Wuthering Heights
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 to, 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.
“My dear Miss Catherine,” I began, too vividly impressed by her recent
kindness to break into a scold, “where 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!”
“To the bottom of the park,” she stammered. “I didn’t tell a tale.”
“And nowhere else?” I demanded.
“No,” was the muttered reply.
“Oh, Catherine!” I cried, sorrowfully. “You know you have been doing
wrong, or you wouldn’t be driven to uttering an untruth to me. That
does grieve me. I’d rather be three months ill, than hear you frame a
deliberate lie.”
She sprang forward, and bursting into tears, threw her arms round my
neck.
“Well, Ellen, I’m so afraid of you being angry,” she said. “Promise not
to be angry, and you shall know the very truth: I hate to hide it.”
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—
“I’ve been to Wuthering Heights, Ellen, and I’ve 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’t 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’t 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.
“On 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—robbing our woods of pheasants, as I heard
afterwards—we 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’t
repeat that, because you would call it silly.
“One 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’s 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.
“After 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’d have a game at blindman’s-buff; she should try to catch
us: you used to, you know, Ellen. He wouldn’t: 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’t
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—_your_
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.
“On 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’s
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, ‘It wouldn’t do mitch
hurt if it did;’ 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: ‘Miss
Catherine! I can read yon, now.’
“‘Wonderful,’ I exclaimed. ‘Pray let us hear you—you _are_ grown
clever!’
“He spelt, and drawled over by syllables, the name—‘Hareton Earnshaw.’
“‘And the figures?’ I cried, encouragingly, perceiving that he came to
a dead halt.
“‘I cannot tell them yet,’ he answered.
“‘Oh, you dunce!’ I said, laughing heartily at his failure.
“The 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—I saw that by the moonlight—dropped 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’t think the same.”
“Stop, Miss Catherine, dear!” I interrupted. “I shall not scold, but I
don’t 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’m hurt that he should be despised now, because that base
Heathcliff has treated him so unjustly.”
“Well, Ellen, you won’t cry about it, will you?” she exclaimed,
surprised at my earnestness. “But 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.
“‘I’m ill to-night, Catherine, love,’ he said; ‘and you must have all
the talk, and let me listen. Come, and sit by me. I was sure you
wouldn’t break your word, and I’ll make you promise again, before you
go.’
“I knew now that I mustn’t 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.
“‘Get to thy own room!’ he said, in a voice almost inarticulate with
passion; and his face looked swelled and furious. ‘Take her there if
she comes to see thee: thou shalln’t keep me out of this. Begone wi’ ye
both!’
“He 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.
“‘I wer sure he’d sarve ye out! He’s a grand lad! He’s getten t’ raight
sperrit in him! _He_ knaws—ay, he knaws, as weel as I do, who sud be t’
maister yonder—Ech, ech, ech! He made ye skift properly! Ech, ech,
ech!’
“‘Where must we go?’ I asked of my cousin, disregarding the old
wretch’s mockery.
“Linton 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.
“‘If you don’t let me in, I’ll kill you!—If you don’t let me in, I’ll
kill you!’ he rather shrieked than said. ‘Devil! devil!—I’ll kill
you—I’ll kill you!’
“Joseph uttered his croaking laugh again.
“‘Thear, that’s t’ father!’ he cried. ‘That’s father! We’ve allas
summut o’ either side in us. Niver heed, Hareton, lad—dunnut be
’feard—he cannot get at thee!’
“I took hold of Linton’s 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’t 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’t go in: I must go home. I exclaimed
that he had killed Linton, and I _would_ enter. Joseph locked the door,