 CHAPTER 13 For two months the fugitives remained absent. In those two months Mrs. Linton encountered and conquered the worst shock of what was denominated a brain fever. No mother could have nursed an only child more devotedly than Edgar tended her. Day and night he was watching and patiently enduring all the annoyances that irritable nerves and a shaken reason could inflict. And though Kenneth remarked that what he saved from the grave would only recompense his care by forming the source of constant future anxiety, in fact that his health and strength were being sacrificed to preserve a mere ruin of humanity, he knew no limits in gratitude and joy when Catherine's life was declared out of danger. And hour after hour he would sit beside her, tracing the gradual return to bodily health, and flattering his two sanguine hopes with the illusion that her mind would settle back to its right balance also, and she would soon be entirely her former self. The first time she left her chamber was at the commencement of the following March. Mr. Linton had put on her pillow in the morning, a handful of golden crocuses. Her eye, long stranger to any gleam of pleasure, caught them in waking, and Sean delighted as she gathered them eagerly together. These are the earliest flowers at the heights, she exclaimed. They remind me of soft-thor winds, and warm sunshine, and nearly melted snow. Edgar, is there not a south wind, and is not the snow almost gone? The snow is quite gone down here, darling, replied her husband. And I only see two white spots on the whole range of moors. The sky is blue, and the larks are singing, and the becks and brooks are all brim full. Catherine, last spring at this time, I was longing to have you under this roof. Now I wish you were a mile or two up those hills. The air blows so sweetly, I feel that it would cure you. I shall never be there but once more," said the invalid. And then you'll leave me, and I shall remain for ever. Next spring you'll long again to have me under this roof, and you'll look back and think you were happy to-day. Catherine lavished on her the kindest caresses, and tried to cheer her by the fondest words. But vaguely regarding the flowers, she let the tears collect on her lashes and stream down her cheeks unheeding. We knew she was really better, and therefore decided that long confinement to a single place produced much of this despondency, and it might be partially removed by a change of scene. The master told me to light a fire in the many weeks deserted parlour, and to set an easy chair in the sunshine by the window, and then he brought her down, and she sat a long while enjoying the genial heat. And as we expected, revived by the objects round her, which, though familiar, were free from the dreary associations investing her hated sick chamber. By evening she seemed greatly exhausted, yet no arguments could persuade her to return to that apartment, and I had to arrange the parlour sofa for her bed till another room could be prepared. To obviate the fatigue of mounting and descending the stairs, we fitted up this where you lie at present, on the same floor with the parlour, and she was soon strong enough to move from one to the other, leaning on Edgar's arm. Ah! I thought myself, she might recover so weighted on as she was, and there was double cause to desire it, for on her existence depended that of another. We cherished the hope that in a little while Mr. Linton's heart would be gladdened, and his lands secured from a stranger's grip, by the birth of an heir. I should mention that Isabella sent to her brother some six weeks from her departure a short note announcing her marriage with Heathcliff. It appeared dry and cold, but at the bottom was dotted in with pencil and obscure apology, and an entreaty for kind remembrance and reconciliation if her proceeding had offended him, asserting that she could not help it then, and, being done, she had now no power to repeal it. Linton did not reply to this, I believe, and in a fortnight more I got a long letter, which I considered odd coming from the pen of a bride just out of the honeymoon. I'll read it, for I keep it yet. Any relic of the dead is precious if they were valued living. Dear Ellen! It begins. I came last night to Wuthering Heights, and heard for the first time that Catherine has been and is yet very ill. I must not write to her, I suppose, and my brother is either too angry or too distressed to answer what I sent him. Still I must write to somebody, and the only choice left me is you. Inform Edgar that I'd give the world to see his face again, that my heart returned to Thrashcross Grange in twenty-four hours after I left it, and is there at this moment full of warm feelings for him and Catherine. I can't follow it, though. These words are underlined. They need not expect me, and they may draw what conclusions they please, taking care, however, to lay nothing at the door of my weak will or deficient affection. The remainder of the letter is for yourself alone. I want to ask you two questions. The first is, how did you contrive to preserve the common sympathies of human nature when you resided here? I cannot recognise any sentiment which those around share with me. The second question I have great interest in, it is this, is Mr Heathcliff a man? If so, is he mad? And if not, is he a devil? I shan't tell you my reasons for making this inquiry, but I beseech you to explain if you can what I have married, that is, when you call to see me, and you must call, Ellen, very soon, don't write, but come and bring me something from Edgar. Now you shall hear how I have been received in my new home, as I am led to imagine the heights will be. It is to amuse myself that I dwell on such subjects as the lack of external comforts. They never occupy my thoughts except at the moment when I miss them. I should laugh and dance for joy if I found their absence was the total of my miseries, and the rest was an unnatural dream. The sun set behind the Grange as we turned on to the Moors. By that I judged it to be six o'clock, and my companion halted half an hour to inspect the park and the gardens, and probably the place itself as well as he could. So it was dark when we dismounted in the paved yard of the farmhouse, and your old fellow servant Joseph issued out to receive us by the light of a dip-candle. He did it with a courtesy that redounded to his credit. His first act was to elevate his torch to a level with my face, squint malignantly, project his underlip, and turn away. Then he took the two horses and led them into the stables, reappearing for the purpose of locking the outer gate, as if we lived in an ancient castle. Heathcliff stayed to speak to him, and I entered the kitchen—a dingy, untidy hole. I dare say you would not know it. It is so changed since it was in your charge. By the fire stood a ruffianly child, strong in limb and dirty in garb, with a look of Catherine in his eyes and about his mouth. This is Edgo's legal nephew, I reflected, mine in a manner. I must shake hands, and, yes, I must kiss him. It is right to establish a good understanding at the beginning. I approached, and attempting to take his chubby fist said, How do you do, my dear? He replied in a jog, and I did not comprehend. Shall you and I be friends, Herten? was my next essay at conversation. An oath, and a threat to set throttle on me if I did not frame off, rewarded my perseverance. Hey, throttle, lad, whispered the little wretch, rousing a half-bred bulldog from its lair in a corner. Now wilt thou be ganging? he asked authoritatively. Love for my life urged a compliance. I stepped over the threshold to wait till the others should enter. Mr. Heathcliff was nowhere visible, and Joseph, whom I followed to the stables and requested to accompany me in, after staring and muttering to himself, screwed up his nose and replied, Me, me, me, did ever Christian bodyer out like it, mincing and munching? How can I tell what you say? I say I wish you to come with me into the house. I cried, thinking him death, yet highly disgusted at his rudeness. None of me, I get in somewhere else to do. He answered, and continued his work, moving his lantern-jaws meanwhile, and surveying my dress and countenance. The former a great deal too fine, but the latter I'm sure as sad as he could desire, with sovereign contempt. I walked round the yard and threw a wicket to another door, at which I took the liberty of knocking, in hopes some more civil servant might show himself. After a short suspense, it was opened by a tall, gaunt man, without neckerchief, and otherwise extremely slovenly. His features were lost in masses of shaggy hair that hung on his shoulders, and his eyes, too, were like a ghostly Catherine's, with all their beauty annihilated. What's your business here? He demanded grimly. Who are you? My name was Isabella Linton, I replied. You've seen me before, sir. I'm lately married to Mr Heathcliff, and he has brought me here, I suppose, by your permission. Does he come back, then? Asked the hermit, glaring like a hungry wolf. Yes, we came just now, I said, but he left me by the kitchen door, and when I would have gone in, your little boy played sentinel over the place, and frightened me off by the help of a bulldog. It's well the hellish villain has kept his word. I called my future host, searching the darkness beyond me, in expectation of discovering Heathcliff. And then he indulged in a soliloquy of execrations, and threats of what he would have done had the fiend deceived him. I repented having tried this second entrance, and was almost inclined to slip away before he finished cursing, but ere I could execute that intention he ordered me in, and shut and re-farsened the door. There was a great fire, and that was all the light in the huge apartment whose floor had grown a uniform grey, and the once brilliant pewter dishes which used to attract my gaze when I was a girl, partook of a similar obscurity created by tarnish and dust. I inquired whether I might call the maid, and to be conducted to a bedroom. Mr. Earnshaw vouchsafe to no answer. He walked up and down with his hands in his pockets, apparently quite forgetting my presence, and his abstraction was evidently so deep, and his whole aspect so misanthropical that I shrank from disturbing him again. You'll not be surprised, Ellen, at my feeling particularly cheerless, seated in worse than solitude on that inhospitable hearth, and remembering that four miles distant lay my delightful home containing the only people I loved on earth. And there might as well be the Atlantic to part us, instead of those four miles. I could not overpass them. I questioned with myself where must I turn for comfort, and, mind you don't tell Edgar or Catherine, above every sorrow beside this rose preeminent, despair at finding nobody who could or would be my ally against Heathcliff. I had sought shelter at Wuthering Heights almost gladly, because I was secured by that arrangement from living alone with him. But he knew the people we were coming amongst, and he did not fear their intermeddling. I sat and thought a doleful time. The clock struck eight and nine, and still my companion paced to and fro. His head bent on his breast, and perfectly silent, unless a groan or a bitter ejaculation forced itself out at intervals. I listened to detect a woman's voice in the house, and filled the interim with wild regrets and dismal anticipations, which at last spoke audibly in irrepressible sighing and weeping. I was not aware how openly I grieved till Earnshaw halted opposite in his measured walk, and gave me a stare of newly awakened surprise. Taking advantage of his recovered attention, I exclaimed, I'm tired with my journey, and I want to go to bed. Where is the maid-servant? Direct me to her, as she won't come to me. We have none, he answered. You must wait on yourself. Where must I sleep, then? I sobbed. I was beyond regarding self-respect, weighed down by fatigue and wretchedness. Joseph will show you Eathcliffe's chamber. Said he. Open that door, is in there. I was going to obey, but he suddenly arrested me, and added in the strangest tone, Be so good as to turn your lock and draw your bolt. Don't omit it. Well! I said. But why, Mr. Earnshaw? I did not relish the notion of deliberately fastening myself in with Eathcliffe. Look here! He replied, pulling from his waistcoat a curiously constructed pistol, having a double-edged spring knife attached to the barrel. That's a great tempter to a desperate man, is it not? I cannot resist going up with this every night and trying his door. If once I find it open, he's done for. I do it invariably, even though the minute before I've been recalling a hundred reasons that should make me refrain. It is some devil that urges me to thwart my own schemes by killing him. You fight against that devil for love as long as you may. When the time comes, not all the angels in heaven shall save him. I surveyed the weapon inquisitively. A hideous notion struck me. How powerful I should be possessing such an instrument! I took it from his hand and touched the blade. He looked astonished at the expression my face assumed during a brief second. It was not horror. It was covetousness. He snatched the pistol back jealously, shut the knife, and returned it to its concealment. I don't care if you tell him, said he, put him on his guard and watch for him. You know the terms we're on, I see. His danger does not shock you. What has Heathcliff done to you? I asked. In what has he wronged you to warrant this appalling hatred? Wouldn't it be wiser to bit him, quit the house? No, thundered Earnshaw. Should he offer to leave me as a dead man? Persuade him to attempt it, and you are a murderous. Am I to lose all without a chance of retrieval? Is head and to be a beggar? Oh, damn nation, I will have it back, and I'll have his gold, too, and then his blood. And hell to have his soul! It will be ten times blacker with that guest than ever it was before. You've acquainted me, Ellen, with your old master's habits. He is clearly on the verge of madness. He was so last night, at least. I shuddered to be near him, and thought on the servant's ill-bred morose-ness as comparatively agreeable. He now recommenced his moody walk, and I raised the latch and escaped into the kitchen. Joseph was bending over the fire, peering into a large pan that swung above it, and a wooden bowl of oatmeal stood on the settle close by. The contents of the pan began to boil, and he turned to plunge his hand into the bowl. I conjectured that this preparation was probably for our supper, and, being hungry, I resolved it should be eatable, so, crying out sharply, I'll make the porridge. I removed the vessel out of his reach, and proceeded to take off my hat and riding-habit. Mr. Earnshaw, I continued, directs me to wait on myself. I will. I'm not going to act the lady among you, for fear I should starve. Good Lord! He muttered, sitting down, and stroking his ribbed stockings from the knee to the ankle. It dares to be fresh authorings. Just when I'm getting used to two messages, if I'm one ever mistress set over me head, it's like time to be flitting. I never did think to see it dare that I might leave the old place, but I doubt it's nigh at hand. This lamentation drew no notice from me. I went briskly to work, sighing to remember a period when it would have been all merry fun, but compelled speedily to drive off the remembrance. It wracked me to recall past happiness, and the greater peril there was of conjuring up its apparition, the quicker the thibble ran round, and the faster the handfuls of meal fell into the water. Joseph beheld my style of cookery with growing indignation. There! He ejaculated. Ayrton, thou wilt not suck thy porridge to need, there be not but lumps as big as my neave. There again, I'm flinging ball and all if I were ye, there pale to gilpoth, and any other done with it. Bang! Bang! It's a mercy-bottom isn't cleaved out. It was rather a rough mess I own when poured into the basins. Four had been provided, and a gallon picture of new milk was brought from the dairy, which Ayrton seized, and commenced drinking and spilling from the expansive lip. I expostulated, and desired that he should have his in a mark, affirming that I could not taste the liquid treated so dirtily. The old cynic chose to be vastly offended at this nicety, assuring me repeatedly that the ben was every bit as good as I, and every bit as wholesome, and wondering how I could fashion to be so conceited. Meanwhile, the infant Ruffian continued sucking, and glowered up at me defiantly as he slavoured into the jug. I shall have my supper in another room, I said. Have you no place you call a parlour? Parler! He echoed sneeringly. Parler! Nay, with no parlours! If ye had done it like we accompany, there's masters, and if ye had done it like master there's us. Then I shall go upstairs! I answered, show me a chamber. I put my basin on a tray, and went myself to fetch some more milk. With great rumblings the fellow rose, and preceded me in my ascent. We mounted to the garretts. He opened a door now and then to look into the apartments we passed. Here's a rum! He said at last, flinging back a cranky board on hinges. It's well enough to add a few porridge in. There's a pack of corn in corner there, meetily clean. If ye're feared of mucking your grand silk clothes, spread your anchor cheer on top on. The rum was a kind of lumber-hole, smelling strong of malt and grain, various sacks of which articles were piled around, leaving a wide-bear space in the middle. Why, man! I exclaimed, facing him angrily, this is not a place to sleep in. I wish to see my bedroom. Bedroom! He repeated in a tone of mockery. Ya silk bedrooms there is, yon's mine! He pointed into the second garret, only differing from the first in being more naked about the walls, and having a large, low, curtainless bed with an indigo-coloured quilt at one end. What do I want with yours? I retorted. I suppose Mr. Heathcliff does not lodge at the top of the house, does he? Oh! It's Mr. Heathcliff's here wanting. I tried he, as if making a new discovery. Couldn't he have said so at once, and then I would have told ye about all this wag, that that's just one ye cannot see? He, Alice, keeps it locked, or nobody even mails on but his cell. You've a nice house, Joseph! I could not refrain from observing, and pleasant inmates, and I think the concentrated essence of all the madness in the world took up its abode in my brain the day I linked my fate with theirs. However, that is not to the present purpose. There are other rooms. For heaven's sake, be quick, and let me settle somewhere. He made no reply to this adoration, only plodding doggedly down the wooden steps, and halting before an apartment which, from that halt and the superior quality of its furniture, I conjectured to be the best one. There was a carpet, a good one, but the pattern was obliterated by dust. A fireplace hung with cut paper, dropping to pieces, a handsome oak bedstead with ample crimson curtains of rather expensive material and modern make, but they had evidently experienced rough usage. The valances hung in fair stones, wrenched from their rings, and the iron rods supporting them was bent in an arc on one side, causing the drapery to trail upon the floor. The chairs were also damaged, many of them severely, and deep indentations deformed the panels of the walls. I was endeavouring to gather resolution for entering and taking possession when my fool of a guide announced, This is, masters! My supper by this time was cold, my appetite gone, and my patience exhausted. I insisted on being provided instantly with a place of refuge and means of repose. Where, the devil, began the religious elder, The Lord blesses, the Lord forgives, Where the hell would you go, ye mad, where is some note? You've seen all but Ayrton's bit of a shamer, there's not another oil to leg down in in-house. I was so vexed I flung my train its contents on the ground, and then seated myself at the stairs head, hid my face in my hands, and cried. Eh, eh, exclaimed Joseph. We'll done, Miss Cathy, we'll done, Miss Cathy, I'll say that the masters will just tumble over them broken pots, and then we'll hear some it, we'll hear how it's to be good for now maddling. You desire finding from this to Christmas, flinging to precious gifts of God unto fault in your flesh and rages, but I must stay and if you show your spirit long, will Lathglyff bides its bonny ways in me, I nob but wish he may catch ye that plisky, I nob but wish he may. And so he went on scolding to his den beneath, taking the candle with him, and I remained in the dark. The period of reflection succeeding this silly action compelled me to admit the necessity of smothering my pride and choking my wrath, and bestaring myself to remove its effects. An unexpected aid presently appeared in the shape of Throttler, whom I now recognised as a son of our old Sculker. It had spent its well-poured at the Grange, and was given by my father to Mr. Hindley. I fancy it knew me, it pushed its nose against mine by way of salute, and then hastened to devour the porridge, while I groped from step to step, collecting the shattered earthenware, and drying the spatters of milk from the banister with my pocket-handkerchief. Our labours were scarcely over when I heard Earnshaw's tread in the passage. My assistant tucked in his tail and pressed to the wall, I stole into the nearest doorway. The dog's endeavour to avoid him was unsuccessful, as I guessed by a scutter downstairs and a prolonged piteous yelping. I had better luck. He passed on, entered his chamber, and shut the door. Directly after Joseph came up with Herton to put him to bed. I had found shelter in Herton's room, and the old man on seeing me said, There's a ram for both ye and your pride now, I should think in the house. It's empty. Ye may have it all to your cell, but name is Alice Maxx, a third-ish sick-chill company. Gladly did I take advantage of this intimation, and the minute I flung myself into a chair by the fire, I nodded and slept. My slumber was deep and sweet, though over far too soon. Mr Heathcliff awoke me. He had just come in and demanded in his loving manner what I was doing there. I told him the cause of my staying up so late that he had the key of our room in his pocket. The adjective hour gave mortal offence. He swore it was not, nor ever should be mine, and he'd, but I'll not repeat his language, nor describe his habitual conduct. He is ingenious and unresting in seeking to gain my abhorrence. I sometimes wonder at him with an intensity that deadens my fear, yet I assure you a tiger or a venomous serpent could not rouse terror in me equal to that which he wakens. He told me of Catherine's illness, and accused my brother of causing it, promising that I should be Edgar's proxy in suffering till he could get hold of him. I do hate him. I am wretched. I have been a fool. Beware of uttering one breath of this to any one at the Grange. I shall expect you every day. Don't disappoint me, Isabella." End of Chapter 13. Recording by Ruth Golding. Chapter 14 of Wuthering Heights. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Ruth Golding. Recording Heights by Emily Bronte. Chapter 14. As soon as I had perused this epistle, I went to the master, and informed him that his sister had arrived at the Heights, and sent me a letter expressing her sorrow for Mrs. Linton's situation, and her ardent desire to see him, with a wish that he would transmit to her as early as possible some token of forgiveness by me. "'Forgiveness,' said Linton. I have nothing to forgive her, Ellen. You may call at Wuthering Heights this afternoon, if you like, and say that I am not angry, but I am sorry to have lost her. Especially as I can never think she'll be happy. It is out of the question my going to see her, however. We are eternally divided. And should she really wish to oblige me, let her persuade the villain she has married to leave the country. "'And you won't write her a little note, sir?' I asked imploringly. "'No,' he answered. "'It is needless. My communication with Heathcliff's family shall be as sparing as his with mine. It shall not exist.'" Mr. Edgar's coldness depressed me exceedingly, and all the way from the Grange I puzzled my brains how to put more heart into what he said when I repeated it, and how to soften his refusal of even a few lines to console Isabella. I daresay she'd been on the watch for me since morning. I saw her looking through the lattice as I came up the garden causeway, and I nodded to her, but she drew back as if afraid of being observed. I entered without knocking. There never was such a dreary, dismal scene as the formerly cheerful house presented. I must confess that if I had been in the young lady's place I would at least have swept the hearth and wiped the tables with a duster. But she already partook of the pervading spirit of neglect which encompassed her. Her pretty face was worn and listless, her hair uncurled, some locks hanging lankily down, and some carelessly twisted round her head. Probably she had not touched her dress since yesterday evening. Hindley was not there. The heath-grave sat at a table, turning over some papers in his pocket-book. But he rose when I appeared, asked me how I did, quite friendly, and offered me a chair. He was the only thing there that seemed decent, and I thought he never looked better. So much had circumstances altered their positions that he would certainly have struck a stranger as a born-and-bred gentleman, and his wife as a thorough little slatten. She came forward eagerly to greet me, and held out one hand to take the expected letter. I shook my head. She wouldn't understand the hint, but followed me to a sideboard where I went to lay my bonnet, and impotuned me in a whisper to give her directly what I had brought. Heathcliff guessed the meaning of her manoeuvres, and said, If you have got anything for Isabella, as no doubt you have, Nellie, give it to her. You needn't make a secret of it, we have no secrets between us. Oh, I have nothing, I replied, thinking it best to speak the truth at once. My master bid me tell his sister that she must not expect either a letter or a visit from him at present. He sends his love-mom, and his wishes for your happiness, and his pardon for the grief you have occasioned, but he thinks that after this time his household and the household here should drop into communication, as nothing could come of keeping it up. Mrs. Heathcliff's lip quivered slightly, and she returned to her seat in the window. Her husband took his stand on the hearth-stone near me, and began to put questions concerning Catherine. I told him as much as I thought proper of her illness, and he extorted from me by cross-examination most of the facts connected with its origin. I blamed her as she deserved for bringing it all on herself, and ended by hoping that he would follow Mr. Linton's example, and avoid future interference with his family for good or evil. Mrs. Linton is now just recovering, I said. She'll never be like she was, but her life is spared. And if you really have a regard for her, you'll shun crossing her way again. There you'll move out of this country entirely, and that you may not regret it, I'll inform you Catherine Linton is as different now from your old friend Catherine Earnshaw as that young lady is different from me. Her appearance is changed greatly, her character much more so, and the person who is compelled of necessity to be her companion will only sustain his affection year after by the remembrance of what she once was by common humanity and a sense of duty. That is quite possible, remarked Eastcliff forcing himself to seem calm. Quite possible that your master should have nothing but common humanity and a sense of duty to fall back upon. But do you imagine that I shall leave Catherine to his duty and humanity? And can you compare my feelings respecting Catherine to his? Before you leave this house I must exact a promise from you that you'll get me an interview with her. Consent or refuse, I will see her. What do you say?" "'I'll say, Mr. Heathcliff,' I replied, "'you must not. You never shall through my means. Catherine counter between you and the master would kill her all together.'" "'With your aid that may be avoided.'" "'Econtinued.'" "'And should there be danger of such an event, should he be the cause of adding a single trouble more to her existence, why, I think I shall be justified in going to extremes. I wish you had sincerity enough to tell me whether Catherine would suffer greatly from his loss. The fear that she would restrains me." "'And there you see the distinction between our feelings. Had he been in my place and I in his, though I hated him with a hatred that turned my life to gall, I never would have raised a hand against him. You may look incredulous if you please. I never would have banished him from her society as long as she desired his. The moment her regard ceased, I would have torn his heart out and drunk his blood, but till then, if you don't believe me, you don't know me, till then I would have died by inches before I touched a single hair of his head.'" "'And yet,' I interrupted, "'you have no scruples in completely ruining all hopes of her perfect restoration, by thrusting yourself into a remembrance now, when she has nearly forgotten you, and involving her in a new tumult of discord and distress.' "'You suppose she has nearly forgotten me?' he said. "'Oh, Nelly, you know she has not. You know as well as I do that for every thought she spends on Linton she spends a thousand on me. At a most miserable period of my life I had a notion of the kind. It haunted me on my return to the neighbourhood last summer. But only her own assurance could make me admit the horrible idea again. And then Linton would be nothing, nor hindly, nor all the dreams that ever I dreamt. Two words would comprehend my future, death and hell. Existence after losing her would be hell. Yet I was a fool to fancy for a moment that she valued Edgar Linton's attachment more than mine. If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love as much in eighty years as I could in a day. And Catherine as a heart as deep as I have. The sea could be as readily contained in that horse trough as her whole affection be monopolised by him. Turr, she is scarcely a degree dearer to her than a dog or a horse. It is not in him to be loved like me. How can she love in him what he has not?' Catherine and Edgar are as fond of each other as any two people can be, cried Isabella with sudden vivacity. No one has a right to talk in that manner, and I won't hear my brother depreciated in silence. Your brother is wondrous fond of you, too, isn't he? Observed Heathcliff scornfully. He turns you adrift on the world with surprising alacrity. He is not aware of what I suffer,' she replied. I didn't tell him that. You have been telling him something, then. You have written, have you? To say that I was married, I did write. You saw the note. And nothing since? No. My young lady is looking sadly the worse for her change of condition, I remarked. God is love comes short in her case, obviously. Whose I may guess, but perhaps I shouldn't say. I should guess it was her own,' said Heathcliff. She degenerates into a mere slut. She is tired of trying to please me uncommonly early. He would hardly credit it but the very morrow of our wedding she was weeping to go home. However, she'll suit this house so much the better for not being overnight. And I'll take care she does not disgrace me by rambling abroad. Well, sir,' returned I, I hope you'll consider that Mrs. Heathcliff is accustomed to be looked after and waited on, and that she's been brought up like an only daughter whom everyone was ready to serve. You must let her have a maid to keep things tidy about her, and you must treat her kindly. Whatever be your notion of Mr. Edgar, you cannot doubt that she has a capacity for strong attachments, or she wouldn't have abandoned the eloquences and comforts and friends of her former home to fix contentedly in such a wilderness as this with you.' She abandoned them under a delusion. He answered, picturing in me a hero of romance, and expecting unlimited indulgences from my chivalrous devotion. I can hardly regard her in the light of a rational creature, so obstinately as she persisted in forming a fabulous notion of my character, and acting on the false impressions she cherished. But at last I think she begins to know me. I don't perceive the silly smiles and grimaces that provoked me at first, and the senseless incapability of discerning that I was in earnest when I gave her my opinion of her infatuation and herself. It was a marvellous effort of perspicacity to discover that I did not love her. I have believed at one time no lessons could teach her that. And yet it is poorly learnt, for this morning she announced as a piece of appalling intelligence that I had actually succeeded in making her hate me, a positive labour of Hercules, I assure you. If it be achieved, I have cause to return thanks. Can I trust your assertion, Isabella? Are you sure you hate me? If I'll let you alone for half a day, won't you come sighing and weadling to me again? I dare say she would rather I had seemed all tenderness before you. It wounds her vanity to have the truth exposed. But I don't care who knows that the passion was wholly on one side, and I never told her a lie about it. She cannot accuse me of showing one bit of deceitful softness. The first thing she saw me do, on coming out of the Grange, was to hang up her little dog. And when she pleaded for it, the first words I uttered were a wish that I had the hanging of every being belonging to her, except one. Possibly she took that exception for herself. But no brutality disgusted her. I suppose she has an innate admiration of it, if only a precious person were secure from injury. Now, was it not the depth of absurdity, of genuine idiocy, for that pitiful, slavish, mean-minded brat to dream that I could love her? Tell you, Master Nelly, that I'm never in all my life met with such an abject thing as she is. She even disgraces the name of Linton. And I've sometimes relented from pure lack of invention in my experiments on what she could endure and still creep shamefully cringing back. But tell him also to set his fraternal and magisterial heart at ease, that I keep strictly within the limits of the law. I have avoided up to this period giving her the slightest right to claim a separation. And what's more, she'd thank nobody for dividing us. If she desired to go, she might. The nuisance of her presence outweighs the gratification to be derived from tormenting her. Mr Heathcliff, said I, this is the talk of a madman. Your wife most likely has convinced you are mad, and for that reason she has borne with you hitherto. But now that you say she may go, she'll doubtless avail herself of the permission. You are not so bewitched, ma'am, are you, as to remain with him of your own accord? Take care, Ellen! answered Isabella, her eyes sparkling eye-fully. There was no misdoubting by their expression the full success of her partner's endeavours to make himself detested. Don't put faith in a single word he speaks, he's a lying fiend, a monster, and not a human being. I've been told I might leave him before, and I've made the attempt, but I dare not repeat it. Only, Ellen, promise you'll not mention a syllable of his infamous conversation to my brother or Catherine. Whatever he may pretend, he wishes to provoke Edgar to desperation. He says he has married me on purpose to obtain power over him, and he shan't obtain it, I'll die first. I just hope, I pray, that he may forget his diabolical prudence and kill me. The single pleasure I can imagine is to die, or to see him dead. There, that will do for the present, said Heathcliff. If you are called upon in a court of law, you'll remember her language, Nelly, and take a good look at that countenance, she's near the point which would suit me. No, you're not fit to be your own guardian, Isabella, now, and I, being your legal protector, must retain you in my custody, however distasteful the obligation may be. Go upstairs, I have something to say to Ellen Dean in private. That's not the way. Upstairs, I tell you. Why, this is the road upstairs, child. He seized and thrust her from the room, and returned muttering. I have no pity. I have no pity. The more the worms writhe, the more I yearn to crush out their entrails. It is a moral teething, and I grind with greater energy in proportion to the increase of pain. Do you understand what the word pity means? I said, hastening to resume my bonnet. Did you ever feel a touch of it in your life? Put that down. He interrupted, perceiving my intention to depart. You are not going yet. Come here now, Nelly. I must either persuade or compel you to aid me in fulfilling my determination to see Catherine, and that without delay. I swear that I meditate no harm. I don't desire to cause any disturbance, or to exasperate or insult Mr. Linton. I only wish to hear from herself how she is, and why she has been ill, and to ask if anything that I could do would be of use to her. Last night I was in the Grange Garden six hours, and I'll return there tonight, and every night I'll haunt the place, and every day till I find an opportunity of entering. If Edgar Linton meets me, I shall not hesitate to knock him down, and give him enough to ensure his quiescence while I stay. If his servants oppose me, I shall threaten them off with these pistols. But wouldn't it be better to prevent my coming in contact with them or their master? And you could do it so easily. I'd warn you when I came, and then you might let me in, unobserved as soon as she was alone, and watch till I departed. Your conscience quite calm. You would be hindering, Miss Jiff. I protested against playing that treacherous part in my employer's house, and besides I urged the cruelty and selfishness of his destroying Mrs. Linton's tranquility for his satisfaction. The Communist occurrence startles her painfully, I said. She's all nerves, and she couldn't bear the surprise I'm positive. Don't persist, sir, or else I shall be obliged to inform my master of your designs, and he'll take measures to secure his house and its inmates from any such unwarrantable intrusions. In that case I'll take measures to secure you, woman. Exclaim, Teascliff. You shall not leave, Wuthering Heights, till tomorrow morning. It is a foolish story to assert that Catherine could not bear to see me, and as to surprising her, I don't desire it. You must prepare her. Ask her if I may come. You say she never mentions my name, and that I'm never mentioned to her. To whom should she mention me, if I'm a forbidden topic in the house? She thinks you are all spies for her husband. Oh, I've no doubt she's in hell among you. I guess by her silence as much as anything what she feels. You say she is often restless and anxious-looking. Is that a proof of tranquility? You talk of her mind being unsettled. How the devil could it be otherwise in her frightful isolation? And that insipid paltry creature, attending her from duty and humanity, from pity and charity. He might as well plant an oak in a flower pot and expect it to thrive, as imagine he can restore her to vigor in the soil. Of his shallow cares. Let us settle it at once. Will you stay here, and am I to fight my way to Catherine over Linton and his footmen? Or will you be my friend as you have been hitherto, and do what I request? Decide, because there is no reason for my lingering another minute if you persist in your stubborn ill nature. Well, Mr. Lockwood, I argued and complained and flatly refused him fifty times, but in the long run he forced me to an agreement. I engaged to carry a letter from him to my mistress. And should she consent, I promised to let him have intelligence of Linton's next absence from home, when he might come and get in as he was able. I wouldn't be there, and my fellow servants should be equally out of the way. Was it right or wrong? I fear it was wrong, though expedient. I thought I prevented another explosion by my compliance. And a thought too it might create a favourable crisis in Catherine's mental illness. And then I remembered Mr. Edgar's stern rebuke of my carrying tails, and I tried to smooth away all disquietude on the subject, by affirming with frequent iteration that that betrayal of trust, if it merited so harsh an appellation, should be the last. Notwithstanding my journey homeward was sadder than my journey thither. And many misgivings I had ere I could prevail on myself to put the misive into Mrs. Linton's hand. But here is Kenneth, I'll go down and tell him how much better you are. My history is dre, as we say, and will serve to while away another morning. Dre and dreary, I reflected as the good woman descended to receive the doctor, and not exactly of the kind which I should have chosen to amuse me. But never mind, I'll extract wholesome medicines from Mrs. Dean's bitter herbs, and firstly let me beware of the fascination that lurks in Catherine Heathcliff's brilliant eyes. I should be in a curious taking if I surrendered my heart to that young person, and the daughter turned out a second edition of the mother. End of Chapter 14. Recording by Ruth Golding. Chapter 15 of Wuthering Heights. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Ruth Golding. Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. Chapter 15. Another week over, and I am so many days nearer health and spring. I have now heard all my neighbour's history at different sittings, as the housekeeper could spare time from more important occupations. I'll continue it in her own words, only a little condensed. She is on the whole a very fair narrator, and I don't think I could improve her style. In the evening, she said, the evening of my visit to the Heights, I knew, as well as if I saw him, that Mr Heathcliff was about the place, and I shunned going out, because I still carried his letter in my pocket, and didn't want to be threatened or teased any more. I had made up my mind not to give it till my master went out somewhere, as I could not guess how its receipt would affect Catherine. The consequence was that it did not reach her before the lapse of three days. The fourth was Sunday, and I brought it into her room after the family were gone to church. There was a manservant left to keep the house with me, and we generally made a practice of locking the doors during the hours of service, but on that occasion the weather was so warm and pleasant that I set them wide open, and to fulfil my engagement, as I knew who would be coming, I told my companion that the mistress wished very much for some oranges, and he must run over to the village and get a few, to be paid for on the morrow. He departed, and I went upstairs. Mrs Linton sat in a loose white dress, with a light shawl over her shoulders, in the recess of the open window, as usual. Her thick long hair had been partly removed at the beginning of her illness, and now she wore it simply combed in its natural tresses over her temples and neck. Her appearance was altered, as I had told Heathcliff, but when she was calm there seemed unearthly beauty in the change. The flash of her eyes had been succeeded by a dreamy and melancholy softness. They no longer gave the impression of looking at the objects around her, they appeared always to gaze beyond, and far beyond, he would have said, out of this world. Then the paleness of her face, its haggard aspect having vanished as she recovered flesh, and the peculiar expression arising from her mental state, though painfully suggestive of their causes, added to the touching interest which she awakened, and, invariably to me, I know, and to any person who saw her, I should think, refuted more tangible proofs of convalescence, and stamped her as one doomed to decay. A book lay spread on the sill before her, and the scarcely perceptible wind fluttered its leaves at intervals. I believe Linton had laid it there, for she never endeavored to divert herself with reading or occupation of any kind, and he would spend many an hour in trying to entice her attention to some subject which had formerly been her amusement. She was conscious of his aim, and in her better moods endured his efforts placidly, only showing their uselessness by now and then suppressing a wearied sigh, and checking him at last with the saddest of smiles and kisses. At other times she would turn peculently away, and hide her face in her hands, or even push him off angrily, and then he took care to let her alone, for he was certain of doing no good. Gimmett and chapel-bells were still ringing, and the full mellow flow of the beck in the valley came soozingly on the ear. It was a sweet substitute for the yet absent murmur of the summer foliage, which drowned that music about the Grange when the trees were in leaf. At Wuthering Heights it always sounded on quiet day as following a great thaw, or a season of steady rain, and of Wuthering Heights Catherine was thinking as she listened, that is, if she thought or listened at all. But she had the vague distant look I mentioned before, which expressed no recognition of material things, either by ear or eye. There's a letter for you, Mrs. Linton. I said, gently inserting it in one hand that rested on her knee. You must read it immediately, because it wants an answer. Shall I break the seal? Yes, she answered, without altering the direction of her eyes. I opened it. It was very short. Now, I continued, read it. She drew away her hand and let it fall. I replaced it in her lap, and stood waiting till it should please her to glance down. But that movement was so long delayed that at last I resumed, must I read it, ma'am? It is from Mr Heathcliff. There was a start and a troubled gleam of recollection and a struggle to arrange her ideas. She lifted the letter and seemed to peruse it, and when she came to the signature she sighed. Yet still I found she had not gathered its import, for upon my desiring to hear her reply she merely pointed to the name, and gazed at me with mournful and questioning eagerness. Well, he wishes to see you, said I, getting her need of an interpreter. He's in the garden by this time, and impatient to know what answer I shall bring. As I spoke, I observed a large dog lying on the sunny grass beneath, raised its ears as if about to bark, and then smoothing them back, announced by a wag of the tail that some one approached whom it did not consider a stranger. Mrs Linton bent forward and listened breathlessly. The minute after a step traversed the hall. The open house was too tempting for Heathcliff to resist walking in. Most likely he supposed that I was inclined to shirk my promise, and so resolved to trust to his own audacity. With straining eagerness Catherine gazed towards the entrance of her chamber. He did not hit the right room directly. She motioned me to admit him, but he found it out ere I could reach the door, and in a stride or two was at her side, and had her grasped in his arms. He neither spoke nor lost his hold for some five minutes, during which period he bestowed more kisses than ever he gave in his life before, I dare say. But then my mistress had kissed him first, and I plainly saw that he could hardly bear for downright agony to look into her face. The same conviction had stricken him as me from the instant he beheld her, that there was no prospect of ultimate recovery there. She was fated, sure to die. Oh Cathy, oh my life, how can I bear it? Was the first sentence he uttered, in a tone that did not seek to disguise his despair. And now he stared at her so earnestly that I thought the very intensity of his gaze would bring tears into his eyes. But they burned with anguish. They did not melt. What now? said Catherine, leaning back and returning his look with a suddenly clouded brow. Her humour was a mere vein for constantly varying caprices. You and Edgar have broken my heart, Heathcliff. And you both come to bewail the deed to me, as if you were the people to be pitied. I shall not pity you, not I. You have killed me and thriven on it, I think. How strong you are! How many years do you mean to live after I am gone? Heathcliff had knelt on one knee to embrace her. He attempted to rise, but she seized his hair and kept him down. I wish I could hold you, she continued bitterly, till we were both dead. I shouldn't care what you suffered. I care nothing for your sufferings. Why shouldn't you suffer? I do. Will you forget me? Will you be happy when I am in the earth? Will you say twenty years hence, that's the grave of Catherine Earnshaw? I loved her long ago and was wretched to lose her, but it is past. I've loved many others since. My children are dearer to me than she was, and at death I shall not rejoice that I'm going to her. I shall be sorry that I must leave them. Will you say so, Heathcliff? Don't torture me till I'm as mad as yourself. Cried he, wrenching his head free and grinding his teeth. The two to a cool spectator made a strange and fearful picture. Well might Catherine deem that heaven would be a land of exile to her, unless with her mortal body she cast away her moral character also. Her present countenance had a wild vindictiveness in its white cheek and a bloodless lip and scintillating eye, and she retained in her closed fingers a portion of the locks she had been grasping. As to her companion, while raising himself with one hand he had taken her arm with the other, and so inadequate was his stock of gentleness to the requirements of her condition, that on his letting go I saw four distinct impressions left blue in the colourless skin. Are you possessed with a devil? he pursued savagely. To talk in that manner to me when you are dying, do you reflect that all those words will be branded in my memory, and eating deeper eternally after you have left me. You know you lie to say I have killed you, and Catherine, you know that I could as soon forget you as my existence. Is it not sufficient for your infernal selfishness that while you were at peace I shall writhe in the torments of hell? I shall not be at peace! mourned Catherine, recalled to a sense of physical weakness by the violent unequal throbbing of her heart, which beat visibly and audibly under this excess of agitation. She said nothing further till the paroxysm was over. Then she continued more kindly, I'm not wishing you greater torment than I have Heathcliff. I only wish us never to be parted, and should a word of mind distress you hereafter, think I feel the same distress underground, and for my own sake, forgive me. Come here and kneel down again. You never harmed me in your life. Nay, if you nurse anger, that will be worse to remember than my harsh words. Won't you come here again? Do! Heathcliff went to the back of her chair and lent over, but not so far as to let her see his face, which was livid with emotion. She bent round to look at him, he would not permit it. Turning abruptly, he walked to the fireplace, where he stood, silent with his back toward us. Mrs. Linton's glance followed him suspiciously. Every movement woke a new sentiment in her. After a pause and a prolonged gaze, she resumed, addressing me in accents of indignant disappointment. Oh, you see, Nelly, he would not relent a moment to keep me out of the grave. That is how I'm loved. Well, never mind. That is not my Heathcliff. I shall love mine yet and take him with me. He's in my soul. And, added she amusingly, the thing that irks me most is this shattered prison after all. I'm tired of being enclosed here. I'm wearying to escape into that glorious world and to be always there, not seeing it dimly through tears and yearning for it through the walls of an aching heart, but really with it and in it. Nelly, you think you are better and more fortunate than I, in full health and strength. You are sorry for me. Very soon that will be altered. I shall be sorry for you. I shall be incomparably beyond and above you all. I wonder he won't be near me. She went on to herself. I thought he wished it. Heathcliff, dear, you should not be sullen now. Do come to me, Heathcliff. In her eagerness she rose and supported herself on the arm of the chair. At that earnest appeal he turned to her, looking absolutely desperate. His eyes wide and wet at last flashed fiercely on her. His breast heaved convulsively. An instant they held asunder and then, how they met, I hardly saw. But Catherine made a spring and he caught her, and they were locked in an embrace from which I thought my mistress would never be released alive. In fact to my eyes she seemed directly insensible. He flung himself into the nearest seat and on my approaching hurriedly to ascertain if she had fainted, he gnashed at me and formed like a mad dog, and gathered her to him with greedy jealousy. I did not feel as if I were in the company of a creature of my own species. It appeared that he would not understand though I spoke to him, so I stood off and held my tongue in great perplexity. A movement of Catherine's relieved me a little presently. She put up her hand to clasp his neck and bring her cheek to his as he held her. While he, in return, covering her with frantic caresses, said wildly, You teach me now how cruel you've been, cruel and false. Why did you despise me? Why did you betray your own heart, Cathy? I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. Yes, you may kiss me and cry and ring out my kisses and tears. They'll blight you. They'll damn you. You loved me. Then what right had you to leave me? What right answer me for the poor fancy you felt for Linton? Because misery and degradation and death and nothing that God or Satan could inflect would have parted us, you of your own will did it. I have not broken your heart. You have broken it, and in breaking it you have broken mine. So much the worth for me that I am strong. Do I want to live? What kind of living will it be when you Oh God, would you like to live with your soul in the grave? Let me alone, let me alone, sobbed Catherine. If I've done wrong I'm dying for it. It is enough. You left me too, but I won't upgrade you. I forgive you. Forgive me. It is hard to forgive and to look at those eyes and feel those wasted hands, he answered. Kiss me again and don't let me see your eyes. I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer, but yours, how can I? There was silent, their faces hid against each other and washed by each other's tears. At least I suppose the weeping was on both sides, as it seemed Heathcliff could weep on a great occasion like this. I grew very uncomfortable, meanwhile, for the afternoon war fast away the man whom I had sent off returned from his errand, and I could distinguish by the shine of the western sun up the valley a concourse thickening outside Gimmerton Chapel porch. Service is over, I announced. My master will be here in half an hour. Heathcliff groaned a curse and strained Catherine closer. She never moved. Air long I perceived a group of the servants passing up the road towards the kitchen wing. Mr. Linton was not far behind. He opened the gate himself and sauntered slowly up, probably enjoying the lovely afternoon that breathed as soft as summer. Now he is here, I exclaimed. For heaven's sake, hurry down! You'll not meet anyone on the front stairs. Do be quick and stay among the trees till he is fairly in. I must go, Cathy, said Heathcliff, seeking to extricate himself from his companion's arms. But if I live I'll see you again before you are asleep. I won't stray five yards from your window. You must not go, she answered, holding him as firmly as her strength allowed. You shall not, I tell you. For one hour he pleaded earnestly. Not for one minute, she replied. I must, Linton will be off immediately, persisted the alarmed intruder. He would have risen and unfixed her fingers by the act. She clung fast, gasping. There was mad resolution in her face. She shrieked. Oh, don't! It is the last Edgar will not hurt us. Heathcliff, I shall die. I shall die. Damn the fool! There he is! cried Heathcliff, sinking back into his seat. Hush, my darling. Hush, hush, Catherine. I'll stay. If he shot me so, I'd expire with a blessing on my lips. And there they were, fast again. I heard my master mounting the stairs. The cold sweat ran from my forehead. I was horrified. Are you going to listen to her ravings? I said passionately. She does not know what she says. Will you ruin her because she has not wit to help herself? Get up! You could be free indistantly. That is the most diabolical deed that ever you did. We're all done for, master, mistress and servant. I roamed her hands and cried out, and Mr. Linton hastened his step at the noise. In the midst of my agitation I was sincerely glad to observe that Catherine's arms had fallen relaxed and her head hung down. She's fainted or dead, I thought, so much the better. Far better that she should be dead than lingering a burden and a misery-maker to all about her. Edgar sprang to his unbidden guest, blanched with astonishment and rage. What he meant to do, I cannot tell. However, the other stopped all demonstrations at once by placing a lifeless-looking form in his arms. Look there! he said. Unless you'll be a fiend helper at first, then you shall speak to me. He walked into the parlour and sat down. Mr. Linton summoned me, and with great difficulty, and after resorting to many means, we managed to restore her to sensation. But she was all bewildered. She sighed and moaned, and knew nobody. Edgar, in his anxiety for her, forgot her hated friend. I did not. I went at the earliest opportunity and besought him to depart, affirming that Catherine was better, and he should hear from me in the morning how she passed the night. I shall not refuse to go out of doors, he answered, but I shall stay in the garden. And, Nelly, mind you keep your word to-morrow. I shall be under those large trees. Mind, or I pay another visit, whether Linton be in or not. He sent a rapid glance through the half-open door of the chamber, and ascertaining that what I stated was apparently true, delivered the house of his luckless presence. End of Chapter 15 Recording by Ruth Golding Chapter 16 Of Wuthering Heights This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Ruth Golding Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte Chapter 16 About twelve o'clock that night was born the Catherine you saw at Wuthering Heights. A puny seven-months-child. And two hours after the mother died, having never recovered sufficient consciousness to miss Heathcliff, or to know Edgar. The latter's distraction at his bereavement is a subject too painful to be dwelt on. Its after-effect showed how deep the sorrow sunk. A great addition in my eyes was his being left without an air. I bemoaned that as I gazed on the feeble orphan, and I mentally abused old Linton for what was only natural partiality, the securing his estate to his own daughter instead of his sons. An unwelcomed infant it was, poor thing. It might have wailed out of life, and nobody cared a morsel during those first hours of existence. We redeemed the neglect afterwards, but its beginning was as friendless as its end is likely to be. Next morning, bright and cheerful out of doors, stoles softened in through the blinds of the silent room, and suffused the couch and its occupant with a mellow tender glow. Edgar Linton had his head laid on the pillow and his eyes shut. His young and fair features were almost as deathlike as those of the form beside him, and almost as fixed. But his was the hush of exhausted anguish, and hers of perfect peace. Her brow smooth, her lids closed, her lips wearing the expression of a smile. No angel in heaven could be more beautiful than she appeared, and I partook of the infinite calm in which she lay. My mind was never in a holier frame than while I gazed on that untroubled image of divine rest. I instinctively echoed the words she had uttered a few hours before, incomparably beyond and above us all. Whether still on earth or now in heaven, her spirit is at home with God. I don't know if it be a peculiarity in me, but I am seldom otherwise than happy while watching in the chamber of death. I should know frenzied or despairing mourner share the duty with me. I see a repose that neither earth nor hell can break, and I feel an assurance of the endless and shadowless hereafter, the eternity they have entered, where life is boundless in its duration, and love in its sympathy, and joy in its fullness. I noticed on that occasion how much selfishness there is, even in a love like Mr. Linton's, when he so regretted Catherine's blessed release. To be sure one might have doubted, after the wayward and impatient existence she had led, whether she merited a haven of peace at last. One might doubt in seasons of cold reflection, but not then in the presence of her corpse. It asserted its own tranquility, which seemed a pledge of equal quiet to its former inhabitant. Do you believe such people are happy in the other world, sir? I'd give a great deal to know. I declined answering Mrs. Dean's question, which struck me as something heterodox. She proceeded, retracing the course of Catherine Linton. I fear we have no right to think she is, but we'll leave her with her maker. The master looked asleep, and I ventured soon after sunrise to quit the room and steal out to the pure, refreshing air. The servants thought me gone to shake off the drowsiness of my protracted watch. In reality, my chief motive was seeing Mr. Heathcliff. If he had remained among the larches all night, he would have heard nothing of the stir at the Grange, unless perhaps he might catch the gallop of the messenger going to Gimmeton. If he had come nearer, he would probably be aware from the lights flitting to and fro, and the opening and shutting of the outer doors that all was not right within. I wished yet feared to find him. I felt the terrible news must be told, and I longed to get it over, but how to do it I did not know. He was there, at least a few yards further in the park. Lent against an old ashtray, his heart off, and his hair soaked with the dew that had gathered on the budded branches, and fell pattering round him. He had been standing a long time in that position, for I saw a pair of oozles passing and repassing scarcely three feet from him, busy in building their nest, and regarding his proximity no more than that of a piece of timber. They flew off at my approach, and he raised his eyes and spoke. She's dead, he said. I've not waited for you to learn art. But you handkerchief away, don't snivel before me. Damn you all, she wants none of your tears. I was weeping as much for him as her. We do sometimes pity creatures that have none of the feeling either for themselves or others. When I first looked into his face, I perceived that he had got intelligence of the catastrophe, and a foolish notion struck me that his heart was quelled, and he prayed, because his lips moved and his gaze was bent on the ground. Yes, she's dead, I answered, checking my sobs and drying my cheeks. Gone to heaven, I hope, where we may every one join her, if we take due warning, and leave our evil ways to follow good. Did she take due warning, then? Ask Teethcliffe, attempting a sneer. Did she die like a saint? Come, give me a true history of the event. How did? He endeavoured to pronounce the name, but could not manage it. And, compressing his mouth, he held a silent combat with his inward agony, defying, meanwhile, my sympathy with an unflinching ferocious stare. How did she die? He resumed at last, feign notwithstanding his hardy-hood to have a support behind him, for after the struggle he'd trembled in spite of himself to his very finger ends. Poor wretch, I thought, you have a heart and nerves the same as your brother-men. Why should you be anxious to conceal them? Your pride cannot blind God. You tempt him to ring them till he forces a cry of humiliation. Quietly as alarm, I answered aloud. She drew a sigh and stretched herself like a child reviving and sinking again to sleep. And five minutes after I felt one little pulse at her heart, and nothing more. And did she ever mention me? He asked, hesitating, as if he dreaded the answer to his question would introduce details that he could not bear to hear. Her senses never returned. She recognised nobody from the time you left her, I said. She lies with a sweet smile on her face, and her latest ideas wandered back to pleasant early days. Her life closed in a gentle dream. May she wake as kindly in the other world. May she wake in torment! He cried with frightful vehemence, stamping his foot and groaning in a sudden paroxysm of ungovernable passion. Why, she's a liar to the end. Where is she? Not there. Not in heaven. Not perished. Where? Oh, you said you cared nothing for my sufferings. And I pray one prayer. I repeat it till my tongue stiffens. Catherine earned sure. May you not rest as long as I am living. You said I killed you. Haunt me then. The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always. Take any form. Drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss where I cannot find you. Oh, God, it is unalterable. I cannot live without my life. I cannot live without my soul. He dashed his head against the knotted trunk, and lifting up his eyes howled, not like a man, but like a savage beast, being goaded to death with knives and spears. I observed several splashes of blood about the bark of the tree, and his hand and forehead were both stained. Probably the scene I witnessed was a repetition of others acted during the night. It hardly moved my compassion. It appalled me. Still, I felt reluctant to quit him so. But the moment he recollected himself enough to notice me watching, he thundered a command for me to go, and I obeyed. He was beyond my skill to quiet or console. Mrs. Linton's funeral was appointed to take place on the Friday following her deceased. Until then her coffin remained uncovered, and strewn with flowers and scented leaves, in the great drawing-room. Linton spent his days and nights there, a sleepless guardian, and, a circumstance concealed from all but me, Heathcliff spent his nights at least outside, equally a stranger to repose. I held no communication with him. Still, I was conscious of his design to enter if he could, and on the Tuesday a little after dark, when my master from sheer fatigue had been compelled to retire a couple of hours, I went and opened one of the windows, moved by his perseverance to give him a chance of bestowing on the faded image of his idol one final adieu. He did not omit to avail himself of the opportunity cautiously and briefly, too cautiously to betray his presence by the slightest noise. Indeed, I shouldn't have discovered that he had been there, except for the disarrangement of the drapery about the corpse's face, and for observing on the floor a curl of light hair fastened with a silver thread, which on examination I ascertained to have been taken from a locket hung round Catherine's neck. Heathcliff had opened the trinket and cast out its contents, replacing them by a black lock of his own. I twisted the two and enclosed them together. Mr. Earnshaw was, of course, invited to attend the remains of his sister to the grave. He sent no excuse, but he never came, so that, besides her husband, the mourners were wholly composed of tenants and servants. Isabella was not asked. The place of Catherine's interment to the surprise of the villagers was neither in the chapel under the carved monument of the Lintons, nor yet by the tombs of her own relations outside. It was dug on a green slope in a corner of the Kirkyard, where the wall is so low that Heath and Bilbury plants have climbed over it from the moor, and Peat-mold almost buries it. Her husband lies in the same spot now, and they have each a simple headstone above and a plain grey block at their feet to mark the graves.