Wuthering Heights (Chapter 8)

Wuthering Heights

Emily Bronté

Chapter 8

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.

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.

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 dutyand 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.

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