We had sad work with little Cathy that day: she rose in high glee, eager to join her cousin, and such passionate tears and lamentations followed the news of his departure that Edgar himself was obliged to soothe her, by affirming he should come back soon: he added, however, \u201cif I can get him\u201d; and there were no hopes of that. This promise poorly pacified her; but time was more potent; and though still at intervals she inquired of her father when Linton would return, before she did see him again his features had waxed so dim in her memory that she did not recognise him.<\/p>\n
When I chanced to encounter the housekeeper of Wuthering Heights, in paying business visits to Gimmerton, I used to ask how the young master got on; for he lived almost as secluded as Catherine herself, and was never to be seen. I could gather from her that he continued in weak health, and was a tiresome inmate. She said Mr. Heathcliff seemed to dislike him ever longer and worse, though he took some trouble to conceal it: he had an antipathy to the sound of his voice, and could not do at all with his sitting in the same room with him many minutes together. There seldom passed much talk between them: Linton learnt his lessons and spent his evenings in a small apartment they called the parlour: or else lay in bed all day: for he was constantly getting coughs, and colds, and aches, and pains of some sort.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I never knew such a fainthearted creature,\u201d added the woman; \u201cnor one so careful of hisseln. He will<\/i> go on, if I leave the window open a bit late in the evening. Oh! it\u2019s killing, a breath of night air! And he must have a fire in the middle of summer; and Joseph\u2019s bacca-pipe is poison; and he must always have sweets and dainties, and always milk, milk for ever\u2014heeding naught how the rest of us are pinched in winter; and there he\u2019ll sit, wrapped in his furred cloak in his chair by the fire, with some toast and water or other slop on the hob to sip at; and if Hareton, for pity, comes to amuse him\u2014Hareton is not bad-natured, though he\u2019s rough\u2014they\u2019re sure to part, one swearing and the other crying. I believe the master would relish Earnshaw\u2019s thrashing him to a mummy, if he were not his son; and I\u2019m certain he would be fit to turn him out of doors, if he knew half the nursing he gives hisseln. But then he won\u2019t go into danger of temptation: he never enters the parlour, and should Linton show those ways in the house where he is, he sends him upstairs directly.\u201d<\/p>\n
I divined, from this account, that utter lack of sympathy had rendered young Heathcliff selfish and disagreeable, if he were not so originally; and my interest in him, consequently, decayed: though still I was moved with a sense of grief at his lot, and a wish that he had been left with us. Mr. Edgar encouraged me to gain information: he thought a great deal about him, I fancy, and would have run some risk to see him; and he told me once to ask the housekeeper whether he ever came into the village? She said he had only been twice, on horseback, accompanying his father; and both times he pretended to be quite knocked up for three or four days afterwards. That housekeeper left, if I recollect rightly, two years after he came; and another, whom I did not know, was her successor; she lives there still.<\/p>\n
Time wore on at the Grange in its former pleasant way till Miss Cathy reached sixteen. On the anniversary of her birth we never manifested any signs of rejoicing, because it was also the anniversary of my late mistress\u2019s death. Her father invariably spent that day alone in the library; and walked, at dusk, as far as Gimmerton kirkyard, where he would frequently prolong his stay beyond midnight. Therefore Catherine was thrown on her own resources for amusement. This twentieth of March was a beautiful spring day, and when her father had retired, my young lady came down dressed for going out, and said she asked to have a ramble on the edge of the moor with me: Mr. Linton had given her leave, if we went only a short distance and were back within the hour.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo make haste, Ellen!\u201d she cried. \u201cI know where I wish to go; where a colony of moor-game are settled: I want to see whether they have made their nests yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat must be a good distance up,\u201d I answered; \u201cthey don\u2019t breed on the edge of the moor.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, it\u2019s not,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019ve gone very near with papa.\u201d<\/p>\n
I put on my bonnet and sallied out, thinking nothing more of the matter. She bounded before me, and returned to my side, and was off again like a young greyhound; and, at first, I found plenty of entertainment in listening to the larks singing far and near, and enjoying the sweet, warm sunshine; and watching her, my pet and my delight, with her golden ringlets flying loose behind, and her bright cheek, as soft and pure in its bloom as a wild rose, and her eyes radiant with cloudless pleasure. She was a happy creature, and an angel, in those days. It\u2019s a pity she could not be content.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell,\u201d said I, \u201cwhere are your moor-game, Miss Cathy? We should be at them: the Grange park-fence is a great way off now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, a little further\u2014only a little further, Ellen,\u201d was her answer, continually. \u201cClimb to that hillock, pass that bank, and by the time you reach the other side I shall have raised the birds.\u201d<\/p>\n
But there were so many hillocks and banks to climb and pass, that, at length, I began to be weary, and told her we must halt, and retrace our steps. I shouted to her, as she had outstripped me a long way; she either did not hear or did not regard, for she still sprang on, and I was compelled to follow. Finally, she dived into a hollow; and before I came in sight of her again, she was two miles nearer Wuthering Heights than her own home; and I beheld a couple of persons arrest her, one of whom I felt convinced was Mr. Heathcliff himself.<\/p>\n
Cathy had been caught in the fact of plundering, or, at least, hunting out the nests of the grouse. The Heights were Heathcliff\u2019s land, and he was reproving the poacher.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve neither taken any nor found any,\u201d she said, as I toiled to them, expanding her hands in corroboration of the statement. \u201cI didn\u2019t mean to take them; but papa told me there were quantities up here, and I wished to see the eggs.\u201d<\/p>\n
Heathcliff glanced at me with an ill-meaning smile, expressing his acquaintance with the party, and, consequently, his malevolence towards it, and demanded who \u201cpapa\u201d was?<\/p>\n
\u201cMr. Linton of Thrushcross Grange,\u201d she replied. \u201cI thought you did not know me, or you wouldn\u2019t have spoken in that way.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou suppose papa is highly esteemed and respected, then?\u201d he said, sarcastically.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd what are you?\u201d inquired Catherine, gazing curiously on the speaker. \u201cThat man I\u2019ve seen before. Is he your son?\u201d<\/p>\n
She pointed to Hareton, the other individual, who had gained nothing but increased bulk and strength by the addition of two years to his age: he seemed as awkward and rough as ever.<\/p>\n
\u201cMiss Cathy,\u201d I interrupted, \u201cit will be three hours instead of one that we are out, presently. We really must go back.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, that man is not my son,\u201d answered Heathcliff, pushing me aside. \u201cBut I have one, and you have seen him before too; and, though your nurse is in a hurry, I think both you and she would be the better for a little rest. Will you just turn this nab of heath, and walk into my house? You\u2019ll get home earlier for the ease; and you shall receive a kind welcome.\u201d<\/p>\n
I whispered Catherine that she mustn\u2019t, on any account, accede to the proposal: it was entirely out of the question.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d she asked, aloud. \u201cI\u2019m tired of running, and the ground is dewy: I can\u2019t sit here. Let us go, Ellen. Besides, he says I have seen his son. He\u2019s mistaken, I think; but I guess where he lives: at the farmhouse I visited in coming from Penistone Crags. Don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI do. Come, Nelly, hold your tongue\u2014it will be a treat for her to look in on us. Hareton, get forwards with the lass. You shall walk with me, Nelly.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, she\u2019s not going to any such place,\u201d I cried, struggling to release my arm, which he had seized: but she was almost at the door-stones already, scampering round the brow at full speed. Her appointed companion did not pretend to escort her: he shied off by the road-side, and vanished.<\/p>\n
\u201cMr. Heathcliff, it\u2019s very wrong,\u201d I continued: \u201cyou know you mean no good. And there she\u2019ll see Linton, and all will be told as soon as ever we return; and I shall have the blame.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI want her to see Linton,\u201d he answered; \u201che\u2019s looking better these few days; it\u2019s not often he\u2019s fit to be seen. And we\u2019ll soon persuade her to keep the visit secret: where is the harm of it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe harm of it is, that her father would hate me if he found I suffered her to enter your house; and I am convinced you have a bad design in encouraging her to do so,\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy design is as honest as possible. I\u2019ll inform you of its whole scope,\u201d he said. \u201cThat the two cousins may fall in love, and get married. I\u2019m acting generously to your master: his young chit has no expectations, and should she second my wishes she\u2019ll be provided for at once as joint successor with Linton.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf Linton died,\u201d I answered, \u201cand his life is quite uncertain, Catherine would be the heir.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, she would not,\u201d he said. \u201cThere is no clause in the will to secure it so: his property would go to me; but, to prevent disputes, I desire their union, and am resolved to bring it about.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I\u2019m resolved she shall never approach your house with me again,\u201d I returned, as we reached the gate, where Miss Cathy waited our coming.<\/p>\n
Heathcliff bade me be quiet; and, preceding us up the path, hastened to open the door. My young lady gave him several looks, as if she could not exactly make up her mind what to think of him; but now he smiled when he met her eye, and softened his voice in addressing her; and I was foolish enough to imagine the memory of her mother might disarm him from desiring her injury. Linton stood on the hearth. He had been out walking in the fields, for his cap was on, and he was calling to Joseph to bring him dry shoes. He had grown tall of his age, still wanting some months of sixteen. His features were pretty yet, and his eye and complexion brighter than I remembered them, though with merely temporary lustre borrowed from the salubrious air and genial sun.<\/p>\n
\u201cNow, who is that?\u201d asked Mr. Heathcliff, turning to Cathy. \u201cCan you tell?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour son?\u201d she said, having doubtfully surveyed, first one and then the other.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, yes,\u201d answered he: \u201cbut is this the only time you have beheld him? Think! Ah! you have a short memory. Linton, don\u2019t you recall your cousin, that you used to tease us so with wishing to see?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat, Linton!\u201d cried Cathy, kindling into joyful surprise at the name. \u201cIs that little Linton? He\u2019s taller than I am! Are you Linton?\u201d<\/p>\n
The youth stepped forward, and acknowledged himself: she kissed him fervently, and they gazed with wonder at the change time had wrought in the appearance of each. Catherine had reached her full height; her figure was both plump and slender, elastic as steel, and her whole aspect sparkling with health and spirits. Linton\u2019s looks and movements were very languid, and his form extremely slight; but there was a grace in his manner that mitigated these defects, and rendered him not unpleasing. After exchanging numerous marks of fondness with him, his cousin went to Mr. Heathcliff, who lingered by the door, dividing his attention between the objects inside and those that lay without: pretending, that is, to observe the latter, and really noting the former alone.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you are my uncle, then!\u201d she cried, reaching up to salute him. \u201cI thought I liked you, though you were cross at first. Why don\u2019t you visit at the Grange with Linton? To live all these years such close neighbours, and never see us, is odd: what have you done so for?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI visited it once or twice too often before you were born,\u201d he answered. \u201cThere\u2014damn it! If you have any kisses to spare, give them to Linton: they are thrown away on me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNaughty Ellen!\u201d exclaimed Catherine, flying to attack me next with her lavish caresses. \u201cWicked Ellen! to try to hinder me from entering. But I\u2019ll take this walk every morning in future: may I, uncle? and sometimes bring papa. Won\u2019t you be glad to see us?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course,\u201d replied the uncle, with a hardly suppressed grimace, resulting from his deep aversion to both the proposed visitors. \u201cBut stay,\u201d he continued, turning towards the young lady. \u201cNow I think of it, I\u2019d better tell you. Mr. Linton has a prejudice against me: we quarrelled at one time of our lives, with unchristian ferocity; and, if you mention coming here to him, he\u2019ll put a veto on your visits altogether. Therefore, you must not mention it, unless you be careless of seeing your cousin hereafter: you may come, if you will, but you must not mention it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy did you quarrel?\u201d asked Catherine, considerably crestfallen.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe thought me too poor to wed his sister,\u201d answered Heathcliff, \u201cand was grieved that I got her: his pride was hurt, and he\u2019ll never forgive it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s wrong!\u201d said the young lady: \u201csome time I\u2019ll tell him so. But Linton and I have no share in your quarrel. I\u2019ll not come here, then; he shall come to the Grange.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt will be too far for me,\u201d murmured her cousin: \u201cto walk four miles would kill me. No, come here, Miss Catherine, now and then: not every morning, but once or twice a week.\u201d<\/p>\n
The father launched towards his son a glance of bitter contempt.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am afraid, Nelly, I shall lose my labour,\u201d he muttered to me. \u201cMiss Catherine, as the ninny calls her, will discover his value, and send him to the devil. Now, if it had been Hareton!\u2014Do you know that, twenty times a day, I covet Hareton, with all his degradation? I\u2019d have loved the lad had he been some one else. But I think he\u2019s safe from her<\/i> love. I\u2019ll pit him against that paltry creature, unless it bestir itself briskly. We calculate it will scarcely last till it is eighteen. Oh, confound the vapid thing! He\u2019s absorbed in drying his feet, and never looks at her.\u2014Linton!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, father,\u201d answered the boy.<\/p>\n
\u201cHave you nothing to show your cousin anywhere about, not even a rabbit or a weasel\u2019s nest? Take her into the garden, before you change your shoes; and into the stable to see your horse.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWouldn\u2019t you rather sit here?\u201d asked Linton, addressing Cathy in a tone which expressed reluctance to move again.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d she replied, casting a longing look to the door, and evidently eager to be active.<\/p>\n
He kept his seat, and shrank closer to the fire. Heathcliff rose, and went into the kitchen, and from thence to the yard, calling out for Hareton. Hareton responded, and presently the two re-entered. The young man had been washing himself, as was visible by the glow on his cheeks and his wetted hair.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, I\u2019ll ask you<\/i>, uncle,\u201d cried Miss Cathy, recollecting the housekeeper\u2019s assertion. \u201cThat is not my cousin, is he?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d he, replied, \u201cyour mother\u2019s nephew. Don\u2019t you like him!\u201d<\/p>\n
Catherine looked queer.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs he not a handsome lad?\u201d he continued.<\/p>\n
The uncivil little thing stood on tiptoe, and whispered a sentence in Heathcliff\u2019s ear. He laughed; Hareton darkened: I perceived he was very sensitive to suspected slights, and had obviously a dim notion of his inferiority. But his master or guardian chased the frown by exclaiming\u2014<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll be the favourite among us, Hareton! She says you are a\u2014What was it? Well, something very flattering. Here! you go with her round the farm. And behave like a gentleman, mind! Don\u2019t use any bad words; and don\u2019t stare when the young lady is not looking at you, and be ready to hide your face when she is; and, when you speak, say your words slowly, and keep your hands out of your pockets. Be off, and entertain her as nicely as you can.\u201d<\/p>\n
He watched the couple walking past the window. Earnshaw had his countenance completely averted from his companion. He seemed studying the familiar landscape with a stranger\u2019s and an artist\u2019s interest. Catherine took a sly look at him, expressing small admiration. She then turned her attention to seeking out objects of amusement for herself, and tripped merrily on, lilting a tune to supply the lack of conversation.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve tied his tongue,\u201d observed Heathcliff. \u201cHe\u2019ll not venture a single syllable all the time! Nelly, you recollect me at his age\u2014nay, some years younger. Did I ever look so stupid: so \u2018gaumless,\u2019 as Joseph calls it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWorse,\u201d I replied, \u201cbecause more sullen with it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve a pleasure in him,\u201d he continued, reflecting aloud. \u201cHe has satisfied my expectations. If he were a born fool I should not enjoy it half so much. But he\u2019s no fool; and I can sympathise with all his feelings, having felt them myself. I know what he suffers now, for instance, exactly: it is merely a beginning of what he shall suffer, though. And he\u2019ll never be able to emerge from his bathos of coarseness and ignorance. I\u2019ve got him faster than his scoundrel of a father secured me, and lower; for he takes a pride in his brutishness. I\u2019ve taught him to scorn everything extra-animal as silly and weak. Don\u2019t you think Hindley would be proud of his son, if he could see him? almost as proud as I am of mine. But there\u2019s this difference; one is gold put to the use of paving-stones, and the other is tin polished to ape a service of silver. Mine<\/i> has nothing valuable about it; yet I shall have the merit of making it go as far as such poor stuff can go. His<\/i> had first-rate qualities, and they are lost: rendered worse than unavailing. I<\/i> have nothing to regret; he<\/i> would have more than any, but I, are aware of. And the best of it is, Hareton is damnably fond of me! You\u2019ll own that I\u2019ve outmatched Hindley there. If the dead villain could rise from his grave to abuse me for his offspring\u2019s wrongs, I should have the fun of seeing the said offspring fight him back again, indignant that he should dare to rail at the one friend he has in the world!\u201d<\/p>\n
Heathcliff chuckled a fiendish laugh at the idea. I made no reply, because I saw that he expected none. Meantime, our young companion, who sat too removed from us to hear what was said, began to evince symptoms of uneasiness, probably repenting that he had denied himself the treat of Catherine\u2019s society for fear of a little fatigue. His father remarked the restless glances wandering to the window, and the hand irresolutely extended towards his cap.<\/p>\n
\u201cGet up, you idle boy!\u201d he exclaimed, with assumed heartiness.<\/p>\n
\u201cAway after them! they are just at the corner, by the stand of hives.\u201d<\/p>\n
Linton gathered his energies, and left the hearth. The lattice was open, and, as he stepped out, I heard Cathy inquiring of her unsociable attendant what was that inscription over the door? Hareton stared up, and scratched his head like a true clown.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s some damnable writing,\u201d he answered. \u201cI cannot read it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCan\u2019t read it?\u201d cried Catherine; \u201cI can read it: it\u2019s English. But I want to know why it is there.\u201d<\/p>\n
Linton giggled: the first appearance of mirth he had exhibited.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe does not know his letters,\u201d he said to his cousin. \u201cCould you believe in the existence of such a colossal dunce?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs he all as he should be?\u201d asked Miss Cathy, seriously; \u201cor is he simple: not right? I\u2019ve questioned him twice now, and each time he looked so stupid I think he does not understand me. I can hardly understand him, I\u2019m sure!\u201d<\/p>\n
Linton repeated his laugh, and glanced at Hareton tauntingly; who certainly did not seem quite clear of comprehension at that moment.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s nothing the matter but laziness; is there, Earnshaw?\u201d he said. \u201cMy cousin fancies you are an idiot. There you experience the consequence of scorning \u2018book-larning,\u2019 as you would say. Have you noticed, Catherine, his frightful Yorkshire pronunciation?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy, where the devil is the use on\u2019t?\u201d growled Hareton, more ready in answering his daily companion. He was about to enlarge further, but the two youngsters broke into a noisy fit of merriment: my giddy miss being delighted to discover that she might turn his strange talk to matter of amusement.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere is the use of the devil in that sentence?\u201d tittered Linton. \u201cPapa told you not to say any bad words, and you can\u2019t open your mouth without one. Do try to behave like a gentleman, now do!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf thou weren\u2019t more a lass than a lad, I\u2019d fell thee this minute, I would; pitiful lath of a crater!\u201d retorted the angry boor, retreating, while his face burnt with mingled rage and mortification; for he was conscious of being insulted, and embarrassed how to resent it.<\/p>\n
Mr. Heathcliff having overheard the conversation, as well as I, smiled when he saw him go; but immediately afterwards cast a look of singular aversion on the flippant pair, who remained chattering in the door-way: the boy finding animation enough while discussing Hareton\u2019s faults and deficiencies, and relating anecdotes of his goings on; and the girl relishing his pert and spiteful sayings, without considering the ill-nature they evinced. I began to dislike, more than to compassionate Linton, and to excuse his father in some measure for holding him cheap.<\/p>\n
We stayed till afternoon: I could not tear Miss Cathy away sooner; but happily my master had not quitted his apartment, and remained ignorant of our prolonged absence. As we walked home, I would fain have enlightened my charge on the characters of the people we had quitted: but she got it into her head that I was prejudiced against them.<\/p>\n
\u201cAha!\u201d she cried, \u201cyou take papa\u2019s side, Ellen: you are partial I know; or else you wouldn\u2019t have cheated me so many years into the notion that Linton lived a long way from here. I\u2019m really extremely angry; only I\u2019m so pleased I can\u2019t show it! But you must hold your tongue about my<\/i> uncle; he\u2019s my uncle, remember; and I\u2019ll scold papa for quarrelling with him.\u201d<\/p>\n
And so she ran on, till I relinquished the endeavour to convince her of her mistake. She did not mention the visit that night, because she did not see Mr. Linton. Next day it all came out, sadly to my chagrin; and still I was not altogether sorry: I thought the burden of directing and warning would be more efficiently borne by him than me. But he was too timid in giving satisfactory reasons for his wish that she should shun connection with the household of the Heights, and Catherine liked good reasons for every restraint that harassed her petted will.<\/p>\n
\u201cPapa!\u201d she exclaimed, after the morning\u2019s salutations, \u201cguess whom I saw yesterday, in my walk on the moors. Ah, papa, you started! you\u2019ve not done right, have you, now? I saw\u2014but listen, and you shall hear how I found you out; and Ellen, who is in league with you, and yet pretended to pity me so, when I kept hoping, and was always disappointed about Linton\u2019s coming back!\u201d<\/p>\n
She gave a faithful account of her excursion and its consequences; and my master, though he cast more than one reproachful look at me, said nothing till she had concluded. Then he drew her to him, and asked if she knew why he had concealed Linton\u2019s near neighbourhood from her? Could she think it was to deny her a pleasure that she might harmlessly enjoy?<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was because you disliked Mr. Heathcliff,\u201d she answered.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen you believe I care more for my own feelings than yours, Cathy?\u201d he said. \u201cNo, it was not because I disliked Mr. Heathcliff, but because Mr. Heathcliff dislikes me; and is a most diabolical man, delighting to wrong and ruin those he hates, if they give him the slightest opportunity. I knew that you could not keep up an acquaintance with your cousin without being brought into contact with him; and I knew he would detest you on my account; so for your own good, and nothing else, I took precautions that you should not see Linton again. I meant to explain this some time as you grew older, and I\u2019m sorry I delayed it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut Mr. Heathcliff was quite cordial, papa,\u201d observed Catherine, not at all convinced; \u201cand he<\/i> didn\u2019t object to our seeing each other: he said I might come to his house when I pleased; only I must not tell you, because you had quarrelled with him, and would not forgive him for marrying aunt Isabella. And you won\u2019t. You<\/i> are the one to be blamed: he is willing to let us<\/i> be friends, at least; Linton and I; and you are not.\u201d<\/p>\n
My master, perceiving that she would not take his word for her uncle-in-law\u2019s evil disposition, gave a hasty sketch of his conduct to Isabella, and the manner in which Wuthering Heights became his property. He could not bear to discourse long upon the topic; for though he spoke little of it, he still felt the same horror and detestation of his ancient enemy that had occupied his heart ever since Mrs. Linton\u2019s death. \u201cShe might have been living yet, if it had not been for him!\u201d was his constant bitter reflection; and, in his eyes, Heathcliff seemed a murderer. Miss Cathy\u2014conversant with no bad deeds except her own slight acts of disobedience, injustice, and passion, arising from hot temper and thoughtlessness, and repented of on the day they were committed\u2014was amazed at the blackness of spirit that could brood on and cover revenge for years, and deliberately prosecute its plans without a visitation of remorse. She appeared so deeply impressed and shocked at this new view of human nature\u2014excluded from all her studies and all her ideas till now\u2014that Mr. Edgar deemed it unnecessary to pursue the subject. He merely added: \u201cYou will know hereafter, darling, why I wish you to avoid his house and family; now return to your old employments and amusements, and think no more about them.\u201d<\/p>\n
Catherine kissed her father, and sat down quietly to her lessons for a couple of hours, according to custom; then she accompanied him into the grounds, and the whole day passed as usual: but in the evening, when she had retired to her room, and I went to help her to undress, I found her crying, on her knees by the bedside.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, fie, silly child!\u201d I exclaimed. \u201cIf you had any real griefs you\u2019d be ashamed to waste a tear on this little contrariety. You never had one shadow of substantial sorrow, Miss Catherine. Suppose, for a minute, that master and I were dead, and you were by yourself in the world: how would you feel, then? Compare the present occasion with such an affliction as that, and be thankful for the friends you have, instead of coveting more.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not crying for myself, Ellen,\u201d she answered, \u201cit\u2019s for him. He expected to see me again to-morrow, and there he\u2019ll be so disappointed: and he\u2019ll wait for me, and I sha\u2019n\u2019t come!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNonsense!\u201d said I, \u201cdo you imagine he has thought as much of you as you have of him? Hasn\u2019t he Hareton for a companion? Not one in a hundred would weep at losing a relation they had just seen twice, for two afternoons. Linton will conjecture how it is, and trouble himself no further about you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut may I not write a note to tell him why I cannot come?\u201d she asked, rising to her feet. \u201cAnd just send those books I promised to lend him? His books are not as nice as mine, and he wanted to have them extremely, when I told him how interesting they were. May I not, Ellen?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, indeed! no, indeed!\u201d replied I with decision. \u201cThen he would write to you, and there\u2019d never be an end of it. No, Miss Catherine, the acquaintance must be dropped entirely: so papa expects, and I shall see that it is done.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut how can one little note\u2014?\u201d she recommenced, putting on an imploring countenance.<\/p>\n
\u201cSilence!\u201d I interrupted. \u201cWe\u2019ll not begin with your little notes. Get into bed.\u201d<\/p>\n
She threw at me a very naughty look, so naughty that I would not kiss her good-night at first: I covered her up, and shut her door, in great displeasure; but, repenting half-way, I returned softly, and lo! there was Miss standing at the table with a bit of blank paper before her and a pencil in her hand, which she guiltily slipped out of sight on my entrance.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll get nobody to take that, Catherine,\u201d I said, \u201cif you write it; and at present I shall put out your candle.\u201d<\/p>\n
I set the extinguisher on the flame, receiving as I did so a slap on my hand and a petulant \u201ccross thing!\u201d I then quitted her again, and she drew the bolt in one of her worst, most peevish humours. The letter was finished and forwarded to its destination by a milk-fetcher who came from the village; but that I didn\u2019t learn till some time afterwards. Weeks passed on, and Cathy recovered her temper; though she grew wondrous fond of stealing off to corners by herself and often, if I came near her suddenly while reading, she would start and bend over the book, evidently desirous to hide it; and I detected edges of loose paper sticking out beyond the leaves. She also got a trick of coming down early in the morning and lingering about the kitchen, as if she were expecting the arrival of something; and she had a small drawer in a cabinet in the library, which she would trifle over for hours, and whose key she took special care to remove when she left it.<\/p>\n
One day, as she inspected this drawer, I observed that the playthings and trinkets which recently formed its contents were transmuted into bits of folded paper. My curiosity and suspicions were roused; I determined to take a peep at her mysterious treasures; so, at night, as soon as she and my master were safe upstairs, I searched, and readily found among my house keys one that would fit the lock. Having opened, I emptied the whole contents into my apron, and took them with me to examine at leisure in my own chamber. Though I could not but suspect, I was still surprised to discover that they were a mass of correspondence\u2014daily almost, it must have been\u2014from Linton Heathcliff: answers to documents forwarded by her. The earlier dated were embarrassed and short; gradually, however, they expanded into copious love-letters, foolish, as the age of the writer rendered natural, yet with touches here and there which I thought were borrowed from a more experienced source. Some of them struck me as singularly odd compounds of ardour and flatness; commencing in strong feeling, and concluding in the affected, wordy style that a schoolboy might use to a fancied, incorporeal sweetheart. Whether they satisfied Cathy I don\u2019t know; but they appeared very worthless trash to me. After turning over as many as I thought proper, I tied them in a handkerchief and set them aside, relocking the vacant drawer.<\/p>\n
Following her habit, my young lady descended early, and visited the kitchen: I watched her go to the door, on the arrival of a certain little boy; and, while the dairymaid filled his can, she tucked something into his jacket pocket, and plucked something out. I went round by the garden, and laid wait for the messenger; who fought valorously to defend his trust, and we spilt the milk between us; but I succeeded in abstracting the epistle; and, threatening serious consequences if he did not look sharp home, I remained under the wall and perused Miss Cathy\u2019s affectionate composition. It was more simple and more eloquent than her cousin\u2019s: very pretty and very silly. I shook my head, and went meditating into the house. The day being wet, she could not divert herself with rambling about the park; so, at the conclusion of her morning studies, she resorted to the solace of the drawer. Her father sat reading at the table; and I, on purpose, had sought a bit of work in some unripped fringes of the window-curtain, keeping my eye steadily fixed on her proceedings. Never did any bird flying back to a plundered nest, which it had left brimful of chirping young ones, express more complete despair, in its anguished cries and flutterings, than she by her single \u201cOh!\u201d and the change that transfigured her late happy countenance. Mr. Linton looked up.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is the matter, love? Have you hurt yourself?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
His tone and look assured her he<\/i> had not been the discoverer of the hoard.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, papa!\u201d she gasped. \u201cEllen! Ellen! come upstairs\u2014I\u2019m sick!\u201d<\/p>\n
I obeyed her summons, and accompanied her out.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, Ellen! you have got them,\u201d she commenced immediately, dropping on her knees, when we were enclosed alone. \u201cOh, give them to me, and I\u2019ll never, never do so again! Don\u2019t tell papa. You have not told papa, Ellen? say you have not? I\u2019ve been exceedingly naughty, but I won\u2019t do it any more!\u201d<\/p>\n
With a grave severity in my manner I bade her stand up.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo,\u201d I exclaimed, \u201cMiss Catherine, you are tolerably far on, it seems: you may well be ashamed of them! A fine bundle of trash you study in your leisure hours, to be sure: why, it\u2019s good enough to be printed! And what do you suppose the master will think when I display it before him? I hav\u2019n\u2019t shown it yet, but you needn\u2019t imagine I shall keep your ridiculous secrets. For shame! and you must have led the way in writing such absurdities: he would not have thought of beginning, I\u2019m certain.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t! I didn\u2019t!\u201d sobbed Cathy, fit to break her heart. \u201cI didn\u2019t once think of loving him till\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLoving<\/i>!\u201d cried I, as scornfully as I could utter the word. \u201cLoving<\/i>! Did anybody ever hear the like! I might just as well talk of loving the miller who comes once a year to buy our corn. Pretty loving, indeed! and both times together you have seen Linton hardly four hours in your life! Now here is the babyish trash. I\u2019m going with it to the library; and we\u2019ll see what your father says to such loving<\/i>.\u201d<\/p>\n
She sprang at her precious epistles, but I held them above my head; and then she poured out further frantic entreaties that I would burn them\u2014do anything rather than show them. And being really fully as much inclined to laugh as scold\u2014for I esteemed it all girlish vanity\u2014I at length relented in a measure, and asked,\u2014\u201cIf I consent to burn them, will you promise faithfully neither to send nor receive a letter again, nor a book (for I perceive you have sent him books), nor locks of hair, nor rings, nor playthings?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe don\u2019t send playthings,\u201d cried Catherine, her pride overcoming her shame.<\/p>\n
\u201cNor anything at all, then, my lady?\u201d I said. \u201cUnless you will, here I go.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI promise, Ellen!\u201d she cried, catching my dress. \u201cOh, put them in the fire, do, do!\u201d<\/p>\n
But when I proceeded to open a place with the poker the sacrifice was too painful to be borne. She earnestly supplicated that I would spare her one or two.<\/p>\n
\u201cOne or two, Ellen, to keep for Linton\u2019s sake!\u201d<\/p>\n
I unknotted the handkerchief, and commenced dropping them in from an angle, and the flame curled up the chimney.<\/p>\n
\u201cI will have one, you cruel wretch!\u201d she screamed, darting her hand into the fire, and drawing forth some half-consumed fragments, at the expense of her fingers.<\/p>\n
\u201cVery well\u2014and I will have some to exhibit to papa!\u201d I answered, shaking back the rest into the bundle, and turning anew to the door.<\/p>\n
She emptied her blackened pieces into the flames, and motioned me to finish the immolation. It was done; I stirred up the ashes, and interred them under a shovelful of coals; and she mutely, and with a sense of intense injury, retired to her private apartment. I descended to tell my master that the young lady\u2019s qualm of sickness was almost gone, but I judged it best for her to lie down a while. She wouldn\u2019t dine; but she reappeared at tea, pale, and red about the eyes, and marvellously subdued in outward aspect. Next morning I answered the letter by a slip of paper, inscribed, \u201cMaster Heathcliff is requested to send no more notes to Miss Linton, as she will not receive them.\u201d And, henceforth, the little boy came with vacant pockets.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":299,"menu_order":21,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[48],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-44","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\/44","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\/44\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":171,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/44\/revisions\/171"}],"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\/44\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=44"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=44"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=44"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=44"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}