Chapter 1 of Wuthering Heights.
Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë.
CHAPTER 1.
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 grip, 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 dessert,
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 grip) 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 grip, 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.
