The twelve years, continued Mrs. Dean, following that dismal period were the happiest of my life: my greatest troubles in their passage rose from our little lady\u2019s trifling illnesses, which she had to experience in common with all children, rich and poor. For the rest, after the first six months, she grew like a larch, and could walk and talk too, in her own way, before the heath blossomed a second time over Mrs. Linton\u2019s dust. She was the most winning thing that ever brought sunshine into a desolate house: a real beauty in face, with the Earnshaws\u2019 handsome dark eyes, but the Lintons\u2019 fair skin and small features, and yellow curling hair. Her spirit was high, though not rough, and qualified by a heart sensitive and lively to excess in its affections. That capacity for intense attachments reminded me of her mother: still she did not resemble her: for she could be soft and mild as a dove, and she had a gentle voice and pensive expression: her anger was never furious; her love never fierce: it was deep and tender. However, it must be acknowledged, she had faults to foil her gifts. A propensity to be saucy was one; and a perverse will, that indulged children invariably acquire, whether they be good tempered or cross. If a servant chanced to vex her, it was always\u2014\u201cI shall tell papa!\u201d And if he reproved her, even by a look, you would have thought it a heart-breaking business: I don\u2019t believe he ever did speak a harsh word to her. He took her education entirely on himself, and made it an amusement. Fortunately, curiosity and a quick intellect made her an apt scholar: she learned rapidly and eagerly, and did honour to his teaching.<\/p>\n
Till she reached the age of thirteen she had not once been beyond the range of the park by herself. Mr. Linton would take her with him a mile or so outside, on rare occasions; but he trusted her to no one else. Gimmerton was an unsubstantial name in her ears; the chapel, the only building she had approached or entered, except her own home. Wuthering Heights and Mr. Heathcliff did not exist for her: she was a perfect recluse; and, apparently, perfectly contented. Sometimes, indeed, while surveying the country from her nursery window, she would observe\u2014<\/p>\n
\u201cEllen, how long will it be before I can walk to the top of those hills? I wonder what lies on the other side\u2014is it the sea?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, Miss Cathy,\u201d I would answer; \u201cit is hills again, just like these.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd what are those golden rocks like when you stand under them?\u201d she once asked.<\/p>\n
The abrupt descent of Penistone Crags particularly attracted her notice; especially when the setting sun shone on it and the topmost heights, and the whole extent of landscape besides lay in shadow. I explained that they were bare masses of stone, with hardly enough earth in their clefts to nourish a stunted tree.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd why are they bright so long after it is evening here?\u201d she pursued.<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause they are a great deal higher up than we are,\u201d replied I; \u201cyou could not climb them, they are too high and steep. In winter the frost is always there before it comes to us; and deep into summer I have found snow under that black hollow on the north-east side!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, you have been on them!\u201d she cried gleefully. \u201cThen I can go, too, when I am a woman. Has papa been, Ellen?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPapa would tell you, Miss,\u201d I answered, hastily, \u201cthat they are not worth the trouble of visiting. The moors, where you ramble with him, are much nicer; and Thrushcross Park is the finest place in the world.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I know the park, and I don\u2019t know those,\u201d she murmured to herself. \u201cAnd I should delight to look round me from the brow of that tallest point: my little pony Minny shall take me some time.\u201d<\/p>\n
One of the maids mentioning the Fairy Cave, quite turned her head with a desire to fulfil this project: she teased Mr. Linton about it; and he promised she should have the journey when she got older. But Miss Catherine measured her age by months, and, \u201cNow, am I old enough to go to Penistone Crags?\u201d was the constant question in her mouth. The road thither wound close by Wuthering Heights. Edgar had not the heart to pass it; so she received as constantly the answer, \u201cNot yet, love: not yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
I said Mrs. Heathcliff lived above a dozen years after quitting her husband. Her family were of a delicate constitution: she and Edgar both lacked the ruddy health that you will generally meet in these parts. What her last illness was, I am not certain: I conjecture, they died of the same thing, a kind of fever, slow at its commencement, but incurable, and rapidly consuming life towards the close. She wrote to inform her brother of the probable conclusion of a four-months\u2019 indisposition under which she had suffered, and entreated him to come to her, if possible; for she had much to settle, and she wished to bid him adieu, and deliver Linton safely into his hands. Her hope was that Linton might be left with him, as he had been with her: his father, she would fain convince herself, had no desire to assume the burden of his maintenance or education. My master hesitated not a moment in complying with her request: reluctant as he was to leave home at ordinary calls, he flew to answer this; commanding Catherine to my peculiar vigilance, in his absence, with reiterated orders that she must not wander out of the park, even under my escort: he did not calculate on her going unaccompanied.<\/p>\n
He was away three weeks. The first day or two my charge sat in a corner of the library, too sad for either reading or playing: in that quiet state she caused me little trouble; but it was succeeded by an interval of impatient, fretful weariness; and being too busy, and too old then, to run up and down amusing her, I hit on a method by which she might entertain herself. I used to send her on her travels round the grounds\u2014now on foot, and now on a pony; indulging her with a patient audience of all her real and imaginary adventures when she returned.<\/p>\n
The summer shone in full prime; and she took such a taste for this solitary rambling that she often contrived to remain out from breakfast till tea; and then the evenings were spent in recounting her fanciful tales. I did not fear her breaking bounds; because the gates were generally locked, and I thought she would scarcely venture forth alone, if they had stood wide open. Unluckily, my confidence proved misplaced. Catherine came to me, one morning, at eight o\u2019clock, and said she was that day an Arabian merchant, going to cross the Desert with his caravan; and I must give her plenty of provision for herself and beasts: a horse, and three camels, personated by a large hound and a couple of pointers. I got together good store of dainties, and slung them in a basket on one side of the saddle; and she sprang up as gay as a fairy, sheltered by her wide-brimmed hat and gauze veil from the July sun, and trotted off with a merry laugh, mocking my cautious counsel to avoid galloping, and come back early. The naughty thing never made her appearance at tea. One traveller, the hound, being an old dog and fond of its ease, returned; but neither Cathy, nor the pony, nor the two pointers were visible in any direction: I despatched emissaries down this path, and that path, and at last went wandering in search of her myself. There was a labourer working at a fence round a plantation, on the borders of the grounds. I inquired of him if he had seen our young lady.<\/p>\n
\u201cI saw her at morn,\u201d he replied: \u201cshe would have me to cut her a hazel switch, and then she leapt her Galloway over the hedge yonder, where it is lowest, and galloped out of sight.\u201d<\/p>\n
You may guess how I felt at hearing this news. It struck me directly she must have started for Penistone Crags. \u201cWhat will become of her?\u201d I ejaculated, pushing through a gap which the man was repairing, and making straight to the high-road. I walked as if for a wager, mile after mile, till a turn brought me in view of the Heights; but no Catherine could I detect, far or near. The Crags lie about a mile and a half beyond Mr. Heathcliff\u2019s place, and that is four from the Grange, so I began to fear night would fall ere I could reach them. \u201cAnd what if she should have slipped in clambering among them,\u201d I reflected, \u201cand been killed, or broken some of her bones?\u201d My suspense was truly painful; and, at first, it gave me delightful relief to observe, in hurrying by the farmhouse, Charlie, the fiercest of the pointers, lying under a window, with swelled head and bleeding ear. I opened the wicket and ran to the door, knocking vehemently for admittance. A woman whom I knew, and who formerly lived at Gimmerton, answered: she had been servant there since the death of Mr. Earnshaw.<\/p>\n
\u201cAh,\u201d said she, \u201cyou are come a-seeking your little mistress! Don\u2019t be frightened. She\u2019s here safe: but I\u2019m glad it isn\u2019t the master.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe is not at home then, is he?\u201d I panted, quite breathless with quick walking and alarm.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, no,\u201d she replied: \u201cboth he and Joseph are off, and I think they won\u2019t return this hour or more. Step in and rest you a bit.\u201d<\/p>\n
I entered, and beheld my stray lamb seated on the hearth, rocking herself in a little chair that had been her mother\u2019s when a child. Her hat was hung against the wall, and she seemed perfectly at home, laughing and chattering, in the best spirits imaginable, to Hareton\u2014now a great, strong lad of eighteen\u2014who stared at her with considerable curiosity and astonishment: comprehending precious little of the fluent succession of remarks and questions which her tongue never ceased pouring forth.<\/p>\n
\u201cVery well, Miss!\u201d I exclaimed, concealing my joy under an angry countenance. \u201cThis is your last ride, till papa comes back. I\u2019ll not trust you over the threshold again, you naughty, naughty girl!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAha, Ellen!\u201d she cried, gaily, jumping up and running to my side. \u201cI shall have a pretty story to tell to-night; and so you\u2019ve found me out. Have you ever been here in your life before?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPut that hat on, and home at once,\u201d said I. \u201cI\u2019m dreadfully grieved at you, Miss Cathy: you\u2019ve done extremely wrong! It\u2019s no use pouting and crying: that won\u2019t repay the trouble I\u2019ve had, scouring the country after you. To think how Mr. Linton charged me to keep you in; and you stealing off so! It shows you are a cunning little fox, and nobody will put faith in you any more.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat have I done?\u201d sobbed she, instantly checked. \u201cPapa charged me nothing: he\u2019ll not scold me, Ellen\u2014he\u2019s never cross, like you!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCome, come!\u201d I repeated. \u201cI\u2019ll tie the riband. Now, let us have no petulance. Oh, for shame! You thirteen years old, and such a baby!\u201d<\/p>\n
This exclamation was caused by her pushing the hat from her head, and retreating to the chimney out of my reach.<\/p>\n
\u201cNay,\u201d said the servant, \u201cdon\u2019t be hard on the bonny lass, Mrs. Dean. We made her stop: she\u2019d fain have ridden forwards, afeard you should be uneasy. Hareton offered to go with her, and I thought he should: it\u2019s a wild road over the hills.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hareton, during the discussion, stood with his hands in his pockets, too awkward to speak; though he looked as if he did not relish my intrusion.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow long am I to wait?\u201d I continued, disregarding the woman\u2019s interference. \u201cIt will be dark in ten minutes. Where is the pony, Miss Cathy? And where is Phoenix? I shall leave you, unless you be quick; so please yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe pony is in the yard,\u201d she replied, \u201cand Phoenix is shut in there. He\u2019s bitten\u2014and so is Charlie. I was going to tell you all about it; but you are in a bad temper, and don\u2019t deserve to hear.\u201d<\/p>\n
I picked up her hat, and approached to reinstate it; but perceiving that the people of the house took her part, she commenced capering round the room; and on my giving chase, ran like a mouse over and under and behind the furniture, rendering it ridiculous for me to pursue. Hareton and the woman laughed, and she joined them, and waxed more impertinent still; till I cried, in great irritation,\u2014\u201cWell, Miss Cathy, if you were aware whose house this is you\u2019d be glad enough to get out.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s your<\/i> father\u2019s, isn\u2019t it?\u201d said she, turning to Hareton.<\/p>\n
\u201cNay,\u201d he replied, looking down, and blushing bashfully.<\/p>\n
He could not stand a steady gaze from her eyes, though they were just his own.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhose then\u2014your master\u2019s?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
He coloured deeper, with a different feeling, muttered an oath, and turned away.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho is his master?\u201d continued the tiresome girl, appealing to me. \u201cHe talked about \u2018our house,\u2019 and \u2018our folk.\u2019 I thought he had been the owner\u2019s son. And he never said Miss: he should have done, shouldn\u2019t he, if he\u2019s a servant?\u201d<\/p>\n
Hareton grew black as a thunder-cloud at this childish speech. I silently shook my questioner, and at last succeeded in equipping her for departure.<\/p>\n
\u201cNow, get my horse,\u201d she said, addressing her unknown kinsman as she would one of the stable-boys at the Grange. \u201cAnd you may come with me. I want to see where the goblin-hunter rises in the marsh, and to hear about the fairishes<\/i>, as you call them: but make haste! What\u2019s the matter? Get my horse, I say.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll see thee damned before I be thy<\/i> servant!\u201d growled the lad.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll see me what<\/i>!\u201d asked Catherine in surprise.<\/p>\n
\u201cDamned\u2014thou saucy witch!\u201d he replied.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere, Miss Cathy! you see you have got into pretty company,\u201d I interposed. \u201cNice words to be used to a young lady! Pray don\u2019t begin to dispute with him. Come, let us seek for Minny ourselves, and begone.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut, Ellen,\u201d cried she, staring fixed in astonishment, \u201chow dare he speak so to me? Mustn\u2019t he be made to do as I ask him? You wicked creature, I shall tell papa what you said.\u2014Now, then!\u201d<\/p>\n
Hareton did not appear to feel this threat; so the tears sprang into her eyes with indignation. \u201cYou bring the pony,\u201d she exclaimed, turning to the woman, \u201cand let my dog free this moment!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSoftly, Miss,\u201d answered she addressed; \u201cyou\u2019ll lose nothing by being civil. Though Mr. Hareton, there, be not the master\u2019s son, he\u2019s your cousin: and I was never hired to serve you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe<\/i> my cousin!\u201d cried Cathy, with a scornful laugh.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, indeed,\u201d responded her reprover.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, Ellen! don\u2019t let them say such things,\u201d she pursued in great trouble. \u201cPapa is gone to fetch my cousin from London: my cousin is a gentleman\u2019s son. That my\u2014\u201d she stopped, and wept outright; upset at the bare notion of relationship with such a clown.<\/p>\n
\u201cHush, hush!\u201d I whispered; \u201cpeople can have many cousins and of all sorts, Miss Cathy, without being any the worse for it; only they needn\u2019t keep their company, if they be disagreeable and bad.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s not\u2014he\u2019s not my cousin, Ellen!\u201d she went on, gathering fresh grief from reflection, and flinging herself into my arms for refuge from the idea.<\/p>\n
I was much vexed at her and the servant for their mutual revelations; having no doubt of Linton\u2019s approaching arrival, communicated by the former, being reported to Mr. Heathcliff; and feeling as confident that Catherine\u2019s first thought on her father\u2019s return would be to seek an explanation of the latter\u2019s assertion concerning her rude-bred kindred. Hareton, recovering from his disgust at being taken for a servant, seemed moved by her distress; and, having fetched the pony round to the door, he took, to propitiate her, a fine crooked-legged terrier whelp from the kennel, and putting it into her hand, bid her whist! for he meant nought. Pausing in her lamentations, she surveyed him with a glance of awe and horror, then burst forth anew.<\/p>\n
I could scarcely refrain from smiling at this antipathy to the poor fellow; who was a well-made, athletic youth, good-looking in features, and stout and healthy, but attired in garments befitting his daily occupations of working on the farm and lounging among the moors after rabbits and game. Still, I thought I could detect in his physiognomy a mind owning better qualities than his father ever possessed. Good things lost amid a wilderness of weeds, to be sure, whose rankness far over-topped their neglected growth; yet, notwithstanding, evidence of a wealthy soil, that might yield luxuriant crops under other and favourable circumstances. Mr. Heathcliff, I believe, had not treated him physically ill; thanks to his fearless nature, which offered no temptation to that course of oppression: he had none of the timid susceptibility that would have given zest to ill-treatment, in Heathcliff\u2019s judgment. He appeared to have bent his malevolence on making him a brute: he was never taught to read or write; never rebuked for any bad habit which did not annoy his keeper; never led a single step towards virtue, or guarded by a single precept against vice. And from what I heard, Joseph contributed much to his deterioration, by a narrow-minded partiality which prompted him to flatter and pet him, as a boy, because he was the head of the old family. And as he had been in the habit of accusing Catherine Earnshaw and Heathcliff, when children, of putting the master past his patience, and compelling him to seek solace in drink by what he termed their \u201coffald ways,\u201d so at present he laid the whole burden of Hareton\u2019s faults on the shoulders of the usurper of his property. If the lad swore, he wouldn\u2019t correct him: nor however culpably he behaved. It gave Joseph satisfaction, apparently, to watch him go the worst lengths: he allowed that the lad was ruined: that his soul was abandoned to perdition; but then he reflected that Heathcliff must answer for it. Hareton\u2019s blood would be required at his hands; and there lay immense consolation in that thought. Joseph had instilled into him a pride of name, and of his lineage; he would, had he dared, have fostered hate between him and the present owner of the Heights: but his dread of that owner amounted to superstition; and he confined his feelings regarding him to muttered innuendoes and private comminations. I don\u2019t pretend to be intimately acquainted with the mode of living customary in those days at Wuthering Heights: I only speak from hearsay; for I saw little. The villagers affirmed Mr. Heathcliff was near<\/i>, and a cruel hard landlord to his tenants; but the house, inside, had regained its ancient aspect of comfort under female management, and the scenes of riot common in Hindley\u2019s time were not now enacted within its walls. The master was too gloomy to seek companionship with any people, good or bad; and he is yet.<\/p>\n
This, however, is not making progress with my story. Miss Cathy rejected the peace-offering of the terrier, and demanded her own dogs, Charlie and Phoenix. They came limping and hanging their heads; and we set out for home, sadly out of sorts, every one of us. I could not wring from my little lady how she had spent the day; except that, as I supposed, the goal of her pilgrimage was Penistone Crags; and she arrived without adventure to the gate of the farm-house, when Hareton happened to issue forth, attended by some canine followers, who attacked her train. They had a smart battle, before their owners could separate them: that formed an introduction. Catherine told Hareton who she was, and where she was going; and asked him to show her the way: finally, beguiling him to accompany her. He opened the mysteries of the Fairy Cave, and twenty other queer places. But, being in disgrace, I was not favoured with a description of the interesting objects she saw. I could gather, however, that her guide had been a favourite till she hurt his feelings by addressing him as a servant; and Heathcliff\u2019s housekeeper hurt hers by calling him her cousin. Then the language he had held to her rankled in her heart; she who was always \u201clove,\u201d and \u201cdarling,\u201d and \u201cqueen,\u201d and \u201cangel,\u201d with everybody at the Grange, to be insulted so shockingly by a stranger! She did not comprehend it; and hard work I had to obtain a promise that she would not lay the grievance before her father. I explained how he objected to the whole household at the Heights, and how sorry he would be to find she had been there; but I insisted most on the fact, that if she revealed my negligence of his orders, he would perhaps be so angry that I should have to leave; and Cathy couldn\u2019t bear that prospect: she pledged her word, and kept it for my sake. After all, she was a sweet little girl.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":299,"menu_order":18,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[48],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-41","chapter","type-chapter","status-publish","hentry","chapter-type-numberless"],"part":3,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/41","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/299"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/41\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":168,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/41\/revisions\/168"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/3"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/41\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=41"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=41"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=41"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=41"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}