1802.\u2014This September I was invited to devastate the moors of a friend in the north, and on my journey to his abode, I unexpectedly came within fifteen miles of Gimmerton. The ostler at a roadside public-house was holding a pail of water to refresh my horses, when a cart of very green oats, newly reaped, passed by, and he remarked,\u2014\u201cYon\u2019s frough Gimmerton, nah! They\u2019re allas three wick\u2019 after other folk wi\u2019 ther harvest.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGimmerton?\u201d I repeated\u2014my residence in that locality had already grown dim and dreamy. \u201cAh! I know. How far is it from this?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHappen fourteen mile o\u2019er th\u2019 hills; and a rough road,\u201d he answered.<\/p>\n
A sudden impulse seized me to visit Thrushcross Grange. It was scarcely noon, and I conceived that I might as well pass the night under my own roof as in an inn. Besides, I could spare a day easily to arrange matters with my landlord, and thus save myself the trouble of invading the neighbourhood again. Having rested awhile, I directed my servant to inquire the way to the village; and, with great fatigue to our beasts, we managed the distance in some three hours.<\/p>\n
I left him there, and proceeded down the valley alone. The grey church looked greyer, and the lonely churchyard lonelier. I distinguished a moor-sheep cropping the short turf on the graves. It was sweet, warm weather\u2014too warm for travelling; but the heat did not hinder me from enjoying the delightful scenery above and below: had I seen it nearer August, I\u2019m sure it would have tempted me to waste a month among its solitudes. In winter nothing more dreary, in summer nothing more divine, than those glens shut in by hills, and those bluff, bold swells of heath.<\/p>\n
I reached the Grange before sunset, and knocked for admittance; but the family had retreated into the back premises, I judged, by one thin, blue wreath, curling from the kitchen chimney, and they did not hear. I rode into the court. Under the porch, a girl of nine or ten sat knitting, and an old woman reclined on the housesteps, smoking a meditative pipe.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs Mrs. Dean within?\u201d I demanded of the dame.<\/p>\n
\u201cMistress Dean? Nay!\u201d she answered, \u201cshe doesn\u2019t bide here: shoo\u2019s up at th\u2019 Heights.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you the housekeeper, then?\u201d I continued.<\/p>\n
\u201cEea, aw keep th\u2019 hause,\u201d she replied.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, I\u2019m Mr. Lockwood, the master. Are there any rooms to lodge me in, I wonder? I wish to stay all night.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cT\u2019 maister!\u201d she cried in astonishment. \u201cWhet, whoiver knew yah wur coming? Yah sud ha\u2019 send word. They\u2019s nowt norther dry nor mensful abaht t\u2019 place: nowt there isn\u2019t!\u201d<\/p>\n
She threw down her pipe and bustled in, the girl followed, and I entered too; soon perceiving that her report was true, and, moreover, that I had almost upset her wits by my unwelcome apparition, I bade her be composed. I would go out for a walk; and, meantime she must try to prepare a corner of a sitting-room for me to sup in, and a bedroom to sleep in. No sweeping and dusting, only good fire and dry sheets were necessary. She seemed willing to do her best; though she thrust the hearth-brush into the grates in mistake for the poker, and malappropriated several other articles of her craft: but I retired, confiding in her energy for a resting-place against my return. Wuthering Heights was the goal of my proposed excursion. An afterthought brought me back, when I had quitted the court.<\/p>\n
\u201cAll well at the Heights?\u201d I inquired of the woman.<\/p>\n
\u201cEea, f\u2019r owt ee knaw!\u201d she answered, skurrying away with a pan of hot cinders.<\/p>\n
I would have asked why Mrs. Dean had deserted the Grange, but it was impossible to delay her at such a crisis, so I turned away and made my exit, rambling leisurely along, with the glow of a sinking sun behind, and the mild glory of a rising moon in front\u2014one fading, and the other brightening\u2014as I quitted the park, and climbed the stony by-road branching off to Mr. Heathcliff\u2019s dwelling. Before I arrived in sight of it, all that remained of day was a beamless amber light along the west: but I could see every pebble on the path, and every blade of grass, by that splendid moon. I had neither to climb the gate nor to knock\u2014it yielded to my hand. That is an improvement, I thought. And I noticed another, by the aid of my nostrils; a fragrance of stocks and wallflowers wafted on the air from amongst the homely fruit-trees.<\/p>\n
Both doors and lattices were open; and yet, as is usually the case in a coal-district, a fine red fire illumined the chimney: the comfort which the eye derives from it renders the extra heat endurable. But the house of Wuthering Heights is so large that the inmates have plenty of space for withdrawing out of its influence; and accordingly what inmates there were had stationed themselves not far from one of the windows. I could both see them and hear them talk before I entered, and looked and listened in consequence; being moved thereto by a mingled sense of curiosity and envy, that grew as I lingered.<\/p>\n
\u201cCon-trary<\/i>!\u201d said a voice as sweet as a silver bell. \u201cThat for the third time, you dunce! I\u2019m not going to tell you again. Recollect, or I\u2019ll pull your hair!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cContrary, then,\u201d answered another, in deep but softened tones. \u201cAnd now, kiss me, for minding so well.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, read it over first correctly, without a single mistake.\u201d<\/p>\n
The male speaker began to read: he was a young man, respectably dressed and seated at a table, having a book before him. His handsome features glowed with pleasure, and his eyes kept impatiently wandering from the page to a small white hand over his shoulder, which recalled him by a smart slap on the cheek, whenever its owner detected such signs of inattention. Its owner stood behind; her light, shining ringlets blending, at intervals, with his brown looks, as she bent to superintend his studies; and her face\u2014it was lucky he could not see her face, or he would never have been so steady. I could; and I bit my lip in spite, at having thrown away the chance I might have had of doing something besides staring at its smiting beauty.<\/p>\n
The task was done, not free from further blunders; but the pupil claimed a reward, and received at least five kisses; which, however, he generously returned. Then they came to the door, and from their conversation I judged they were about to issue out and have a walk on the moors. I supposed I should be condemned in Hareton Earnshaw\u2019s heart, if not by his mouth, to the lowest pit in the infernal regions if I showed my unfortunate person in his neighbourhood then; and feeling very mean and malignant, I skulked round to seek refuge in the kitchen. There was unobstructed admittance on that side also; and at the door sat my old friend Nelly Dean, sewing and singing a song; which was often interrupted from within by harsh words of scorn and intolerance, uttered in far from musical accents.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019d rayther, by th\u2019 haulf, hev\u2019 \u2019em swearing i\u2019 my lugs fro\u2019h morn to neeght, nor hearken ye hahsiver!\u201d said the tenant of the kitchen, in answer to an unheard speech of Nelly\u2019s. \u201cIt\u2019s a blazing shame, that I cannot oppen t\u2019 blessed Book, but yah set up them glories to sattan, and all t\u2019 flaysome wickednesses that iver were born into th\u2019 warld! Oh! ye\u2019re a raight nowt; and shoo\u2019s another; and that poor lad \u2019ll be lost atween ye. Poor lad!\u201d he added, with a groan; \u201che\u2019s witched: I\u2019m sartin on\u2019t. Oh, Lord, judge \u2019em, for there\u2019s norther law nor justice among wer rullers!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo! or we should be sitting in flaming fagots, I suppose,\u201d retorted the singer. \u201cBut wisht, old man, and read your Bible like a Christian, and never mind me. This is \u2018Fairy Annie\u2019s Wedding\u2019\u2014a bonny tune\u2014it goes to a dance.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mrs. Dean was about to recommence, when I advanced; and recognising me directly, she jumped to her feet, crying\u2014\u201cWhy, bless you, Mr. Lockwood! How could you think of returning in this way? All\u2019s shut up at Thrushcross Grange. You should have given us notice!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve arranged to be accommodated there, for as long as I shall stay,\u201d I answered. \u201cI depart again to-morrow. And how are you transplanted here, Mrs. Dean? tell me that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cZillah left, and Mr. Heathcliff wished me to come, soon after you went to London, and stay till you returned. But, step in, pray! Have you walked from Gimmerton this evening?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFrom the Grange,\u201d I replied; \u201cand while they make me lodging room there, I want to finish my business with your master; because I don\u2019t think of having another opportunity in a hurry.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat business, sir?\u201d said Nelly, conducting me into the house. \u201cHe\u2019s gone out at present, and won\u2019t return soon.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAbout the rent,\u201d I answered.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh! then it is with Mrs. Heathcliff you must settle,\u201d she observed; \u201cor rather with me. She has not learnt to manage her affairs yet, and I act for her: there\u2019s nobody else.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked surprised.<\/p>\n
\u201cAh! you have not heard of Heathcliff\u2019s death, I see,\u201d she continued.<\/p>\n
\u201cHeathcliff dead!\u201d I exclaimed, astonished. \u201cHow long ago?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThree months since: but sit down, and let me take your hat, and I\u2019ll tell you all about it. Stop, you have had nothing to eat, have you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI want nothing: I have ordered supper at home. You sit down too. I never dreamt of his dying! Let me hear how it came to pass. You say you don\u2019t expect them back for some time\u2014the young people?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo\u2014I have to scold them every evening for their late rambles: but they don\u2019t care for me. At least, have a drink of our old ale; it will do you good: you seem weary.\u201d<\/p>\n
She hastened to fetch it before I could refuse, and I heard Joseph asking whether \u201cit warn\u2019t a crying scandal that she should have followers at her time of life? And then, to get them jocks out o\u2019 t\u2019 maister\u2019s cellar! He fair shaamed to \u2019bide still and see it.\u201d<\/p>\n
She did not stay to retaliate, but re-entered in a minute, bearing a reaming silver pint, whose contents I lauded with becoming earnestness. And afterwards she furnished me with the sequel of Heathcliff\u2019s history. He had a \u201cqueer\u201d end, as she expressed it.<\/p>\n
I was summoned to Wuthering Heights, within a fortnight of your leaving us, she said; and I obeyed joyfully, for Catherine\u2019s sake. My first interview with her grieved and shocked me: she had altered so much since our separation. Mr. Heathcliff did not explain his reasons for taking a new mind about my coming here; he only told me he wanted me, and he was tired of seeing Catherine: I must make the little parlour my sitting-room, and keep her with me. It was enough if he were obliged to see her once or twice a day. She seemed pleased at this arrangement; and, by degrees, I smuggled over a great number of books, and other articles, that had formed her amusement at the Grange; and flattered myself we should get on in tolerable comfort. The delusion did not last long. Catherine, contented at first, in a brief space grew irritable and restless. For one thing, she was forbidden to move out of the garden, and it fretted her sadly to be confined to its narrow bounds as spring drew on; for another, in following the house, I was forced to quit her frequently, and she complained of loneliness: she preferred quarrelling with Joseph in the kitchen to sitting at peace in her solitude. I did not mind their skirmishes: but Hareton was often obliged to seek the kitchen also, when the master wanted to have the house to himself! and though in the beginning she either left it at his approach, or quietly joined in my occupations, and shunned remarking or addressing him\u2014and though he was always as sullen and silent as possible\u2014after a while, she changed her behaviour, and became incapable of letting him alone: talking at him; commenting on his stupidity and idleness; expressing her wonder how he could endure the life he lived\u2014how he could sit a whole evening staring into the fire, and dozing.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s just like a dog, is he not, Ellen?\u201d she once observed, \u201cor a cart-horse? He does his work, eats his food, and sleeps eternally! What a blank, dreary mind he must have! Do you ever dream, Hareton? And, if you do, what is it about? But you can\u2019t speak to me!\u201d<\/p>\n
Then she looked at him; but he would neither open his mouth nor look again.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s, perhaps, dreaming now,\u201d she continued. \u201cHe twitched his shoulder as Juno twitches hers. Ask him, Ellen.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMr. Hareton will ask the master to send you upstairs, if you don\u2019t behave!\u201d I said. He had not only twitched his shoulder but clenched his fist, as if tempted to use it.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know why Hareton never speaks, when I am in the kitchen,\u201d she exclaimed, on another occasion. \u201cHe is afraid I shall laugh at him. Ellen, what do you think? He began to teach himself to read once; and, because I laughed, he burned his books, and dropped it: was he not a fool?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWere not you naughty?\u201d I said; \u201canswer me that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPerhaps I was,\u201d she went on; \u201cbut I did not expect him to be so silly. Hareton, if I gave you a book, would you take it now? I\u2019ll try!\u201d<\/p>\n
She placed one she had been perusing on his hand; he flung it off, and muttered, if she did not give over, he would break her neck.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, I shall put it here,\u201d she said, \u201cin the table-drawer; and I\u2019m going to bed.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then she whispered me to watch whether he touched it, and departed. But he would not come near it; and so I informed her in the morning, to her great disappointment. I saw she was sorry for his persevering sulkiness and indolence: her conscience reproved her for frightening him off improving himself: she had done it effectually. But her ingenuity was at work to remedy the injury: while I ironed, or pursued other such stationary employments as I could not well do in the parlour, she would bring some pleasant volume and read it aloud to me. When Hareton was there, she generally paused in an interesting part, and left the book lying about: that she did repeatedly; but he was as obstinate as a mule, and, instead of snatching at her bait, in wet weather he took to smoking with Joseph; and they sat like automatons, one on each side of the fire, the elder happily too deaf to understand her wicked nonsense, as he would have called it, the younger doing his best to seem to disregard it. On fine evenings the latter followed his shooting expeditions, and Catherine yawned and sighed, and teased me to talk to her, and ran off into the court or garden the moment I began; and, as a last resource, cried, and said she was tired of living: her life was useless.<\/p>\n
Mr. Heathcliff, who grew more and more disinclined to society, had almost banished Earnshaw from his apartment. Owing to an accident at the commencement of March, he became for some days a fixture in the kitchen. His gun burst while out on the hills by himself; a splinter cut his arm, and he lost a good deal of blood before he could reach home. The consequence was that, perforce, he was condemned to the fireside and tranquillity, till he made it up again. It suited Catherine to have him there: at any rate, it made her hate her room upstairs more than ever: and she would compel me to find out business below, that she might accompany me.<\/p>\n
On Easter Monday, Joseph went to Gimmerton fair with some cattle; and, in the afternoon, I was busy getting up linen in the kitchen. Earnshaw sat, morose as usual, at the chimney corner, and my little mistress was beguiling an idle hour with drawing pictures on the window-panes, varying her amusement by smothered bursts of songs, and whispered ejaculations, and quick glances of annoyance and impatience in the direction of her cousin, who steadfastly smoked, and looked into the grate. At a notice that I could do with her no longer intercepting my light, she removed to the hearthstone. I bestowed little attention on her proceedings, but, presently, I heard her begin\u2014\u201cI\u2019ve found out, Hareton, that I want\u2014that I\u2019m glad\u2014that I should like you to be my cousin now, if you had not grown so cross to me, and so rough.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hareton returned no answer.<\/p>\n
\u201cHareton, Hareton, Hareton! do you hear?\u201d she continued.<\/p>\n
\u201cGet off wi\u2019 ye!\u201d he growled, with uncompromising gruffness.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet me take that pipe,\u201d she said, cautiously advancing her hand and abstracting it from his mouth.<\/p>\n
Before he could attempt to recover it, it was broken, and behind the fire. He swore at her and seized another.<\/p>\n
\u201cStop,\u201d she cried, \u201cyou must listen to me first; and I can\u2019t speak while those clouds are floating in my face.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWill you go to the devil!\u201d he exclaimed, ferociously, \u201cand let me be!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d she persisted, \u201cI won\u2019t: I can\u2019t tell what to do to make you talk to me; and you are determined not to understand. When I call you stupid, I don\u2019t mean anything: I don\u2019t mean that I despise you. Come, you shall take notice of me, Hareton: you are my cousin, and you shall own me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI shall have naught to do wi\u2019 you and your mucky pride, and your damned mocking tricks!\u201d he answered. \u201cI\u2019ll go to hell, body and soul, before I look sideways after you again. Side out o\u2019 t\u2019 gate, now, this minute!\u201d<\/p>\n
Catherine frowned, and retreated to the window-seat chewing her lip, and endeavouring, by humming an eccentric tune, to conceal a growing tendency to sob.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou should be friends with your cousin, Mr. Hareton,\u201d I interrupted, \u201csince she repents of her sauciness. It would do you a great deal of good: it would make you another man to have her for a companion.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA companion!\u201d he cried; \u201cwhen she hates me, and does not think me fit to wipe her shoon! Nay, if it made me a king, I\u2019d not be scorned for seeking her good-will any more.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is not I who hate you, it is you who hate me!\u201d wept Cathy, no longer disguising her trouble. \u201cYou hate me as much as Mr. Heathcliff does, and more.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re a damned liar,\u201d began Earnshaw: \u201cwhy have I made him angry, by taking your part, then, a hundred times? and that when you sneered at and despised me, and\u2014Go on plaguing me, and I\u2019ll step in yonder, and say you worried me out of the kitchen!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t know you took my part,\u201d she answered, drying her eyes; \u201cand I was miserable and bitter at everybody; but now I thank you, and beg you to forgive me: what can I do besides?\u201d<\/p>\n
She returned to the hearth, and frankly extended her hand. He blackened and scowled like a thunder-cloud, and kept his fists resolutely clenched, and his gaze fixed on the ground. Catherine, by instinct, must have divined it was obdurate perversity, and not dislike, that prompted this dogged conduct; for, after remaining an instant undecided, she stooped and impressed on his cheek a gentle kiss. The little rogue thought I had not seen her, and, drawing back, she took her former station by the window, quite demurely. I shook my head reprovingly, and then she blushed and whispered\u2014\u201cWell! what should I have done, Ellen? He wouldn\u2019t shake hands, and he wouldn\u2019t look: I must show him some way that I like him\u2014that I want to be friends.\u201d<\/p>\n
Whether the kiss convinced Hareton, I cannot tell: he was very careful, for some minutes, that his face should not be seen, and when he did raise it, he was sadly puzzled where to turn his eyes.<\/p>\n
Catherine employed herself in wrapping a handsome book neatly in white paper, and having tied it with a bit of ribbon, and addressed it to \u201cMr. Hareton Earnshaw,\u201d she desired me to be her ambassadress, and convey the present to its destined recipient.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd tell him, if he\u2019ll take it, I\u2019ll come and teach him to read it right,\u201d she said; \u201cand, if he refuse it, I\u2019ll go upstairs, and never tease him again.\u201d<\/p>\n
I carried it, and repeated the message; anxiously watched by my employer. Hareton would not open his fingers, so I laid it on his knee. He did not strike it off, either. I returned to my work. Catherine leaned her head and arms on the table, till she heard the slight rustle of the covering being removed; then she stole away, and quietly seated herself beside her cousin. He trembled, and his face glowed: all his rudeness and all his surly harshness had deserted him: he could not summon courage, at first, to utter a syllable in reply to her questioning look, and her murmured petition.<\/p>\n
\u201cSay you forgive me, Hareton, do. You can make me so happy by speaking that little word.\u201d<\/p>\n
He muttered something inaudible.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you\u2019ll be my friend?\u201d added Catherine, interrogatively.<\/p>\n
\u201cNay, you\u2019ll be ashamed of me every day of your life,\u201d he answered; \u201cand the more ashamed, the more you know me; and I cannot bide it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo you won\u2019t be my friend?\u201d she said, smiling as sweet as honey, and creeping close up.<\/p>\n
I overheard no further distinguishable talk, but, on looking round again, I perceived two such radiant countenances bent over the page of the accepted book, that I did not doubt the treaty had been ratified on both sides; and the enemies were, thenceforth, sworn allies.<\/p>\n
The work they studied was full of costly pictures; and those and their position had charm enough to keep them unmoved till Joseph came home. He, poor man, was perfectly aghast at the spectacle of Catherine seated on the same bench with Hareton Earnshaw, leaning her hand on his shoulder; and confounded at his favourite\u2019s endurance of her proximity: it affected him too deeply to allow an observation on the subject that night. His emotion was only revealed by the immense sighs he drew, as he solemnly spread his large Bible on the table, and overlaid it with dirty bank-notes from his pocket-book, the produce of the day\u2019s transactions. At length he summoned Hareton from his seat.<\/p>\n
\u201cTak\u2019 these in to t\u2019 maister, lad,\u201d he said, \u201cand bide there. I\u2019s gang up to my own rahm. This hoile\u2019s neither mensful nor seemly for us: we mun side out and seearch another.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCome, Catherine,\u201d I said, \u201cwe must \u2018side out\u2019 too: I\u2019ve done my ironing. Are you ready to go?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is not eight o\u2019clock!\u201d she answered, rising unwillingly.<\/p>\n
\u201cHareton, I\u2019ll leave this book upon the chimney-piece, and I\u2019ll bring some more to-morrow.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOny books that yah leave, I shall tak\u2019 into th\u2019 hahse,\u201d said Joseph, \u201cand it\u2019ll be mitch if yah find \u2019em agean; soa, yah may plase yerseln!\u201d<\/p>\n
Cathy threatened that his library should pay for hers; and, smiling as she passed Hareton, went singing upstairs: lighter of heart, I venture to say, than ever she had been under that roof before; except, perhaps, during her earliest visits to Linton.<\/p>\n
The intimacy thus commenced grew rapidly; though it encountered temporary interruptions. Earnshaw was not to be civilized with a wish, and my young lady was no philosopher, and no paragon of patience; but both their minds tending to the same point\u2014one loving and desiring to esteem, and the other loving and desiring to be esteemed\u2014they contrived in the end to reach it.<\/p>\n
You see, Mr. Lockwood, it was easy enough to win Mrs. Heathcliff\u2019s heart. But now, I\u2019m glad you did not try. The crown of all my wishes will be the union of those two. I shall envy no one on their wedding day: there won\u2019t be a happier woman than myself in England!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":299,"menu_order":32,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[48],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-55","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\/55","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\/55\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":182,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/55\/revisions\/182"}],"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\/55\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=55"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=55"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=55"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/wutheringheights\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=55"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}