Wuthering Heights
consequences of my taunting speech, when he flung himself on Earnshaw’s
weapon and wrenched it from his grasp.
“The charge exploded, and the knife, in springing back, closed into its
owner’s wrist. Heathcliff pulled it away by main force, slitting up the
flesh as it passed on, and thrust it dripping into his pocket. He then
took a stone, struck down the division between two windows, and sprang
in. His adversary had fallen senseless with excessive pain and the flow
of blood, that gushed from an artery or a large vein. The ruffian
kicked and trampled on him, and dashed his head repeatedly against the
flags, holding me with one hand, meantime, to prevent me summoning
Joseph. He exerted preterhuman self-denial in abstaining from finishing
him completely; but getting out of breath, he finally desisted, and
dragged the apparently inanimate body on to the settle. There he tore
off the sleeve of Earnshaw’s coat, and bound up the wound with brutal
roughness; spitting and cursing during the operation as energetically
as he had kicked before. Being at liberty, I lost no time in seeking
the old servant; who, having gathered by degrees the purport of my
hasty tale, hurried below, gasping, as he descended the steps two at
once.
“‘What is ther to do, now? what is ther to do, now?’
“‘There’s this to do,’ thundered Heathcliff, ‘that your master’s mad;
and should he last another month, I’ll have him to an asylum. And how
the devil did you come to fasten me out, you toothless hound? Don’t
stand muttering and mumbling there. Come, I’m not going to nurse him.
Wash that stuff away; and mind the sparks of your candle—it is more
than half brandy!’
“‘And so ye’ve been murthering on him?’ exclaimed Joseph, lifting his
hands and eyes in horror. ‘If iver I seed a seeght loike this! May the
Lord—’
“Heathcliff gave him a push on to his knees in the middle of the blood,
and flung a towel to him; but instead of proceeding to dry it up, he
joined his hands and began a prayer, which excited my laughter from its
odd phraseology. I was in the condition of mind to be shocked at
nothing: in fact, I was as reckless as some malefactors show themselves
at the foot of the gallows.
“‘Oh, I forgot you,’ said the tyrant. ‘You shall do that. Down with
you. And you conspire with him against me, do you, viper? There, that
is work fit for you!’
“He shook me till my teeth rattled, and pitched me beside Joseph, who
steadily concluded his supplications, and then rose, vowing he would
set off for the Grange directly. Mr. Linton was a magistrate, and
though he had fifty wives dead, he should inquire into this. He was so
obstinate in his resolution, that Heathcliff deemed it expedient to
compel from my lips a recapitulation of what had taken place; standing
over me, heaving with malevolence, as I reluctantly delivered the
account in answer to his questions. It required a great deal of labour
to satisfy the old man that Heathcliff was not the aggressor;
especially with my hardly-wrung replies. However, Mr. Earnshaw soon
convinced him that he was alive still; Joseph hastened to administer a
dose of spirits, and by their succour his master presently regained
motion and consciousness. Heathcliff, aware that his opponent was
ignorant of the treatment received while insensible, called him
deliriously intoxicated; and said he should not notice his atrocious
conduct further, but advised him to get to bed. To my joy, he left us,
after giving this judicious counsel, and Hindley stretched himself on
the hearthstone. I departed to my own room, marvelling that I had
escaped so easily.
“This morning, when I came down, about half an hour before noon, Mr.
Earnshaw was sitting by the fire, deadly sick; his evil genius, almost
as gaunt and ghastly, leant against the chimney. Neither appeared
inclined to dine, and, having waited till all was cold on the table, I
commenced alone. Nothing hindered me from eating heartily, and I
experienced a certain sense of satisfaction and superiority, as, at
intervals, I cast a look towards my silent companions, and felt the
comfort of a quiet conscience within me. After I had done, I ventured
on the unusual liberty of drawing near the fire, going round Earnshaw’s
seat, and kneeling in the corner beside him.
“Heathcliff did not glance my way, and I gazed up, and contemplated his
features almost as confidently as if they had been turned to stone. His
forehead, that I once thought so manly, and that I now think so
diabolical, was shaded with a heavy cloud; his basilisk eyes were
nearly quenched by sleeplessness, and weeping, perhaps, for the lashes
were wet then: his lips devoid of their ferocious sneer, and sealed in
an expression of unspeakable sadness. Had it been another, I would have
covered my face in the presence of such grief. In _his_ case, I was
gratified; and, ignoble as it seems to insult a fallen enemy, I
couldn’t miss this chance of sticking in a dart: his weakness was the
only time when I could taste the delight of paying wrong for wrong.”
“Fie, fie, Miss!” I interrupted. “One might suppose you had never
opened a Bible in your life. If God afflict your enemies, surely that
ought to suffice you. It is both mean and presumptuous to add your
torture to his!”
“In general I’ll allow that it would be, Ellen,” she continued; “but
what misery laid on Heathcliff could content me, unless I have a hand
in it? I’d rather he suffered _less_, if I might cause his sufferings
and he might _know_ that I was the cause. Oh, I owe him so much. On
only one condition can I hope to forgive him. It is, if I may take an
eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth; for every wrench of agony return a
wrench: reduce him to my level. As he was the first to injure, make him
the first to implore pardon; and then—why then, Ellen, I might show you
some generosity. But it is utterly impossible I can ever be revenged,
and therefore I cannot forgive him. Hindley wanted some water, and I
handed him a glass, and asked him how he was.
“‘Not as ill as I wish,’ he replied. ‘But leaving out my arm, every
inch of me is as sore as if I had been fighting with a legion of imps!’
“‘Yes, no wonder,’ was my next remark. ‘Catherine used to boast that
she stood between you and bodily harm: she meant that certain persons
would not hurt you for fear of offending her. It’s well people don’t
_really_ rise from their grave, or, last night, she might have
witnessed a repulsive scene! Are not you bruised, and cut over your
chest and shoulders?’
“‘I can’t say,’ he answered; ‘but what do you mean? Did he dare to
strike me when I was down?’
“‘He trampled on and kicked you, and dashed you on the ground,’ I
whispered. ‘And his mouth watered to tear you with his teeth; because
he’s only half man: not so much, and the rest fiend.’
“Mr. Earnshaw looked up, like me, to the countenance of our mutual foe;
who, absorbed in his anguish, seemed insensible to anything around him:
the longer he stood, the plainer his reflections revealed their
blackness through his features.
“‘Oh, if God would but give me strength to strangle him in my last
agony, I’d go to hell with joy,’ groaned the impatient man, writhing to
rise, and sinking back in despair, convinced of his inadequacy for the
struggle.
“‘Nay, it’s enough that he has murdered one of you,’ I observed aloud.
‘At the Grange, every one knows your sister would have been living now
had it not been for Mr. Heathcliff. After all, it is preferable to be
hated than loved by him. When I recollect how happy we were—how happy
Catherine was before he came—I’m fit to curse the day.’
“Most likely, Heathcliff noticed more the truth of what was said, than
the spirit of the person who said it. His attention was roused, I saw,
for his eyes rained down tears among the ashes, and he drew his breath
in suffocating sighs. I stared full at him, and laughed scornfully. The
clouded windows of hell flashed a moment towards me; the fiend which
usually looked out, however, was so dimmed and drowned that I did not
fear to hazard another sound of derision.
“‘Get up, and begone out of my sight,’ said the mourner.
“I guessed he uttered those words, at least, though his voice was
hardly intelligible.
“‘I beg your pardon,’ I replied. ‘But I loved Catherine too; and her
brother requires attendance, which, for her sake, I shall supply. Now
that she’s dead, I see her in Hindley: Hindley has exactly her eyes, if
you had not tried to gouge them out, and made them black and red; and
her—’
“‘Get up, wretched idiot, before I stamp you to death!’ he cried,
making a movement that caused me to make one also.
“‘But then,’ I continued, holding myself ready to flee, ‘if poor
Catherine had trusted you, and assumed the ridiculous, contemptible,
degrading title of Mrs. Heathcliff, she would soon have presented a
similar picture! _She_ wouldn’t have borne your abominable behaviour
quietly: her detestation and disgust must have found voice.’
“The back of the settle and Earnshaw’s person interposed between me and
him; so instead of endeavouring to reach me, he snatched a dinner-knife
from the table and flung it at my head. It struck beneath my ear, and
stopped the sentence I was uttering; but, pulling it out, I sprang to
the door and delivered another; which I hope went a little deeper than
his missile. The last glimpse I caught of him was a furious rush on his
part, checked by the embrace of his host; and both fell locked together
on the hearth. In my flight through the kitchen I bid Joseph speed to
his master; I knocked over Hareton, who was hanging a litter of puppies
from a chair-back in the doorway; and, blessed as a soul escaped from
purgatory, I bounded, leaped, and flew down the steep road; then,
quitting its windings, shot direct across the moor, rolling over banks,
and wading through marshes: precipitating myself, in fact, towards the
beacon-light of the Grange. And far rather would I be condemned to a
perpetual dwelling in the infernal regions than, even for one night,
abide beneath the roof of Wuthering Heights again.”
Isabella ceased speaking, and took a drink of tea; then she rose, and
bidding me put on her bonnet, and a great shawl I had brought, and
turning a deaf ear to my entreaties for her to remain another hour, she
stepped on to a chair, kissed Edgar’s and Catherine’s portraits,
bestowed a similar salute on me, and descended to the carriage,
accompanied by Fanny, who yelped wild with joy at recovering her
mistress. She was driven away, never to revisit this neighbourhood: but
a regular correspondence was established between her and my master when
things were more settled. I believe her new abode was in the south,
near London; there she had a son born a few months subsequent to her
escape. He was christened Linton, and, from the first, she reported him
to be an ailing, peevish creature.
Mr. Heathcliff, meeting me one day in the village, inquired where she
lived. I refused to tell. He remarked that it was not of any moment,
only she must beware of coming to her brother: she should not be with
him, if he had to keep her himself. Though I would give no information,
he discovered, through some of the other servants, both her place of
residence and the existence of the child. Still, he didn’t molest her:
for which forbearance she might thank his aversion, I suppose. He often
asked about the infant, when he saw me; and on hearing its name, smiled
grimly, and observed: “They wish me to hate it too, do they?”
“I don’t think they wish you to know anything about it,” I answered.
“But I’ll have it,” he said, “when I want it. They may reckon on that!”
Fortunately its mother died before the time arrived; some thirteen
years after the decease of Catherine, when Linton was twelve, or a
little more.