Wuthering Heights
surveying the country from her nursery window, she would observe—
“Ellen, how long will it be before I can walk to the top of those
hills? I wonder what lies on the other side—is it the sea?”
“No, Miss Cathy,” I would answer; “it is hills again, just like these.”
“And what are those golden rocks like when you stand under them?” she
once asked.
The abrupt descent of Penistone Crags particularly attracted her
notice; especially when the setting sun shone on it and the topmost
heights, and the whole extent of landscape besides lay in shadow. I
explained that they were bare masses of stone, with hardly enough earth
in their clefts to nourish a stunted tree.
“And why are they bright so long after it is evening here?” she
pursued.
“Because they are a great deal higher up than we are,” replied I; “you
could not climb them, they are too high and steep. In winter the frost
is always there before it comes to us; and deep into summer I have
found snow under that black hollow on the north-east side!”
“Oh, you have been on them!” she cried gleefully. “Then I can go, too,
when I am a woman. Has papa been, Ellen?”
“Papa would tell you, Miss,” I answered, hastily, “that they are not
worth the trouble of visiting. The moors, where you ramble with him,
are much nicer; and Thrushcross Park is the finest place in the world.”
“But I know the park, and I don’t know those,” she murmured to herself.
“And I should delight to look round me from the brow of that tallest
point: my little pony Minny shall take me some time.”
One of the maids mentioning the Fairy Cave, quite turned her head with
a desire to fulfil this project: she teased Mr. Linton about it; and he
promised she should have the journey when she got older. But Miss
Catherine measured her age by months, and, “Now, am I old enough to go
to Penistone Crags?” was the constant question in her mouth. The road
thither wound close by Wuthering Heights. Edgar had not the heart to
pass it; so she received as constantly the answer, “Not yet, love: not
yet.”
I said Mrs. Heathcliff lived above a dozen years after quitting her
husband. Her family were of a delicate constitution: she and Edgar both
lacked the ruddy health that you will generally meet in these parts.
What her last illness was, I am not certain: I conjecture, they died of
the same thing, a kind of fever, slow at its commencement, but
incurable, and rapidly consuming life towards the close. She wrote to
inform her brother of the probable conclusion of a four-months’
indisposition under which she had suffered, and entreated him to come
to her, if possible; for she had much to settle, and she wished to bid
him adieu, and deliver Linton safely into his hands. Her hope was that
Linton might be left with him, as he had been with her: his father, she
would fain convince herself, had no desire to assume the burden of his
maintenance or education. My master hesitated not a moment in complying
with her request: reluctant as he was to leave home at ordinary calls,
he flew to answer this; commending Catherine to my peculiar vigilance,
in his absence, with reiterated orders that she must not wander out of
the park, even under my escort: he did not calculate on her going
unaccompanied.
He was away three weeks. The first day or two my charge sat in a corner
of the library, too sad for either reading or playing: in that quiet
state she caused me little trouble; but it was succeeded by an interval
of impatient, fretful weariness; and being too busy, and too old then,
to run up and down amusing her, I hit on a method by which she might
entertain herself. I used to send her on her travels round the
grounds—now on foot, and now on a pony; indulging her with a patient
audience of all her real and imaginary adventures when she returned.
The summer shone in full prime; and she took such a taste for this
solitary rambling that she often contrived to remain out from breakfast
till tea; and then the evenings were spent in recounting her fanciful
tales. I did not fear her breaking bounds; because the gates were
generally locked, and I thought she would scarcely venture forth alone,
if they had stood wide open. Unluckily, my confidence proved misplaced.
Catherine came to me, one morning, at eight o’clock, and said she was
that day an Arabian merchant, going to cross the Desert with his
caravan; and I must give her plenty of provision for herself and
beasts: a horse, and three camels, personated by a large hound and a
couple of pointers. I got together good store of dainties, and slung
them in a basket on one side of the saddle; and she sprang up as gay as
a fairy, sheltered by her wide-brimmed hat and gauze veil from the July
sun, and trotted off with a merry laugh, mocking my cautious counsel to
avoid galloping, and come back early. The naughty thing never made her
appearance at tea. One traveller, the hound, being an old dog and fond
of its ease, returned; but neither Cathy, nor the pony, nor the two
pointers were visible in any direction: I despatched emissaries down
this path, and that path, and at last went wandering in search of her
myself. There was a labourer working at a fence round a plantation, on
the borders of the grounds. I inquired of him if he had seen our young
lady.
“I saw her at morn,” he replied: “she would have me to cut her a hazel
switch, and then she leapt her Galloway over the hedge yonder, where it
is lowest, and galloped out of sight.”
You may guess how I felt at hearing this news. It struck me directly
she must have started for Penistone Crags. “What will become of her?” I
ejaculated, pushing through a gap which the man was repairing, and
making straight to the high-road. I walked as if for a wager, mile
after mile, till a turn brought me in view of the Heights; but no
Catherine could I detect, far or near. The Crags lie about a mile and a
half beyond Mr. Heathcliff’s place, and that is four from the Grange,
so I began to fear night would fall ere I could reach them. “And what
if she should have slipped in clambering among them,” I reflected, “and
been killed, or broken some of her bones?” My suspense was truly
painful; and, at first, it gave me delightful relief to observe, in
hurrying by the farmhouse, Charlie, the fiercest of the pointers, lying
under a window, with swelled head and bleeding ear. I opened the wicket
and ran to the door, knocking vehemently for admittance. A woman whom I
knew, and who formerly lived at Gimmerton, answered: she had been
servant there since the death of Mr. Earnshaw.
“Ah,” said she, “you are come a-seeking your little mistress! Don’t be
frightened. She’s here safe: but I’m glad it isn’t the master.”
“He is not at home then, is he?” I panted, quite breathless with quick
walking and alarm.
“No, no,” she replied: “both he and Joseph are off, and I think they
won’t return this hour or more. Step in and rest you a bit.”
I entered, and beheld my stray lamb seated on the hearth, rocking
herself in a little chair that had been her mother’s when a child. Her
hat was hung against the wall, and she seemed perfectly at home,
laughing and chattering, in the best spirits imaginable, to Hareton—now
a great, strong lad of eighteen—who stared at her with considerable
curiosity and astonishment: comprehending precious little of the fluent
succession of remarks and questions which her tongue never ceased
pouring forth.
“Very well, Miss!” I exclaimed, concealing my joy under an angry
countenance. “This is your last ride, till papa comes back. I’ll not
trust you over the threshold again, you naughty, naughty girl!”
“Aha, Ellen!” she cried, gaily, jumping up and running to my side. “I
shall have a pretty story to tell to-night; and so you’ve found me out.
Have you ever been here in your life before?”
“Put that hat on, and home at once,” said I. “I’m dreadfully grieved at
you, Miss Cathy: you’ve done extremely wrong! It’s no use pouting and
crying: that won’t repay the trouble I’ve had, scouring the country
after you. To think how Mr. Linton charged me to keep you in; and you
stealing off so! It shows you are a cunning little fox, and nobody will
put faith in you any more.”
“What have I done?” sobbed she, instantly checked. “Papa charged me
nothing: he’ll not scold me, Ellen—he’s never cross, like you!”
“Come, come!” I repeated. “I’ll tie the riband. Now, let us have no
petulance. Oh, for shame! You thirteen years old, and such a baby!”
This exclamation was caused by her pushing the hat from her head, and
retreating to the chimney out of my reach.
“Nay,” said the servant, “don’t be hard on the bonny lass, Mrs. Dean.
We made her stop: she’d fain have ridden forwards, afeard you should be
uneasy. Hareton offered to go with her, and I thought he should: it’s a
wild road over the hills.”
Hareton, during the discussion, stood with his hands in his pockets,
too awkward to speak; though he looked as if he did not relish my
intrusion.
“How long am I to wait?” I continued, disregarding the woman’s
interference. “It will be dark in ten minutes. Where is the pony, Miss
Cathy? And where is Phoenix? I shall leave you, unless you be quick; so
please yourself.”
“The pony is in the yard,” she replied, “and Phoenix is shut in there.
He’s bitten—and so is Charlie. I was going to tell you all about it;
but you are in a bad temper, and don’t deserve to hear.”
I picked up her hat, and approached to reinstate it; but perceiving
that the people of the house took her part, she commenced capering
round the room; and on my giving chase, ran like a mouse over and under
and behind the furniture, rendering it ridiculous for me to pursue.
Hareton and the woman laughed, and she joined them, and waxed more
impertinent still; till I cried, in great irritation,—“Well, Miss
Cathy, if you were aware whose house this is you’d be glad enough to
get out.”
“It’s _your_ father’s, isn’t it?” said she, turning to Hareton.
“Nay,” he replied, looking down, and blushing bashfully.
He could not stand a steady gaze from her eyes, though they were just
his own.
“Whose then—your master’s?” she asked.
He coloured deeper, with a different feeling, muttered an oath, and
turned away.
“Who is his master?” continued the tiresome girl, appealing to me. “He
talked about ‘our house,’ and ‘our folk.’ I thought he had been the
owner’s son. And he never said Miss: he should have done, shouldn’t he,
if he’s a servant?”
Hareton grew black as a thunder-cloud at this childish speech. I
silently shook my questioner, and at last succeeded in equipping her
for departure.
“Now, get my horse,” she said, addressing her unknown kinsman as she
would one of the stable-boys at the Grange. “And you may come with me.
I want to see where the goblin-hunter rises in the marsh, and to hear
about the _fairishes_, as you call them: but make haste! What’s the
matter? Get my horse, I say.”
“I’ll see thee damned before I be _thy_ servant!” growled the lad.
“You’ll see me _what?_” asked Catherine in surprise.
“Damned—thou saucy witch!” he replied.
“There, Miss Cathy! you see you have got into pretty company,” I
interposed. “Nice words to be used to a young lady! Pray don’t begin to
dispute with him. Come, let us seek for Minny ourselves, and begone.”
“But, Ellen,” cried she, staring fixed in astonishment, “how dare he
speak so to me? Mustn’t he be made to do as I ask him? You wicked
creature, I shall tell papa what you said.—Now, then!”
Hareton did not appear to feel this threat; so the tears sprang into
her eyes with indignation. “You bring the pony,” she exclaimed, turning
to the woman, “and let my dog free this moment!”
“Softly, Miss,” answered the addressed. “You’ll lose nothing by being
civil. Though Mr. Hareton, there, be not the master’s son, he’s your