At the close of three weeks I was able to quit my chamber and move about the house. And on the first occasion of my sitting up in the evening I asked Catherine to read to me, because my eyes were weak. We were in the library, the master having gone to bed: she consented, rather unwillingly, I fancied; and imagining my sort of books did not suit her, I bid her please herself in the choice of what she perused. She selected one of her own favourites, and got forward steadily about an hour; then came frequent questions.<\/p>\n
\u201cEllen, are not you tired? Hadn\u2019t you better lie down now? You\u2019ll be sick, keeping up so long, Ellen.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, no, dear, I\u2019m not tired,\u201d I returned, continually.<\/p>\n
Perceiving me immovable, she essayed another method of showing her disrelish for her occupation. It changed to yawning, and stretching, and\u2014<\/p>\n
\u201cEllen, I\u2019m tired.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGive over then and talk,\u201d I answered.<\/p>\n
That was worse: she fretted and sighed, and looked at her watch till eight, and finally went to her room, completely overdone with sleep; judging by her peevish, heavy look, and the constant rubbing she inflicted on her eyes. The following night she seemed more impatient still; and on the third from recovering my company she complained of a headache, and left me. I thought her conduct odd; and having remained alone a long while, I resolved on going and inquiring whether she were better, and asking her to come and lie on the sofa, instead of upstairs in the dark. No Catherine could I discover upstairs, and none below. The servants affirmed they had not seen her. I listened at Mr. Edgar\u2019s door; all was silence. I returned to her apartment, extinguished my candle, and seated myself in the window.<\/p>\n
The moon shone bright; a sprinkling of snow covered the ground, and I reflected that she might, possibly, have taken it into her head to walk about the garden, for refreshment. I did detect a figure creeping along the inner fence of the park; but it was not my young mistress: on its emerging into the light, I recognised one of the grooms. He stood a considerable period, viewing the carriage-road through the grounds; then started off at a brisk pace, as if he had detected something, and reappeared presently, leading Miss\u2019s pony; and there she was, just dismounted, and walking by its side. The man took his charge stealthily across the grass towards the stable. Cathy entered by the casement-window of the drawing-room, and glided noiselessly up to where I awaited her. She put the door gently too, slipped off her snowy shoes, untied her hat, and was proceeding, unconscious of my espionage, to lay aside her mantle, when I suddenly rose and revealed myself. The surprise petrified her an instant: she uttered an inarticulate exclamation, and stood fixed.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy dear Miss Catherine,\u201d I began, too vividly impressed by her recent kindness to break into a scold, \u201cwhere have you been riding out at this hour? And why should you try to deceive me by telling a tale? Where have you been? Speak!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTo the bottom of the park,\u201d she stammered. \u201cI didn\u2019t tell a tale.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd nowhere else?\u201d I demanded.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d was the muttered reply.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, Catherine!\u201d I cried, sorrowfully. \u201cYou know you have been doing wrong, or you wouldn\u2019t be driven to uttering an untruth to me. That does grieve me. I\u2019d rather be three months ill, than hear you frame a deliberate lie.\u201d<\/p>\n
She sprang forward, and bursting into tears, threw her arms round my neck.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, Ellen, I\u2019m so afraid of you being angry,\u201d she said. \u201cPromise not to be angry, and you shall know the very truth: I hate to hide it.\u201d<\/p>\n
We sat down in the window-seat; I assured her I would not scold, whatever her secret might be, and I guessed it, of course; so she commenced\u2014<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve been to Wuthering Heights, Ellen, and I\u2019ve never missed going a day since you fell ill; except thrice before, and twice after you left your room. I gave Michael books and pictures to prepare Minny every evening, and to put her back in the stable: you mustn\u2019t scold him either, mind. I was at the Heights by half-past six, and generally stayed till half-past eight, and then galloped home. It was not to amuse myself that I went: I was often wretched all the time. Now and then I was happy: once in a week perhaps. At first, I expected there would be sad work persuading you to let me keep my word to Linton: for I had engaged to call again next day, when we quitted him; but, as you stayed upstairs on the morrow, I escaped that trouble. While Michael was refastening the lock of the park door in the afternoon, I got possession of the key, and told him how my cousin wished me to visit him, because he was sick, and couldn\u2019t come to the Grange; and how papa would object to my going: and then I negotiated with him about the pony. He is fond of reading, and he thinks of leaving soon to get married; so he offered, if I would lend him books out of the library, to do what I wished: but I preferred giving him my own, and that satisfied him better.<\/p>\n
\u201cOn my second visit Linton seemed in lively spirits; and Zillah (that is their housekeeper) made us a clean room and a good fire, and told us that, as Joseph was out at a prayer-meeting and Hareton Earnshaw was off with his dogs\u2014robbing our woods of pheasants, as I heard afterwards\u2014we might do what we liked. She brought me some warm wine and gingerbread, and appeared exceedingly good-natured, and Linton sat in the arm-chair, and I in the little rocking chair on the hearth-stone, and we laughed and talked so merrily, and found so much to say: we planned where we would go, and what we would do in summer. I needn\u2019t repeat that, because you would call it silly.<\/p>\n
\u201cOne time, however, we were near quarrelling. He said the pleasantest manner of spending a hot July day was lying from morning till evening on a bank of heath in the middle of the moors, with the bees humming dreamily about among the bloom, and the larks singing high up overhead, and the blue sky and bright sun shining steadily and cloudlessly. That was his most perfect idea of heaven\u2019s happiness: mine was rocking in a rustling green tree, with a west wind blowing, and bright white clouds flitting rapidly above; and not only larks, but throstles, and blackbirds, and linnets, and cuckoos pouring out music on every side, and the moors seen at a distance, broken into cool dusky dells; but close by great swells of long grass undulating in waves to the breeze; and woods and sounding water, and the whole world awake and wild with joy. He wanted all to lie in an ecstasy of peace; I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. I said his heaven would be only half alive; and he said mine would be drunk: I said I should fall asleep in his; and he said he could not breathe in mine, and began to grow very snappish. At last, we agreed to try both, as soon as the right weather came; and then we kissed each other and were friends.<\/p>\n
\u201cAfter sitting still an hour, I looked at the great room with its smooth uncarpeted floor, and thought how nice it would be to play in, if we removed the table; and I asked Linton to call Zillah in to help us, and we\u2019d have a game at blindman\u2019s-buff; she should try to catch us: you used to, you know, Ellen. He wouldn\u2019t: there was no pleasure in it, he said; but he consented to play at ball with me. We found two in a cupboard, among a heap of old toys, tops, and hoops, and battledores and shuttlecocks. One was marked C., and the other H.; I wished to have the C., because that stood for Catherine, and the H. might be for Heathcliff, his name; but the bran came out of H., and Linton didn\u2019t like it. I beat him constantly: and he got cross again, and coughed, and returned to his chair. That night, though, he easily recovered his good humour: he was charmed with two or three pretty songs\u2014your<\/i> songs, Ellen; and when I was obliged to go, he begged and entreated me to come the following evening; and I promised. Minny and I went flying home as light as air; and I dreamt of Wuthering Heights and my sweet, darling cousin, till morning.<\/p>\n
\u201cOn the morrow I was sad; partly because you were poorly, and partly that I wished my father knew, and approved of my excursions: but it was beautiful moonlight after tea; and, as I rode on, the gloom cleared. I shall have another happy evening, I thought to myself; and what delights me more, my pretty Linton will. I trotted up their garden, and was turning round to the back, when that fellow Earnshaw met me, took my bridle, and bid me go in by the front entrance. He patted Minny\u2019s neck, and said she was a bonny beast, and appeared as if he wanted me to speak to him. I only told him to leave my horse alone, or else it would kick him. He answered in his vulgar accent, \u2018It wouldn\u2019t do mitch hurt if it did;\u2019 and surveyed its legs with a smile. I was half inclined to make it try; however, he moved off to open the door, and, as he raised the latch, he looked up to the inscription above, and said, with a stupid mixture of awkwardness and elation: \u2018Miss Catherine! I can read yon, now.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2018Wonderful,\u2019 I exclaimed. \u2018Pray let us hear you\u2014you are<\/i> grown clever!\u2019<\/p>\n
\u201cHe spelt, and drawled over by syllables, the name\u2014\u2018Hareton Earnshaw.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2018And the figures?\u2019 I cried, encouragingly, perceiving that he came to a dead halt.<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2018I cannot tell them yet,\u2019 he answered.<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2018Oh, you dunce!\u2019 I said, laughing heartily at his failure.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe fool stared, with a grin hovering about his lips, and a scowl gathering over his eyes, as if uncertain whether he might not join in my mirth: whether it were not pleasant familiarity, or what it really was, contempt. I settled his doubts, by suddenly retrieving my gravity and desiring him to walk away, for I came to see Linton, not him. He reddened\u2014I saw that by the moonlight\u2014dropped his hand from the latch, and skulked off, a picture of mortified vanity. He imagined himself to be as accomplished as Linton, I suppose, because he could spell his own name; and was marvellously discomfited that I didn\u2019t think the same.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStop, Miss Catherine, dear!\u201d\u2014I interrupted. \u201cI shall not scold, but I don\u2019t like your conduct there. If you had remembered that Hareton was your cousin as much as Master Heathcliff, you would have felt how improper it was to behave in that way. At least, it was praiseworthy ambition for him to desire to be as accomplished as Linton; and probably he did not learn merely to show off: you had made him ashamed of his ignorance before, I have no doubt; and he wished to remedy it and please you. To sneer at his imperfect attempt was very bad breeding. Had you been brought up in his circumstances, would you be less rude? He was as quick and as intelligent a child as ever you were; and I\u2019m hurt that he should be despised now, because that base Heathcliff has treated him so unjustly.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, Ellen, you won\u2019t cry about it, will you?\u201d she exclaimed, surprised at my earnestness. \u201cBut wait, and you shall hear if he conned his A B C to please me; and if it were worth while being civil to the brute. I entered; Linton was lying on the settle, and half got up to welcome me.<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2018I\u2019m ill to-night, Catherine, love,\u2019 he said; \u2018and you must have all the talk, and let me listen. Come, and sit by me. I was sure you wouldn\u2019t break your word, and I\u2019ll make you promise again, before you go.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u201cI knew now that I mustn\u2019t tease him, as he was ill; and I spoke softly and put no questions, and avoided irritating him in any way. I had brought some of my nicest books for him: he asked me to read a little of one, and I was about to comply, when Earnshaw burst the door open: having gathered venom with reflection. He advanced direct to us, seized Linton by the arm, and swung him off the seat.<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2018Get to thy own room!\u2019 he said, in a voice almost inarticulate with passion; and his face looked swelled and furious. \u2018Take her there if she comes to see thee: thou shalln\u2019t keep me out of this. Begone wi\u2019 ye both!\u2019<\/p>\n
\u201cHe swore at us, and left Linton no time to answer, nearly throwing him into the kitchen; and he clenched his fist as I followed, seemingly longing to knock me down. I was afraid for a moment, and I let one volume fall; he kicked it after me, and shut us out. I heard a malignant, crackly laugh by the fire, and turning, beheld that odious Joseph standing rubbing his bony hands, and quivering.<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2018I wer sure he\u2019d sarve ye out! He\u2019s a grand lad! He\u2019s getten t\u2019 raight sperrit in him! He<\/i> knaws\u2014ay, he knaws, as weel as I do, who sud be t\u2019 maister yonder\u2014Ech, ech, ech! He made ye skift properly! Ech, ech, ech!\u2019<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2018Where must we go?\u2019 I asked of my cousin, disregarding the old wretch\u2019s mockery.<\/p>\n
\u201cLinton was white and trembling. He was not pretty then, Ellen: oh, no! he looked frightful; for his thin face and large eyes were wrought into an expression of frantic, powerless fury. He grasped the handle of the door, and shook it: it was fastened inside.<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2018If you don\u2019t let me in, I\u2019ll kill you!\u2014If you don\u2019t let me in, I\u2019ll kill you!\u2019 he rather shrieked than said. \u2018Devil! devil!\u2014I\u2019ll kill you\u2014I\u2019ll kill you!\u2019<\/p>\n
Joseph uttered his croaking laugh again.<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2018Thear, that\u2019s t\u2019 father!\u2019 he cried. \u2018That\u2019s father! We\u2019ve allas summut o\u2019 either side in us. Niver heed, Hareton, lad\u2014dunnut be \u2019feard\u2014he cannot get at thee!\u2019<\/p>\n
\u201cI took hold of Linton\u2019s hands, and tried to pull him away; but he shrieked so shockingly that I dared not proceed. At last his cries were choked by a dreadful fit of coughing; blood gushed from his mouth, and he fell on the ground. I ran into the yard, sick with terror; and called for Zillah, as loud as I could. She soon heard me: she was milking the cows in a shed behind the barn, and hurrying from her work, she inquired what there was to do? I hadn\u2019t breath to explain; dragging her in, I looked about for Linton. Earnshaw had come out to examine the mischief he had caused, and he was then conveying the poor thing upstairs. Zillah and I ascended after him; but he stopped me at the top of the steps, and said I shouldn\u2019t go in: I must go home. I exclaimed that he had killed Linton, and I would<\/i> enter. Joseph locked the door, and declared I should do \u2018no sich stuff,\u2019 and asked me whether I were \u2018bahn to be as mad as him.\u2019 I stood crying till the housekeeper reappeared. She affirmed he would be better in a bit, but he couldn\u2019t do with that shrieking and din; and she took me, and nearly carried me into the house.<\/p>\n
\u201cEllen, I was ready to tear my hair off my head! I sobbed and wept so that my eyes were almost blind; and the ruffian you have such sympathy with stood opposite: presuming every now and then to bid me \u2018wisht,\u2019 and denying that it was his fault; and, finally, frightened by my assertions that I would tell papa, and that he should be put in prison and hanged, he commenced blubbering himself, and hurried out to hide his cowardly agitation. Still, I was not rid of him: when at length they compelled me to depart, and I had got some hundred yards off the premises, he suddenly issued from the shadow of the road-side, and checked Minny and took hold of me.<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2018Miss Catherine, I\u2019m ill grieved,\u2019 he began, \u2018but it\u2019s rayther too bad\u2014\u2019<\/p>\n
\u201cI gave him a cut with my whip, thinking perhaps he would murder me. He let go, thundering one of his horrid curses, and I galloped home more than half out of my senses.<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t bid you good-night that evening, and I didn\u2019t go to Wuthering Heights the next: I wished to go exceedingly; but I was strangely excited, and dreaded to hear that Linton was dead, sometimes; and sometimes shuddered at the thought of encountering Hareton. On the third day I took courage: at least, I couldn\u2019t bear longer suspense, and stole off once more. I went at five o\u2019clock, and walked; fancying I might manage to creep into the house, and up to Linton\u2019s room, unobserved. However, the dogs gave notice of my approach. Zillah received me, and saying \u2018the lad was mending nicely,\u2019 showed me into a small, tidy, carpeted apartment, where, to my inexpressible joy, I beheld Linton laid on a little sofa, reading one of my books. But he would neither speak to me nor look at me, through a whole hour, Ellen: he has such an unhappy temper. And what quite confounded me, when he did open his mouth, it was to utter the falsehood that I had occasioned the uproar, and Hareton was not to blame! Unable to reply, except passionately, I got up and walked from the room. He sent after me a faint \u2018Catherine!\u2019 He did not reckon on being answered so: but I wouldn\u2019t turn back; and the morrow was the second day on which I stayed at home, nearly determined to visit him no more. But it was so miserable going to bed and getting up, and never hearing anything about him, that my resolution melted into air before it was properly formed. It had appeared wrong to take the journey once; now it seemed wrong to refrain. Michael came to ask if he must saddle Minny; I said \u2018Yes,\u2019 and considered myself doing a duty as she bore me over the hills. I was forced to pass the front windows to get to the court: it was no use trying to conceal my presence.<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2018Young master is in the house,\u2019 said Zillah, as she saw me making for the parlour. I went in; Earnshaw was there also, but he quitted the room directly. Linton sat in the great arm-chair half asleep; walking up to the fire, I began in a serious tone, partly meaning it to be true\u2014<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2018As you don\u2019t like me, Linton, and as you think I come on purpose to hurt you, and pretend that I do so every time, this is our last meeting: let us say good-bye; and tell Mr. Heathcliff that you have no wish to see me, and that he mustn\u2019t invent any more falsehoods on the subject.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2018Sit down and take your hat off, Catherine,\u2019 he answered. \u2018You are so much happier than I am, you ought to be better. Papa talks enough of my defects, and shows enough scorn of me, to make it natural I should doubt myself. I doubt whether I am not altogether as worthless as he calls me, frequently; and then I feel so cross and bitter, I hate everybody! I am worthless, and bad in temper, and bad in spirit, almost always; and, if you choose, you may say good-bye: you\u2019ll get rid of an annoyance. Only, Catherine, do me this justice: believe that if I might be as sweet, and as kind, and as good as you are, I would be; as willingly, and more so, than as happy and as healthy. And believe that your kindness has made me love you deeper than if I deserved your love: and though I couldn\u2019t, and cannot help showing my nature to you, I regret it and repent it; and shall regret and repent it till I die!\u2019<\/p>\n
\u201cI felt he spoke the truth; and I felt I must forgive him: and, though we should quarrel the next moment, I must forgive him again. We were reconciled; but we cried, both of us, the whole time I stayed: not entirely for sorrow; yet I was<\/i> sorry Linton had that distorted nature. He\u2019ll never let his friends be at ease, and he\u2019ll never be at ease himself! I have always gone to his little parlour, since that night; because his father returned the day after.<\/p>\n
\u201cAbout three times, I think, we have been merry and hopeful, as we were the first evening; the rest of my visits were dreary and troubled: now with his selfishness and spite, and now with his sufferings: but I\u2019ve learned to endure the former with nearly as little resentment as the latter. Mr. Heathcliff purposely avoids me: I have hardly seen him at all. Last Sunday, indeed, coming earlier than usual, I heard him abusing poor Linton cruelly for his conduct of the night before. I can\u2019t tell how he knew of it, unless he listened. Linton had certainly behaved provokingly: however, it was the business of nobody but me, and I interrupted Mr. Heathcliff\u2019s lecture by entering and telling him so. He burst into a laugh, and went away, saying he was glad I took that view of the matter. Since then, I\u2019ve told Linton he must whisper his bitter things. Now, Ellen, you have heard all. I can\u2019t be prevented from going to Wuthering Heights, except by inflicting misery on two people; whereas, if you\u2019ll only not tell papa, my going need disturb the tranquillity of none. You\u2019ll not tell, will you? It will be very heartless, if you do.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll make up my mind on that point by to-morrow, Miss Catherine,\u201d I replied. \u201cIt requires some study; and so I\u2019ll leave you to your rest, and go think it over.\u201d<\/p>\n
I thought it over aloud, in my master\u2019s presence; walking straight from her room to his, and relating the whole story: with the exception of her conversations with her cousin, and any mention of Hareton. Mr. Linton was alarmed and distressed, more than he would acknowledge to me. In the morning, Catherine learnt my betrayal of her confidence, and she learnt also that her secret visits were to end. In vain she wept and writhed against the interdict, and implored her father to have pity on Linton: all she got to comfort her was a promise that he would write and give him leave to come to the Grange when he pleased; but explaining that he must no longer expect to see Catherine at Wuthering Heights. Perhaps, had he been aware of his nephew\u2019s disposition and state of health, he would have seen fit to withhold even that slight consolation.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":299,"menu_order":24,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[48],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-47","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\/47","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\/47\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":174,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/47\/revisions\/174"}],"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\/47\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=47"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=47"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=47"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=47"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}