonted
activity. I suppose this resemblance disarmed Mr.
Heathcliff: he walked to the hearth in evident agitation; but it
quickly subsided as he looked at the young man: or, I should say,
altered its character; for it was there yet. He took the
book from his hand, and glanced at the open page, then returned
it without any observation; merely signing Catherine away: her
companion lingered very little behind her, and I was about to
depart also, but he bid me sit still.
‘It is a poor conclusion, is it not?’ he observed,
having brooded awhile on the scene he had just witnessed:
‘an absurd termination to my violent exertions? I get
levers and mattocks to demolish the two houses, and train myself
to be capable of working like Hercules, and when everything is
ready and in my power, I find the will to lift a slate off either
roof has vanished! My old enemies have not beaten me; now
would be the precise time to revenge myself on their
representatives: I could do it; and none could hinder me.
But where is the use? I don’t care for striking: I
can’t take the trouble to raise my hand! That sounds
as if I had been labouring the whole time only to exhibit a fine
trait of magnanimity. It is far from being the case: I have
lost the faculty of enjoying their destruction, and I am too idle
to destroy for nothing.
‘Nelly, there is a strange change approaching; I’m
in its shadow at present. I take so little interest in my
daily life that I hardly remember to eat and drink. Those
two who have left the room are the only objects which retain a
distinct material appearance to me; and that appearance causes me
pain, amounting to agony. About
her I won’t
speak; and I don’t desire to think; but I earnestly wish
she were invisible: her presence invokes only maddening
sensations.
He moves me differently: and yet if I
could do it without seeming insane, I’d never see him
again! You’ll perhaps think me rather inclined to
become so,’ he added, making an effort to smile, ‘if
I try to describe the thousand forms of past associations and
ideas he awakens or embodies. But you’ll not talk of
what I tell you; and my mind is so eternally secluded in itself,
it is tempting at last to turn it out to another.
‘Five minutes ago Hareton seemed a personification of my
youth, not a human being; I felt to him in such a variety of
ways, that it would have been impossible to have accosted him
rationally. In the first place, his startling likeness to
Catherine connected him fearfully with her. That, however,
which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my imagination,
is actually the least: for what is not connected with her to me?
and what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this
floor, but her features are shaped in the flags! In every
cloud, in every tree—filling the air at night, and caught
by glimpses in every object by day—I am surrounded with her
image! The most ordinary faces of men and women—my
own features—mock me with a resemblance. The entire
world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist,
and that I have lost her! Well, Hareton’s aspect was
the ghost of my immortal love; of my wild endeavours to hold my
right; my degradation, my pride, my happiness, and my
anguish—
‘But it is frenzy to repeat these thoughts to you: only
it will let you know why, with a reluctance to be always alone,
his society is no benefit; rather an aggravation of the constant
torment I suffer: and it partly contributes to render me
regardless how he and his cousin go on together. I can give
them no attention any more.’
‘But what do you mean by a
change, Mr.
Heathcliff?’ I said, alarmed at his manner: though he was
neither in danger of losing his senses, nor dying, according to
my judgment: he was quite strong and healthy; and, as to his
reason, from childhood he had a delight in dwelling on dark
things, and entertaining odd fancies. He might have had a
monomania on the subject of his departed idol; but on every other
point his wits were as sound as mine.
‘I shall not know that till it comes,’ he said;
‘I’m only half conscious of it now.’
‘You have no feeling of illness, have you?’ I
asked.
‘No, Nelly, I have not,’ he answered.
‘Then you are not afraid of death?’ I pursued.
‘Afraid? No!’ he replied. ‘I
have neither a fear, nor a presentiment, nor a hope of
death. Why should I? With my hard constitution and
temperate mode of living, and unperilous occupations, I ought to,
and probably
shall, remain above ground till there is
scarcely a black hair on my head. And yet I cannot continue
in this condition! I have to remind myself to
breathe—almost to remind my heart to beat! And it is
like bending back a stiff spring: it is by compulsion that I do
the slightest act not prompted by one thought; and by compulsion
that I notice anything alive or dead, which is not associated
with one universal idea. I have a single wish, and my whole
being and faculties are yearning to attain it. They have
yearned towards it so long, and so unwaveringly, that I’m
convinced it will be reached—and soon—because it has
devoured my existence: I am swallowed up in the anticipation of
its fulfilment. My confessions have not relieved me; but
they may account for some otherwise unaccountable phases of
humour which I show. O God! It is a long fight; I
wish it were over!’
He began to pace the room, muttering terrible things to
himself, till I was inclined to believe, as he said Joseph did,
that conscience had turned his heart to an earthly hell. I
wondered greatly how it would end. Though he seldom before
had revealed this state of mind, even by looks, it was his
habitual mood, I had no doubt: he asserted it himself; but not a
soul, from his general bearing, would have conjectured the
fact. You did not when you saw him, Mr. Lockwood: and at
the period of which I speak, he was just the same as then; only
fonder of continued solitude, and perhaps still more laconic in
company.
CHAPTER XXXIV
For some days after that evening Mr. Heathcliff shunned
meeting us at meals; yet he would not consent formally to exclude
Hareton and Cathy. He had an aversion to yielding so
completely to his feelings, choosing rather to absent himself;
and eating once in twenty-four hours seemed sufficient sustenance
for him.
One night, after the family were in bed, I heard him go
downstairs, and out at the front door. I did not hear him
re-enter, and in the morning I found he was still away. We
were in April then: the weather was sweet and warm, the grass as
green as showers and sun could make it, and the two dwarf
apple-trees near the southern wall in full bloom. After
breakfast, Catherine insisted on my bringing a chair and sitting
with my work under the fir-trees at the end of the house; and she
beguiled Hareton, who had perfectly recovered from his accident,
to dig and arrange her little garden, which was shifted to that
corner by the influence of Joseph’s complaints. I was
comfortably revelling in the spring fragrance around, and the
beautiful soft blue overhead, when my young lady, who had run
down near the gate to procure some primrose roots for a border,
returned only half laden, and informed us that Mr. Heathcliff was
coming in. ‘And he spoke to me,’ she added,
with a perplexed countenance.
‘What did he say?’ asked Hareton.
‘He told me to begone as fast as I could,’ she
answered. ‘But he looked so different from his usual
look that I stopped a moment to stare at him.’
‘How?’ he inquired.
‘Why, almost bright and cheerful. No,
almost nothing—
very much excited, and wild,
and glad!’ she replied.
‘Night-walking amuses him, then,’ I remarked,
affecting a careless manner: in reality as surprised as she was,
and anxious to ascertain the truth of her statement; for to see
the master looking glad would not be an every-day
spectacle. I framed an excuse to go in. Heathcliff
stood at the open door; he was pale, and he trembled: yet,
certainly, he had a strange joyful glitter in his eyes, that
altered the aspect of his whole face.
‘Will you have some breakfast?’ I said.
‘You must be hungry, rambling about all night!’
I wanted to discover where he had been, but I did not like to ask
directly.
‘No, I’m not hungry,’ he answered, averting
his head, and speaking rather contemptuously, as if he guessed I
was trying to divine the occasion of his good humour.
I felt perplexed: I didn’t know whether it were not a
proper opportunity to offer a bit of admonition.
‘I don’t think it right to wander out of
doors,’ I observed, ‘instead of being in bed: it is
not wise, at any rate this moist season. I daresay
you’ll catch a bad cold or a fever: you have something the
matter with you now!’
‘Nothing but what I can bear,’ he replied;
‘and with the greatest pleasure, provided you’ll
leave me alone: get in, and don’t annoy me.’
I obeyed: and, in passing, I noticed he breathed as fast as a
cat.
‘Yes!’ I reflected to myself, ‘we shall have
a fit of illness. I cannot conceive what he has been
doing.’
That noon he sat down to dinner with us, and received a
heaped-up plate from my hands, as if he intended to make amends
for previous fasting.
‘I’ve neither cold nor fever, Nelly,’ he
remarked, in allusion to my morning’s speech; ‘and
I’m ready to do justice to the food you give me.’
He took his knife and fork, and was going to commence eating,
when the inclination appeared to become suddenly extinct.
He laid them on the table, looked eagerly towards the window,
then rose and went out. We saw him walking to and fro in
the garden while we concluded our meal, and Earnshaw said
he’d go and ask why he would not dine: he thought we had
grieved him some way.
‘Well, is he coming?’ cried Catherine, when her
cousin returned.
‘Nay,’ he answered; ‘but he’s not
angry: he seemed rarely pleased indeed; only I made him impatient
by speaking to him twice; and then he bid me be off to you: he
wondered how I could want the company of anybody else.’
I set his plate to keep warm on the fender; and after an hour
or two he re-entered, when the room was clear, in no degree
calmer: the same unnatural—it was
unnatural—appearance of joy under his black brows; the same
bloodless hue, and his teeth visible, now and then, in a kind of
smile; his frame shivering, not as one shivers with chill or
weakness, but as a tight-stretched cord vibrates—a strong
thrilling, rather than trembling.
I will ask what is the matter, I thought; or who should?
And I exclaimed—‘Have you heard any good news, Mr.
Heathcliff? You look uncommonly animated.’
‘Where should good news come from to me?’ he
said. ‘I’m animated with hunger; and,
seemingly, I must not eat.’
‘Your dinner is here,’ I returned; ‘why
won’t you get it?’
‘I don’t want it now,’ he muttered, hastily:
‘I’ll wait till supper. And, Nelly, once for
all, let me beg you to warn Hareton and the other away from
me. I wish to be troubled by nobody: I wish to have this
place to myself.’
‘Is there some new reason for this banishment?’ I
inquired. ‘Tell me why you are so queer, Mr.
Heathcliff? Where were you last night? I’m not
putting the question through idle curiosity,
but—’
‘You are putting the question through very idle
curiosity,’ he interrupted, with a laugh. ‘Yet
I’ll answer it. Last night I was on the threshold of
hell. To-day, I am within sight of my heaven. I have
my eyes on it: hardly three feet to sever me! And now
you’d better go! You’ll neither see nor hear
anything to frighten you, if you refrain from prying.’
Having swept the hearth and wiped the table, I departed; more
perplexed than ever.
He did not quit the house again that afternoon, and no one
intruded on his solitude; till, at eight o’clock, I deemed
it proper, though unsummoned, to carry a candle and his supper to
him. He was leaning against the ledge of an open lattice,
but not looking out: his face was turned to the interior
gloom. The fire had smouldered to ashes; the room was
filled with the damp, mild air of the cloudy evening; and so
still, that not only the murmur of the beck down Gimmerton was
distinguishable, but its ripples and its gurgling over the
pebbles, or through the large stones which it could not
cover. I uttered an ejaculation of discontent at seeing the
dismal grate, and commenced shutting the casements, one after
another, till I came to his.
‘Must I close this?’ I asked, in order to rouse
him; for he would not stir.
The light flashed on his features as I spoke. Oh, Mr.
Lockwood, I cannot express what a terrible start I got by the
momentary view! Those deep black eyes! That smile,
and ghastly paleness! It appeared to me, not Mr.
Heathcliff, but a goblin; and, in my terror, I let the candle
bend towards the wall, and it left me in darkness.
‘Yes, close it,’ he replied, in his familiar
voice. ‘There, that is pure awkwardness! Why
did you hold the candle horizontally? Be quick, and bring
another.’
I hurried out in a foolish state of dread, and said to
Joseph—‘The master wishes you to take him a light and
rekindle the fire.’ For I dared not go in myself
again just then.
Joseph rattled some fire into the shovel, and went: but he
brought it back immediately, with the supper-tray in his other
hand, explaining that Mr. Heathcliff was going to bed, and he
wanted nothing to eat till morning. We heard him mount the
stairs directly; he did not proceed to his ordinary chamber, but
turned into that with the panelled bed: its window, as I
mentioned before, is wide enough for anybody to get through; and
it struck me that he plotted another midnight excursion, of which
he had rather we had no suspicion.
‘Is he a ghoul or a vampire?’ I mused. I had
read of such hideous incarnate demons. And then I set
myself to reflect how I had tended him in infancy, and watched
him grow to youth, and followed him almost through his whole
course; and what absurd nonsense it was to yield to that sense of
horror. ‘But where did he come from, the little dark
thing, harboured by a good man to his bane?’ muttered
Superstition, as I dozed into unconsciousness. And I began,
half dreaming, to weary myself with imagining some fit parentage
for him; and, repeating my waking meditations, I tracked his
existence over again, with grim variations; at last, picturing
his death and funeral: of which, all I can remember is, being
exceedingly vexed at having the task of dictating an inscription
for his monument, and consulting the sexton about it; and, as he
had no surname, and we could not tell his age, we were obliged to
content ourselves with the single word,
‘Heathcliff.’ That came true: we were. If
you enter the kirkyard, you’ll read, on his headstone, only
that, and the date of his death.
Dawn restored me to common sense. I rose, and went into
the garden, as soon as I could see, to ascertain if there were
any footmarks under his window. There were none.
‘He has stayed at home,’ I thought, ‘and
he’ll be all right to-day.’ I prepared
breakfast for the household, as was my usual custom, but told
Hareton and Catherine to get theirs ere the master came down, for
he lay late. They preferred taking it out of doors, under
the trees, and I set a little table to accommodate them.
On my re-entrance, I found Mr. Heathcliff below. He and
Joseph were conversing about some farming business; he gave
clear, minute directions concerning the matter discussed, but he
spoke rapidly, and turned his head continually aside, and had the
same excited expression, even more exaggerated. When Joseph
quitted the room he took his seat in the place he generally
chose, and I put a basin of coffee before him. He drew it
nearer, and then rested his arms on the table, and looked at the
opposite wall, as I supposed, surveying one particular portion,
up and down, with glittering, restless eyes, and with such eager
interest that he stopped breathing during half a minute
together.
‘Come now,’ I exclaimed, pushing some bread
against his hand, ‘eat and drink that, while it is hot: it
has been waiting near an hour.’
He didn’t notice me, and yet he smiled. I’d
rather have seen him gnash his teeth than smile so.
‘Mr. Heathcliff! master!’ I cried,
‘don’t, for God’s sake, stare as if you saw an
unearthly vision.’
‘Don’t, for God’s sake, shout so
loud,’ he replied. ‘Turn round, and tell me,
are we by ourselves?’
‘Of course,’ was my answer; ‘of course we
are.’
Still, I involuntarily obeyed him, as if I was not quite
sure. With a sweep of his hand he cleared a vacant space in
front among the breakfast things, and leant forward to gaze more
at his ease.
Now, I perceived he was not looking at the wall; for when I
regarded him alone, it seemed exactly that he gazed at something
within two yards’ distance. And whatever it was, it
communicated, apparently, both pleasure and pain in exquisite
extremes: at least the anguished, yet raptured, expression of his
countenance suggested that idea. The fancied object was not
fixed, either: his eyes pursued it with unwearied diligence, and,
even in speaking to me, were never weaned away. I vainly
reminded him of his protracted abstinence from food: if he
stirred to touch anything in compliance with my entreaties, if he
stretched his hand out to get a piece of bread, his fingers
clenched before they reached it, and remained on the table,
forgetful of their aim.
I sat, a model of patience, trying to attract his absorbed
attention from its engrossing speculation; till he grew
irritable, and got up, asking why I would not allow him to have
his own time in taking his meals? and saying that on the next
occasion I needn’t wait: I might set the things down and
go. Having uttered these words he left the house, slowly
sauntered down the garden path, and disappeared through the
gate.
The hours crept anxiously by: another evening came. I
did not retire to rest till late, and when I did, I could not
sleep. He returned after midnight, and, instead of going to
bed, shut himself into the room beneath. I listened, and
tossed about, and, finally, dressed and descended. It was
too irksome to lie there, harassing my brain with a hundred idle
misgivings.
I distinguished Mr. Heathcliff’s step, restlessly
measuring the floor, and he frequently broke the silence by a
deep inspiration, resembling a groan. He muttered detached
words also; the only one I could catch was the name of Catherine,
coupled with some wild term of endearment or suffering; and
spoken as one would speak to a person present; low and earnest,
and wrung from the depth of his soul. I had not courage to
walk straight into the apartment; but I desired to divert him
from his reverie, and therefore fell foul of the kitchen fire,
stirred it, and began to scrape the cinders. It drew him
forth sooner than I expected. He opened the door
immediately, and said—‘Nelly, come here—is it
morning? Come in with your light.’
‘It is striking four,’ I answered.
‘You want a candle to take up-stairs: you might have lit
one at this fire.’
‘No, I don’t wish to go up-stairs,’ he
said. ‘Come in, and kindle
me a fire, and do
anything there is to do about the room.’
‘I must blow the coals red first, before I can carry
any,’ I replied, getting a chair and the bellows.
He roamed to and fro, meantime, in a state approaching
distraction; his heavy sighs succeeding each other so thick as to
leave no space for common breathing between.
‘When day breaks I’ll send for Green,’ he
said; ‘I wish to make some legal inquiries of him while I
can bestow a thought on those matters, and while I can act
calmly. I have not written my will yet; and how to leave my
property I cannot determine. I wish I could annihilate it
from the face of the earth.’
‘I would not talk so, Mr. Heathcliff,’ I
interposed. ‘Let your will be a while: you’ll
be spared to repent of your many injustices yet! I never
expected that your nerves would be disordered: they are, at
present, marvellously so, however; and almost entirely through
your own fault. The way you’ve passed these three
last days might knock up a Titan. Do take some food, and
some repose. You need only look at yourself in a glass to
see how you require both. Your cheeks are hollow, and your
eyes blood-shot, like a person starving with hunger and going
blind with loss of sleep.’
‘It is not my fault that I cannot eat or rest,’ he
replied. ‘I assure you it is through no settled
designs. I’ll do both, as soon as I possibly
can. But you might as well bid a man struggling in the
water rest within arms’ length of the shore! I must
reach it first, and then I’ll rest. Well, never mind
Mr. Green: as to repenting of my injustices, I’ve done no
injustice, and I repent of nothing. I’m too happy;
and yet I’m not happy enough. My soul’s bliss
kills my body, but does not satisfy itself.’
‘Happy, master?’ I cried. ‘Strange
happiness! If you would hear me without being angry, I
might offer some advice that would make you happier.’
‘What is that?’ he asked. ‘Give
it.’
‘You are aware, Mr. Heathcliff,’ I said,
‘that from the time you were thirteen years old you have
lived a selfish, unchristian life; and probably hardly had a
Bible in your hands during all that period. You must have
forgotten the contents of the book, and you may not have space to
search it now. Could it be hurtful to send for some
one—some minister of any denomination, it does not matter
which—to explain it, and show you how very far you have
erred from its precepts; and how unfit you will be for its
heaven, unless a change takes place before you die?’
‘I’m rather obliged than angry, Nelly,’ he
said, ‘for you remind me of the manner in which I desire to
be buried. It is to be carried to the churchyard in the
evening. You and Hareton may, if you please, accompany me:
and mind, particularly, to notice that the sexton obeys my
directions concerning the two coffins! No minister need
come; nor need anything be said over me.—I tell you I have
nearly attained
my heaven; and that of others is
altogether unvalued and uncoveted by me.’
‘And supposing you persevered in your obstinate fast,
and died by that means, and they refused to bury you in the
precincts of the kirk?’ I said, shocked at his godless
indifference. ‘How would you like it?’
‘They won’t do that,’ he replied: ‘if
they did, you must have me removed secretly; and if you neglect
it you shall prove, practically, that the dead are not
annihilated!’
As soon as he heard the other members of the family stirring
he retired to his den, and I breathed freer. But in the
afternoon, while Joseph and Hareton were at their work, he came
into the kitchen again, and, with a wild look, bid me come and
sit in the house: he wanted somebody with him. I declined;
telling him plainly that his strange talk and manner frightened
me, and I had neither the nerve nor the will to be his companion
alone.
‘I believe you think me a fiend,’ he said, with
his dismal laugh: ‘something too horrible to live under a
decent roof.’ Then turning to Catherine, who was
there, and who drew behind me at his approach, he added, half
sneeringly,—‘Will
you come, chuck?
I’ll not hurt you. No! to you I’ve made myself
worse than the devil. Well, there is
one who
won’t shrink from my company! By God! she’s
relentless. Oh, damn it! It’s unutterably too
much for flesh and blood to bear—even mine.’
He solicited the society of no one more. At dusk he went
into his chamber. Through the whole night, and far into the
morning, we heard him groaning and murmuring to himself.
Hareton was anxious to enter; but I bid him fetch Mr. Kenneth,
and he should go in and see him. When he came, and I
requested admittance and tried to open the door, I found it
locked; and Heathcliff bid us be damned. He was better, and
would be left alone; so the doctor went away.
The following evening was very wet: indeed, it poured down
till day-dawn; and, as I took my morning walk round the house, I
observed the master’s window swinging open, and the rain
driving straight in. He cannot be in bed, I thought: those
showers would drench him through. He must either be up or
out. But I’ll make no more ado, I’ll go boldly
and look.’
Having succeeded in obtaining entrance with another key, I ran
to unclose the panels, for the chamber was vacant; quickly
pushing them aside, I peeped in. Mr. Heathcliff was
there—laid on his back. His eyes met mine so keen and
fierce, I started; and then he seemed to smile. I could not
think him dead: but his face and throat were washed with rain;
the bed-clothes dripped, and he was perfectly still. The
lattice, flapping to and fro, had grazed one hand that rested on
the sill; no blood trickled from the broken skin, and when I put
my fingers to it, I could doubt no more: he was dead and
stark!
I hasped the window; I combed his black long hair from his
forehead; I tried to close his eyes: to extinguish, if possible,
that frightful, life-like gaze of exultation before any one else
beheld it. They would not shut: they seemed to sneer at my
attempts; and his parted lips and sharp white teeth sneered
too! Taken with another fit of cowardice, I cried out for
Joseph. Joseph shuffled up and made a noise, but resolutely
refused to meddle with him.
‘Th’ divil’s harried off his soul,’ he
cried, ‘and he may hev’ his carcass into t’
bargin, for aught I care! Ech! what a wicked ’un he
looks, girning at death!’ and the old sinner grinned in
mockery. I thought he intended to cut a caper round the
bed; but suddenly composing himself, he fell on his knees, and
raised his hands, and returned thanks that the lawful master and
the ancient stock were restored to their rights.
I felt stunned by the awful event; and my memory unavoidably
recurred to former times with a sort of oppressive sadness.
But poor Hareton, the most wronged, was the only one who really
suffered much. He sat by the corpse all night, weeping in
bitter earnest. He pressed its hand, and kissed the
sarcastic, savage face that every one else shrank from
contemplating; and bemoaned him with that strong grief which
springs naturally from a generous heart, though it be tough as
tempered steel.
Mr. Kenneth was perplexed to pronounce of what disorder the
master died. I concealed the fact of his having swallowed
nothing for four days, fearing it might lead to trouble, and
then, I am persuaded, he did not abstain on purpose: it was the
consequence of his strange illness, not the cause.
We buried him, to the scandal of the whole neighbourhood, as
he wished. Earnshaw and I, the sexton, and six men to carry
the coffin, comprehended the whole attendance. The six men
departed when they had let it down into the grave: we stayed to
see it covered. Hareton, with a streaming face, dug green
sods, and laid them over the brown mould himself: at present it
is as smooth and verdant as its companion mounds—and I hope
its tenant sleeps as soundly. But the country folks, if you
ask them, would swear on the Bible that he
walks: there
are those who speak to having met him near the church, and on the
moor, and even within this house. Idle tales, you’ll
say, and so say I. Yet that old man by the kitchen fire
affirms he has seen two on ’em looking out of his chamber
window on every rainy night since his death:—and an odd
thing happened to me about a month ago. I was going to the
Grange one evening—a dark evening, threatening
thunder—and, just at the turn of the Heights, I encountered
a little boy with a sheep and two lambs before him; he was crying
terribly; and I supposed the lambs were skittish, and would not
be guided.
‘What is the matter, my little man?’ I asked.
‘There’s Heathcliff and a woman yonder, under
t’ nab,’ he blubbered, ‘un’ I darnut pass
’em.’
I saw nothing; but neither the sheep nor he would go on so I
bid him take the road lower down. He probably raised the
phantoms from thinking, as he traversed the moors alone, on the
nonsense he had heard his parents and companions repeat.
Yet, still, I don’t like being out in the dark now; and I
don’t like being left by myself in this grim house: I
cannot help it; I shall be glad when they leave it, and shift to
the Grange.
‘They are going to the Grange, then?’ I said.
‘Yes,’ answered Mrs. Dean, ‘as soon as they
are married, and that will be on New Year’s Day.’
‘And who will live here then?’
‘Why, Joseph will take care of the house, and, perhaps,
a lad to keep him company. They will live in the kitchen,
and the rest will be shut up.’
‘For the use of such ghosts as choose to inhabit
it?’ I observed.
‘No, Mr. Lockwood,’ said Nelly, shaking her
head. ‘I believe the dead are at peace: but it is not
right to speak of them with levity.’
At that moment the garden gate swung to; the ramblers were
returning.
‘
They are afraid of nothing,’ I grumbled,
watching their approach through the window.
‘Together, they would brave Satan and all his
legions.’
As they stepped on to the door-stones, and halted to take a
last look at the moon—or, more correctly, at each other by
her light—I felt irresistibly impelled to escape them
again; and, pressing a remembrance into the hand of Mrs. Dean,
and disregarding her expostulations at my rudeness, I vanished
through the kitchen as they opened the house-door; and so should
have confirmed Joseph in his opinion of his
fellow-servant’s gay indiscretions, had he not fortunately
recognised me for a respectable character by the sweet ring of a
sovereign at his feet.
My walk home was lengthened by a diversion in the direction of
the kirk. When beneath its walls, I perceived decay had
made progress, even in seven months: many a window showed black
gaps deprived of glass; and slates jutted off here and there,
beyond the right line of the roof, to be gradually worked off in
coming autumn storms.
I sought, and soon discovered, the three headstones on the
slope next the moor: the middle one grey, and half buried in the
heath; Edgar Linton’s only harmonized by the turf and moss
creeping up its foot; Heathcliff’s still bare.
I lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the
moths fluttering among the heath and harebells, listened to the
soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how any one
could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that
quiet earth.
