Chapter IX

He entered, vociferating oaths dreadful to hear; and caught me in the
act of stowing his son away in the kitchen cupboard. Hareton was
impressed with a wholesome terror of encountering either his wild
beast’s fondness or his madman’s rage; for in one he ran a chance of
being squeezed and kissed to death, and in the other of being flung
into the fire, or dashed against the wall; and the poor thing remained
perfectly quiet wherever I chose to put him.

“There, I’ve found it out at last!” cried Hindley, pulling me back by
the skin of my neck, like a dog. “By heaven and hell, you’ve sworn
between you to murder that child! I know how it is, now, that he is
always out of my way. But, with the help of Satan, I shall make you
swallow the carving-knife, Nelly! You needn’t laugh; for I’ve just
crammed Kenneth, head-downmost, in the Black-horse marsh; and two is
the same as one—and I want to kill some of you: I shall have no rest
till I do!”

“But I don’t like the carving-knife, Mr. Hindley,” I answered; “it has
been cutting red herrings. I’d rather be shot, if you please.”

“You’d rather be damned!” he said; “and so you shall. No law in England
can hinder a man from keeping his house decent, and mine’s abominable!
Open your mouth.”

He held the knife in his hand, and pushed its point between my teeth:
but, for my part, I was never much afraid of his vagaries. I spat out,
and affirmed it tasted detestably—I would not take it on any account.

“Oh!” said he, releasing me, “I see that hideous little villain is not
Hareton: I beg your pardon, Nell. If it be, he deserves flaying alive
for not running to welcome me, and for screaming as if I were a goblin.
Unnatural cub, come hither! I’ll teach thee to impose on a
good-hearted, deluded father. Now, don’t you think the lad would be
handsomer cropped? It makes a dog fiercer, and I love something
fierce—get me a scissors—something fierce and trim! Besides, it’s
infernal affectation—devilish conceit it is, to cherish our ears—we’re
asses enough without them. Hush, child, hush! Well then, it is my
darling! wisht, dry thy eyes—there’s a joy; kiss me. What! it won’t?
Kiss me, Hareton! Damn thee, kiss me! By God, as if I would rear such a
monster! As sure as I’m living, I’ll break the brat’s neck.”

Poor Hareton was squalling and kicking in his father’s arms with all
his might, and redoubled his yells when he carried him upstairs and
lifted him over the banister. I cried out that he would frighten the
child into fits, and ran to rescue him. As I reached them, Hindley
leant forward on the rails to listen to a noise below; almost
forgetting what he had in his hands. “Who is that?” he asked, hearing
some one approaching the stairs’-foot. I leant forward also, for the
purpose of signing to Heathcliff, whose step I recognised, not to come
further; and, at the instant when my eye quitted Hareton, he gave a
sudden spring, delivered himself from the careless grasp that held him,
and fell.

There was scarcely time to experience a thrill of horror before we saw
that the little wretch was safe. Heathcliff arrived underneath just at
the critical moment; by a natural impulse he arrested his descent, and
setting him on his feet, looked up to discover the author of the
accident. A miser who has parted with a lucky lottery ticket for five
shillings, and finds next day he has lost in the bargain five thousand
pounds, could not show a blanker countenance than he did on beholding
the figure of Mr. Earnshaw above. It expressed, plainer than words
could do, the intensest anguish at having made himself the instrument
of thwarting his own revenge. Had it been dark, I daresay he would have
tried to remedy the mistake by smashing Hareton’s skull on the steps;
but, we witnessed his salvation; and I was presently below with my
precious charge pressed to my heart. Hindley descended more leisurely,
sobered and abashed.

“It is your fault, Ellen,” he said; “you should have kept him out of
sight: you should have taken him from me! Is he injured anywhere?”

“Injured!” I cried angrily; “if he is not killed, he’ll be an idiot!
Oh! I wonder his mother does not rise from her grave to see how you use
him. You’re worse than a heathen—treating your own flesh and blood in
that manner!”

He attempted to touch the child, who, on finding himself with me,
sobbed off his terror directly. At the first finger his father laid on
him, however, he shrieked again louder than before, and struggled as if
he would go into convulsions.

“You shall not meddle with him!” I continued. “He hates you—they all
hate you—that’s the truth! A happy family you have; and a pretty state
you’re come to!”

“I shall come to a prettier, yet, Nelly,” laughed the misguided man,
recovering his hardness. “At present, convey yourself and him away. And
hark you, Heathcliff! clear you too quite from my reach and hearing. I
wouldn’t murder you to-night; unless, perhaps, I set the house on fire:
but that’s as my fancy goes.”

While saying this he took a pint bottle of brandy from the dresser, and
poured some into a tumbler.

“Nay, don’t!” I entreated. “Mr. Hindley, do take warning. Have mercy on
this unfortunate boy, if you care nothing for yourself!”

“Any one will do better for him than I shall,” he answered.

“Have mercy on your own soul!” I said, endeavouring to snatch the glass
from his hand.

“Not I! On the contrary, I shall have great pleasure in sending it to
perdition to punish its Maker,” exclaimed the blasphemer. “Here’s to
its hearty damnation!”

He drank the spirits and impatiently bade us go; terminating his
command with a sequel of horrid imprecations too bad to repeat or
remember.

“It’s a pity he cannot kill himself with drink,” observed Heathcliff,
muttering an echo of curses back when the door was shut. “He’s doing
his very utmost; but his constitution defies him. Mr. Kenneth says he
would wager his mare that he’ll outlive any man on this side Gimmerton,
and go to the grave a hoary sinner; unless some happy chance out of the
common course befall him.”

I went into the kitchen, and sat down to lull my little lamb to sleep.
Heathcliff, as I thought, walked through to the barn. It turned out
afterwards that he only got as far as the other side the settle, when
he flung himself on a bench by the wall, removed from the fire, and
remained silent.

I was rocking Hareton on my knee, and humming a song that began,—

It was far in the night, and the bairnies grat,
The mither beneath the mools heard that,

when Miss Cathy, who had listened to the hubbub from her room, put her
head in, and whispered,—“Are you alone, Nelly?”

“Yes, Miss,” I replied.

She entered and approached the hearth. I, supposing she was going to
say something, looked up. The expression of her face seemed disturbed
and anxious. Her lips were half asunder, as if she meant to speak, and
she drew a breath; but it escaped in a sigh instead of a sentence. I
resumed my song; not having forgotten her recent behaviour.

“Where’s Heathcliff?” she said, interrupting me.

“About his work in the stable,” was my answer.

He did not contradict me; perhaps he had fallen into a doze. There
followed another long pause, during which I perceived a drop or two
trickle from Catherine’s cheek to the flags. Is she sorry for her
shameful conduct?—I asked myself. That will be a novelty: but she may
come to the point as she will—I sha’n’t help her! No, she felt small
trouble regarding any subject, save her own concerns.

“Oh, dear!” she cried at last. “I’m very unhappy!”

“A pity,” observed I. “You’re hard to please; so many friends and so
few cares, and can’t make yourself content!”

“Nelly, will you keep a secret for me?” she pursued, kneeling down by
me, and lifting her winsome eyes to my face with that sort of look
which turns off bad temper, even when one has all the right in the
world to indulge it.

“Is it worth keeping?” I inquired, less sulkily.

“Yes, and it worries me, and I must let it out! I want to know what I
should do. To-day, Edgar Linton has asked me to marry him, and I’ve
given him an answer. Now, before I tell you whether it was a consent or
denial, you tell me which it ought to have been.”

“Really, Miss Catherine, how can I know?” I replied. “To be sure,
considering the exhibition you performed in his presence this
afternoon, I might say it would be wise to refuse him: since he asked
you after that, he must either be hopelessly stupid or a venturesome
fool.”

“If you talk so, I won’t tell you any more,” she returned, peevishly
rising to her feet. “I accepted him, Nelly. Be quick, and say whether I
was wrong!”

“You accepted him! Then what good is it discussing the matter? You have
pledged your word, and cannot retract.”

“But say whether I should have done so—do!” she exclaimed in an
irritated tone; chafing her hands together, and frowning.

“There are many things to be considered before that question can be
answered properly,” I said, sententiously. “First and foremost, do you
love Mr. Edgar?”

“Who can help it? Of course I do,” she answered.

Then I put her through the following catechism: for a girl of
twenty-two it was not injudicious.

“Why do you love him, Miss Cathy?”

“Nonsense, I do—that’s sufficient.”

“By no means; you must say why?”

“Well, because he is handsome, and pleasant to be with.”

“Bad!” was my commentary.

“And because he is young and cheerful.”

“Bad, still.”

“And because he loves me.”

“Indifferent, coming there.”

“And he will be rich, and I shall like to be the greatest woman of the
neighbourhood, and I shall be proud of having such a husband.”

“Worst of all. And now, say how you love him?”

“As everybody loves—You’re silly, Nelly.”

“Not at all—Answer.”

“I love the ground under his feet, and the air over his head, and
everything he touches, and every word he says. I love all his looks,
and all his actions, and him entirely and altogether. There now!”

“And why?”

“Nay; you are making a jest of it: it is exceedingly ill-natured! It’s
no jest to me!” said the young lady, scowling, and turning her face to
the fire.

“I’m very far from jesting, Miss Catherine,” I replied. “You love Mr.
Edgar because he is handsome, and young, and cheerful, and rich, and
loves you. The last, however, goes for nothing: you would love him
without that, probably; and with it you wouldn’t, unless he possessed
the four former attractions.”

“No, to be sure not: I should only pity him—hate him, perhaps, if he
were ugly, and a clown.”

“But there are several other handsome, rich young men in the world:
handsomer, possibly, and richer than he is. What should hinder you from
loving them?”

“If there be any, they are out of my way: I’ve seen none like Edgar.”

“You may see some; and he won’t always be handsome, and young, and may
not always be rich.”

“He is now; and I have only to do with the present. I wish you would
speak rationally.”

“Well, that settles it: if you have only to do with the present, marry
Mr. Linton.”

“I don’t want your permission for that—I shall marry him: and yet you
have not told me whether I’m right.”

“Perfectly right; if people be right to marry only for the present. And
now, let us hear what you are unhappy about. Your brother will be
pleased; the old lady and gentleman will not object, I think; you will
escape from a disorderly, comfortless home into a wealthy, respectable
one; and you love Edgar, and Edgar loves you. All seems smooth and
easy: where is the obstacle?”

“Here! and here!” replied Catherine, striking one hand on her
forehead, and the other on her breast: “in whichever place the soul
lives. In my soul and in my heart, I’m convinced I’m wrong!”

“That’s very strange! I cannot make it out.”

“It’s my secret. But if you will not mock at me, I’ll explain it: I
can’t do it distinctly; but I’ll give you a feeling of how I feel.”

She seated herself by me again: her countenance grew sadder and graver,
and her clasped hands trembled.

“Nelly, do you never dream queer dreams?” she said, suddenly, after
some minutes’ reflection.

“Yes, now and then,” I answered.

“And so do I. I’ve dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me
ever after, and changed my ideas: they’ve gone through and through me,
like wine through water, and altered the colour of my mind. And this is
one: I’m going to tell it—but take care not to smile at any part of
it.”

“Oh! don’t, Miss Catherine!” I cried. “We’re dismal enough without
conjuring up ghosts and visions to perplex us. Come, come, be merry and
like yourself! Look at little Hareton! he’s dreaming nothing dreary.
How sweetly he smiles in his sleep!”

“Yes; and how sweetly his father curses in his solitude! You remember
him, I daresay, when he was just such another as that chubby thing:
nearly as young and innocent. However, Nelly, I shall oblige you to
listen: it’s not long; and I’ve no power to be merry to-night.”

“I won’t hear it, I won’t hear it!” I repeated, hastily.

I was superstitious about dreams then, and am still; and Catherine had
an unusual gloom in her aspect, that made me dread something from which
I might shape a prophecy, and foresee a fearful catastrophe. She was
vexed, but she did not proceed. Apparently taking up another subject,
she recommenced in a short time.

“If I were in heaven, Nelly, I should be extremely miserable.”

“Because you are not fit to go there,” I answered. “All sinners would
be miserable in heaven.”

“But it is not for that. I dreamt once that I was there.”

“I tell you I won’t hearken to your dreams, Miss Catherine! I’ll go to
bed,” I interrupted again.

She laughed, and held me down; for I made a motion to leave my chair.

“This is nothing,” cried she: “I was only going to say that heaven did
not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to come back
to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the
middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke
sobbing for joy. That will do to explain my secret, as well as the
other. I’ve no more business to marry Edgar Linton than I have to be in
heaven; and if the wicked man in there had not brought Heathcliff so
low, I shouldn’t have thought of it. It would degrade me to marry
Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him: and that, not
because he’s handsome, Nelly, but because he’s more myself than I am.
Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and Linton’s
is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire.”

Ere this speech ended I became sensible of Heathcliff’s presence.
Having noticed a slight movement, I turned my head, and saw him rise
from the bench, and steal out noiselessly. He had listened till he
heard Catherine say it would degrade her to marry him, and then he
stayed to hear no further. My companion, sitting on the ground, was
prevented by the back of the settle from remarking his presence or
departure; but I started, and bade her hush!

“Why?” she asked, gazing nervously round.

“Joseph is here,” I answered, catching opportunely the roll of his
cartwheels up the road; “and Heathcliff will come in with him. I’m not
sure whether he were not at the door this moment.”

“Oh, he couldn’t overhear me at the door!” said she. “Give me Hareton,
while you get the supper, and when it is ready ask me to sup with you.
I want to cheat my uncomfortable conscience, and be convinced that
Heathcliff has no notion of these things. He has not, has he? He does
not know what being in love is!”

“I see no reason that he should not know, as well as you,” I returned;
“and if you are his choice, he’ll be the most unfortunate creature
that ever was born! As soon as you become Mrs. Linton, he loses friend,
and love, and all! Have you considered how you’ll bear the separation,
and how he’ll bear to be quite deserted in the world? Because, Miss
Catherine—”

“He quite deserted! we separated!” she exclaimed, with an accent of
indignation. “Who is to separate us, pray? They’ll meet the fate of
Milo! Not as long as I live, Ellen: for no mortal creature. Every
Linton on the face of the earth might melt into nothing before I could
consent to forsake Heathcliff. Oh, that’s not what I intend—that’s not
what I mean! I shouldn’t be Mrs. Linton were such a price demanded!
He’ll be as much to me as he has been all his lifetime. Edgar must
shake off his antipathy, and tolerate him, at least. He will, when he
learns my true feelings towards him. Nelly, I see now you think me a
selfish wretch; but did it never strike you that if Heathcliff and I
married, we should be beggars? whereas, if I marry Linton I can aid
Heathcliff to rise, and place him out of my brother’s power.”

“With your husband’s money, Miss Catherine?” I asked. “You’ll find him
not so pliable as you calculate upon: and, though I’m hardly a judge, I
think that’s the worst motive you’ve given yet for being the wife of
young Linton.”

“It is not,” retorted she; “it is the best! The others were the
satisfaction of my whims: and for Edgar’s sake, too, to satisfy him.
This is for the sake of one who comprehends in his person my feelings
to Edgar and myself. I cannot express it; but surely you and everybody
have a notion that there is or should be an existence of yours beyond
you. What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained
here? My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff’s miseries,
and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in
living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should
still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were
annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not
seem a part of it. My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods:
time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees. My
love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of
little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He’s
always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always
a pleasure to myself, but as my own being. So don’t talk of our
separation again: it is impracticable; and—”

She paused, and hid her face in the folds of my gown; but I jerked it
forcibly away. I was out of patience with her folly!

“If I can make any sense of your nonsense, Miss,” I said, “it only goes
to convince me that you are ignorant of the duties you undertake in
marrying; or else that you are a wicked, unprincipled girl. But trouble
me with no more secrets: I’ll not promise to keep them.”

“You’ll keep that?” she asked, eagerly.

“No, I’ll not promise,” I repeated.

She was about to insist, when the entrance of Joseph finished our
conversation; and Catherine removed her seat to a corner, and nursed
Hareton, while I made the supper. After it was cooked, my
fellow-servant and I began to quarrel who should carry some to Mr.
Hindley; and we didn’t settle it till all was nearly cold. Then we came
to the agreement that we would let him ask, if he wanted any; for we
feared particularly to go into his presence when he had been some time
alone.

“And how isn’t that nowt comed in fro’ th’ field, be this time? What is
he about? girt idle seeght!” demanded the old man, looking round for
Heathcliff.

“I’ll call him,” I replied. “He’s in the barn, I’ve no doubt.”

I went and called, but got no answer. On returning, I whispered to
Catherine that he had heard a good part of what she said, I was sure;
and told how I saw him quit the kitchen just as she complained of her
brother’s conduct regarding him. She jumped up in a fine fright, flung
Hareton on to the settle, and ran to seek for her friend herself; not
taking leisure to consider why she was so flurried, or how her talk
would have affected him. She was absent such a while that Joseph
proposed we should wait no longer. He cunningly conjectured they were
staying away in order to avoid hearing his protracted blessing. They
were “ill eneugh for ony fahl manners,” he affirmed. And on their
behalf he added that night a special prayer to the usual
quarter-of-an-hour’s supplication before meat, and would have tacked
another to the end of the grace, had not his young mistress broken in
upon him with a hurried command that he must run down the road, and,
wherever Heathcliff had rambled, find and make him re-enter directly!

“I want to speak to him, and I must, before I go upstairs,” she said.
“And the gate is open: he is somewhere out of hearing; for he would not
reply, though I shouted at the top of the fold as loud as I could.”

Joseph objected at first; she was too much in earnest, however, to
suffer contradiction; and at last he placed his hat on his head, and
walked grumbling forth. Meantime, Catherine paced up and down the
floor, exclaiming—“I wonder where he is—I wonder where he can be!
What did I say, Nelly? I’ve forgotten. Was he vexed at my bad humour
this afternoon? Dear! tell me what I’ve said to grieve him? I do wish
he’d come. I do wish he would!”

“What a noise for nothing!” I cried, though rather uneasy myself. “What
a trifle scares you! It’s surely no great cause of alarm that
Heathcliff should take a moonlight saunter on the moors, or even lie
too sulky to speak to us in the hay-loft. I’ll engage he’s lurking
there. See if I don’t ferret him out!”

I departed to renew my search; its result was disappointment, and
Joseph’s quest ended in the same.

“Yon lad gets war und war!” observed he on re-entering. “He’s left th’
gate at t’ full swing, and Miss’s pony has trodden dahn two rigs o’
corn, and plottered through, raight o’er into t’ meadow! Hahsomdiver,
t’ maister ’ull play t’ devil to-morn, and he’ll do weel. He’s patience
itsseln wi’ sich careless, offald craters—patience itsseln he is! Bud
he’ll not be soa allus—yah’s see, all on ye! Yah mun’n’t drive him out
of his heead for nowt!”

“Have you found Heathcliff, you ass?” interrupted Catherine. “Have you
been looking for him, as I ordered?”

“I sud more likker look for th’ horse,” he replied. “It ’ud be to more
sense. Bud I can look for norther horse nur man of a neeght loike
this—as black as t’ chimbley! und Heathcliff’s noan t’ chap to coom at
my whistle—happen he’ll be less hard o’ hearing wi’ ye!”

It was a very dark evening for summer: the clouds appeared inclined
to thunder, and I said we had better all sit down; the approaching rain
would be certain to bring him home without further trouble. However,
Catherine would not be persuaded into tranquillity. She kept wandering
to and fro, from the gate to the door, in a state of agitation which
permitted no repose; and at length took up a permanent situation on one
side of the wall, near the road: where, heedless of my expostulations
and the growling thunder, and the great drops that began to plash
around her, she remained, calling at intervals, and then listening, and
then crying outright. She beat Hareton, or any child, at a good
passionate fit of crying.

About midnight, while we still sat up, the storm came rattling over the
Heights in full fury. There was a violent wind, as well as thunder, and
either one or the other split a tree off at the corner of the building:
a huge bough fell across the roof, and knocked down a portion of the
east chimney-stack, sending a clatter of stones and soot into the
kitchen-fire. We thought a bolt had fallen in the middle of us; and
Joseph swung on to his knees, beseeching the Lord to remember the
patriarchs Noah and Lot, and, as in former times, spare the righteous,
though he smote the ungodly. I felt some sentiment that it must be a
judgment on us also. The Jonah, in my mind, was Mr. Earnshaw; and I
shook the handle of his den that I might ascertain if he were yet
living. He replied audibly enough, in a fashion which made my companion
vociferate, more clamorously than before, that a wide distinction might
be drawn between saints like himself and sinners like his master. But
the uproar passed away in twenty minutes, leaving us all unharmed;
excepting Cathy, who got thoroughly drenched for her obstinacy in
refusing to take shelter, and standing bonnetless and shawlless to
catch as much water as she could with her hair and clothes. She came in
and lay down on the settle, all soaked as she was, turning her face to
the back, and putting her hands before it.

“Well, Miss!” I exclaimed, touching her shoulder; “you are not bent on
getting your death, are you? Do you know what o’clock it is? Half-past
twelve. Come, come to bed! there’s no use waiting any longer on that
foolish boy: he’ll be gone to Gimmerton, and he’ll stay there now. He
guesses we shouldn’t wait for him till this late hour: at least, he
guesses that only Mr. Hindley would be up; and he’d rather avoid having
the door opened by the master.”

“Nay, nay, he’s noan at Gimmerton,” said Joseph. “I’s niver wonder but
he’s at t’ bothom of a bog-hoile. This visitation worn’t for nowt, and
I wod hev’ ye to look out, Miss—yah muh be t’ next. Thank Hivin for
all! All warks togither for gooid to them as is chozzen, and piked out
fro’ th’ rubbidge! Yah knaw whet t’ Scripture ses.” And he began
quoting several texts, referring us to chapters and verses where we
might find them.

I, having vainly begged the wilful girl to rise and remove her wet
things, left him preaching and her shivering, and betook myself to bed
with little Hareton, who slept as fast as if everyone had been sleeping
round him. I heard Joseph read on a while afterwards; then I
distinguished his slow step on the ladder, and then I dropped asleep.

Coming down somewhat later than usual, I saw, by the sunbeams piercing
the chinks of the shutters, Miss Catherine still seated near the
fireplace. The house-door was ajar, too; light entered from its
unclosed windows; Hindley had come out, and stood on the kitchen
hearth, haggard and drowsy.

“What ails you, Cathy?” he was saying when I entered: “you look as
dismal as a drowned whelp. Why are you so damp and pale, child?”

“I’ve been wet,” she answered reluctantly, “and I’m cold, that’s all.”

“Oh, she is naughty!” I cried, perceiving the master to be tolerably
sober. “She got steeped in the shower of yesterday evening, and there
she has sat the night through, and I couldn’t prevail on her to stir.”

Mr. Earnshaw stared at us in surprise. “The night through,” he
repeated. “What kept her up? not fear of the thunder, surely? That was
over hours since.”

Neither of us wished to mention Heathcliff’s absence, as long as we
could conceal it; so I replied, I didn’t know how she took it into her
head to sit up; and she said nothing. The morning was fresh and cool; I
threw back the lattice, and presently the room filled with sweet scents
from the garden; but Catherine called peevishly to me, “Ellen, shut the
window. I’m starving!” And her teeth chattered as she shrank closer to
the almost extinguished embers.

“She’s ill,” said Hindley, taking her wrist; “I suppose that’s the
reason she would not go to bed. Damn it! I don’t want to be troubled
with more sickness here. What took you into the rain?”

“Running after t’ lads, as usuald!” croaked Joseph, catching an
opportunity from our hesitation to thrust in his evil tongue. “If I war
yah, maister, I’d just slam t’ boards i’ their faces all on ’em, gentle
and simple! Never a day ut yah’re off, but yon cat o’ Linton comes
sneaking hither; and Miss Nelly, shoo’s a fine lass! shoo sits watching
for ye i’ t’ kitchen; and as yah’re in at one door, he’s out at
t’other; and, then, wer grand lady goes a-courting of her side! It’s
bonny behaviour, lurking amang t’ fields, after twelve o’ t’ night, wi’
that fahl, flaysome divil of a gipsy, Heathcliff! They think I’m
blind; but I’m noan: nowt ut t’ soart!—I seed young Linton boath coming
and going, and I seed yah” (directing his discourse to me), “yah
gooid fur nowt, slattenly witch! nip up and bolt into th’ house, t’
minute yah heard t’ maister’s horse-fit clatter up t’ road.”

“Silence, eavesdropper!” cried Catherine; “none of your insolence
before me! Edgar Linton came yesterday by chance, Hindley; and it was
I who told him to be off: because I knew you would not like to have
met him as you were.”

“You lie, Cathy, no doubt,” answered her brother, “and you are a
confounded simpleton! But never mind Linton at present: tell me, were
you not with Heathcliff last night? Speak the truth, now. You need not
be afraid of harming him: though I hate him as much as ever, he did me
a good turn a short time since that will make my conscience tender of
breaking his neck. To prevent it, I shall send him about his business
this very morning; and after he’s gone, I’d advise you all to look
sharp: I shall only have the more humour for you.”

“I never saw Heathcliff last night,” answered Catherine, beginning to
sob bitterly: “and if you do turn him out of doors, I’ll go with him.
But, perhaps, you’ll never have an opportunity: perhaps, he’s gone.”
Here she burst into uncontrollable grief, and the remainder of her
words were inarticulate.

Hindley lavished on her a torrent of scornful abuse, and bade her get
to her room immediately, or she shouldn’t cry for nothing! I obliged
her to obey; and I shall never forget what a scene she acted when we
reached her chamber: it terrified me. I thought she was going mad, and
I begged Joseph to run for the doctor. It proved the commencement of
delirium: Mr. Kenneth, as soon as he saw her, pronounced her
dangerously ill; she had a fever. He bled her, and he told me to let
her live on whey and water-gruel, and take care she did not throw
herself downstairs or out of the window; and then he left: for he had
enough to do in the parish, where two or three miles was the ordinary
distance between cottage and cottage.

Though I cannot say I made a gentle nurse, and Joseph and the master
were no better, and though our patient was as wearisome and headstrong
as a patient could be, she weathered it through. Old Mrs. Linton paid
us several visits, to be sure, and set things to rights, and scolded
and ordered us all; and when Catherine was convalescent, she insisted
on conveying her to Thrushcross Grange: for which deliverance we were
very grateful. But the poor dame had reason to repent of her kindness:
she and her husband both took the fever, and died within a few days of
each other.

Our young lady returned to us saucier and more passionate, and
haughtier than ever. Heathcliff had never been heard of since the
evening of the thunder-storm; and, one day, I had the misfortune, when
she had provoked me exceedingly, to lay the blame of his disappearance
on her: where indeed it belonged, as she well knew. From that period,
for several months, she ceased to hold any communication with me, save
in the relation of a mere servant. Joseph fell under a ban also: he
would speak his mind, and lecture her all the same as if she were a
little girl; and she esteemed herself a woman, and our mistress, and
thought that her recent illness gave her a claim to be treated with
consideration. Then the doctor had said that she would not bear
crossing much; she ought to have her own way; and it was nothing less
than murder in her eyes for any one to presume to stand up and
contradict her. From Mr. Earnshaw and his companions she kept aloof;
and tutored by Kenneth, and serious threats of a fit that often
attended her rages, her brother allowed her whatever she pleased to
demand, and generally avoided aggravating her fiery temper. He was
rather too indulgent in humouring her caprices; not from affection,
but from pride: he wished earnestly to see her bring honour to the
family by an alliance with the Lintons, and as long as she let him
alone she might trample on us like slaves, for aught he cared! Edgar
Linton, as multitudes have been before and will be after him, was
infatuated: and believed himself the happiest man alive on the day he
led her to Gimmerton Chapel, three years subsequent to his father’s
death.

Much against my inclination, I was persuaded to leave Wuthering Heights
and accompany her here. Little Hareton was nearly five years old, and I
had just begun to teach him his letters. We made a sad parting; but
Catherine’s tears were more powerful than ours. When I refused to go,
and when she found her entreaties did not move me, she went lamenting
to her husband and brother. The former offered me munificent wages; the
latter ordered me to pack up: he wanted no women in the house, he said,
now that there was no mistress; and as to Hareton, the curate should
take him in hand, by-and-by. And so I had but one choice left: to do as
I was ordered. I told the master he got rid of all decent people only
to run to ruin a little faster; I kissed Hareton, said good-by; and
since then he has been a stranger: and it’s very queer to think it, but
I’ve no doubt he has completely forgotten all about Ellen Dean, and
that he was ever more than all the world to her and she to him!

*

At this point of the housekeeper’s story she chanced to glance towards
the time-piece over the chimney; and was in amazement on seeing the
minute-hand measure half-past one. She would not hear of staying a
second longer: in truth, I felt rather disposed to defer the sequel of
her narrative myself. And now that she is vanished to her rest, and I
have meditated for another hour or two, I shall summon courage to go
also, in spite of aching laziness of head and limbs.