_Facsimile of the Title-Page of the First Edition_, _which was issued_,
_together with_ '_Wuthering Heights_,' _in three volumes_, '_Wuthering
Heights_' _forming Volumes_ 1 _and_ 2.
AGNES GREY.
A NOVEL,
BY
ACTON BELL.
VOL. III.
* * * * *
LONDON:
THOMAS CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER,
72, MORTIMER ST., CAVENDISH SQ.
* * * * *
1847.
[Picture: Birthplace of Charlotte, Emily and Anne Bronte, Thornton]
CHAPTER I--THE PARSONAGE
All true histories contain instruction; though, in some, the treasure may
be hard to find, and when found, so trivial in quantity, that the dry,
shrivelled kernel scarcely compensates for the trouble of cracking the
nut.  Whether this be the case with my history or not, I am hardly
competent to judge.  I sometimes think it might prove useful to some, and
entertaining to others; but the world may judge for itself.  Shielded by
my own obscurity, and by the lapse of years, and a few fictitious names,
I do not fear to venture; and will candidly lay before the public what I
would not disclose to the most intimate friend.
My father was a clergyman of the north of England, who was deservedly
respected by all who knew him; and, in his younger days, lived pretty
comfortably on the joint income of a small incumbency and a snug little
property of his own.  My mother, who married him against the wishes of
her friends, was a squire's daughter, and a woman of spirit.  In vain it
was represented to her, that if she became the poor parson's wife, she
must relinquish her carriage and her lady's-maid, and all the luxuries
and elegancies of affluence; which to her were little less than the
necessaries of life.  A carriage and a lady's-maid were great
conveniences; but, thank heaven, she had feet to carry her, and hands to
minister to her own necessities.  An elegant house and spacious grounds
were not to be despised; but she would rather live in a cottage with
Richard Grey than in a palace with any other man in the world.
Finding arguments of no avail, her father, at length, told the lovers
they might marry if they pleased; but, in so doing, his daughter would
forfeit every fraction of her fortune.  He expected this would cool the
ardour of both; but he was mistaken.  My father knew too well my mother's
superior worth not to be sensible that she was a valuable fortune in
herself: and if she would but consent to embellish his humble hearth he
should be happy to take her on any terms; while she, on her part, would
rather labour with her own hands than be divided from the man she loved,
whose happiness it would be her joy to make, and who was already one with
her in heart and soul.  So her fortune went to swell the purse of a wiser
sister, who had married a rich nabob; and she, to the wonder and
compassionate regret of all who knew her, went to bury herself in the
homely village parsonage among the hills of ---.  And yet, in spite of
all this, and in spite of my mother's high spirit and my father's whims,
I believe you might search all England through, and fail to find a
happier couple.
Of six children, my sister Mary and myself were the only two that
survived the perils of infancy and early childhood.  I, being the younger
by five or six years, was always regarded as _the_ child, and the pet of
the family: father, mother, and sister, all combined to spoil me--not by
foolish indulgence, to render me fractious and ungovernable, but by
ceaseless kindness, to make me too helpless and dependent--too unfit for
buffeting with the cares and turmoils of life.
Mary and I were brought up in the strictest seclusion.  My mother, being
at once highly accomplished, well informed, and fond of employment, took
the whole charge of our education on herself, with the exception of
Latin--which my father undertook to teach us--so that we never even went
to school; and, as there was no society in the neighbourhood, our only
intercourse with the world consisted in a stately tea-party, now and
then, with the principal farmers and tradespeople of the vicinity (just
to avoid being stigmatized as too proud to consort with our neighbours),
and an annual visit to our paternal grandfather's; where himself, our
kind grandmamma, a maiden aunt, and two or three elderly ladies and
gentlemen, were the only persons we ever saw.  Sometimes our mother would
amuse us with stories and anecdotes of her younger days, which, while
they entertained us amazingly, frequently awoke--in _me_, at least--a
secret wish to see a little more of the world.
I thought she must have been very happy: but she never seemed to regret
past times.  My father, however, whose temper was neither tranquil nor
cheerful by nature, often unduly vexed himself with thinking of the
sacrifices his dear wife had made for him; and troubled his head with
revolving endless schemes for the augmentation of his little fortune, for
her sake and ours.  In vain my mother assured him she was quite
satisfied; and if he would but lay by a little for the children, we
should all have plenty, both for time present and to come: but saving was
not my father's forte.  He would not run in debt (at least, my mother
took good care he should not), but while he had money he must spend it:
he liked to see his house comfortable, and his wife and daughters well
clothed, and well attended; and besides, he was charitably disposed, and
liked to give to the poor, according to his means: or, as some might
think, beyond them.
At length, however, a kind friend suggested to him a means of doubling
his private property at one stroke; and further increasing it, hereafter,
to an untold amount.  This friend was a merchant, a man of enterprising
spirit and undoubted talent, who was somewhat straitened in his
mercantile pursuits for want of capital; but generously proposed to give
my father a fair share of his profits, if he would only entrust him with
what he could spare; and he thought he might safely promise that whatever
sum the latter chose to put into his hands, it should bring him in cent.
per cent.  The small patrimony was speedily sold, and the whole of its
price was deposited in the hands of the friendly merchant; who as
promptly proceeded to ship his cargo, and prepare for his voyage.
My father was delighted, so were we all, with our brightening prospects.
For the present, it is true, we were reduced to the narrow income of the
curacy; but my father seemed to think there was no necessity for
scrupulously restricting our expenditure to that; so, with a standing
bill at Mr. Jackson's, another at Smith's, and a third at Hobson's, we
got along even more comfortably than before: though my mother affirmed we
had better keep within bounds, for our prospects of wealth were but
precarious, after all; and if my father would only trust everything to
her management, he should never feel himself stinted: but he, for once,
was incorrigible.
What happy hours Mary and I have passed while sitting at our work by the
fire, or wandering on the heath-clad hills, or idling under the weeping
birch (the only considerable tree in the garden), talking of future
happiness to ourselves and our parents, of what we would do, and see, and
possess; with no firmer foundation for our goodly superstructure than the
riches that were expected to flow in upon us from the success of the
worthy merchant's speculations.  Our father was nearly as bad as
ourselves; only that he affected not to be so much in earnest: expressing
his bright hopes and sanguine expectations in jests and playful sallies,
that always struck me as being exceedingly witty and pleasant.  Our
mother laughed with delight to see him so hopeful and happy: but still
she feared he was setting his heart too much upon the matter; and once I
heard her whisper as she left the room, 'God grant he be not
disappointed!  I know not how he would bear it.'
Disappointed he was; and bitterly, too.  It came like a thunder-clap on
us all, that the vessel which contained our fortune had been wrecked, and
gone to the bottom with all its stores, together with several of the
crew, and the unfortunate merchant himself.  I was grieved for him; I was
grieved for the overthrow of all our air-built castles: but, with the
elasticity of youth, I soon recovered the shock.
Though riches had charms, poverty had no terrors for an inexperienced
girl like me.  Indeed, to say the truth, there was something exhilarating
in the idea of being driven to straits, and thrown upon our own
resources.  I only wished papa, mamma, and Mary were all of the same mind
as myself; and then, instead of lamenting past calamities we might all
cheerfully set to work to remedy them; and the greater the difficulties,
the harder our present privations, the greater should be our cheerfulness
to endure the latter, and our vigour to contend against the former.
Mary did not lament, but she brooded continually over the misfortune, and
sank into a state of dejection from which no effort of mine could rouse
her.  I could not possibly bring her to regard the matter on its bright
side as I did: and indeed I was so fearful of being charged with childish
frivolity, or stupid insensibility, that I carefully kept most of my
bright ideas and cheering notions to myself; well knowing they could not
be appreciated.
My mother thought only of consoling my father, and paying our debts and
retrenching our expenditure by every available means; but my father was
completely overwhelmed by the calamity: health, strength, and spirits
sank beneath the blow, and he never wholly recovered them.  In vain my
mother strove to cheer him, by appealing to his piety, to his courage, to
his affection for herself and us.  That very affection was his greatest
torment: it was for our sakes he had so ardently longed to increase his
fortune--it was our interest that had lent such brightness to his hopes,
and that imparted such bitterness to his present distress.  He now
tormented himself with remorse at having neglected my mother's advice;
which would at least have saved him from the additional burden of
debt--he vainly reproached himself for having brought her from the
dignity, the ease, the luxury of her former station to toil with him
through the cares and toils of poverty.  It was gall and wormwood to his
soul to see that splendid, highly-accomplished woman, once so courted and
admired, transformed into an active managing housewife, with hands and
head continually occupied with household labours and household economy.
The very willingness with which she performed these duties, the
cheerfulness with which she bore her reverses, and the kindness which
withheld her from imputing the smallest blame to him, were all perverted
by this ingenious self-tormentor into further aggravations of his
sufferings.  And thus the mind preyed upon the body, and disordered the
system of the nerves, and they in turn increased the troubles of the
mind, till by action and reaction his health was seriously impaired; and
not one of us could convince him that the aspect of our affairs was not
half so gloomy, so utterly hopeless, as his morbid imagination
represented it to be.
The useful pony phaeton was sold, together with the stout, well-fed
pony--the old favourite that we had fully determined should end its days
in peace, and never pass from our hands; the little coach-house and
stable were let; the servant boy, and the more efficient (being the more
expensive) of the two maid-servants, were dismissed.  Our clothes were
mended, turned, and darned to the utmost verge of decency; our food,
always plain, was now simplified to an unprecedented degree--except my
father's favourite dishes; our coals and candles were painfully
economized--the pair of candles reduced to one, and that most sparingly
used; the coals carefully husbanded in the half-empty grate: especially
when my father was out on his parish duties, or confined to bed through
illness--then we sat with our feet on the fender, scraping the perishing
embers together from time to time, and occasionally adding a slight
scattering of the dust and fragments of coal, just to keep them alive.
As for our carpets, they in time were worn threadbare, and patched and
darned even to a greater extent than our garments.  To save the expense
of a gardener, Mary and I undertook to keep the garden in order; and all
the cooking and household work that could not easily be managed by one
servant-girl, was done by my mother and sister, with a little occasional
help from me: only a little, because, though a woman in my own
estimation, I was still a child in theirs; and my mother, like most
active, managing women, was not gifted with very active daughters: for
this reason--that being so clever and diligent herself, she was never
tempted to trust her affairs to a deputy, but, on the contrary, was
willing to act and think for others as well as for number one; and
whatever was the business in hand, she was apt to think that no one could
do it so well as herself: so that whenever I offered to assist her, I
received such an answer as--'No, love, you cannot indeed--there's nothing
here you can do.  Go and help your sister, or get her to take a walk with
you--tell her she must not sit so much, and stay so constantly in the
house as she does--she may well look thin and dejected.'
'Mary, mamma says I'm to help you; or get you to take a walk with me; she
says you may well look thin and dejected, if you sit so constantly in the
house.'
'Help me you cannot, Agnes; and I cannot go out with _you_--I have far
too much to do.'
'Then let me help you.'
'You cannot, indeed, dear child.  Go and practise your music, or play
with the kitten.'
There was always plenty of sewing on hand; but I had not been taught to
cut out a single garment, and except plain hemming and seaming, there was
little I could do, even in that line; for they both asserted that it was
far easier to do the work themselves than to prepare it for me: and
besides, they liked better to see me prosecuting my studies, or amusing
myself--it was time enough for me to sit bending over my work, like a
grave matron, when my favourite little pussy was become a steady old cat.
Under such circumstances, although I was not many degrees more useful
than the kitten, my idleness was not entirely without excuse.
Through all our troubles, I never but once heard my mother complain of
our want of money.  As summer was coming on she observed to Mary and me,
'What a desirable thing it would be for your papa to spend a few weeks at
a watering-place.  I am convinced the sea-air and the change of scene
would be of incalculable service to him.  But then, you see, there's no
money,' she added, with a sigh.  We both wished exceedingly that the
thing might be done, and lamented greatly that it could not.  'Well,
well!' said she, 'it's no use complaining.  Possibly something might be
done to further the project after all.  Mary, you are a beautiful drawer.
What do you say to doing a few more pictures in your best style, and
getting them framed, with the water-coloured drawings you have already
done, and trying to dispose of them to some liberal picture-dealer, who
has the sense to discern their merits?'
'Mamma, I should be delighted if you think they _could_ be sold; and for
anything worth while.'
'It's worth while trying, however, my dear: do you procure the drawings,
and I'll endeavour to find a purchaser.'
'I wish _I_ could do something,' said I.
'You, Agnes! well, who knows?  You draw pretty well, too: if you choose
some simple piece for your subject, I daresay you will be able to produce
something we shall all be proud to exhibit.'
'But I have another scheme in my head, mamma, and have had long, only I
did not like to mention it.'
'Indeed! pray tell us what it is.'
'I should like to be a governess.'
My mother uttered an exclamation of surprise, and laughed.  My sister
dropped her work in astonishment, exclaiming, '_You_ a governess, Agnes!
What can you be dreaming of?'
'Well!  I don't see anything so _very_ extraordinary in it.  I do not
pretend to be able to instruct great girls; but surely I could teach
little ones: and I should like it so much: I am so fond of children.  Do
let me, mamma!'
'But, my love, you have not learned to take care of _yourself _yet: and
young children require more judgment and experience to manage than elder
ones.'
'But, mamma, I am above eighteen, and quite able to take care of myself,
and others too.  You do not know half the wisdom and prudence I possess,
because I have never been tried.'
'Only think,' said Mary, 'what would you do in a house full of strangers,
without me or mamma to speak and act for you--with a parcel of children,
besides yourself, to attend to; and no one to look to for advice?  You
would not even know what clothes to put on.'
'You think, because I always do as you bid me, I have no judgment of my
own: but only try me--that is all I ask--and you shall see what I can
do.'
At that moment my father entered and the subject of our discussion was
explained to him.
'What, my little Agnes a governess!' cried he, and, in spite of his
dejection, he laughed at the idea.
'Yes, papa, don't _you_ say anything against it: I should like it so
much; and I am sure I could manage delightfully.'
'But, my darling, we could not spare you.'  And a tear glistened in his
eye as he added--'No, no! afflicted as we are, surely we are not brought
to that pass yet.'
'Oh, no!' said my mother.  'There is no necessity whatever for such a
step; it is merely a whim of her own.  So you must hold your tongue, you
naughty girl; for, though you are so ready to leave us, you know very
well we cannot part with _you_.'
I was silenced for that day, and for many succeeding ones; but still I
did not wholly relinquish my darling scheme.  Mary got her drawing
materials, and steadily set to work.  I got mine too; but while I drew, I
thought of other things.  How delightful it would be to be a governess!
To go out into the world; to enter upon a new life; to act for myself; to
exercise my unused faculties; to try my unknown powers; to earn my own
maintenance, and something to comfort and help my father, mother, and
sister, besides exonerating them from the provision of my food and
clothing; to show papa what his little Agnes could do; to convince mamma
and Mary that I was not quite the helpless, thoughtless being they
supposed.  And then, how charming to be entrusted with the care and
education of children!  Whatever others said, I felt I was fully
competent to the task: the clear remembrance of my own thoughts in early
childhood would be a surer guide than the instructions of the most mature
adviser.  I had but to turn from my little pupils to myself at their age,
and I should know, at once, how to win their confidence and affections:
how to waken the contrition of the erring; how to embolden the timid and
console the afflicted; how to make Virtue practicable, Instruction
desirable, and Religion lovely and comprehensible.
--Delightful task!
To teach the young idea how to shoot!
To train the tender plants, and watch their buds unfolding day by day!
Influenced by so many inducements, I determined still to persevere;
though the fear of displeasing my mother, or distressing my father's
feelings, prevented me from resuming the subject for several days.  At
length, again, I mentioned it to my mother in private; and, with some
difficulty, got her to promise to assist me with her endeavours.  My
father's reluctant consent was next obtained, and then, though Mary still
sighed her disapproval, my dear, kind mother began to look out for a
situation for me.  She wrote to my father's relations, and consulted the
newspaper advertisements--her own relations she had long dropped all
communication with: a formal interchange of occasional letters was all
she had ever had since her marriage, and she would not at any time have
applied to them in a case of this nature.  But so long and so entire had
been my parents' seclusion from the world, that many weeks elapsed before
a suitable situation could be procured.  At last, to my great joy, it was
decreed that I should take charge of the young family of a certain Mrs.
Bloomfield; whom my kind, prim aunt Grey had known in her youth, and
asserted to be a very nice woman.  Her husband was a retired tradesman,
who had realized a very comfortable fortune; but could not be prevailed
upon to give a greater salary than twenty-five pounds to the instructress
of his children.  I, however, was glad to accept this, rather than refuse
the situation--which my parents were inclined to think the better plan.
But some weeks more were yet to be devoted to preparation.  How long, how
tedious those weeks appeared to me!  Yet they were happy ones in the
main--full of bright hopes and ardent expectations.  With what peculiar
pleasure I assisted at the making of my new clothes, and, subsequently,
the packing of my trunks!  But there was a feeling of bitterness mingling
with the latter occupation too; and when it was done--when all was ready
for my departure on the morrow, and the last night at home approached--a
sudden anguish seemed to swell my heart.  My dear friends looked so sad,
and spoke so very kindly, that I could scarcely keep my eyes from
overflowing: but I still affected to be gay.  I had taken my last ramble
with Mary on the moors, my last walk in the garden, and round the house;
I had fed, with her, our pet pigeons for the last time--the pretty
creatures that we had tamed to peck their food from our hands: I had
given a farewell stroke to all their silky backs as they crowded in my
lap.  I had tenderly kissed my own peculiar favourites, the pair of
snow-white fantails; I had played my last tune on the old familiar piano,
and sung my last song to papa: not the last, I hoped, but the last for
what appeared to me a very long time.  And, perhaps, when I did these
things again it would be with different feelings: circumstances might be
changed, and this house might never be my settled home again.  My dear
little friend, the kitten, would certainly be changed: she was already
growing a fine cat; and when I returned, even for a hasty visit at
Christmas, would, most likely, have forgotten both her playmate and her
merry pranks.  I had romped with her for the last time; and when I
stroked her soft bright fur, while she lay purring herself to sleep in my
lap, it was with a feeling of sadness I could not easily disguise.  Then
at bed-time, when I retired with Mary to our quiet little chamber, where
already my drawers were cleared out and my share of the bookcase was
empty--and where, hereafter, she would have to sleep alone, in dreary
solitude, as she expressed it--my heart sank more than ever: I felt as if
I had been selfish and wrong to persist in leaving her; and when I knelt
once more beside our little bed, I prayed for a blessing on her and on my
parents more fervently than ever I had done before.  To conceal my
emotion, I buried my face in my hands, and they were presently bathed in
tears.  I perceived, on rising, that she had been crying too: but neither
of us spoke; and in silence we betook ourselves to our repose, creeping
more closely together from the consciousness that we were to part so
soon.
But the morning brought a renewal of hope and spirits.  I was to depart
early; that the conveyance which took me (a gig, hired from Mr. Smith,
the draper, grocer, and tea-dealer of the village) might return the same
day.  I rose, washed, dressed, swallowed a hasty breakfast, received the
fond embraces of my father, mother, and sister, kissed the cat--to the
great scandal of Sally, the maid--shook hands with her, mounted the gig,
drew my veil over my face, and then, but not till then, burst into a
flood of tears.  The gig rolled on; I looked back; my dear mother and
sister were still standing at the door, looking after me, and waving
their adieux.  I returned their salute, and prayed God to bless them from
my heart: we descended the hill, and I could see them no more.
'It's a coldish mornin' for you, Miss Agnes,' observed Smith; 'and a
darksome 'un too; but we's happen get to yon spot afore there come much
rain to signify.'
'Yes, I hope so,' replied I, as calmly as I could.
'It's comed a good sup last night too.'
'Yes.'
'But this cold wind will happen keep it off.'
'Perhaps it will.'
Here ended our colloquy.  We crossed the valley, and began to ascend the
opposite hill.  As we were toiling up, I looked back again; there was the
village spire, and the old grey parsonage beyond it, basking in a
slanting beam of sunshine--it was but a sickly ray, but the village and
surrounding hills were all in sombre shade, and I hailed the wandering
beam as a propitious omen to my home.  With clasped hands I fervently
implored a blessing on its inhabitants, and hastily turned away; for I
saw the sunshine was departing; and I carefully avoided another glance,
lest I should see it in gloomy shadow, like the rest of the landscape.
CHAPTER II--FIRST LESSONS IN THE ART OF INSTRUCTION
As we drove along, my spirits revived again, and I turned, with pleasure,
to the contemplation of the new life upon which I was entering.  But
though it was not far past the middle of September, the heavy clouds and
strong north-easterly wind combined to render the day extremely cold and
dreary; and the journey seemed a very long one, for, as Smith observed,
the roads were 'very heavy'; and certainly, his horse was very heavy too:
it crawled up the hills, and crept down them, and only condescended to
shake its sides in a trot where the road was at a dead level or a very
gentle slope, which was rarely the case in those rugged regions; so that
it was nearly one o'clock before we reached the place of our destination.
Yet, after all, when we entered the lofty iron gateway, when we drove
softly up the smooth, well-rolled carriage-road, with the green lawn on
each side, studded with young trees, and approached the new but stately
mansion of Wellwood, rising above its mushroom poplar-groves, my heart
failed me, and I wished it were a mile or two farther off.  For the first
time in my life I must stand alone: there was no retreating now.  I must
enter that house, and introduce myself among its strange inhabitants.
But how was it to be done?  True, I was near nineteen; but, thanks to my
retired life and the protecting care of my mother and sister, I well knew
that many a girl of fifteen, or under, was gifted with a more womanly
address, and greater ease and self-possession, than I was.  Yet, if Mrs.
Bloomfield were a kind, motherly woman, I might do very well, after all;
and the children, of course, I should soon be at ease with them--and Mr.
Bloomfield, I hoped, I should have but little to do with.
'Be calm, be calm, whatever happens,' I said within myself; and truly I
kept this resolution so well, and was so fully occupied in steadying my
nerves and stifling the rebellious flutter of my heart, that when I was
admitted into the hall and ushered into the presence of Mrs. Bloomfield,
I almost forgot to answer her polite salutation; and it afterwards struck
me, that the little I did say was spoken in the tone of one half-dead or
half-asleep.  The lady, too, was somewhat chilly in her manner, as I
discovered when I had time to reflect.  She was a tall, spare, stately
woman, with thick black hair, cold grey eyes, and extremely sallow
complexion.
With due politeness, however, she showed me my bedroom, and left me there
to take a little refreshment.  I was somewhat dismayed at my appearance
on looking in the glass: the cold wind had swelled and reddened my hands,
uncurled and entangled my hair, and dyed my face of a pale purple; add to
this my collar was horridly crumpled, my frock splashed with mud, my feet
clad in stout new boots, and as the trunks were not brought up, there was
no remedy; so having smoothed my hair as well as I could, and repeatedly
twitched my obdurate collar, I proceeded to clomp down the two flights of
stairs, philosophizing as I went; and with some difficulty found my way
into the room where Mrs. Bloomfield awaited me.
She led me into the dining-room, where the family luncheon had been laid
out.  Some beefsteaks and half-cold potatoes were set before me; and
while I dined upon these, she sat opposite, watching me (as I thought)
and endeavouring to sustain something like a conversation--consisting
chiefly of a succession of commonplace remarks, expressed with frigid
formality: but this might be more my fault than hers, for I really could
_not_ converse.  In fact, my attention was almost wholly absorbed in my
dinner: not from ravenous appetite, but from distress at the toughness of
the beefsteaks, and the numbness of my hands, almost palsied by their
five-hours' exposure to the bitter wind.  I would gladly have eaten the
potatoes and let the meat alone, but having got a large piece of the
latter on to my plate, I could not be so impolite as to leave it; so,
after many awkward and unsuccessful attempts to cut it with the knife, or
tear it with the fork, or pull it asunder between them, sensible that the
awful lady was a spectator to the whole transaction, I at last
desperately grasped the knife and fork in my fists, like a child of two
years old, and fell to work with all the little strength I possessed.
But this needed some apology--with a feeble attempt at a laugh, I said,
'My hands are so benumbed with the cold that I can scarcely handle my
knife and fork.'
'I daresay you would find it cold,' replied she with a cool, immutable
gravity that did not serve to reassure me.
When the ceremony was concluded, she led me into the sitting-room again,
where she rang and sent for the children.
'You will find them not very far advanced in their attainments,' said
she, 'for I have had so little time to attend to their education myself,
and we have thought them too young for a governess till now; but I think
they are clever children, and very apt to learn, especially the little
boy; he is, I think, the flower of the flock--a generous, noble-spirited
boy, one to be led, but not driven, and remarkable for always speaking
the truth.  He seems to scorn deception' (this was good news).  'His
sister Mary Ann will require watching,' continued she, 'but she is a very
good girl upon the whole; though I wish her to be kept out of the nursery
as much as possible, as she is now almost six years old, and might
acquire bad habits from the nurses.  I have ordered her crib to be placed
in your room, and if you will be so kind as to overlook her washing and
dressing, and take charge of her clothes, she need have nothing further
to do with the nursery maid.'
I replied I was quite willing to do so; and at that moment my young
pupils entered the apartment, with their two younger sisters.  Master Tom
Bloomfield was a well-grown boy of seven, with a somewhat wiry frame,
flaxen hair, blue eyes, small turned-up nose, and fair complexion.  Mary
Ann was a tall girl too, somewhat dark like her mother, but with a round
full face and a high colour in her cheeks.  The second sister was Fanny,
a very pretty little girl; Mrs. Bloomfield assured me she was a
remarkably gentle child, and required encouragement: she had not learned
anything yet; but in a few days, she would be four years old, and then
she might take her first lesson in the alphabet, and be promoted to the
schoolroom.  The remaining one was Harriet, a little broad, fat, merry,
playful thing of scarcely two, that I coveted more than all the rest--but
with her I had nothing to do.
I talked to my little pupils as well as I could, and tried to render
myself agreeable; but with little success I fear, for their mother's
presence kept me under an unpleasant restraint.  They, however, were
remarkably free from shyness.  They seemed bold, lively children, and I
hoped I should soon be on friendly terms with them--the little boy
especially, of whom I had heard such a favourable character from his
mamma.  In Mary Ann there was a certain affected simper, and a craving
for notice, that I was sorry to observe.  But her brother claimed all my
attention to himself; he stood bolt upright between me and the fire, with
his hands behind his back, talking away like an orator, occasionally
interrupting his discourse with a sharp reproof to his sisters when they
made too much noise.
'Oh, Tom, what a darling you are!' exclaimed his mother.  'Come and kiss
dear mamma; and then won't you show Miss Grey your schoolroom, and your
nice new books?'
'I won't kiss _you_, mamma; but I _will_ show Miss Grey my schoolroom,
and my new books.'
'And _my_ schoolroom, and _my_ new books, Tom,' said Mary Ann.  'They're
mine too.'
'They're _mine_,' replied he decisively.  'Come along, Miss Grey--I'll
escort you.'
When the room and books had been shown, with some bickerings between the
brother and sister that I did my utmost to appease or mitigate, Mary Ann
brought me her doll, and began to be very loquacious on the subject of
its fine clothes, its bed, its chest of drawers, and other appurtenances;
but Tom told her to hold her clamour, that Miss Grey might see his
rocking-horse, which, with a most important bustle, he dragged forth from
its corner into the middle of the room, loudly calling on me to attend to
it.  Then, ordering his sister to hold the reins, he mounted, and made me
stand for ten minutes, watching how manfully he used his whip and spurs.
Meantime, however, I admired Mary Ann's pretty doll, and all its
possessions; and then told Master Tom he was a capital rider, but I hoped
he would not use his whip and spurs so much when he rode a real pony.
'Oh, yes, I will!' said he, laying on with redoubled ardour.  'I'll cut
into him like smoke!  Eeh! my word! but he shall sweat for it.'
This was very shocking; but I hoped in time to be able to work a
reformation.
'Now you must put on your bonnet and shawl,' said the little hero, 'and
I'll show you my garden.'
'And _mine_,' said Mary Ann.
Tom lifted his fist with a menacing gesture; she uttered a loud, shrill
scream, ran to the other side of me, and made a face at him.
'Surely, Tom, you would not strike your sister!  I hope I shall _never_
see you do that.'
'You will sometimes: I'm obliged to do it now and then to keep her in
order.'
'But it is not your business to keep her in order, you know--that is
for--'
'Well, now go and put on your bonnet.'
'I don't know--it is so very cloudy and cold, it seems likely to
rain;--and you know I have had a long drive.'
'No matter--you _must_ come; I shall allow of no excuses,' replied the
consequential little gentleman.  And, as it was the first day of our
acquaintance, I thought I might as well indulge him.  It was too cold for
Mary Ann to venture, so she stayed with her mamma, to the great relief of
her brother, who liked to have me all to himself.
The garden was a large one, and tastefully laid out; besides several
splendid dahlias, there were some other fine flowers still in bloom: but
my companion would not give me time to examine them: I must go with him,
across the wet grass, to a remote sequestered corner, the most important
place in the grounds, because it contained _his_ garden.  There were two
round beds, stocked with a variety of plants.  In one there was a pretty
little rose-tree.  I paused to admire its lovely blossoms.
'Oh, never mind that!' said he, contemptuously.  'That's only _Mary
Ann's_ garden; look, THIS is mine.'
After I had observed every flower, and listened to a disquisition on
every plant, I was permitted to depart; but first, with great pomp, he
plucked a polyanthus and presented it to me, as one conferring a
prodigious favour.  I observed, on the grass about his garden, certain
apparatus of sticks and corn, and asked what they were.
'Traps for birds.'
'Why do you catch them?'
'Papa says they do harm.'
'And what do you do with them when you catch them?'
'Different things.  Sometimes I give them to the cat; sometimes I cut
them in pieces with my penknife; but the next, I mean to roast alive.'
'And why do you mean to do such a horrible thing?'
'For two reasons: first, to see how long it will live--and then, to see
what it will taste like.'
'But don't you know it is extremely wicked to do such things?  Remember,
the birds can feel as well as you; and think, how would you like it
yourself?'
'Oh, that's nothing!  I'm not a bird, and I can't feel what I do to
them.'
'But you will have to feel it some time, Tom: you have heard where wicked
people go to when they die; and if you don't leave off torturing innocent
birds, remember, you will have to go there, and suffer just what you have
made them suffer.'
'Oh, pooh!  I shan't.  Papa knows how I treat them, and he never blames
me for it: he says it is just what _he_ used to do when _he_ was a boy.
Last summer, he gave me a nest full of young sparrows, and he saw me
pulling off their legs and wings, and heads, and never said anything;
except that they were nasty things, and I must not let them soil my
trousers: and Uncle Robson was there too, and he laughed, and said I was
a fine boy.'
'But what would your mamma say?'
'Oh, she doesn't care! she says it's a pity to kill the pretty singing
birds, but the naughty sparrows, and mice, and rats, I may do what I like
with.  So now, Miss Grey, you see it is _not_ wicked.'
'I still think it is, Tom; and perhaps your papa and mamma would think so
too, if they thought much about it.  However,' I internally added, 'they
may say what they please, but I am determined you shall do nothing of the
kind, as long as I have power to prevent it.'
He next took me across the lawn to see his mole-traps, and then into the
stack-yard to see his weasel-traps: one of which, to his great joy,
contained a dead weasel; and then into the stable to see, not the fine
carriage-horses, but a little rough colt, which he informed me had been
bred on purpose for him, and he was to ride it as soon as it was properly
trained.  I tried to amuse the little fellow, and listened to all his
chatter as complacently as I could; for I thought if he had any
affections at all, I would endeavour to win them; and then, in time, I
might be able to show him the error of his ways: but I looked in vain for
that generous, noble spirit his mother talked of; though I could see he
was not without a certain degree of quickness and penetration, when he
chose to exert it.
When we re-entered the house it was nearly tea-time.  Master Tom told me
that, as papa was from home, he and I and Mary Ann were to have tea with
mamma, for a treat; for, on such occasions, she always dined at
luncheon-time with them, instead of at six o'clock.  Soon after tea, Mary
Ann went to bed, but Tom favoured us with his company and conversation
till eight.  After he was gone, Mrs. Bloomfield further enlightened me on
the subject of her children's dispositions and acquirements, and on what
they were to learn, and how they were to be managed, and cautioned me to
mention their defects to no one but herself.  My mother had warned me
before to mention them as little as possible to _her_, for people did not
like to be told of their children's faults, and so I concluded I was to
keep silence on them altogether.  About half-past nine, Mrs. Bloomfield
invited me to partake of a frugal supper of cold meat and bread.  I was
glad when that was over, and she took her bedroom candlestick and retired
to rest; for though I wished to be pleased with her, her company was
extremely irksome to me; and I could not help feeling that she was cold,
grave, and forbidding--the very opposite of the kind, warm-hearted matron
my hopes had depicted her to be.
CHAPTER III--A FEW MORE LESSONS
I rose next morning with a feeling of hopeful exhilaration, in spite of
the disappointments already experienced; but I found the dressing of Mary
Ann was no light matter, as her abundant hair was to be smeared with
pomade, plaited in three long tails, and tied with bows of ribbon: a task
my unaccustomed fingers found great difficulty in performing.  She told
me her nurse could do it in half the time, and, by keeping up a constant
fidget of impatience, contrived to render me still longer.  When all was
done, we went into the schoolroom, where I met my other pupil, and
chatted with the two till it was time to go down to breakfast.  That meal
being concluded, and a few civil words having been exchanged with Mrs.
Bloomfield, we repaired to the schoolroom again, and commenced the
business of the day.  I found my pupils very backward, indeed; but Tom,
though averse to every species of mental exertion, was not without
abilities.  Mary Ann could scarcely read a word, and was so careless and
inattentive that I could hardly get on with her at all.  However, by dint
of great labour and patience, I managed to get something done in the
course of the morning, and then accompanied my young charge out into the
garden and adjacent grounds, for a little recreation before dinner.
There we got along tolerably together, except that I found they had no
notion of going with me: I must go with them, wherever they chose to lead
me.  I must run, walk, or stand, exactly as it suited their fancy.  This,
I thought, was reversing the order of things; and I found it doubly
disagreeable, as on this as well as subsequent occasions, they seemed to
prefer the dirtiest places and the most dismal occupations.  But there
was no remedy; either I must follow them, or keep entirely apart from
them, and thus appear neglectful of my charge.  To-day, they manifested a
particular attachment to a well at the bottom of the lawn, where they
persisted in dabbling with sticks and pebbles for above half an hour.  I
was in constant fear that their mother would see them from the window,
and blame me for allowing them thus to draggle their clothes and wet
their feet and hands, instead of taking exercise; but no arguments,
commands, or entreaties could draw them away.  If _she_ did not see them,
some one else did--a gentleman on horseback had entered the gate and was
proceeding up the road; at the distance of a few paces from us he paused,
and calling to the children in a waspish penetrating tone, bade them
'keep out of that water.'  'Miss Grey,' said he, '(I suppose it _is_ Miss
Grey), I am surprised that you should allow them to dirty their clothes
in that manner!  Don't you see how Miss Bloomfield has soiled her frock?
and that Master Bloomfield's socks are quite wet? and both of them
without gloves?  Dear, dear!  Let me _request_ that in future you will
keep them _decent_ at least!' so saying, he turned away, and continued
his ride up to the house.  This was Mr. Bloomfield.  I was surprised that
he should nominate his children Master and Miss Bloomfield; and still
more so, that he should speak so uncivilly to me, their governess, and a
perfect stranger to himself.  Presently the bell rang to summon us in.  I
dined with the children at one, while he and his lady took their luncheon
at the same table.  His conduct there did not greatly raise him in my
estimation.  He was a man of ordinary stature--rather below than
above--and rather thin than stout, apparently between thirty and forty
years of age: he had a large mouth, pale, dingy complexion, milky blue
eyes, and hair the colour of a hempen cord.  There was a roast leg of
mutton before him: he helped Mrs. Bloomfield, the children, and me,
desiring me to cut up the children's meat; then, after twisting about the
mutton in various directions, and eyeing it from different points, he
pronounced it not fit to be eaten, and called for the cold beef.
'What is the matter with the mutton, my dear?' asked his mate.
'It is quite overdone.  Don't you taste, Mrs. Bloomfield, that all the
goodness is roasted out of it?  And can't you see that all that nice, red
gravy is completely dried away?'
'Well, I think the _beef_ will suit you.'
The beef was set before him, and he began to carve, but with the most
rueful expressions of discontent.
'What is the matter with the _beef_, Mr. Bloomfield?  I'm sure I thought
it was very nice.'
'And so it _was_ very nice.  A nicer joint could not be; but it is
_quite_ spoiled,' replied he, dolefully.
'How so?'
'How so!  Why, don't you see how it is cut?  Dear--dear! it is quite
shocking!'
'They must have cut it wrong in the kitchen, then, for I'm sure I carved
it quite properly here, yesterday.'
'No _doubt_ they cut it wrong in the kitchen--the savages!  Dear--dear!
Did ever any one see such a fine piece of beef so completely ruined?  But
remember that, in future, when a decent dish leaves this table, they
shall not _touch_ it in the kitchen.  Remember _that_, Mrs. Bloomfield!'
Notwithstanding the ruinous state of the beef, the gentleman managed to
cut himself some delicate slices, part of which he ate in silence.  When
he next spoke, it was, in a less querulous tone, to ask what there was
for dinner.
'Turkey and grouse,' was the concise reply.
'And what besides?'
'Fish.'
'What kind of fish?'
'I don't know.'
'_You don't know_?' cried he, looking solemnly up from his plate, and
suspending his knife and fork in astonishment.
'No.  I told the cook to get some fish--I did not particularize what.'
'Well, that beats everything!  A lady professes to keep house, and
doesn't even know what fish is for dinner! professes to order fish, and
doesn't specify what!'
'Perhaps, Mr. Bloomfield, you will order dinner yourself in future.'
Nothing more was said; and I was very glad to get out of the room with my
pupils; for I never felt so ashamed and uncomfortable in my life for
anything that was not my own fault.
In the afternoon we applied to lessons again: then went out again; then
had tea in the schoolroom; then I dressed Mary Ann for dessert; and when
she and her brother had gone down to the dining-room, I took the
opportunity of beginning a letter to my dear friends at home: but the
children came up before I had half completed it.  At seven I had to put
Mary Ann to bed; then I played with Tom till eight, when he, too, went;
and I finished my letter and unpacked my clothes, which I had hitherto
found no opportunity for doing, and, finally, went to bed myself.
But this is a very favourable specimen of a day's proceedings.
My task of instruction and surveillance, instead of becoming easier as my
charges and I got better accustomed to each other, became more arduous as
their characters unfolded.  The name of governess, I soon found, was a
mere mockery as applied to me: my pupils had no more notion of obedience
than a wild, unbroken colt.  The habitual fear of their father's peevish
temper, and the dread of the punishments he was wont to inflict when
irritated, kept them generally within bounds in his immediate presence.
The girls, too, had some fear of their mother's anger; and the boy might
occasionally be bribed to do as she bid him by the hope of reward; but I
had no rewards to offer; and as for punishments, I was given to
understand, the parents reserved that privilege to themselves; and yet
they expected me to keep my pupils in order.  Other children might be
guided by the fear of anger and the desire of approbation; but neither
the one nor the other had any effect upon these.
Master Tom, not content with refusing to be ruled, must needs set up as a
ruler, and manifested a determination to keep, not only his sisters, but
his governess in order, by violent manual and pedal applications; and, as
he was a tall, strong boy of his years, this occasioned no trifling
inconvenience.  A few sound boxes on the ear, on such occasions, might
have settled the matter easily enough: but as, in that case, he might
make up some story to his mother which she would be sure to believe, as
she had such unshaken faith in his veracity--though I had already
discovered it to be by no means unimpeachable--I determined to refrain
from striking him, even in self-defence; and, in his most violent moods,
my only resource was to throw him on his back and hold his hands and feet
till the frenzy was somewhat abated.  To the difficulty of preventing him
from doing what he ought not, was added that of forcing him to do what he
ought.  Often he would positively refuse to learn, or to repeat his
lessons, or even to look at his book.  Here, again, a good birch rod
might have been serviceable; but, as my powers were so limited, I must
make the best use of what I had.
As there were no settled hours for study and play, I resolved to give my
pupils a certain task, which, with moderate attention, they could perform
in a short time; and till this was done, however weary I was, or however
perverse they might be, nothing short of parental interference should
induce me to suffer them to leave the schoolroom, even if I should sit
with my chair against the door to keep them in.  Patience, Firmness, and
Perseverance were my only weapons; and these I resolved to use to the
utmost.  I determined always strictly to fulfil the threats and promises
I made; and, to that end, I must be cautious to threaten and promise
nothing that I could not perform.  Then, I would carefully refrain from
all useless irritability and indulgence of my own ill-temper: when they
behaved tolerably, I would be as kind and obliging as it was in my power
to be, in order to make the widest possible distinction between good and
bad conduct; I would reason with them, too, in the simplest and most
effective manner.  When I reproved them, or refused to gratify their
wishes, after a glaring fault, it should be more in sorrow than in anger:
their little hymns and prayers I would make plain and clear to their
understanding; when they said their prayers at night and asked pardon for
their offences, I would remind them of the sins of the past day,
solemnly, but in perfect kindness, to avoid raising a spirit of
opposition; penitential hymns should be said by the naughty, cheerful
ones by the comparatively good; and every kind of instruction I would
convey to them, as much as possible, by entertaining
discourse--apparently with no other object than their present amusement
in view.
By these means I hoped in time both to benefit the children and to gain
the approbation of their parents; and also to convince my friends at home
that I was not so wanting in skill and prudence as they supposed.  I knew
the difficulties I had to contend with were great; but I knew (at least I
believed) unremitting patience and perseverance could overcome them; and
night and morning I implored Divine assistance to this end.  But either
the children were so incorrigible, the parents so unreasonable, or myself
so mistaken in my views, or so unable to carry them out, that my best
intentions and most strenuous efforts seemed productive of no better
result than sport to the children, dissatisfaction to their parents, and
torment to myself.
The task of instruction was as arduous for the body as the mind.  I had
to run after my pupils to catch them, to carry or drag them to the table,
and often forcibly to hold them there till the lesson was done.  Tom I
frequently put into a corner, seating myself before him in a chair, with
a book which contained the little task that must be said or read, before
he was released, in my hand.  He was not strong enough to push both me
and the chair away, so he would stand twisting his body and face into the
most grotesque and singular contortions--laughable, no doubt, to an
unconcerned spectator, but not to me--and uttering loud yells and doleful
outcries, intended to represent weeping but wholly without the
accompaniment of tears.  I knew this was done solely for the purpose of
annoying me; and, therefore, however I might inwardly tremble with
impatience and irritation, I manfully strove to suppress all visible
signs of molestation, and affected to sit with calm indifference, waiting
till it should please him to cease this pastime, and prepare for a run in
the garden, by casting his eye on the book and reading or repeating the
few words he was required to say.  Sometimes he was determined to do his
writing badly; and I had to hold his hand to prevent him from purposely
blotting or disfiguring the paper.  Frequently I threatened that, if he
did not do better, he should have another line: then he would stubbornly
refuse to write this line; and I, to save my word, had finally to resort
to the expedient of holding his fingers upon the pen, and forcibly
drawing his hand up and down, till, in spite of his resistance, the line
was in some sort completed.
Yet Tom was by no means the most unmanageable of my pupils: sometimes, to
my great joy, he would have the sense to see that his wisest policy was
to finish his tasks, and go out and amuse himself till I and his sisters
came to join him; which frequently was not at all, for Mary Ann seldom
followed his example in this particular: she apparently preferred rolling
on the floor to any other amusement: down she would drop like a leaden
weight; and when I, with great difficulty, had succeeded in rooting her
thence, I had still to hold her up with one arm, while with the other I
held the book from which she was to read or spell her lesson.  As the
dead weight of the big girl of six became too heavy for one arm to bear,
I transferred it to the other; or, if both were weary of the burden, I
carried her into a corner, and told her she might come out when she
should find the use of her feet, and stand up: but she generally
preferred lying there like a log till dinner or tea-time, when, as I
could not deprive her of her meals, she must be liberated, and would come
crawling out with a grin of triumph on her round, red face.  Often she
would stubbornly refuse to pronounce some particular word in her lesson;
and now I regret the lost labour I have had in striving to conquer her
obstinacy.  If I had passed it over as a matter of no consequence, it
would have been better for both parties, than vainly striving to overcome
it as I did; but I thought it my absolute duty to crush this vicious
tendency in the bud: and so it was, if I could have done it; and had my
powers been less limited, I might have enforced obedience; but, as it
was, it was a trial of strength between her and me, in which she
generally came off victorious; and every victory served to encourage and
strengthen her for a future contest.  In vain I argued, coaxed,
entreated, threatened, scolded; in vain I kept her in from play, or, if
obliged to take her out, refused to play with her, or to speak kindly or
have anything to do with her; in vain I tried to set before her the
advantages of doing as she was bid, and being loved, and kindly treated
in consequence, and the disadvantages of persisting in her absurd
perversity.  Sometimes, when she would ask me to do something for her, I
would answer,--'Yes, I will, Mary Ann, if you will only say that word.
Come! you'd better say it at once, and have no more trouble about it.'
'No.'
'Then, of course, I can do nothing for you.'
With me, at her age, or under, neglect and disgrace were the most
dreadful of punishments; but on her they made no impression.  Sometimes,
exasperated to the utmost pitch, I would shake her violently by the
shoulder, or pull her long hair, or put her in the corner; for which she
punished me with loud, shrill, piercing screams, that went through my
head like a knife.  She knew I hated this, and when she had shrieked her
utmost, would look into my face with an air of vindictive satisfaction,
exclaiming,--'_Now_, then! _that's_ for you!' and then shriek again and
again, till I was forced to stop my ears.  Often these dreadful cries
would bring Mrs. Bloomfield up to inquire what was the matter?
'Mary Ann is a naughty girl, ma'am.'
'But what are these shocking screams?'
'She is screaming in a passion.'
'I never heard such a dreadful noise!  You might be killing her.  Why is
she not out with her brother?'
'I cannot get her to finish her lessons.'
'But Mary Ann must be a _good_ girl, and finish her lessons.'  This was
blandly spoken to the child.  'And I hope I shall _never_ hear such
terrible cries again!'
And fixing her cold, stony eyes upon me with a look that could not be
mistaken, she would shut the door, and walk away.  Sometimes I would try
to take the little obstinate creature by surprise, and casually ask her
the word while she was thinking of something else; frequently she would
begin to say it, and then suddenly check herself, with a provoking look
that seemed to say, 'Ah! I'm too sharp for you; you shan't trick it out
of me, either.'
On another occasion, I pretended to forget the whole affair; and talked
and played with her as usual, till night, when I put her to bed; then
bending over her, while she lay all smiles and good humour, just before
departing, I said, as cheerfully and kindly as before--'Now, Mary Ann,
just tell me that word before I kiss you good-night.  You are a good girl
now, and, of course, you will say it.'
'No, I won't.'
'Then I can't kiss you.'
'Well, I don't care.'
In vain I expressed my sorrow; in vain I lingered for some symptom of
contrition; she really 'didn't care,' and I left her alone, and in
darkness, wondering most of all at this last proof of insensate
stubbornness.  In _my_ childhood I could not imagine a more afflictive
punishment than for my mother to refuse to kiss me at night: the very
idea was terrible.  More than the idea I never felt, for, happily, I
never committed a fault that was deemed worthy of such penalty; but once
I remember, for some transgression of my sister's, our mother thought
proper to inflict it upon her: what _she_ felt, I cannot tell; but my
sympathetic tears and suffering for her sake I shall not soon forget.
Another troublesome trait in Mary Ann was her incorrigible propensity to
keep running into the nursery, to play with her little sisters and the
nurse.  This was natural enough, but, as it was against her mother's
express desire, I, of course, forbade her to do so, and did my utmost to
keep her with me; but that only increased her relish for the nursery, and
the more I strove to keep her out of it, the oftener she went, and the
longer she stayed, to the great dissatisfaction of Mrs. Bloomfield, who,
I well knew, would impute all the blame of the matter to me.  Another of
my trials was the dressing in the morning: at one time she would not be
washed; at another she would not be dressed, unless she might wear some
particular frock, that I knew her mother would not like her to have; at
another she would scream and run away if I attempted to touch her hair.
So that, frequently, when, after much trouble and toil, I had, at length,
succeeded in bringing her down, the breakfast was nearly half over; and
black looks from 'mamma,' and testy observations from 'papa,' spoken at
me, if not to me, were sure to be my meed: for few things irritated the
latter so much as want of punctuality at meal times.  Then, among the
minor annoyances, was my inability to satisfy Mrs. Bloomfield with her
daughter's dress; and the child's hair 'was never fit to be seen.'
Sometimes, as a powerful reproach to me, she would perform the office of
tire woman herself, and then complain bitterly of the trouble it gave
her.
When little Fanny came into the schoolroom, I hoped she would be mild and
inoffensive, at least; but a few days, if not a few hours, sufficed to
destroy the illusion: I found her a mischievous, intractable little
creature, given up to falsehood and deception, young as she was, and
alarmingly fond of exercising her two favourite weapons of offence and
defence: that of spitting in the faces of those who incurred her
displeasure, and bellowing like a bull when her unreasonable desires were
not gratified.  As she, generally, was pretty quiet in her parents'
presence, and they were impressed with the notion of her being a
remarkably gentle child, her falsehoods were readily believed, and her
loud uproars led them to suspect harsh and injudicious treatment on my
part; and when, at length, her bad disposition became manifest even to
their prejudiced eyes, I felt that the whole was attributed to me.
'What a naughty girl Fanny is getting!' Mrs. Bloomfield would say to her
spouse.  'Don't you observe, my dear, how she is altered since she
entered the schoolroom?  She will soon be as bad as the other two; and, I
am sorry to say, they have quite deteriorated of late.'
'You may say that,' was the answer.  'I've been thinking that same
myself.  I thought when we got them a governess they'd improve; but,
instead of that, they get worse and worse: I don't know how it is with
their learning, but their habits, I know, make no sort of improvement;
they get rougher, and dirtier, and more unseemly every day.'
I knew this was all pointed at me; and these, and all similar innuendoes,
affected me far more deeply than any open accusations would have done;
for against the latter I should have been roused to speak in my own
defence: now I judged it my wisest plan to subdue every resentful
impulse, suppress every sensitive shrinking, and go on perseveringly,
doing my best; for, irksome as my situation was, I earnestly wished to
retain it.  I thought, if I could struggle on with unremitting firmness
and integrity, the children would in time become more humanized: every
month would contribute to make them some little wiser, and, consequently,
more manageable; for a child of nine or ten as frantic and ungovernable
as these at six and seven would be a maniac.
I flattered myself I was benefiting my parents and sister by my
continuance here; for small as the salary was, I still was earning
something, and with strict economy I could easily manage to have
something to spare for them, if they would favour me by taking it.  Then
it was by my own will that I had got the place: I had brought all this
tribulation on myself, and I was determined to bear it; nay, more than
that, I did not even regret the step I had taken.  I longed to show my
friends that, even now, I was competent to undertake the charge, and able
to acquit myself honourably to the end; and if ever I felt it degrading
to submit so quietly, or intolerable to toil so constantly, I would turn
towards my home, and say within myself--
They may crush, but they shall not subdue me!
'Tis of thee that I think, not of them.
About Christmas I was allowed to visit home; but my holiday was only of a
fortnight's duration: 'For,' said Mrs. Bloomfield, 'I thought, as you had
seen your friends so lately, you would not care for a longer stay.'  I
left her to think so still: but she little knew how long, how wearisome
those fourteen weeks of absence had been to me; how intensely I had
longed for my holidays, how greatly I was disappointed at their
curtailment.  Yet she was not to blame in this.  I had never told her my
feelings, and she could not be expected to divine them; I had not been
with her a full term, and she was justified in not allowing me a full
vacation.
CHAPTER IV--THE GRANDMAMMA
I spare my readers the account of my delight on coming home, my happiness
while there--enjoying a brief space of rest and liberty in that dear,
familiar place, among the loving and the loved--and my sorrow on being
obliged to bid them, once more, a long adieu.
I returned, however, with unabated vigour to my work--a more arduous task
than anyone can imagine, who has not felt something like the misery of
being charged with the care and direction of a set of mischievous,
turbulent rebels, whom his utmost exertions cannot bind to their duty;
while, at the same time, he is responsible for their conduct to a higher
power, who exacts from him what cannot be achieved without the aid of the
superior's more potent authority; which, either from indolence, or the
fear of becoming unpopular with the said rebellious gang, the latter
refuses to give.  I can conceive few situations more harassing than that
wherein, however you may long for success, however you may labour to
fulfil your duty, your efforts are baffled and set at nought by those
beneath you, and unjustly censured and misjudged by those above.
I have not enumerated half the vexatious propensities of my pupils, or
half the troubles resulting from my heavy responsibilities, for fear of
trespassing too much upon the reader's patience; as, perhaps, I have
already done; but my design in writing the few last pages was not to
amuse, but to benefit those whom it might concern; he that has no
interest in such matters will doubtless have skipped them over with a
cursory glance, and, perhaps, a malediction against the prolixity of the
writer; but if a parent has, therefrom, gathered any useful hint, or an
unfortunate governess received thereby the slightest benefit, I am well
rewarded for my pains.
To avoid trouble and confusion, I have taken my pupils one by one, and
discussed their various qualities; but this can give no adequate idea of
being worried by the whole three together; when, as was often the case,
all were determined to 'be naughty, and to tease Miss Grey, and put her
in a passion.'
Sometimes, on such occasions, the thought has suddenly occurred to
me--'If they could see me now!' meaning, of course, my friends at home;
and the idea of how they would pity me has made me pity myself--so
greatly that I have had the utmost difficulty to restrain my tears: but I
have restrained them, till my little tormentors were gone to dessert, or
cleared off to bed (my only prospects of deliverance), and then, in all
the bliss of solitude, I have given myself up to the luxury of an
unrestricted burst of weeping.  But this was a weakness I did not often
indulge: my employments were too numerous, my leisure moments too
precious, to admit of much time being given to fruitless lamentations.
I particularly remember one wild, snowy afternoon, soon after my return
in January: the children had all come up from dinner, loudly declaring
that they meant 'to be naughty;' and they had well kept their resolution,
though I had talked myself hoarse, and wearied every muscle in my throat,
in the vain attempt to reason them out of it.  I had got Tom pinned up in
a corner, whence, I told him, he should not escape till he had done his
appointed task.  Meantime, Fanny had possessed herself of my work-bag,
and was rifling its contents--and spitting into it besides.  I told her
to let it alone, but to no purpose, of course.  'Burn it, Fanny!' cried
Tom: and _this_ command she hastened to obey.  I sprang to snatch it from
the fire, and Tom darted to the door.  'Mary Ann, throw her desk out of
the window!' cried he: and my precious desk, containing my letters and
papers, my small amount of cash, and all my valuables, was about to be
precipitated from the three-storey window.  I flew to rescue it.
Meanwhile Tom had left the room, and was rushing down the stairs,
followed by Fanny.  Having secured my desk, I ran to catch them, and Mary
Ann came scampering after.  All three escaped me, and ran out of the
house into the garden, where they plunged about in the snow, shouting and
screaming in exultant glee.
What must I do?  If I followed them, I should probably be unable to
capture one, and only drive them farther away; if I did not, how was I to
get them in?  And what would their parents think of me, if they saw or
heard the children rioting, hatless, bonnetless, gloveless, and bootless,
in the deep soft snow?  While I stood in this perplexity, just without
the door, trying, by grim looks and angry words, to awe them into
subjection, I heard a voice behind me, in harshly piercing tones,
exclaiming,--
'Miss Grey!  Is it possible?  What, in the devil's name, can you be
thinking about?'
'I can't get them in, sir,' said I, turning round, and beholding Mr.
Bloomfield, with his hair on end, and his pale blue eyes bolting from
their sockets.
'But I INSIST upon their being got in!' cried he, approaching nearer, and
looking perfectly ferocious.
'Then, sir, you must call them yourself, if you please, for they won't
listen to me,' I replied, stepping back.
'Come in with you, you filthy brats; or I'll horsewhip you every one!'
roared he; and the children instantly obeyed.  'There, you see!--they
come at the first word!'
'Yes, when _you_ speak.'
'And it's very strange, that when you've the care of 'em you've no better
control over 'em than that!--Now, there they are--gone upstairs with
their nasty snowy feet!  Do go after 'em and see them made decent, for
heaven's sake!'
That gentleman's mother was then staying in the house; and, as I ascended
the stairs and passed the drawing-room door, I had the satisfaction of
hearing the old lady declaiming aloud to her daughter-in-law to this
effect (for I could only distinguish the most emphatic words)--
'Gracious heavens!--never in all my life--!--get their death as sure
as--!  Do you think, my dear, she's a _proper person_?  Take my word for
it--'
I heard no more; but that sufficed.
The senior Mrs. Bloomfield had been very attentive and civil to me; and
till now I had thought her a nice, kind-hearted, chatty old body.  She
would often come to me and talk in a confidential strain; nodding and
shaking her head, and gesticulating with hands and eyes, as a certain
class of old ladies are won't to do; though I never knew one that carried
the peculiarity to so great an extent.  She would even sympathise with me
for the trouble I had with the children, and express at times, by half
sentences, interspersed with nods and knowing winks, her sense of the
injudicious conduct of their mamma in so restricting my power, and
neglecting to support me with her authority.  Such a mode of testifying
disapprobation was not much to my taste; and I generally refused to take
it in, or understand anything more than was openly spoken; at least, I
never went farther than an implied acknowledgment that, if matters were
otherwise ordered my task would be a less difficult one, and I should be
better able to guide and instruct my charge; but now I must be doubly
cautious.  Hitherto, though I saw the old lady had her defects (of which
one was a proneness to proclaim her perfections), I had always been
wishful to excuse them, and to give her credit for all the virtues she
professed, and even imagine others yet untold.  Kindness, which had been
the food of my life through so many years, had lately been so entirely
denied me, that I welcomed with grateful joy the slightest semblance of
it.  No wonder, then, that my heart warmed to the old lady, and always
gladdened at her approach and regretted her departure.
But now, the few words luckily or unluckily heard in passing had wholly
revolutionized my ideas respecting her: now I looked upon her as
hypocritical and insincere, a flatterer, and a spy upon my words and
deeds.  Doubtless it would have been my interest still to meet her with
the same cheerful smile and tone of respectful cordiality as before; but
I could not, if I would: my manner altered with my feelings, and became
so cold and shy that she could not fail to notice it.  She soon did
notice it, and _her_ manner altered too: the familiar nod was changed to
a stiff bow, the gracious smile gave place to a glare of Gorgon ferocity;
her vivacious loquacity was entirely transferred from me to 'the darling
boy and girls,' whom she flattered and indulged more absurdly than ever
their mother had done.
I confess I was somewhat troubled at this change: I feared the
consequences of her displeasure, and even made some efforts to recover
the ground I had lost--and with better apparent success than I could have
anticipated.  At one time, I, merely in common civility, asked after her
cough; immediately her long visage relaxed into a smile, and she favoured
me with a particular history of that and her other infirmities, followed
by an account of her pious resignation, delivered in the usual emphatic,
declamatory style, which no writing can portray.
'But there's one remedy for all, my dear, and that's resignation' (a toss
of the head), 'resignation to the will of heaven!' (an uplifting of the
hands and eyes).  'It has always supported me through all my trials, and
always will do' (a succession of nods).  'But then, it isn't everybody
that can say that' (a shake of the head); 'but I'm one of the pious ones,
Miss Grey!' (a very significant nod and toss).  'And, thank heaven, I
always was' (another nod), 'and I glory in it!' (an emphatic clasping of
the hands and shaking of the head).  And with several texts of Scripture,
misquoted or misapplied, and religious exclamations so redolent of the
ludicrous in the style of delivery and manner of bringing in, if not in
the expressions themselves, that I decline repeating them, she withdrew;
tossing her large head in high good-humour--with herself at least--and
left me hoping that, after all, she was rather weak than wicked.
At her next visit to Wellwood House, I went so far as to say I was glad
to see her looking so well.  The effect of this was magical: the words,
intended as a mark of civility, were received as a flattering compliment;
her countenance brightened up, and from that moment she became as
gracious and benign as heart could wish--in outward semblance at least.
From what I now saw of her, and what I heard from the children, I know
that, in order to gain her cordial friendship, I had but to utter a word
of flattery at each convenient opportunity: but this was against my
principles; and for lack of this, the capricious old dame soon deprived
me of her favour again, and I believe did me much secret injury.
She could not greatly influence her daughter-in-law against me, because,
between that lady and herself there was a mutual dislike--chiefly shown
by her in secret detractions and calumniations; by the other, in an
excess of frigid formality in her demeanour; and no fawning flattery of
the elder could thaw away the wall of ice which the younger interposed
between them.  But with her son, the old lady had better success: he
would listen to all she had to say, provided she could soothe his fretful
temper, and refrain from irritating him by her own asperities; and I have
reason to believe that she considerably strengthened his prejudice
against me.  She would tell him that I shamefully neglected the children,
and even his wife did not attend to them as she ought; and that he must
look after them himself, or they would all go to ruin.
Thus urged, he would frequently give himself the trouble of watching them
from the windows during their play; at times, he would follow them
through the grounds, and too often came suddenly upon them while they
were dabbling in the forbidden well, talking to the coachman in the
stables, or revelling in the filth of the farm-yard--and I, meanwhile,
wearily standing, by, having previously exhausted my energy in vain
attempts to get them away.  Often, too, he would unexpectedly pop his
head into the schoolroom while the young people were at meals, and find
them spilling their milk over the table and themselves, plunging their
fingers into their own or each other's mugs, or quarrelling over their
victuals like a set of tiger's cubs.  If I were quiet at the moment, I
was conniving at their disorderly conduct; if (as was frequently the
case) I happened to be exalting my voice to enforce order, I was using
undue violence, and setting the girls a bad example by such ungentleness
of tone and language.
I remember one afternoon in spring, when, owing to the rain, they could
not go out; but, by some amazing good fortune, they had all finished
their lessons, and yet abstained from running down to tease their
parents--a trick that annoyed me greatly, but which, on rainy days, I
seldom could prevent their doing; because, below, they found novelty and
amusement--especially when visitors were in the house; and their mother,
though she bid me keep them in the schoolroom, would never chide them for
leaving it, or trouble herself to send them back.  But this day they
appeared satisfied with, their present abode, and what is more wonderful
still, seemed disposed to play together without depending on me for
amusement, and without quarrelling with each other.  Their occupation was
a somewhat puzzling one: they were all squatted together on the floor by
the window, over a heap of broken toys and a quantity of birds' eggs--or
rather egg-shells, for the contents had luckily been abstracted.  These
shells they had broken up and were pounding into small fragments, to what
end I could not imagine; but so long as they were quiet and not in
positive mischief, I did not care; and, with a feeling of unusual repose,
I sat by the fire, putting the finishing stitches to a frock for Mary
Ann's doll; intending, when that was done, to begin a letter to my
mother.  Suddenly the door opened, and the dingy head of Mr. Bloomfield
looked in.
'All very quiet here!  What are you doing?' said he.  'No harm _to-day_,
at least,' thought I.  But he was of a different opinion.  Advancing to
the window, and seeing the children's occupations, he testily
exclaimed--'What in the world are you about?'
'We're grinding egg-shells, papa!' cried Tom.
'How _dare_ you make such a mess, you little devils?  Don't you see what
confounded work you're making of the carpet?' (the carpet was a plain
brown drugget).  'Miss Grey, did you know what they were doing?'
'Yes, sir.'
'You knew it?'
'Yes.'
'You knew it! and you actually sat there and permitted them to go on
without a word of reproof!'
'I didn't think they were doing any harm.'
'Any harm!  Why, look there!  Just look at that carpet, and see--was
there ever anything like it in a Christian house before?  No wonder your
room is not fit for a pigsty--no wonder your pupils are worse than a
litter of pigs!--no wonder--oh! I declare, it puts me quite past my
patience' and he departed, shutting the door after him with a bang that
made the children laugh.
'It puts me quite past my patience too!' muttered I, getting up; and,
seizing the poker, I dashed it repeatedly into the cinders, and stirred
them up with unwonted energy; thus easing my irritation under pretence of
mending the fire.
After this, Mr. Bloomfield was continually looking in to see if the
schoolroom was in order; and, as the children were continually littering
the floor with fragments of toys, sticks, stones, stubble, leaves, and
other rubbish, which I could not prevent their bringing, or oblige them
to gather up, and which the servants refused to 'clean after them,' I had
to spend a considerable portion of my valuable leisure moments on my
knees upon the floor, in painsfully reducing things to order.  Once I
told them that they should not taste their supper till they had picked up
everything from the carpet; Fanny might have hers when she had taken up a
certain quantity, Mary Ann when she had gathered twice as many, and Tom
was to clear away the rest.  Wonderful to state, the girls did their
part; but Tom was in such a fury that he flew upon the table, scattered
the bread and milk about the floor, struck his sisters, kicked the coals
out of the coal-pan, attempted to overthrow the table and chairs, and
seemed inclined to make a Douglas-larder of the whole contents of the
room: but I seized upon him, and, sending Mary Ann to call her mamma,
held him, in spite of kicks, blows, yells, and execrations, till Mrs.
Bloomfield made her appearance.
'What is the matter with my boy?' said she.
And when the matter was explained to her, all she did was to send for the
nursery-maid to put the room in order, and bring Master Bloomfield his
supper.
'There now,' cried Tom, triumphantly, looking up from his viands with his
mouth almost too full for speech.  'There now, Miss Grey! you see I've
got my supper in spite of you: and I haven't picked up a single thing!'
The only person in the house who had any real sympathy for me was the
nurse; for she had suffered like afflictions, though in a smaller degree;
as she had not the task of teaching, nor was she so responsible for the
conduct of her charge.
'Oh, Miss Grey!' she would say, 'you have some trouble with them
childer!'
'I have, indeed, Betty; and I daresay you know what it is.'
'Ay, I do so!  But I don't vex myself o'er 'em as you do.  And then, you
see, I hit 'em a slap sometimes: and them little 'uns--I gives 'em a good
whipping now and then: there's nothing else will do for 'em, as what they
say.  Howsoever, I've lost my place for it.'
'Have you, Betty?  I heard you were going to leave.'
'Eh, bless you, yes!  Missis gave me warning a three wik sin'.  She told
me afore Christmas how it mud be, if I hit 'em again; but I couldn't hold
my hand off 'em at nothing.  I know not how _you_ do, for Miss Mary Ann's
worse by the half nor her sisters!'
CHAPTER V--THE UNCLE
Besides the old lady, there was another relative of the family, whose
visits were a great annoyance to me--this was 'Uncle Robson,' Mrs.
Bloomfield's brother; a tall, self-sufficient fellow, with dark hair and
sallow complexion like his sister, a nose that seemed to disdain the
earth, and little grey eyes, frequently half-closed, with a mixture of
real stupidity and affected contempt of all surrounding objects.  He was
a thick-set, strongly-built man, but he had found some means of
compressing his waist into a remarkably small compass; and that, together
with the unnatural stillness of his form, showed that the lofty-minded,
manly Mr. Robson, the scorner of the female sex, was not above the
foppery of stays.  He seldom deigned to notice me; and, when he did, it
was with a certain supercilious insolence of tone and manner that
convinced me he was no gentleman: though it was intended to have a
contrary effect.  But it was not for that I disliked his coming, so much
as for the harm he did the children--encouraging all their evil
propensities, and undoing in a few minutes the little good it had taken
me months of labour to achieve.
Fanny and little Harriet he seldom condescended to notice; but Mary Ann
was something of a favourite.  He was continually encouraging her
tendency to affectation (which I had done my utmost to crush), talking
about her pretty face, and filling her head with all manner of conceited
notions concerning her personal appearance (which I had instructed her to
regard as dust in the balance compared with the cultivation of her mind
and manners); and I never saw a child so susceptible of flattery as she
was.  Whatever was wrong, in either her or her brother, he would
encourage by laughing at, if not by actually praising: people little know
the injury they do to children by laughing at their faults, and making a
pleasant jest of what their true friends have endeavoured to teach them
to hold in grave abhorrence.
Though not a positive drunkard, Mr. Robson habitually swallowed great
quantities of wine, and took with relish an occasional glass of brandy
and water.  He taught his nephew to imitate him in this to the utmost of
his ability, and to believe that the more wine and spirits he could take,
and the better he liked them, the more he manifested his bold, and manly
spirit, and rose superior to his sisters.  Mr. Bloomfield had not much to
say against it, for his favourite beverage was gin and water; of which he
took a considerable portion every day, by dint of constant sipping--and
to that I chiefly attributed his dingy complexion and waspish temper.
Mr. Robson likewise encouraged Tom's propensity to persecute the lower
creation, both by precept and example.  As he frequently came to course
or shoot over his brother-in-law's grounds, he would bring his favourite
dogs with him; and he treated them so brutally that, poor as I was, I
would have given a sovereign any day to see one of them bite him,
provided the animal could have done it with impunity.  Sometimes, when in
a very complacent mood, he would go a-birds'-nesting with the children, a
thing that irritated and annoyed me exceedingly; as, by frequent and
persevering attempts, I flattered myself I had partly shown them the evil
of this pastime, and hoped, in time, to bring them to some general sense
of justice and humanity; but ten minutes' birds'-nesting with uncle
Robson, or even a laugh from him at some relation of their former
barbarities, was sufficient at once to destroy the effect of my whole
elaborate course of reasoning and persuasion.  Happily, however, during
that spring, they never, but once, got anything but empty nests, or
eggs--being too impatient to leave them till the birds were hatched; that
once, Tom, who had been with his uncle into the neighbouring plantation,
came running in high glee into the garden, with a brood of little callow
nestlings in his hands.  Mary Ann and Fanny, whom I was just bringing
out, ran to admire his spoils, and to beg each a bird for themselves.
'No, not one!' cried Tom.  'They're all mine; uncle Robson gave them to
me--one, two, three, four, five--you shan't touch one of them! no, not
one, for your lives!' continued he, exultingly; laying the nest on the
ground, and standing over it with his legs wide apart, his hands thrust
into his breeches-pockets, his body bent forward, and his face twisted
into all manner of contortions in the ecstasy of his delight.
'But you shall see me fettle 'em off.  My word, but I _will_ wallop 'em?
See if I don't now.  By gum! but there's rare sport for me in that nest.'
'But, Tom,' said I, 'I shall not allow you to torture those birds.  They
must either be killed at once or carried back to the place you took them
from, that the old birds may continue to feed them.'
'But you don't know where that is, Madam: it's only me and uncle Robson
that knows that.'
'But if you don't tell me, I shall kill them myself--much as I hate it.'
'You daren't.  You daren't touch them for your life! because you know
papa and mamma, and uncle Robson, would be angry.  Ha, ha! I've caught
you there, Miss!'
'I shall do what I think right in a case of this sort without consulting
any one.  If your papa and mamma don't happen to approve of it, I shall
be sorry to offend them; but your uncle Robson's opinions, of course, are
nothing to me.'
So saying--urged by a sense of duty--at the risk of both making myself
sick and incurring the wrath of my employers--I got a large flat stone,
that had been reared up for a mouse-trap by the gardener; then, having
once more vainly endeavoured to persuade the little tyrant to let the
birds be carried back, I asked what he intended to do with them.  With
fiendish glee he commenced a list of torments; and while he was busied in
the relation, I dropped the stone upon his intended victims and crushed
them flat beneath it.  Loud were the outcries, terrible the execrations,
consequent upon this daring outrage; uncle Robson had been coming up the
walk with his gun, and was just then pausing to kick his dog.  Tom flew
towards him, vowing he would make him kick me instead of Juno.  Mr.
Robson leant upon his gun, and laughed excessively at the violence of his
nephew's passion, and the bitter maledictions and opprobrious epithets he
heaped upon me.  'Well, you _are_ a good 'un!' exclaimed he, at length,
taking up his weapon and proceeding towards the house.  'Damme, but the
lad has some spunk in him, too.  Curse me, if ever I saw a nobler little
scoundrel than that.  He's beyond petticoat government already: by God!
he defies mother, granny, governess, and all!  Ha, ha, ha!  Never mind,
Tom, I'll get you another brood to-morrow.'
'If you do, Mr. Robson, I shall kill them too,' said I.
'Humph!' replied he, and having honoured me with a broad stare--which,
contrary to his expectations, I sustained without flinching--he turned
away with an air of supreme contempt, and stalked into the house.  Tom
next went to tell his mamma.  It was not her way to say much on any
subject; but, when she next saw me, her aspect and demeanour were doubly
dark and chilled.  After some casual remark about the weather, she
observed--'I am sorry, Miss Grey, you should think it necessary to
interfere with Master Bloomfield's amusements; he was very much
distressed about your destroying the birds.'
'When Master Bloomfield's amusements consist in injuring sentient
creatures,' I answered, 'I think it my duty to interfere.'
'You seemed to have forgotten,' said she, calmly, 'that the creatures
were all created for our convenience.'
I thought that doctrine admitted some doubt, but merely replied--'If they
were, we have no right to torment them for our amusement.'
'I think,' said she, 'a child's amusement is scarcely to be weighed
against the welfare of a soulless brute.'
'But, for the child's own sake, it ought not to be encouraged to have
such amusements,' answered I, as meekly as I could, to make up for such
unusual pertinacity.  '"Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain
mercy."'
'Oh! of course; but that refers to our conduct towards each other.'
'"The merciful man shows mercy to his beast,"' I ventured to add.
'I think _you_ have not shown much mercy,' replied she, with a short,
bitter laugh; 'killing the poor birds by wholesale in that shocking
manner, and putting the dear boy to such misery for a mere whim.'
I judged it prudent to say no more.  This was the nearest approach to a
quarrel I ever had with Mrs. Bloomfield; as well as the greatest number
of words I ever exchanged with her at one time, since the day of my first
arrival.
But Mr. Robson and old Mrs. Bloomfield were not the only guests whose
coming to Wellwood House annoyed me; every visitor disturbed me more or
less; not so much because they neglected me (though I did feel their
conduct strange and disagreeable in that respect), as because I found it
impossible to keep my pupils away from them, as I was repeatedly desired
to do: Tom must talk to them, and Mary Ann must be noticed by them.
Neither the one nor the other knew what it was to feel any degree of
shamefacedness, or even common modesty.  They would indecently and
clamorously interrupt the conversation of their elders, tease them with
the most impertinent questions, roughly collar the gentlemen, climb their
knees uninvited, hang about their shoulders or rifle their pockets, pull
the ladies' gowns, disorder their hair, tumble their collars, and
importunately beg for their trinkets.
Mrs. Bloomfield had the sense to be shocked and annoyed at all this, but
she had not sense to prevent it: she expected me to prevent it.  But how
could I--when the guests, with their fine clothes and new faces,
continually flattered and indulged them, out of complaisance to their
parents--how could I, with my homely garments, every-day face, and honest
words, draw them away?  I strained every nerve to do so: by striving to
amuse them, I endeavoured to attract them to my side; by the exertion of
such authority as I possessed, and by such severity as I dared to use, I
tried to deter them from tormenting the guests; and by reproaching their
unmannerly conduct, to make them ashamed to repeat it.  But they knew no
shame; they scorned authority which had no terrors to back it; and as for
kindness and affection, either they had no hearts, or such as they had
were so strongly guarded, and so well concealed, that I, with all my
efforts, had not yet discovered how to reach them.
But soon my trials in this quarter came to a close--sooner than I either
expected or desired; for one sweet evening towards the close of May, as I
was rejoicing in the near approach of the holidays, and congratulating
myself upon having made some progress with my pupils (as far as their
learning went, at least, for I _had_ instilled _something_ into their
heads, and I had, at length, brought them to be a little--a very
little--more rational about getting their lessons done in time to leave
some space for recreation, instead of tormenting themselves and me all
day long to no purpose), Mrs. Bloomfield sent for me, and calmly told me
that after Midsummer my services would be no longer required.  She
assured me that my character and general conduct were unexceptionable;
but the children had made so little improvement since my arrival that Mr.
Bloomfield and she felt it their duty to seek some other mode of
instruction.  Though superior to most children of their years in
abilities, they were decidedly behind them in attainments; their manners
were uncultivated, and their tempers unruly.  And this she attributed to
a want of sufficient firmness, and diligent, persevering care on my part.
Unshaken firmness, devoted diligence, unwearied perseverance, unceasing
care, were the very qualifications on which I had secretly prided myself;
and by which I had hoped in time to overcome all difficulties, and obtain
success at last.  I wished to say something in my own justification; but
in attempting to speak, I felt my voice falter; and rather than testify
any emotion, or suffer the tears to overflow that were already gathering
in my eyes, I chose to keep silence, and bear all like a self-convicted
culprit.
Thus was I dismissed, and thus I sought my home.  Alas! what would they
think of me? unable, after all my boasting, to keep my place, even for a
single year, as governess to three small children, whose mother was
asserted by my own aunt to be a 'very nice woman.'  Having been thus
weighed in the balance and found wanting, I need not hope they would be
willing to try me again.  And this was an unwelcome thought; for vexed,
harassed, disappointed as I had been, and greatly as I had learned to
love and value my home, I was not yet weary of adventure, nor willing to
relax my efforts.  I knew that all parents were not like Mr. and Mrs.
Bloomfield, and I was certain all children were not like theirs.  The
next family must be different, and any change must be for the better.  I
had been seasoned by adversity, and tutored by experience, and I longed
to redeem my lost honour in the eyes of those whose opinion was more than
that of all the world to me.
CHAPTER VI--THE PARSONAGE AGAIN
For a few months I remained peaceably at home, in the quiet enjoyment of
liberty and rest, and genuine friendship, from all of which I had fasted
so long; and in the earnest prosecution of my studies, to recover what I
had lost during my stay at Wellwood House, and to lay in new stores for
future use.  My father's health was still very infirm, but not materially
worse than when I last saw him; and I was glad I had it in my power to
cheer him by my return, and to amuse him with singing his favourite
songs.
No one triumphed over my failure, or said I had better have taken his or
her advice, and quietly stayed at home.  All were glad to have me back
again, and lavished more kindness than ever upon me, to make up for the
sufferings I had undergone; but not one would touch a shilling of what I
had so cheerfully earned and so carefully saved, in the hope of sharing
it with them.  By dint of pinching here, and scraping there, our debts
were already nearly paid.  Mary had had good success with her drawings;
but our father had insisted upon _her_ likewise keeping all the produce
of her industry to herself.  All we could spare from the supply of our
humble wardrobe and our little casual expenses, he directed us to put
into the savings'-bank; saying, we knew not how soon we might be
dependent on that alone for support: for he felt he had not long to be
with us, and what would become of our mother and us when he was gone, God
only knew!
Dear papa! if he had troubled himself less about the afflictions that
threatened us in case of his death, I am convinced that dreaded event
would not have taken place so soon.  My mother would never suffer him to
ponder on the subject if she could help it.
'Oh, Richard!' exclaimed she, on one occasion, 'if you would but dismiss
such gloomy subjects from your mind, you would live as long as any of us;
at least you would live to see the girls married, and yourself a happy
grandfather, with a canty old dame for your companion.'
My mother laughed, and so did my father: but his laugh soon perished in a
dreary sigh.
'_They_ married--poor penniless things!' said he; 'who will take them I
wonder!'
'Why, nobody shall that isn't thankful for them.  Wasn't I penniless when
you took me? and you _pretended_, at least, to be vastly pleased with
your acquisition.  But it's no matter whether they get married or not: we
can devise a thousand honest ways of making a livelihood.  And I wonder,
Richard, you can think of bothering your head about our _poverty_ in case
of your death; as if _that_ would be anything compared with the calamity
of losing you--an affliction that you well know would swallow up all
others, and which you ought to do your utmost to preserve us from: and
there is nothing like a cheerful mind for keeping the body in health.'
'I know, Alice, it is wrong to keep repining as I do, but I cannot help
it: you must bear with me.'
'I _won't_ bear with you, if I can alter you,' replied my mother: but the
harshness of her words was undone by the earnest affection of her tone
and pleasant smile, that made my father smile again, less sadly and less
transiently than was his wont.
'Mamma,' said I, as soon as I could find an opportunity of speaking with
her alone, 'my money is but little, and cannot last long; if I could
increase it, it would lessen papa's anxiety, on one subject at least.  I
cannot draw like Mary, and so the best thing I could do would be to look
out for another situation.'
'And so you would actually try again, Agnes?'
'Decidedly, I would.'
'Why, my dear, I should have thought you had had enough of it.'
'I know,' said I, 'everybody is not like Mr. and Mrs. Bloomfield--'
'Some are worse,' interrupted my mother.
'But not many, I think,' replied I, 'and I'm sure all children are not
like theirs; for I and Mary were not: we always did as you bid us, didn't
we?'
'Generally: but then, I did not spoil you; and you were not perfect
angels after all: Mary had a fund of quiet obstinacy, and you were
somewhat faulty in regard to temper; but you were very good children on
the whole.'
'I know I was sulky sometimes, and I should have been glad to see these
children sulky sometimes too; for then I could have understood them: but
they never were, for they _could_ not be offended, nor hurt, nor ashamed:
they could not be unhappy in any way, except when they were in a
passion.'
'Well, if they _could_ not, it was not their fault: you cannot expect
stone to be as pliable as clay.'
'No, but still it is very unpleasant to live with such unimpressible,
incomprehensible creatures.  You cannot love them; and if you could, your
love would be utterly thrown away: they could neither return it, nor
value, nor understand it.  But, however, even if I should stumble on such
a family again, which is quite unlikely, I have all this experience to
begin with, and I should manage better another time; and the end and aim
of this preamble is, let me try again.'
'Well, my girl, you are not easily discouraged, I see: I am glad of that.
But, let me tell you, you are a good deal paler and thinner than when you
first left home; and we cannot have you undermining your health to hoard
up money either for yourself or others.'
'Mary tells me I am changed too; and I don't much wonder at it, for I was
in a constant state of agitation and anxiety all day long: but next time
I am determined to take things coolly.'
After some further discussion, my mother promised once more to assist me,
provided I would wait and be patient; and I left her to broach the matter
to my father, when and how she deemed it most advisable: never doubting
her ability to obtain his consent.  Meantime, I searched, with great
interest, the advertising columns of the newspapers, and wrote answers to
every 'Wanted a Governess' that appeared at all eligible; but all my
letters, as well as the replies, when I got any, were dutifully shown to
my mother; and she, to my chagrin, made me reject the situations one
after another: these were low people, these were too exacting in their
demands, and these too niggardly in their remuneration.
'Your talents are not such as every poor clergyman's daughter possesses,
Agnes,' she would say, 'and you must not throw them away.  Remember, you
promised to be patient: there is no need of hurry: you have plenty of
time before you, and may have many chances yet.'
At length, she advised me to put an advertisement, myself, in the paper,
stating my qualifications, &c.
'Music, singing, drawing, French, Latin, and German,' said she, 'are no
mean assemblage: many will be glad to have so much in one instructor; and
this time, you shall try your fortune in a somewhat higher family in that
of some genuine, thoroughbred gentleman; for such are far more likely to
treat you with proper respect and consideration than those purse-proud
tradespeople and arrogant upstarts.  I have known several among the
higher ranks who treated their governesses quite as one of the family;
though some, I allow, are as insolent and exacting as any one else can
be: for there are bad and good in all classes.'
The advertisement was quickly written and despatched.  Of the two parties
who answered it, but one would consent to give me fifty pounds, the sum
my mother bade me name as the salary I should require; and here, I
hesitated about engaging myself, as I feared the children would be too
old, and their parents would require some one more showy, or more
experienced, if not more accomplished than I.  But my mother dissuaded me
from declining it on that account: I should do vastly well, she said, if
I would only throw aside my diffidence, and acquire a little more
confidence in myself.  I was just to give a plain, true statement of my
acquirements and qualifications, and name what stipulations I chose to
make, and then await the result.  The only stipulation I ventured to
propose, was that I might be allowed two months' holidays during the year
to visit my friends, at Midsummer and Christmas.  The unknown lady, in
her reply, made no objection to this, and stated that, as to my
acquirements, she had no doubt I should be able to give satisfaction; but
in the engagement of governesses she considered those things as but
subordinate points; as being situated in the neighbourhood of O---, she
could get masters to supply any deficiencies in that respect: but, in her
opinion, next to unimpeachable morality, a mild and cheerful temper and
obliging disposition were the most essential requisities.
My mother did not relish this at all, and now made many objections to my
accepting the situation; in which my sister warmly supported her: but,
unwilling to be balked again, I overruled them all; and, having first
obtained the consent of my father (who had, a short time previously, been
apprised of these transactions), I wrote a most obliging epistle to my
unknown correspondent, and, finally, the bargain was concluded.
It was decreed that on the last day of January I was to enter upon my new
office as governess in the family of Mr. Murray, of Horton Lodge, near
O---, about seventy miles from our village: a formidable distance to me,
as I had never been above twenty miles from home in all the course of my
twenty years' sojourn on earth; and as, moreover, every individual in
that family and in the neighbourhood was utterly unknown to myself and
all my acquaintances.  But this rendered it only the more piquant to me.
I had now, in some measure, got rid of the _mauvaise honte_ that had
formerly oppressed me so much; there was a pleasing excitement in the
idea of entering these unknown regions, and making my way alone among its
strange inhabitants.  I now flattered myself I was going to see something
in the world: Mr. Murray's residence was near a large town, and not in a
manufacturing district, where the people had nothing to do but to make
money; his rank from what I could gather, appeared to be higher than that
of Mr. Bloomfield; and, doubtless, he was one of those genuine
thoroughbred gentry my mother spoke of, who would treat his governess
with due consideration as a respectable well-educated lady, the
instructor and guide of his children, and not a mere upper servant.
Then, my pupils being older, would be more rational, more teachable, and
less troublesome than the last; they would be less confined to the
schoolroom, and not require that constant labour and incessant watching;
and, finally, bright visions mingled with my hopes, with which the care
of children and the mere duties of a governess had little or nothing to
do.  Thus, the reader will see that I had no claim to be regarded as a
martyr to filial piety, going forth to sacrifice peace and liberty for
the sole purpose of laying up stores for the comfort and support of my
parents: though certainly the comfort of my father, and the future
support of my mother, had a large share in my calculations; and fifty
pounds appeared to me no ordinary sum.  I must have decent clothes
becoming my station; I must, it seemed, put out my washing, and also pay
for my four annual journeys between Horton Lodge and home; but with
strict attention to economy, surely twenty pounds, or little more, would
cover those expenses, and then there would be thirty for the bank, or
little less: what a valuable addition to our stock!  Oh, I must struggle
to keep this situation, whatever it might be! both for my own honour
among my friends and for the solid services I might render them by my
continuance there.
CHAPTER VII--HORTON LODGE
The 31st of January was a wild, tempestuous day: there was a strong north
wind, with a continual storm of snow drifting on the ground and whirling
through the air.  My friends would have had me delay my departure, but
fearful of prejudicing my employers against me by such want of
punctuality at the commencement of my undertaking, I persisted in keeping
the appointment.
I will not inflict upon my readers an account of my leaving home on that
dark winter morning: the fond farewells, the long, long journey to O---,
the solitary waitings in inns for coaches or trains--for there were some
railways then--and, finally, the meeting at O--- with Mr. Murray's
servant, who had been sent with the phaeton to drive me from thence to
Horton Lodge.  I will just state that the heavy snow had thrown such
impediments in the way of both horses and steam-engines, that it was dark
some hours before I reached my journey's end, and that a most bewildering
storm came on at last, which made the few miles' space between O--- and
Horton Lodge a long and formidable passage.  I sat resigned, with the
cold, sharp snow drifting through my veil and filling my lap, seeing
nothing, and wondering how the unfortunate horse and driver could make
their way even as well as they did; and indeed it was but a toilsome,
creeping style of progression, to say the best of it.  At length we
paused; and, at the call of the driver, someone unlatched and rolled back
upon their creaking hinges what appeared to be the park gates.  Then we
proceeded along a smoother road, whence, occasionally, I perceived some
huge, hoary mass gleaming through the darkness, which I took to be a
portion of a snow-clad tree.  After a considerable time we paused again,
before the stately portico of a large house with long windows descending
to the ground.
I rose with some difficulty from under the superincumbent snowdrift, and
alighted from the carriage, expecting that a kind and hospitable
reception would indemnify me for the toils and hardships of the day.  A
gentleman person in black opened the door, and admitted me into a
spacious hall, lighted by an amber-coloured lamp suspended from the
ceiling; he led me through this, along a passage, and opening the door of
a back room, told me that was the schoolroom.  I entered, and found two
young ladies and two young gentlemen--my future pupils, I supposed.
After a formal greeting, the elder girl, who was trifling over a piece of
canvas and a basket of German wools, asked if I should like to go
upstairs.  I replied in the affirmative, of course.
'Matilda, take a candle, and show her her room,' said she.
Miss Matilda, a strapping hoyden of about fourteen, with a short frock
and trousers, shrugged her shoulders and made a slight grimace, but took
a candle and proceeded before me up the back stairs (a long, steep,
double flight), and through a long, narrow passage, to a small but
tolerably comfortable room.  She then asked me if I would take some tea
or coffee.  I was about to answer No; but remembering that I had taken
nothing since seven o'clock that morning, and feeling faint in
consequence, I said I would take a cup of tea.  Saying she would tell
'Brown,' the young lady departed; and by the time I had divested myself
of my heavy, wet cloak, shawl, bonnet, &c., a mincing damsel came to say
the young ladies desired to know whether I would take my tea up there or
in the schoolroom.  Under the plea of fatigue I chose to take it there.
She withdrew; and, after a while, returned again with a small tea-tray,
and placed it on the chest of drawers, which served as a dressing-table.
Having civilly thanked her, I asked at what time I should be expected to
rise in the morning.
'The young ladies and gentlemen breakfast at half-past eight, ma'am,'
said she; 'they rise early; but, as they seldom do any lessons before
breakfast, I should think it will do if you rise soon after seven.'
I desired her to be so kind as to call me at seven, and, promising to do
so, she withdrew.  Then, having broken my long fast on a cup of tea and a
little thin bread and butter, I sat down beside the small, smouldering
fire, and amused myself with a hearty fit of crying; after which, I said
my prayers, and then, feeling considerably relieved, began to prepare for
bed.  Finding that none of my luggage was brought up, I instituted a
search for the bell; and failing to discover any signs of such a
convenience in any corner of the room, I took my candle and ventured
through the long passage, and down the steep stairs, on a voyage of
discovery.  Meeting a well-dressed female on the way, I told her what I
wanted; but not without considerable hesitation, as I was not quite sure
whether it was one of the upper servants, or Mrs. Murray herself: it
happened, however, to be the lady's-maid.  With the air of one conferring
an unusual favour, she vouchsafed to undertake the sending up of my
things; and when I had re-entered my room, and waited and wondered a long
time (greatly fearing that she had forgotten or neglected to perform her
promise, and doubting whether to keep waiting or go to bed, or go down
again), my hopes, at length, were revived by the sound of voices and
laughter, accompanied by the tramp of feet along the passage; and
presently the luggage was brought in by a rough-looking maid and a man,
neither of them very respectful in their demeanour to me.  Having shut
the door upon their retiring footsteps, and unpacked a few of my things,
I betook myself to rest; gladly enough, for I was weary in body and mind.
It was with a strange feeling of desolation, mingled with a strong sense
of the novelty of my situation, and a joyless kind of curiosity
concerning what was yet unknown, that I awoke the next morning; feeling
like one whirled away by enchantment, and suddenly dropped from the
clouds into a remote and unknown land, widely and completely isolated
from all he had ever seen or known before; or like a thistle-seed borne
on the wind to some strange nook of uncongenial soil, where it must lie
long enough before it can take root and germinate, extracting nourishment
from what appears so alien to its nature: if, indeed, it ever can.  But
this gives no proper idea of my feelings at all; and no one that has not
lived such a retired, stationary life as mine, can possibly imagine what
they were: hardly even if he has known what it is to awake some morning,
and find himself in Port Nelson, in New Zealand, with a world of waters
between himself and all that knew him.
I shall not soon forget the peculiar feeling with which I raised my blind
and looked out upon the unknown world: a wide, white wilderness was all
that met my gaze; a waste of
Deserts tossed in snow,
And heavy laden groves.
I descended to the schoolroom with no remarkable eagerness to join my
pupils, though not without some feeling of curiosity respecting what a
further acquaintance would reveal.  One thing, among others of more
obvious importance, I determined with myself--I must begin with calling
them Miss and Master.  It seemed to me a chilling and unnatural piece of
punctilio between the children of a family and their instructor and daily
companion; especially where the former were in their early childhood, as
at Wellwood House; but even there, my calling the little Bloomfields by
their simple names had been regarded as an offensive liberty: as their
parents had taken care to show me, by carefully designating them _Master_
and _Miss_ Bloomfield, &c., in speaking to me.  I had been very slow to
take the hint, because the whole affair struck me as so very absurd; but
now I determined to be wiser, and begin at once with as much form and
ceremony as any member of the family would be likely to require: and,
indeed, the children being so much older, there would be less difficulty;
though the little words Miss and Master seemed to have a surprising
effect in repressing all familiar, open-hearted kindness, and
extinguishing every gleam of cordiality that might arise between us.
As I cannot, like Dogberry, find it in my heart to bestow all my
tediousness upon the reader, I will not go on to bore him with a minute
detail of all the discoveries and proceedings of this and the following
day.  No doubt he will be amply satisfied with a slight sketch of the
different members of the family, and a general view of the first year or
two of my sojourn among them.
To begin with the head: Mr. Murray was, by all accounts, a blustering,
roystering, country squire: a devoted fox-hunter, a skilful horse-jockey
and farrier, an active, practical farmer, and a hearty _bon vivant_.  By
all accounts, I say; for, except on Sundays, when he went to church, I
never saw him from month to month: unless, in crossing the hall or
walking in the grounds, the figure of a tall, stout gentleman, with
scarlet cheeks and crimson nose, happened to come across me; on which
occasions, if he passed near enough to speak, an unceremonious nod,
accompanied by a 'Morning, Miss Grey,' or some such brief salutation, was
usually vouchsafed.   Frequently, indeed, his loud laugh reached me from
afar; and oftener still I heard him swearing and blaspheming against the
footmen, groom, coachman, or some other hapless dependant.
Mrs. Murray was a handsome, dashing lady of forty, who certainly required
neither rouge nor padding to add to her charms; and whose chief
enjoyments were, or seemed to be, in giving or frequenting parties, and
in dressing at the very top of the fashion.  I did not see her till
eleven o'clock on the morning after my arrival; when she honoured me with
a visit, just as my mother might step into the kitchen to see a new
servant-girl: yet not so, either, for my mother would have seen her
immediately after her arrival, and not waited till the next day; and,
moreover, she would have addressed her in a more kind and friendly
manner, and given her some words of comfort as well as a plain exposition
of her duties; but Mrs. Murray did neither the one nor the other.  She
just stepped into the schoolroom on her return from ordering dinner in
the housekeeper's room, bade me good-morning, stood for two minutes by
the fire, said a few words about the weather and the 'rather rough'
journey I must have had yesterday; petted her youngest child--a boy of
ten--who had just been wiping his mouth and hands on her gown, after
indulging in some savoury morsel from the housekeeper's store; told me
what a sweet, good boy he was; and then sailed out, with a
self-complacent smile upon her face: thinking, no doubt, that she had
done quite enough for the present, and had been delightfully
condescending into the bargain.  Her children evidently held the same
opinion, and I alone thought otherwise.
After this she looked in upon me once or twice, during the absence of my
pupils, to enlighten me concerning my duties towards them.  For the girls
she seemed anxious only to render them as superficially attractive and
showily accomplished as they could possibly be made, without present
trouble or discomfort to themselves; and I was to act accordingly--to
study and strive to amuse and oblige, instruct, refine, and polish, with
the least possible exertion on their part, and no exercise of authority
on mine.  With regard to the two boys, it was much the same; only instead
of accomplishments, I was to get the greatest possible quantity of Latin
grammar and Valpy's Delectus into their heads, in order to fit them for
school--the greatest possible quantity at least _without_ trouble to
themselves.  John might be a 'little high-spirited,' and Charles might be
a little 'nervous and tedious--'
'But at all events, Miss Grey,' said she, 'I hope _you_ will keep your
temper, and be mild and patient throughout; especially with the dear
little Charles; he is so extremely nervous and susceptible, and so
utterly unaccustomed to anything but the tenderest treatment.  You will
excuse my naming these things to you; for the fact is, I have hitherto
found all the governesses, even the very best of them, faulty in this
particular.  They wanted that meek and quiet spirit, which St. Matthew,
or some of them, says is better than the putting on of apparel--you will
know the passage to which I allude, for you are a clergyman's daughter.
But I have no doubt you will give satisfaction in this respect as well as
the rest.  And remember, on all occasions, when any of the young people
do anything improper, if persuasion and gentle remonstrance will not do,
let one of the others come and tell me; for I can speak to them more
plainly than it would be proper for you to do.  And make them as happy as
you can, Miss Grey, and I dare say you will do very well.'
I observed that while Mrs. Murray was so extremely solicitous for the
comfort and happiness of her children, and continually talking about it,
she never once mentioned mine; though they were at home, surrounded by
friends, and I an alien among strangers; and I did not yet know enough of
the world, not to be considerably surprised at this anomaly.
Miss Murray, otherwise Rosalie, was about sixteen when I came, and
decidedly a very pretty girl; and in two years longer, as time more
completely developed her form and added grace to her carriage and
deportment, she became positively beautiful; and that in no common
degree.  She was tall and slender, yet not thin; perfectly formed,
exquisitely fair, though not without a brilliant, healthy bloom; her
hair, which she wore in a profusion of long ringlets, was of a very light
brown inclining to yellow; her eyes were pale blue, but so clear and
bright that few would wish them darker; the rest of her features were
small, not quite regular, and not remarkably otherwise: but altogether
you could not hesitate to pronounce her a very lovely girl.  I wish I
could say as much for mind and disposition as I can for her form and
face.
Yet think not I have any dreadful disclosures to make: she was lively,
light-hearted, and could be very agreeable, with those who did not cross
her will.  Towards me, when I first came, she was cold and haughty, then
insolent and overbearing; but, on a further acquaintance, she gradually
laid aside her airs, and in time became as deeply attached to me as it
was possible for _her_ to be to one of my character and position: for she
seldom lost sight, for above half an hour at a time, of the fact of my
being a hireling and a poor curate's daughter.  And yet, upon the whole,
I believe she respected me more than she herself was aware of; because I
was the only person in the house who steadily professed good principles,
habitually spoke the truth, and generally endeavoured to make inclination
bow to duty; and this I say, not, of course, in commendation of myself,
but to show the unfortunate state of the family to which my services
were, for the present, devoted.  There was no member of it in whom I
regretted this sad want of principle so much as Miss Murray herself; not
only because she had taken a fancy to me, but because there was so much
of what was pleasant and prepossessing in herself, that, in spite of her
failings, I really liked her--when she did not rouse my indignation, or
ruffle my temper by _too_ great a display of her faults.  These, however,
I would fain persuade myself were rather the effect of her education than
her disposition: she had never been perfectly taught the distinction
between right and wrong; she had, like her brothers and sisters, been
suffered, from infancy, to tyrannize over nurses, governesses, and
servants; she had not been taught to moderate her desires, to control her
temper or bridle her will, or to sacrifice her own pleasure for the good
of others.  Her temper being naturally good, she was never violent or
morose, but from constant indulgence, and habitual scorn of reason, she
was often testy and capricious; her mind had never been cultivated: her
intellect, at best, was somewhat shallow; she possessed considerable
vivacity, some quickness of perception, and some talent for music and the
acquisition of languages, but till fifteen she had troubled herself to
acquire nothing;--then the love of display had roused her faculties, and
induced her to apply herself, but only to the more showy accomplishments.
And when I came it was the same: everything was neglected but French,
German, music, singing, dancing, fancy-work, and a little drawing--such
drawing as might produce the greatest show with the smallest labour, and
the principal parts of which were generally done by me.  For music and
singing, besides my occasional instructions, she had the attendance of
the best master the country afforded; and in these accomplishments, as
well as in dancing, she certainly attained great proficiency.  To music,
indeed, she devoted too much of her time, as, governess though I was, I
frequently told her; but her mother thought that if _she_ liked it, she
_could_ not give too much time to the acquisition of so attractive an
art.  Of fancy-work I knew nothing but what I gathered from my pupil and
my own observation; but no sooner was I initiated, than she made me
useful in twenty different ways: all the tedious parts of her work were
shifted on to my shoulders; such as stretching the frames, stitching in
the canvas, sorting the wools and silks, putting in the grounds, counting
the stitches, rectifying mistakes, and finishing the pieces she was tired
of.
At sixteen, Miss Murray was something of a romp, yet not more so than is
natural and allowable for a girl of that age, but at seventeen, that
propensity, like all other things, began to give way to the ruling
passion, and soon was swallowed up in the all-absorbing ambition to
attract and dazzle the other sex.  But enough of her: now let us turn to
her sister.
Miss Matilda Murray was a veritable hoyden, of whom little need be said.
She was about two years and a half younger than her sister; her features
were larger, her complexion much darker.  She might possibly make a
handsome woman; but she was far too big-boned and awkward ever to be
called a pretty girl, and at present she cared little about it.  Rosalie
knew all her charms, and thought them even greater than they were, and
valued them more highly than she ought to have done, had they been three
times as great; Matilda thought she was well enough, but cared little
about the matter; still less did she care about the cultivation of her
mind, and the acquisition of ornamental accomplishments.  The manner in
which she learnt her lessons and practised her music was calculated to
drive any governess to despair.  Short and easy as her tasks were, if
done at all, they were slurred over, at any time and in any way; but
generally at the least convenient times, and in the way least beneficial
to herself, and least satisfactory to me: the short half-hour of
practising was horribly strummed through; she, meantime, unsparingly
abusing me, either for interrupting her with corrections, or for not
rectifying her mistakes before they were made, or something equally
unreasonable.  Once or twice, I ventured to remonstrate with her
seriously for such irrational conduct; but on each of those occasions, I
received such reprehensive expostulations from her mother, as convinced
me that, if I wished to keep the situation, I must even let Miss Matilda
go on in her own way.
When her lessons were over, however, her ill-humour was generally over
too: while riding her spirited pony, or romping with the dogs or her
brothers and sister, but especially with her dear brother John, she was
as happy as a lark.  As an animal, Matilda was all right, full of life,
vigour, and activity; as an intelligent being, she was barbarously
ignorant, indocile, careless and irrational; and, consequently, very
distressing to one who had the task of cultivating her understanding,
reforming her manners, and aiding her to acquire those ornamental
attainments which, unlike her sister, she despised as much as the rest.
Her mother was partly aware of her deficiencies, and gave me many a
lecture as to how I should try to form her tastes, and endeavour to rouse
and cherish her dormant vanity; and, by insinuating, skilful flattery, to
win her attention to the desired objects--which I would not do; and how I
should prepare and smooth the path of learning till she could glide along
it without the least exertion to herself: which I could not, for nothing
can be taught to any purpose without some little exertion on the part of
the learner.
As a moral agent, Matilda was reckless, headstrong, violent, and
unamenable to reason.  One proof of the deplorable state of her mind was,
that from her father's example she had learned to swear like a trooper.
Her mother was greatly shocked at the 'unlady-like trick,' and wondered
'how she had picked it up.'  'But you can soon break her of it, Miss
Grey,' said she: 'it is only a habit; and if you will just gently remind
her every time she does so, I am sure she will soon lay it aside.'  I not
only 'gently reminded' her, I tried to impress upon her how wrong it was,
and how distressing to the ears of decent people: but all in vain: I was
only answered by a careless laugh, and, 'Oh, Miss Grey, how shocked you
are!  I'm so glad!' or, 'Well!  I can't help it; papa shouldn't have
taught me: I learned it all from him; and maybe a bit from the coachman.'
Her brother John, _alias_ Master Murray, was about eleven when I came: a
fine, stout, healthy boy, frank and good-natured in the main, and might
have been a decent lad had he been properly educated; but now he was as
rough as a young bear, boisterous, unruly, unprincipled, untaught,
unteachable--at least, for a governess under his mother's eye.  His
masters at school might be able to manage him better--for to school he
was sent, greatly to my relief, in the course of a year; in a state, it
is true, of scandalous ignorance as to Latin, as well as the more useful
though more neglected things: and this, doubtless, would all be laid to
the account of his education having been entrusted to an ignorant female
teacher, who had presumed to take in hand what she was wholly incompetent
to perform.  I was not delivered from his brother till full twelve months
after, when he also was despatched in the same state of disgraceful
ignorance as the former.
Master Charles was his mother's peculiar darling.  He was little more
than a year younger than John, but much smaller, paler, and less active
and robust; a pettish, cowardly, capricious, selfish little fellow, only
active in doing mischief, and only clever in inventing falsehoods: not
simply to hide his faults, but, in mere malicious wantonness, to bring
odium upon others.  In fact, Master Charles was a very great nuisance to
me: it was a trial of patience to live with him peaceably; to watch over
him was worse; and to teach him, or pretend to teach him, was
inconceivable.  At ten years old, he could not read correctly the easiest
line in the simplest book; and as, according to his mother's principle,
he was to be told every word, before he had time to hesitate or examine
its orthography, and never even to be informed, as a stimulant to
exertion, that other boys were more forward than he, it is not surprising
that he made but little progress during the two years I had charge of his
education.  His minute portions of Latin grammar, &c., were to be
repeated over to him, till he chose to say he knew them, and then he was
to be helped to say them; if he made mistakes in his little easy sums in
arithmetic, they were to be shown him at once, and the sum done for him,
instead of his being left to exercise his faculties in finding them out
himself; so that, of course, he took no pains to avoid mistakes, but
frequently set down his figures at random, without any calculation at
all.
I did not invariably confine myself to these rules: it was against my
conscience to do so; but I seldom could venture to deviate from them in
the slightest degree, without incurring the wrath of my little pupil, and
subsequently of his mamma; to whom he would relate my transgressions
maliciously exaggerated, or adorned with embellishments of his own; and
often, in consequence, was I on the point of losing or resigning my
situation.  But, for their sakes at home, I smothered my pride and
suppressed my indignation, and managed to struggle on till my little
tormentor was despatched to school; his father declaring that home
education was 'no go; for him, it was plain; his mother spoiled him
outrageously, and his governess could make no hand of him at all.'
A few more observations about Horton Lodge and its ongoings, and I have
done with dry description for the present.  The house was a very
respectable one; superior to Mr. Bloomfield's, both in age, size, and
magnificence: the garden was not so tastefully laid out; but instead of
the smooth-shaven lawn, the young trees guarded by palings, the grove of
upstart poplars, and the plantation of firs, there was a wide park,
stocked with deer, and beautified by fine old trees.  The surrounding
country itself was pleasant, as far as fertile fields, flourishing trees,
quiet green lanes, and smiling hedges with wild-flowers scattered along
their banks, could make it; but it was depressingly flat to one born and
nurtured among the rugged hills of ---.
We were situated nearly two miles from the village church, and,
consequently, the family carriage was put in requisition every Sunday
morning, and sometimes oftener.  Mr. and Mrs. Murray generally thought it
sufficient to show themselves at church once in the course of the day;
but frequently the children preferred going a second time to wandering
about the grounds all the day with nothing to do.  If some of my pupils
chose to walk and take me with them, it was well for me; for otherwise my
position in the carriage was to be crushed into the corner farthest from
the open window, and with my back to the horses: a position which
invariably made me sick; and if I were not actually obliged to leave the
church in the middle of the service, my devotions were disturbed with a
feeling of languor and sickliness, and the tormenting fear of its
becoming worse: and a depressing headache was generally my companion
throughout the day, which would otherwise have been one of welcome rest,
and holy, calm enjoyment.
'It's very odd, Miss Grey, that the carriage should always make you sick:
it never makes _me_,' remarked Miss Matilda,
'Nor me either,' said her sister; 'but I dare say it would, if I sat
where she does--such a nasty, horrid place, Miss Grey; I wonder how you
can bear it!'
'I am obliged to bear it, since no choice is left me,'--I might have
answered; but in tenderness for their feelings I only replied,--'Oh! it
is but a short way, and if I am not sick in church, I don't mind it.'
If I were called upon to give a description of the usual divisions and
arrangements of the day, I should find it a very difficult matter.  I had
all my meals in the schoolroom with my pupils, at such times as suited
their fancy: sometimes they would ring for dinner before it was half
cooked; sometimes they would keep it waiting on the table for above an
hour, and then be out of humour because the potatoes were cold, and the
gravy covered with cakes of solid fat; sometimes they would have tea at
four; frequently, they would storm at the servants because it was not in
precisely at five; and when these orders were obeyed, by way of
encouragement to punctuality, they would keep it on the table till seven
or eight.
Their hours of study were managed in much the same way; my judgment or
convenience was never once consulted.  Sometimes Matilda and John would
determine 'to get all the plaguy business over before breakfast,' and
send the maid to call me up at half-past five, without any scruple or
apology; sometimes, I was told to be ready precisely at six, and, having
dressed in a hurry, came down to an empty room, and after waiting a long
time in suspense, discovered that they had changed their minds, and were
still in bed; or, perhaps, if it were a fine summer morning, Brown would
come to tell me that the young ladies and gentlemen had taken a holiday,
and were gone out; and then I was kept waiting for breakfast till I was
almost ready to faint: they having fortified themselves with something
before they went.
Often they would do their lessons in the open air; which I had nothing to
say against: except that I frequently caught cold by sitting on the damp
grass, or from exposure to the evening dew, or some insidious draught,
which seemed to have no injurious effect on them.  It was quite right
that they should be hardy; yet, surely, they might have been taught some
consideration for others who were less so.  But I must not blame them for
what was, perhaps, my own fault; for I never made any particular
objections to sitting where they pleased; foolishly choosing to risk the
consequences, rather than trouble them for my convenience.  Their
indecorous manner of doing their lessons was quite as remarkable as the
caprice displayed in their choice of time and place.  While receiving my
instructions, or repeating what they had learned, they would lounge upon
the sofa, lie on the rug, stretch, yawn, talk to each other, or look out
of the window; whereas, I could not so much as stir the fire, or pick up
the handkerchief I had dropped, without being rebuked for inattention by
one of my pupils, or told that 'mamma would not like me to be so
careless.'
The servants, seeing in what little estimation the governess was held by
both parents and children, regulated their behaviour by the same
standard.  I have frequently stood up for them, at the risk of some
injury to myself, against the tyranny and injustice of their young
masters and mistresses; and I always endeavoured to give them as little
trouble as possible: but they entirely neglected my comfort, despised my
requests, and slighted my directions.  All servants, I am convinced,
would not have done so; but domestics in general, being ignorant and
little accustomed to reason and reflection, are too easily corrupted by
the carelessness and bad example of those above them; and these, I think,
were not of the best order to begin with.
I sometimes felt myself degraded by the life I led, and ashamed of
submitting to so many indignities; and sometimes I thought myself a fool
for caring so much about them, and feared I must be sadly wanting in
Christian humility, or that charity which 'suffereth long and is kind,
seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, beareth all things, endureth
all things.'
But, with time and patience, matters began to be slightly ameliorated:
slowly, it is true, and almost imperceptibly; but I got rid of my male
pupils (that was no trifling advantage), and the girls, as I intimated
before concerning one of them, became a little less insolent, and began
to show some symptoms of esteem.  'Miss Grey was a queer creature: she
never flattered, and did not praise them half enough; but whenever she
did speak favourably of them, or anything belonging to them, they could
be quite sure her approbation was sincere.  She was very obliging, quiet,
and peaceable in the main, but there were some things that put her out of
temper: they did not much care for that, to be sure, but still it was
better to keep her in tune; as when she was in a good humour she would
talk to them, and be very agreeable and amusing sometimes, in her way;
which was quite different to mamma's, but still very well for a change.
She had her own opinions on every subject, and kept steadily to
them--very tiresome opinions they often were; as she was always thinking
of what was right and what was wrong, and had a strange reverence for
matters connected with religion, and an unaccountable liking to good
people.'
CHAPTER VIII--THE 'COMING OUT'
At eighteen, Miss Murray was to emerge from the quiet obscurity of the
schoolroom into the full blaze of the fashionable world--as much of it,
at least, as could be had out of London; for her papa could not be
persuaded to leave his rural pleasures and pursuits, even for a few
weeks' residence in town.  She was to make her debut on the third of
January, at a magnificent ball, which her mamma proposed to give to all
the nobility and choice gentry of O--- and its neighbourhood for twenty
miles round.  Of course, she looked forward to it with the wildest
impatience, and the most extravagant anticipations of delight.
'Miss Grey,' said she, one evening, a month before the all-important day,
as I was perusing a long and extremely interesting letter of my
sister's--which I had just glanced at in the morning to see that it
contained no very bad news, and kept till now, unable before to find a
quiet moment for reading it,--'Miss Grey, do put away that dull, stupid
letter, and listen to me!  I'm sure my talk must be far more amusing than
that.'
She seated herself on the low stool at my feet; and I, suppressing a sigh
of vexation, began to fold up the epistle.
'You should tell the good people at home not to bore you with such long
letters,' said she; 'and, above all, do bid them write on proper
note-paper, and not on those great vulgar sheets.  You should see the
charming little lady-like notes mamma writes to her friends.'
'The good people at home,' replied I, 'know very well that the longer
their letters are, the better I like them.  I should be very sorry to
receive a charming little lady-like note from any of them; and I thought
you were too much of a lady yourself, Miss Murray, to talk about the
"vulgarity" of writing on a large sheet of paper.'
'Well, I only said it to tease you.  But now I want to talk about the
ball; and to tell you that you positively must put off your holidays till
it is over.'
'Why so?--I shall not be present at the ball.'
'No, but you will see the rooms decked out before it begins, and hear the
music, and, above all, see me in my splendid new dress.  I shall be so
charming, you'll be ready to worship me--you really must stay.'
'I should like to see you very much; but I shall have many opportunities
of seeing you equally charming, on the occasion of some of the numberless
balls and parties that are to be, and I cannot disappoint my friends by
postponing my return so long.'
'Oh, never mind your friends!  Tell them we won't let you go.'
'But, to say the truth, it would be a disappointment to myself: I long to
see them as much as they to see me--perhaps more.'
'Well, but it is such a short time.'
'Nearly a fortnight by my computation; and, besides, I cannot bear the
thoughts of a Christmas spent from home: and, moreover, my sister is
going to be married.'
'Is she--when?'
'Not till next month; but I want to be there to assist her in making
preparations, and to make the best of her company while we have her.'
'Why didn't you tell me before?'
'I've only got the news in this letter, which you stigmatize as dull and
stupid, and won't let me read.'
'To whom is she to be married?'
'To Mr. Richardson, the vicar of a neighbouring parish.'
'Is he rich?'
'No; only comfortable.'
'Is he handsome?'
'No; only decent.'
'Young?'
'No; only middling.'
'Oh, mercy! what a wretch!  What sort of a house is it?'
'A quiet little vicarage, with an ivy-clad porch, an old-fashioned
garden, and--'
'Oh, stop!--you'll make me sick.  How _can_ she bear it?'
'I expect she'll not only be able to bear it, but to be very happy.  You
did not ask me if Mr. Richardson were a good, wise, or amiable man; I
could have answered Yes, to all these questions--at least so Mary thinks,
and I hope she will not find herself mistaken.'
'But--miserable creature! how can she think of spending her life there,
cooped up with that nasty old man; and no hope of change?'
'He is not old: he's only six or seven and thirty; and she herself is
twenty-eight, and as sober as if she were fifty.'
'Oh! that's better then--they're well matched; but do they call him the
"worthy vicar"?'
'I don't know; but if they do, I believe he merits the epithet.'
'Mercy, how shocking! and will she wear a white apron and make pies and
puddings?'
'I don't know about the white apron, but I dare say she will make pies
and puddings now and then; but that will be no great hardship, as she has
done it before.'
'And will she go about in a plain shawl, and a large straw bonnet,
carrying tracts and bone soup to her husband's poor parishioners?'
'I'm not clear about that; but I dare say she will do her best to make
them comfortable in body and mind, in accordance with our mother's
example.'
CHAPTER IX--THE BALL
'Now, Miss Grey,' exclaimed Miss Murray, immediately I entered the
schoolroom, after having taken off my outdoor garments, upon returning
from my four weeks' recreation, 'Now--shut the door, and sit down, and
I'll tell you all about the ball.'
'No--damn it, no!' shouted Miss Matilda.  'Hold your tongue, can't ye?
and let me tell her about my new mare--_such_ a splendour, Miss Grey! a
fine blood mare--'
'Do be quiet, Matilda; and let me tell my news first.'
'No, no, Rosalie; you'll be such a damned long time over it--she shall
hear me first--I'll be hanged if she doesn't!'
'I'm sorry to hear, Miss Matilda, that you've not got rid of that
shocking habit yet.'
'Well, I can't help it: but I'll never say a wicked word again, if you'll
only listen to me, and tell Rosalie to hold her confounded tongue.'
Rosalie remonstrated, and I thought I should have been torn in pieces
between them; but Miss Matilda having the loudest voice, her sister at
length gave in, and suffered her to tell her story first: so I was doomed
to hear a long account of her splendid mare, its breeding and pedigree,
its paces, its action, its spirit, &c., and of her own amazing skill and
courage in riding it; concluding with an assertion that she could clear a
five-barred gate 'like winking,' that papa said she might hunt the next
time the hounds met, and mamma had ordered a bright scarlet hunting-habit
for her.
'Oh, Matilda! what stories you are telling!' exclaimed her sister.
'Well,' answered she, no whit abashed, 'I know I _could_ clear a
five-barred gate, if I tried, and papa _will_ say I may hunt, and mamma
_will_ order the habit when I ask it.'
'Well, now get along,' replied Miss Murray; 'and do, dear Matilda, try to
be a little more lady-like.  Miss Grey, I wish you would tell her not to
use such shocking words; she will call her horse a mare: it is so
inconceivably shocking! and then she uses such dreadful expressions in
describing it: she must have learned it from the grooms.  It nearly puts
me into fits when she begins.'
'I learned it from papa, you ass! and his jolly friends,' said the young
lady, vigorously cracking a hunting-whip, which she habitually carried in
her hand.  'I'm as good judge of horseflesh as the best of 'm.'
'Well, now get along, you shocking girl!  I really shall take a fit if
you go on in such a way.  And now, Miss Grey, attend to me; I'm going to
tell you about the ball.  You must be dying to hear about it, I know.
Oh, _such_ a ball!  You never saw or heard, or read, or dreamt of
anything like it in all your life.  The decorations, the entertainment,
the supper, the music were indescribable! and then the guests!  There
were two noblemen, three baronets, and five titled ladies, and other
ladies and gentlemen innumerable.  The ladies, of course, were of no
consequence to me, except to put me in a good humour with myself, by
showing how ugly and awkward most of them were; and the best, mamma told
me,--the most transcendent beauties among them, were nothing to me.  As
for me, Miss Grey--I'm so _sorry_ you didn't see me!  I was
_charming_--wasn't I, Matilda?'
'Middling.'
'No, but I really was--at least so mamma said--and Brown and Williamson.
Brown said she was sure no gentleman could set eyes on me without falling
in love that minute; and so I may be allowed to be a little vain.  I know
you think me a shocking, conceited, frivolous girl; but then, you know, I
don't attribute it _all_ to my personal attractions: I give some praise
to the hairdresser, and some to my exquisitely lovely dress--you must see
it to-morrow--white gauze over pink satin--and so _sweetly_ made! and a
necklace and bracelet of beautiful, large pearls!'
'I have no doubt you looked very charming: but should that delight you so
very much?'
'Oh, no!--not that alone: but, then, I was so much admired; and I made so
_many_ conquests in that one night--you'd be astonished to hear--'
'But what good will they do you?'
'What good!  Think of any woman asking that!'
'Well, I should think one conquest would be enough; and too much, unless
the subjugation were mutual.'
'Oh, but you know I never agree with you on those points.  Now, wait a
bit, and I'll tell you my principal admirers--those who made themselves
very conspicuous that night and after: for I've been to two parties
since.  Unfortunately the two noblemen, Lord G--- and Lord F---, were
married, or I might have condescended to be particularly gracious to
_them_; as it was, I did not: though Lord F---, who hates his wife, was
evidently much struck with me.  He asked me to dance with him twice--he
is a charming dancer, by-the-by, and so am I: you can't think how well I
did--I was astonished at myself.  My lord was very complimentary
too--rather too much so in fact--and I thought proper to be a little
haughty and repellent; but I had the pleasure of seeing his nasty, cross
wife ready to perish with spite and vexation--'
'Oh, Miss Murray! you don't mean to say that such a thing could really
give you pleasure?  However cross or--'
'Well, I know it's very wrong;--but never mind!  I mean to be good some
time--only don't preach now, there's a good creature.  I haven't told you
half yet.  Let me see.  Oh! I was going to tell you how many
unmistakeable admirers I had:--Sir Thomas Ashby was one,--Sir Hugh
Meltham and Sir Broadley Wilson are old codgers, only fit companions for
papa and mamma.  Sir Thomas is young, rich, and gay; but an ugly beast,
nevertheless: however, mamma says I should not mind that after a few
months' acquaintance.  Then, there was Henry Meltham, Sir Hugh's younger
son; rather good-looking, and a pleasant fellow to flirt with: but
_being_ a younger son, that is all he is good for; then there was young
Mr. Green, rich enough, but of no family, and a great stupid fellow, a
mere country booby! and then, our good rector, Mr. Hatfield: an _humble_
admirer he ought to consider himself; but I fear he has forgotten to
number humility among his stock of Christian virtues.'
'Was Mr. Hatfield at the ball?'
'Yes, to be sure.  Did you think he was too good to go?'
'I thought be might consider it unclerical.'
'By no means.  He did not profane his cloth by dancing; but it was with
difficulty he could refrain, poor man: he looked as if he were dying to
ask my hand just for _one_ set; and--oh! by-the-by--he's got a new
curate: that seedy old fellow Mr. Bligh has got his long-wished-for
living at last, and is gone.'
'And what is the new one like?'
'Oh, _such_ a beast!  Weston his name is.  I can give you his description
in three words--an insensate, ugly, stupid blockhead.  That's four, but
no matter--enough of _him_ now.'
Then she returned to the ball, and gave me a further account of her
deportment there, and at the several parties she had since attended; and
further particulars respecting Sir Thomas Ashby and Messrs. Meltham,
Green, and Hatfield, and the ineffaceable impression she had wrought upon
each of them.
'Well, which of the four do you like best?' said I, suppressing my third
or fourth yawn.
'I detest them all!' replied she, shaking her bright ringlets in
vivacious scorn.
'That means, I suppose, "I like them all"--but which most?'
'No, I really detest them all; but Harry Meltham is the handsomest and
most amusing, and Mr. Hatfield the cleverest, Sir Thomas the wickedest,
and Mr. Green the most stupid.  But the one I'm to have, I suppose, if
I'm doomed to have any of them, is Sir Thomas Ashby.'
'Surely not, if he's so wicked, and if you dislike him?'
'Oh, I don't mind his being wicked: he's all the better for that; and as
for disliking him--I shouldn't greatly object to being Lady Ashby of
Ashby Park, if I must marry.  But if I could be always young, I would be
always single.  I should like to enjoy myself thoroughly, and coquet with
all the world, till I am on the verge of being called an old maid; and
then, to escape the infamy of that, after having made ten thousand
conquests, to break all their hearts save one, by marrying some
high-born, rich, indulgent husband, whom, on the other hand, fifty ladies
were dying to have.'
'Well, as long as you entertain these views, keep single by all means,
and never marry at all: not even to escape the infamy of old-maidenhood.'
CHAPTER X--THE CHURCH
'Well, Miss Grey, what do you think of the new curate?' asked Miss
Murray, on our return from church the Sunday after the recommencement of
our duties.
'I can scarcely tell,' was my reply: 'I have not even heard him preach.'
'Well, but you saw him, didn't you?'
'Yes, but I cannot pretend to judge of a man's character by a single
cursory glance at his face.'
'But isn't he ugly?'
'He did not strike me as being particularly so; I don't dislike that cast
of countenance: but the only thing I particularly noticed about him was
his style of reading; which appeared to me good--infinitely better, at
least, than Mr. Hatfield's.  He read the Lessons as if he were bent on
giving full effect to every passage; it seemed as if the most careless
person could not have helped attending, nor the most ignorant have failed
to understand; and the prayers he read as if he were not reading at all,
but praying earnestly and sincerely from his own heart.'
'Oh, yes, that's all he is good for: he can plod through the service well
enough; but he has not a single idea beyond it.'
'How do you know?'
'Oh! I know perfectly well; I am an excellent judge in such matters.  Did
you see how he went out of church? stumping along--as if there were
nobody there but himself--never looking to the right hand or the left,
and evidently thinking of nothing but just getting out of the church,
and, perhaps, home to his dinner: his great stupid head could contain no
other idea.'
'I suppose you would have had him cast a glance into the squire's pew,'
said I, laughing at the vehemence of her hostility.
'Indeed! I should have been highly indignant if he had dared to do such a
thing!' replied she, haughtily tossing her head; then, after a moment's
reflection, she added--'Well, well!  I suppose he's good enough for his
place: but I'm glad I'm not dependent on _him_ for amusement--that's all.
Did you see how Mr. Hatfield hurried out to get a bow from me, and be in
time to put us into the carriage?'
'Yes,' answered I; internally adding, 'and I thought it somewhat
derogatory to his dignity as a clergyman to come flying from the pulpit
in such eager haste to shake hands with the squire, and hand his wife and
daughters into their carriage: and, moreover, I owe him a grudge for
nearly shutting me out of it'; for, in fact, though I was standing before
his face, close beside the carriage steps, waiting to get in, he would
persist in putting them up and closing the door, till one of the family
stopped him by calling out that the governess was not in yet; then,
without a word of apology, he departed, wishing them good-morning, and
leaving the footman to finish the business.
_Nota bene_.--Mr. Hatfield never spoke to me, neither did Sir Hugh or
Lady Meltham, nor Mr. Harry or Miss Meltham, nor Mr. Green or his
sisters, nor any other lady or gentleman who frequented that church: nor,
in fact, any one that visited at Horton Lodge.
Miss Murray ordered the carriage again, in the afternoon, for herself and
her sister: she said it was too cold for them to enjoy themselves in the
garden; and besides, she believed Harry Meltham would be at church.
'For,' said she, smiling slyly at her own fair image in the glass, 'he
has been a most exemplary attendant at church these last few Sundays: you
would think he was quite a good Christian.  And you may go with us, Miss
Grey: I want you to see him; he is so greatly improved since he returned
from abroad--you can't think!  And besides, then you will have an
opportunity of seeing the beautiful Mr. Weston again, and of hearing him
preach.'
I did hear him preach, and was decidedly pleased with the evangelical
truth of his doctrine, as well as the earnest simplicity of his manner,
and the clearness and force of his style.  It was truly refreshing to
hear such a sermon, after being so long accustomed to the dry, prosy
discourses of the former curate, and the still less edifying harangues of
the rector.  Mr. Hatfield would come sailing up the aisle, or rather
sweeping along like a whirlwind, with his rich silk gown flying behind
him and rustling against the pew doors, mount the pulpit like a conqueror
ascending his triumphal car; then, sinking on the velvet cushion in an
attitude of studied grace, remain in silent prostration for a certain
time; then mutter over a Collect, and gabble through the Lord's Prayer,
rise, draw off one bright lavender glove, to give the congregation the
benefit of his sparkling rings, lightly pass his fingers through his
well-curled hair, flourish a cambric handkerchief, recite a very short
passage, or, perhaps, a mere phrase of Scripture, as a head-piece to his
discourse, and, finally, deliver a composition which, as a composition,
might be considered good, though far too studied and too artificial to be
pleasing to me: the propositions were well laid down, the arguments
logically conducted; and yet, it was sometimes hard to listen quietly
throughout, without some slight demonstrations of disapproval or
impatience.
His favourite subjects were church discipline, rites and ceremonies,
apostolical succession, the duty of reverence and obedience to the
clergy, the atrocious criminality of dissent, the absolute necessity of
observing all the forms of godliness, the reprehensible presumption of
individuals who attempted to think for themselves in matters connected
with religion, or to be guided by their own interpretations of Scripture,
and, occasionally (to please his wealthy parishioners) the necessity of
deferential obedience from the poor to the rich--supporting his maxims
and exhortations throughout with quotations from the Fathers: with whom
he appeared to be far better acquainted than with the Apostles and
Evangelists, and whose importance he seemed to consider at least equal to
theirs.  But now and then he gave us a sermon of a different order--what
some would call a very good one; but sunless and severe: representing the
Deity as a terrible taskmaster rather than a benevolent father.  Yet, as
I listened, I felt inclined to think the man was sincere in all he said:
he must have changed his views, and become decidedly religious, gloomy
and austere, yet still devout.  But such illusions were usually
dissipated, on coming out of church, by hearing his voice in jocund
colloquy with some of the Melthams or Greens, or, perhaps, the Murrays
themselves; probably laughing at his own sermon, and hoping that he had
given the rascally people something to think about; perchance, exulting
in the thought that old Betty Holmes would now lay aside the sinful
indulgence of her pipe, which had been her daily solace for upwards of
thirty years: that George Higgins would be frightened out of his Sabbath
evening walks, and Thomas Jackson would be sorely troubled in his
conscience, and shaken in his sure and certain hope of a joyful
resurrection at the last day.
Thus, I could not but conclude that Mr. Hatfield was one of those who
'bind heavy burdens, and grievous to be borne, and lay them upon men's
shoulders, while they themselves will not move them with one of their
fingers'; and who 'make the word of God of none effect by their
traditions, teaching for doctrines the commandments of men.'  I was well
pleased to observe that the new curate resembled him, as far as I could
see, in none of these particulars.
'Well, Miss Grey, what do you think of him now?' said Miss Murray, as we
took our places in the carriage after service.
'No harm still,' replied I.
'No harm!' repeated she in amazement.  'What do you mean?'
'I mean, I think no worse of him than I did before.'
'No worse!  I should think not indeed--quite the contrary!  Is he not
greatly improved?'
'Oh, yes; very much indeed,' replied I; for I had now discovered that it
was Harry Meltham she meant, not Mr. Weston.  That gentleman had eagerly
come forward to speak to the young ladies: a thing he would hardly have
ventured to do had their mother been present; he had likewise politely
handed them into the carriage.  He had not attempted to shut me out, like
Mr. Hatfield; neither, of course, had he offered me his assistance (I
should not have accepted it, if he had), but as long as the door remained
open he had stood smirking and chatting with them, and then lifted his
hat and departed to his own abode: but I had scarcely noticed him all the
time.  My companions, however, had been more observant; and, as we rolled
along, they discussed between them not only his looks, words, and
actions, but every feature of his face, and every article of his apparel.
'You shan't have him all to yourself, Rosalie,' said Miss Matilda at the
close of this discussion; 'I like him: I know he'd make a nice, jolly
companion for me.'
'Well, you're quite welcome to him, Matilda,' replied her sister, in a
tone of affected indifference.
'And I'm sure,' continued the other, 'he admires me quite as much as he
does you; doesn't he, Miss Grey?'
'I don't know; I'm not acquainted with his sentiments.'
'Well, but he _does_ though.'
'My _dear_ Matilda! nobody will ever admire you till you get rid of your
rough, awkward manners.'
'Oh, stuff!  Harry Meltham likes such manners; and so do papa's friends.'
'Well, you _may_ captivate old men, and younger sons; but nobody else, I
am sure, will ever take a fancy to you.'
'I don't care: I'm not always grabbing after money, like you and mamma.
If my husband is able to keep a few good horses and dogs, I shall be
quite satisfied; and all the rest may go to the devil!'
'Well, if you use such shocking expressions, I'm sure no real gentleman
will ever venture to come near you.  Really, Miss Grey, you should not
let her do so.'
'I can't possibly prevent it, Miss Murray.'
'And you're quite mistaken, Matilda, in supposing that Harry Meltham
admires you: I assure you he does nothing of the kind.'
Matilda was beginning an angry reply; but, happily, our journey was now
at an end; and the contention was cut short by the footman opening the
carriage-door, and letting down the steps for our descent.
CHAPTER XI--THE COTTAGERS
As I had now only one regular pupil--though she contrived to give me as
much trouble as three or four ordinary ones, and though her sister still
took lessons in German and drawing--I had considerably more time at my
own disposal than I had ever been blessed with before, since I had taken
upon me the governess's yoke; which time I devoted partly to
correspondence with my friends, partly to reading, study, and the
practice of music, singing, &c., partly to wandering in the grounds or
adjacent fields, with my pupils if they wanted me, alone if they did not.
Often, when they had no more agreeable occupation at hand, the Misses
Murray would amuse themselves with visiting the poor cottagers on their
father's estate, to receive their flattering homage, or to hear the old
stories or gossiping news of the garrulous old women; or, perhaps, to
enjoy the purer pleasure of making the poor people happy with their
cheering presence and their occasional gifts, so easily bestowed, so
thankfully received.  Sometimes, I was called upon to accompany one or
both of the sisters in these visits; and sometimes I was desired to go
alone, to fulfil some promise which they had been more ready to make than
to perform; to carry some small donation, or read to one who was sick or
seriously disposed: and thus I made a few acquaintances among the
cottagers; and, occasionally, I went to see them on my own account.
I generally had more satisfaction in going alone than with either of the
young ladies; for they, chiefly owing to their defective education,
comported themselves towards their inferiors in a manner that was highly
disagreeable for me to witness.  They never, in thought, exchanged places
with them; and, consequently, had no consideration for their feelings,
regarding them as an order of beings entirely different from themselves.
They would watch the poor creatures at their meals, making uncivil
remarks about their food, and their manner of eating; they would laugh at
their simple notions and provincial expressions, till some of them
scarcely durst venture to speak; they would call the grave elderly men
and women old fools and silly old blockheads to their faces: and all this
without meaning to offend.  I could see that the people were often hurt
and annoyed by such conduct, though their fear of the 'grand ladies'
prevented them from testifying any resentment; but _they_ never perceived
it.  They thought that, as these cottagers were poor and untaught, they
must be stupid and brutish; and as long as they, their superiors,
condescended to talk to them, and to give them shillings and half-crowns,
or articles of clothing, they had a right to amuse themselves, even at
their expense; and the people must adore them as angels of light,
condescending to minister to their necessities, and enlighten their
humble dwellings.
I made many and various attempts to deliver my pupils from these delusive
notions without alarming their pride--which was easily offended, and not
soon appeased--but with little apparent result; and I know not which was
the more reprehensible of the two: Matilda was more rude and boisterous;
but from Rosalie's womanly age and lady-like exterior better things were
expected: yet she was as provokingly careless and inconsiderate as a
giddy child of twelve.
One bright day in the last week of February, I was walking in the park,
enjoying the threefold luxury of solitude, a book, and pleasant weather;
for Miss Matilda had set out on her daily ride, and Miss Murray was gone
in the carriage with her mamma to pay some morning calls.  But it struck
me that I ought to leave these selfish pleasures, and the park with its
glorious canopy of bright blue sky, the west wind sounding through its
yet leafless branches, the snow-wreaths still lingering in its hollows,
but melting fast beneath the sun, and the graceful deer browsing on its
moist herbage already assuming the freshness and verdure of spring--and
go to the cottage of one Nancy Brown, a widow, whose son was at work all
day in the fields, and who was afflicted with an inflammation in the
eyes; which had for some time incapacitated her from reading: to her own
great grief, for she was a woman of a serious, thoughtful turn of mind.
I accordingly went, and found her alone, as usual, in her little, close,
dark cottage, redolent of smoke and confined air, but as tidy and clean
as she could make it.  She was seated beside her little fire (consisting
of a few red cinders and a bit of stick), busily knitting, with a small
sackcloth cushion at her feet, placed for the accommodation of her gentle
friend the cat, who was seated thereon, with her long tail half
encircling her velvet paws, and her half-closed eyes dreamily gazing on
the low, crooked fender.
'Well, Nancy, how are you to-day?'
'Why, middling, Miss, i' myseln--my eyes is no better, but I'm a deal
easier i' my mind nor I have been,' replied she, rising to welcome me
with a contented smile; which I was glad to see, for Nancy had been
somewhat afflicted with religious melancholy.  I congratulated her upon
the change.  She agreed that it was a great blessing, and expressed
herself 'right down thankful for it'; adding, 'If it please God to spare
my sight, and make me so as I can read my Bible again, I think I shall be
as happy as a queen.'
'I hope He will, Nancy,' replied I; 'and, meantime, I'll come and read to
you now and then, when I have a little time to spare.'
With expressions of grateful pleasure, the poor woman moved to get me a
chair; but, as I saved her the trouble, she busied herself with stirring
the fire, and adding a few more sticks to the decaying embers; and then,
taking her well-used Bible from the shelf, dusted it carefully, and gave
it me.  On my asking if there was any particular part she should like me
to read, she answered--
'Well, Miss Grey, if it's all the same to you, I should like to hear that
chapter in the First Epistle of St. John, that says, "God is love, and he
that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him."'
With a little searching, I found these words in the fourth chapter.  When
I came to the seventh verse she interrupted me, and, with needless
apologies for such a liberty, desired me to read it very slowly, that she
might take it all in, and dwell on every word; hoping I would excuse her,
as she was but a 'simple body.'
'The wisest person,' I replied, 'might think over each of these verses
for an hour, and be all the better for it; and I would rather read them
slowly than not.'
Accordingly, I finished the chapter as slowly as need be, and at the same
time as impressively as I could; my auditor listened most attentively all
the while, and sincerely thanked me when I had done.  I sat still about
half a minute to give her time to reflect upon it; when, somewhat to my
surprise, she broke the pause by asking me how I liked Mr. Weston?
'I don't know,' I replied, a little startled by the suddenness of the
question; 'I think he preaches very well.'
'Ay, he does so; and talks well too.'
'Does he?'
'He does.  Maybe, you haven't seen him--not to talk to him much, yet?'
'No, I never see any one to talk to--except the young ladies of the
Hall.'
'Ah; they're nice, kind young ladies; but they can't talk as he does.'
'Then he comes to see you, Nancy?'
'He does, Miss; and I'se thankful for it.  He comes to see all us poor
bodies a deal ofter nor Maister Bligh, or th' Rector ever did; an' it's
well he does, for he's always welcome: we can't say as much for th'
Rector--there is 'at says they're fair feared on him.  When he comes into
a house, they say he's sure to find summut wrong, and begin a-calling 'em
as soon as he crosses th' doorstuns: but maybe he thinks it his duty like
to tell 'em what's wrong.  And very oft he comes o' purpose to reprove
folk for not coming to church, or not kneeling an' standing when other
folk does, or going to the Methody chapel, or summut o' that sort: but I
can't say 'at he ever fund much fault wi' me.  He came to see me once or
twice, afore Maister Weston come, when I was so ill troubled in my mind;
and as I had only very poor health besides, I made bold to send for
him--and he came right enough.  I was sore distressed, Miss Grey--thank
God, it's owered now--but when I took my Bible, I could get no comfort of
it at all.  That very chapter 'at you've just been reading troubled me as
much as aught--"He that loveth not, knoweth not God."  It seemed fearsome
to me; for I felt that I loved neither God nor man as I should do, and
could not, if I tried ever so.  And th' chapter afore, where it
says,--"He that is born of God cannot commit sin."  And another place
where it says,--"Love is the fulfilling of the Law."  And many, many
others, Miss: I should fair weary you out, if I was to tell them all.
But all seemed to condemn me, and to show me 'at I was not in the right
way; and as I knew not how to get into it, I sent our Bill to beg Maister
Hatfield to be as kind as look in on me some day and when he came, I
telled him all my troubles.'
'And what did he say, Nancy?'
'Why, Miss, he seemed to scorn me.  I might be mista'en--but he like gave
a sort of a whistle, and I saw a bit of a smile on his face; and he said,
"Oh, it's all stuff!  You've been among the Methodists, my good woman."
But I telled him I'd never been near the Methodies.  And then he
said,--"Well," says he, "you must come to church, where you'll hear the
Scriptures properly explained, instead of sitting poring over your Bible
at home."
'But I telled him I always used coming to church when I had my health;
but this very cold winter weather I hardly durst venture so far--and me
so bad wi' th' rheumatic and all.
'But he says, "It'll do your rheumatiz good to hobble to church: there's
nothing like exercise for the rheumatiz.  You can walk about the house
well enough; why can't you walk to church?  The fact is," says he,
"you're getting too fond of your ease.  It's always easy to find excuses
for shirking one's duty."
'But then, you know, Miss Grey, it wasn't so.  However, I telled him I'd
try.  "But please, sir," says I, "if I do go to church, what the better
shall I be?  I want to have my sins blotted out, and to feel that they
are remembered no more against me, and that the love of God is shed
abroad in my heart; and if I can get no good by reading my Bible an'
saying my prayers at home, what good shall I get by going to church?"'
'"The church," says he, "is the place appointed by God for His worship.
It's your duty to go there as often as you can.  If you want comfort, you
must seek it in the path of duty,"--an' a deal more he said, but I cannot
remember all his fine words.  However, it all came to this, that I was to
come to church as oft as ever I could, and bring my prayer-book with me,
an' read up all the sponsers after the clerk, an' stand, an' kneel, an'
sit, an' do all as I should, and take the Lord's Supper at every
opportunity, an' hearken his sermons, and Maister Bligh's, an' it 'ud be
all right: if I went on doing my duty, I should get a blessing at last.
'"But if you get no comfort that way," says he, "it's all up."
'"Then, sir," says I, "should you think I'm a reprobate?"
'"Why," says he--he says, "if you do your best to get to heaven and can't
manage it, you must be one of those that seek to enter in at the strait
gate and shall not be able."
'An' then he asked me if I'd seen any of the ladies o' th' Hall about
that mornin'; so I telled him where I had seen the young misses go on th'
Moss Lane;--an' he kicked my poor cat right across th' floor, an' went
after 'em as gay as a lark: but I was very sad.  That last word o' his
fair sunk into my heart, an' lay there like a lump o' lead, till I was
weary to bear it.
'Howsever, I follered his advice: I thought he meant it all for th' best,
though he _had_ a queer way with him.  But you know, Miss, he's rich an'
young, and such like cannot right understand the thoughts of a poor old
woman such as me.  But, howsever, I did my best to do all as he bade
me--but maybe I'm plaguing you, Miss, wi' my chatter.'
'Oh, no, Nancy!  Go on, and tell me all.'
'Well, my rheumatiz got better--I know not whether wi' going to church or
not, but one frosty Sunday I got this cold i' my eyes.  Th' inflammation
didn't come on all at once like, but bit by bit--but I wasn't going to
tell you about my eyes, I was talking about my trouble o' mind;--and to
tell the truth, Miss Grey, I don't think it was anyways eased by coming
to church--nought to speak on, at least: I like got my health better; but
that didn't mend my soul.  I hearkened and hearkened the ministers, and
read an' read at my prayer-book; but it was all like sounding brass and a
tinkling cymbal: the sermons I couldn't understand, an' th' prayer-book
only served to show me how wicked I was, that I could read such good
words an' never be no better for it, and oftens feel it a sore labour an'
a heavy task beside, instead of a blessing and a privilege as all good
Christians does.  It seemed like as all were barren an' dark to me.  And
then, them dreadful words, "Many shall seek to enter in, and shall not be
able."  They like as they fair dried up my sperrit.
'But one Sunday, when Maister Hatfield gave out about the sacrament, I
noticed where he said, "If there be any of you that cannot quiet his own
conscience, but requireth further comfort or counsel, let him come to me,
or some other discreet and learned minister of God's word, and open his
grief!"  So next Sunday morning, afore service, I just looked into the
vestry, an' began a-talking to th' Rector again.  I hardly could fashion
to take such a liberty, but I thought when my soul was at stake I
shouldn't stick at a trifle.  But he said he hadn't time to attend to me
then.
'"And, indeed," says he, "I've nothing to say to you but what I've said
before.  Take the sacrament, of course, and go on doing your duty; and if
that won't serve you, nothing will.  So don't bother me any more."
'So then, I went away.  But I heard Maister Weston--Maister Weston was
there, Miss--this was his first Sunday at Horton, you know, an' he was i'
th' vestry in his surplice, helping th' Rector on with his gown--'
'Yes, Nancy.'
'And I heard him ask Maister Hatfield who I was, an' he says, "Oh, she's
a canting old fool."
'And I was very ill grieved, Miss Grey; but I went to my seat, and I
tried to do my duty as aforetime: but I like got no peace.  An' I even
took the sacrament; but I felt as though I were eating and drinking to my
own damnation all th' time.  So I went home, sorely troubled.
'But next day, afore I'd gotten fettled up--for indeed, Miss, I'd no
heart to sweeping an' fettling, an' washing pots; so I sat me down i' th'
muck--who should come in but Maister Weston!  I started siding stuff
then, an' sweeping an' doing; and I expected he'd begin a-calling me for
my idle ways, as Maister Hatfield would a' done; but I was mista'en: he
only bid me good-mornin' like, in a quiet dacent way.  So I dusted him a
chair, an' fettled up th' fireplace a bit; but I hadn't forgotten th'
Rector's words, so says I, "I wonder, sir, you should give yourself that
trouble, to come so far to see a 'canting old fool,' such as me."
'He seemed taken aback at that; but he would fain persuade me 'at the
Rector was only in jest; and when that wouldn't do, he says, "Well,
Nancy, you shouldn't think so much about it: Mr. Hatfield was a little
out of humour just then: you know we're none of us perfect--even Moses
spoke unadvisedly with his lips.  But now sit down a minute, if you can
spare the time, and tell me all your doubts and fears; and I'll try to
remove them."
'So I sat me down anent him.  He was quite a stranger, you know, Miss
Grey, and even _younger_ nor Maister Hatfield, I believe; and I had
thought him not so pleasant-looking as him, and rather a bit crossish, at
first, to look at; but he spake so civil like--and when th' cat, poor
thing, jumped on to his knee, he only stroked her, and gave a bit of a
smile: so I thought that was a good sign; for once, when she did so to
th' Rector, he knocked her off, like as it might be in scorn and anger,
poor thing.  But you can't expect a cat to know manners like a Christian,
you know, Miss Grey.'
'No; of course not, Nancy.  But what did Mr. Weston say then?'
'He said nought; but he listened to me as steady an' patient as could be,
an' never a bit o' scorn about him; so I went on, an' telled him all,
just as I've telled you--an' more too.
'"Well," says he, "Mr. Hatfield was quite right in telling you to
persevere in doing your duty; but in advising you to go to church and
attend to the service, and so on, he didn't mean that was the whole of a
Christian's duty: he only thought you might there learn what more was to
be done, and be led to take delight in those exercises, instead of
finding them a task and a burden.  And if you had asked him to explain
those words that trouble you so much, I think he would have told you,
that if many shall seek to enter in at the strait gate and shall not be
able, it is their own sins that hinder them; just as a man with a large
sack on his back might wish to pass through a narrow doorway, and find it
impossible to do so unless he would leave his sack behind him.  But you,
Nancy, I dare say, have no sins that you would not gladly throw aside, if
you knew how?"
'"Indeed, sir, you speak truth," said I.
'"Well," says he, "you know the first and great commandment--and the
second, which is like unto it--on which two commandments hang all the law
and the prophets?  You say you cannot love God; but it strikes me that if
you rightly consider who and what He is, you cannot help it.  He is your
father, your best friend: every blessing, everything good, pleasant, or
useful, comes from Him; and everything evil, everything you have reason
to hate, to shun, or to fear, comes from Satan--_His_ enemy as well as
ours.  And for _this_ cause was God manifest in the flesh, that He might
destroy the works of the Devil: in one word, God is LOVE; and the more of
love we have within us, the nearer we are to Him and the more of His
spirit we possess."
'"Well, sir," I said, "if I can always think on these things, I think I
might well love God: but how can I love my neighbours, when they vex me,
and be so contrary and sinful as some on 'em is?"
'"It may seem a hard matter," says he, "to love our neighbours, who have
so much of what is evil about them, and whose faults so often awaken the
evil that lingers within ourselves; but remember that _He_ made them, and
_He_ loves them; and whosoever loveth him that begat, loveth him that is
begotten also.  And if God so loveth us, that He gave His only begotten
Son to die for us, we ought also to love one another.  But if you cannot
feel positive affection for those who do not care for you, you can at
least try to do to them as you would they should do unto you: you can
endeavour to pity their failings and excuse their offences, and to do all
the good you can to those about you.  And if you accustom yourself to
this, Nancy, the very effort itself will make you love them in some
degree--to say nothing of the goodwill your kindness would beget in them,
though they might have little else that is good about them.  If we love
God and wish to serve Him, let us try to be like Him, to do His work, to
labour for His glory--which is the good of man--to hasten the coming of
His kingdom, which is the peace and happiness of all the world: however
powerless we may seem to be, in doing all the good we can through life,
the humblest of us may do much towards it: and let us dwell in love, that
He may dwell in us and we in Him.  The more happiness we bestow, the more
we shall receive, even here; and the greater will be our reward in heaven
when we rest from our labours."  I believe, Miss, them is his very words,
for I've thought 'em ower many a time.  An' then he took that Bible, an'
read bits here and there, an' explained 'em as clear as the day: and it
seemed like as a new light broke in on my soul; an' I felt fair aglow
about my heart, an' only wished poor Bill an' all the world could ha'
been there, an' heard it all, and rejoiced wi' me.
'After he was gone, Hannah Rogers, one o' th' neighbours, came in and
wanted me to help her to wash.  I telled her I couldn't just then, for I
hadn't set on th' potaties for th' dinner, nor washed up th' breakfast
stuff yet.  So then she began a-calling me for my nasty idle ways.  I was
a little bit vexed at first, but I never said nothing wrong to her: I
only telled her like all in a quiet way, 'at I'd had th' new parson to
see me; but I'd get done as quick as ever I could, an' then come an' help
her.  So then she softened down; and my heart like as it warmed towards
her, an' in a bit we was very good friends.  An' so it is, Miss Grey, "a
soft answer turneth away wrath; but grievous words stir up anger."  It
isn't only in them you speak to, but in yourself.'
'Very true, Nancy, if we could always remember it.'
'Ay, if we could!'
'And did Mr. Weston ever come to see you again?'
'Yes, many a time; and since my eyes has been so bad, he's sat an' read
to me by the half-hour together: but you know, Miss, he has other folks
to see, and other things to do--God bless him!  An' that next Sunday he
preached _such_ a sermon!  His text was, "Come unto me all ye that labour
and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest," and them two blessed
verses that follows.  You wasn't there, Miss, you was with your friends
then--but it made me _so_ happy!  And I _am_ happy now, thank God! an' I
take a pleasure, now, in doing little bits o' jobs for my
neighbours--such as a poor old body 'at's half blind can do; and they
take it kindly of me, just as he said.  You see, Miss, I'm knitting a
pair o' stockings now;--they're for Thomas Jackson: he's a queerish old
body, an' we've had many a bout at threaping, one anent t'other; an' at
times we've differed sorely.  So I thought I couldn't do better nor knit
him a pair o' warm stockings; an' I've felt to like him a deal better,
poor old man, sin' I began.  It's turned out just as Maister Weston
said.'
'Well, I'm very glad to see you so happy, Nancy, and so wise: but I must
go now; I shall be wanted at the Hall,' said I; and bidding her good-bye,
I departed, promising to come again when I had time, and feeling nearly
as happy as herself.
At another time I went to read to a poor labourer who was in the last
stage of consumption.  The young ladies had been to see him, and somehow
a promise of reading had been extracted from them; but it was too much
trouble, so they begged me to do it instead.  I went, willingly enough;
and there too I was gratified with the praises of Mr. Weston, both from
the sick man and his wife.  The former told me that he derived great
comfort and benefit from the visits of the new parson, who frequently
came to see him, and was 'another guess sort of man' to Mr. Hatfield;
who, before the other's arrival at Horton, had now and then paid him a
visit; on which occasions he would always insist upon having the
cottage-door kept open, to admit the fresh air for his own convenience,
without considering how it might injure the sufferer; and having opened
his prayer-book and hastily read over a part of the Service for the Sick,
would hurry away again: if he did not stay to administer some harsh
rebuke to the afflicted wife, or to make some thoughtless, not to say
heartless, observation, rather calculated to increase than diminish the
troubles of the suffering pair.
'Whereas,' said the man, 'Maister Weston 'ull pray with me quite in a
different fashion, an' talk to me as kind as owt; an' oft read to me too,
an' sit beside me just like a brother.'
'Just for all the world!' exclaimed his wife; 'an' about a three wik
sin', when he seed how poor Jem shivered wi' cold, an' what pitiful fires
we kept, he axed if wer stock of coals was nearly done.  I telled him it
was, an' we was ill set to get more: but you know, mum, I didn't think o'
him helping us; but, howsever, he sent us a sack o' coals next day; an'
we've had good fires ever sin': and a great blessing it is, this winter
time.  But that's his way, Miss Grey: when he comes into a poor body's
house a-seein' sick folk, he like notices what they most stand i' need
on; an' if he thinks they can't readily get it therseln, he never says
nowt about it, but just gets it for 'em.  An' it isn't everybody 'at 'ud
do that, 'at has as little as he has: for you know, mum, he's nowt at all
to live on but what he gets fra' th' Rector, an' that's little enough
they say.'
I remembered then, with a species of exultation, that he had frequently
been styled a vulgar brute by the amiable Miss Murray, because he wore a
silver watch, and clothes not quite so bright and fresh as Mr.
Hatfield's.
In returning to the Lodge I felt very happy, and thanked God that I had
now something to think about; something to dwell on as a relief from the
weary monotony, the lonely drudgery, of my present life: for I _was_
lonely.  Never, from month to month, from year to year, except during my
brief intervals of rest at home, did I see one creature to whom I could
open my heart, or freely speak my thoughts with any hope of sympathy, or
even comprehension: never one, unless it were poor Nancy Brown, with whom
I could enjoy a single moment of real social intercourse, or whose
conversation was calculated to render me better, wiser, or happier than
before; or who, as far as I could see, could be greatly benefited by
mine.  My only companions had been unamiable children, and ignorant,
wrong-headed girls; from whose fatiguing folly, unbroken solitude was
often a relief most earnestly desired and dearly prized.  But to be
restricted to such associates was a serious evil, both in its immediate
effects and the consequences that were likely to ensue.  Never a new idea
or stirring thought came to me from without; and such as rose within me
were, for the most part, miserably crushed at once, or doomed to sicken
or fade away, because they could not see the light.
Habitual associates are known to exercise a great influence over each
other's minds and manners.  Those whose actions are for ever before our
eyes, whose words are ever in our ears, will naturally lead us, albeit
against our will, slowly, gradually, imperceptibly, perhaps, to act and
speak as they do.  I will not presume to say how far this irresistible
power of assimilation extends; but if one civilised man were doomed to
pass a dozen years amid a race of intractable savages, unless he had
power to improve them, I greatly question whether, at the close of that
period, he would not have become, at least, a barbarian himself.  And I,
as I could not make my young companions better, feared exceedingly that
they would make me worse--would gradually bring my feelings, habits,
capacities, to the level of their own; without, however, imparting to me
their lightheartedness and cheerful vivacity.
Already, I seemed to feel my intellect deteriorating, my heart
petrifying, my soul contracting; and I trembled lest my very moral
perceptions should become deadened, my distinctions of right and wrong
confounded, and all my better faculties be sunk, at last, beneath the
baneful influence of such a mode of life.  The gross vapours of earth
were gathering around me, and closing in upon my inward heaven; and thus
it was that Mr. Weston rose at length upon me, appearing like the morning
star in my horizon, to save me from the fear of utter darkness; and I
rejoiced that I had now a subject for contemplation that was above me,
not beneath.  I was glad to see that all the world was not made up of
Bloomfields, Murrays, Hatfields, Ashbys, &c.; and that human excellence
was not a mere dream of the imagination.  When we hear a little good and
no harm of a person, it is easy and pleasant to imagine more: in short,
it is needless to analyse all my thoughts; but Sunday was now become a
day of peculiar delight to me (I was now almost broken-in to the back
corner in the carriage), for I liked to hear him--and I liked to see him,
too; though I knew he was not handsome, or even what is called agreeable,
in outward aspect; but, certainly, he was not ugly.
In stature he was a little, a very little, above the middle size; the
outline of his face would be pronounced too square for beauty, but to me
it announced decision of character; his dark brown hair was not carefully
curled, like Mr. Hatfield's, but simply brushed aside over a broad white
forehead; the eyebrows, I suppose, were too projecting, but from under
those dark brows there gleamed an eye of singular power, brown in colour,
not large, and somewhat deep-set, but strikingly brilliant, and full of
expression; there was character, too, in the mouth, something that
bespoke a man of firm purpose and an habitual thinker; and when he
smiled--but I will not speak of that yet, for, at the time I mention, I
had never seen him smile: and, indeed, his general appearance did not
impress me with the idea of a man given to such a relaxation, nor of such
an individual as the cottagers described him.  I had early formed my
opinion of him; and, in spite of Miss Murray's objurgations: was fully
convinced that he was a man of strong sense, firm faith, and ardent
piety, but thoughtful and stern: and when I found that, to his other good
qualities, was added that of true benevolence and gentle, considerate
kindness, the discovery, perhaps, delighted me the more, as I had not
been prepared to expect it.
CHAPTER XII--THE SHOWER
The next visit I paid to Nancy Brown was in the second week in March:
for, though I had many spare minutes during the day, I seldom could look
upon an hour as entirely my own; since, where everything was left to the
caprices of Miss Matilda and her sister, there could be no order or
regularity.  Whatever occupation I chose, when not actually busied about
them or their concerns, I had, as it were, to keep my loins girded, my
shoes on my feet, and my staff in my hand; for not to be immediately
forthcoming when called for, was regarded as a grave and inexcusable
offence: not only by my pupils and their mother, but by the very servant,
who came in breathless haste to call me, exclaiming, 'You're to go to the
schoolroom _directly_, mum, the young ladies is WAITING!!'  Climax of
horror! actually waiting for their governess!!!
But this time I was pretty sure of an hour or two to myself; for Matilda
was preparing for a long ride, and Rosalie was dressing for a
dinner-party at Lady Ashby's: so I took the opportunity of repairing to
the widow's cottage, where I found her in some anxiety about her cat,
which had been absent all day.  I comforted her with as many anecdotes of
that animal's roving propensities as I could recollect.  'I'm feared o'
th' gamekeepers,' said she: 'that's all 'at I think on.  If th' young
gentlemen had been at home, I should a' thought they'd been setting their
dogs at her, an' worried her, poor thing, as they did _many_ a poor
thing's cat; but I haven't that to be feared on now.'  Nancy's eyes were
better, but still far from well: she had been trying to make a Sunday
shirt for her son, but told me she could only bear to do a little bit at
it now and then, so that it progressed but slowly, though the poor lad
wanted it sadly.  So I proposed to help her a little, after I had read to
her, for I had plenty of time that evening, and need not return till
dusk.  She thankfully accepted the offer.  'An' you'll be a bit o'
company for me too, Miss,' said she; 'I like as I feel lonesome without
my cat.'  But when I had finished reading, and done the half of a seam,
with Nancy's capacious brass thimble fitted on to my finger by means of a
roll of paper, I was disturbed by the entrance of Mr. Weston, with the
identical cat in his arms.  I now saw that he could smile, and very
pleasantly too.
'I've done you a piece of good service, Nancy,' he began: then seeing me,
he acknowledged my presence by a slight bow.  I should have been
invisible to Hatfield, or any other gentleman of those parts.  'I've
delivered your cat,' he continued, 'from the hands, or rather the gun, of
Mr. Murray's gamekeeper.'
'God bless you, sir!' cried the grateful old woman, ready to weep for joy
as she received her favourite from his arms.
'Take care of it,' said he, 'and don't let it go near the rabbit-warren,
for the gamekeeper swears he'll shoot it if he sees it there again: he
would have done so to-day, if I had not been in time to stop him.  I
believe it is raining, Miss Grey,' added he, more quietly, observing that
I had put aside my work, and was preparing to depart.  'Don't let me
disturb you--I shan't stay two minutes.'
'You'll _both_ stay while this shower gets owered,' said Nancy, as she
stirred the fire, and placed another chair beside it; 'what! there's room
for all.'
'I can see better here, thank you, Nancy,' replied I, taking my work to
the window, where she had the goodness to suffer me to remain unmolested,
while she got a brush to remove the cat's hairs from Mr. Weston's coat,
carefully wiped the rain from his hat, and gave the cat its supper,
busily talking all the time: now thanking her clerical friend for what he
had done; now wondering how the cat had found out the warren; and now
lamenting the probable consequences of such a discovery.  He listened
with a quiet, good-natured smile, and at length took a seat in compliance
with her pressing invitations, but repeated that he did not mean to stay.
'I have another place to go to,' said he, 'and I see' (glancing at the
book on the table) 'someone else has been reading to you.'
'Yes, sir; Miss Grey has been as kind as read me a chapter; an' now she's
helping me with a shirt for our Bill--but I'm feared she'll be cold
there.  Won't you come to th' fire, Miss?'
'No, thank you, Nancy, I'm quite warm.  I must go as soon as this shower
is over.'
'Oh, Miss!  You said you could stop while dusk!' cried the provoking old
woman, and Mr. Weston seized his hat.
'Nay, sir,' exclaimed she, 'pray don't go now, while it rains so fast.'
'But it strikes me I'm keeping your visitor away from the fire.'
'No, you're not, Mr. Weston,' replied I, hoping there was no harm in a
falsehood of that description.
'No, sure!' cried Nancy.  'What, there's lots o' room!'
'Miss Grey,' said he, half-jestingly, as if he felt it necessary to
change the present subject, whether he had anything particular to say or
not, 'I wish you would make my peace with the squire, when you see him.
He was by when I rescued Nancy's cat, and did not quite approve of the
deed.  I told him I thought he might better spare all his rabbits than
she her cat, for which audacious assertion he treated me to some rather
ungentlemanly language; and I fear I retorted a trifle too warmly.'
'Oh, lawful sir!  I hope you didn't fall out wi' th' maister for sake o'
my cat! he cannot bide answering again--can th' maister.'
'Oh! it's no matter, Nancy: I don't care about it, really; I said nothing
_very_ uncivil; and I suppose Mr. Murray is accustomed to use rather
strong language when he's heated.'
'Ay, sir: it's a pity.'
'And now, I really must go.  I have to visit a place a mile beyond this;
and you would not have me to return in the dark: besides, it has nearly
done raining now--so good-evening, Nancy.  Good-evening, Miss Grey.'
'Good-evening, Mr. Weston; but don't depend upon me for making your peace
with Mr. Murray, for I never see him--to speak to.'
'Don't you; it can't be helped then,' replied he, in dolorous
resignation: then, with a peculiar half-smile, he added, 'But never mind;
I imagine the squire has more to apologise for than I;' and left the
cottage.
I went on with my sewing as long as I could see, and then bade Nancy
good-evening; checking her too lively gratitude by the undeniable
assurance that I had only done for her what she would have done for me,
if she had been in my place and I in hers.  I hastened back to Horton
Lodge, where, having entered the schoolroom, I found the tea-table all in
confusion, the tray flooded with slops, and Miss Matilda in a most
ferocious humour.
'Miss Grey, whatever have you been about?  I've had tea half an hour ago,
and had to make it myself, and drink it all alone!  I wish you would come
in sooner!'
'I've been to see Nancy Brown.  I thought you would not be back from your
ride.'
'How could I ride in the rain, I should like to know.  That damned
pelting shower was vexatious enough--coming on when I was just in full
swing: and then to come and find nobody in to tea! and you know I can't
make the tea as I like it.'
'I didn't think of the shower,' replied I (and, indeed, the thought of
its driving her home had never entered my head).
'No, of course; you were under shelter yourself, and you never thought of
other people.'
I bore her coarse reproaches with astonishing equanimity, even with
cheerfulness; for I was sensible that I had done more good to Nancy Brown
than harm to her: and perhaps some other thoughts assisted to keep up my
spirits, and impart a relish to the cup of cold, overdrawn tea, and a
charm to the otherwise unsightly table; and--I had almost said--to Miss
Matilda's unamiable face.  But she soon betook herself to the stables,
and left me to the quiet enjoyment of my solitary meal.
CHAPTER XIII--THE PRIMROSES
Miss Murray now always went twice to church, for she so loved admiration
that she could not bear to lose a single opportunity of obtaining it; and
she was so sure of it wherever she showed herself, that, whether Harry
Meltham and Mr. Green were there or not, there was certain to be somebody
present who would not be insensible to her charms, besides the Rector,
whose official capacity generally obliged him to attend.  Usually, also,
if the weather permitted, both she and her sister would walk home;
Matilda, because she hated the confinement of the carriage; she, because
she disliked the privacy of it, and enjoyed the company that generally
enlivened the first mile of the journey in walking from the church to Mr.
Green's park-gates: near which commenced the private road to Horton
Lodge, which lay in the opposite direction, while the highway conducted
in a straightforward course to the still more distant mansion of Sir Hugh
Meltham.  Thus there was always a chance of being accompanied, so far,
either by Harry Meltham, with or without Miss Meltham, or Mr. Green, with
perhaps one or both of his sisters, and any gentlemen visitors they might
have.
Whether I walked with the young ladies or rode with their parents,
depended upon their own capricious will: if they chose to 'take' me, I
went; if, for reasons best known to themselves, they chose to go alone, I
took my seat in the carriage.  I liked walking better, but a sense of
reluctance to obtrude my presence on anyone who did not desire it, always
kept me passive on these and similar occasions; and I never inquired into
the causes of their varying whims.  Indeed, this was the best policy--for
to submit and oblige was the governess's part, to consult their own
pleasure was that of the pupils.  But when I did walk, the first half of
journey was generally a great nuisance to me.  As none of the
before-mentioned ladies and gentlemen ever noticed me, it was
disagreeable to walk beside them, as if listening to what they said, or
wishing to be thought one of them, while they talked over me, or across;
and if their eyes, in speaking, chanced to fall on me, it seemed as if
they looked on vacancy--as if they either did not see me, or were very
desirous to make it appear so.  It was disagreeable, too, to walk behind,
and thus appear to acknowledge my own inferiority; for, in truth, I
considered myself pretty nearly as good as the best of them, and wished
them to know that I did so, and not to imagine that I looked upon myself
as a mere domestic, who knew her own place too well to walk beside such
fine ladies and gentlemen as they were--though her young ladies might
choose to have her with them, and even condescend to converse with her
when no better company were at hand.  Thus--I am almost ashamed to
confess it--but indeed I gave myself no little trouble in my endeavours
(if I did keep up with them) to appear perfectly unconscious or
regardless of their presence, as if I were wholly absorbed in my own
reflections, or the contemplation of surrounding objects; or, if I
lingered behind, it was some bird or insect, some tree or flower, that
attracted my attention, and having duly examined that, I would pursue my
walk alone, at a leisurely pace, until my pupils had bidden adieu to
their companions and turned off into the quiet private road.
One such occasion I particularly well remember; it was a lovely afternoon
about the close of March; Mr. Green and his sisters had sent their
carriage back empty, in order to enjoy the bright sunshine and balmy air
in a sociable walk home along with their visitors, Captain Somebody and
Lieutenant Somebody-else (a couple of military fops), and the Misses
Murray, who, of course, contrived to join them.  Such a party was highly
agreeable to Rosalie; but not finding it equally suitable to my taste, I
presently fell back, and began to botanise and entomologise along the
green banks and budding hedges, till the company was considerably in
advance of me, and I could hear the sweet song of the happy lark; then my
spirit of misanthropy began to melt away beneath the soft, pure air and
genial sunshine; but sad thoughts of early childhood, and yearnings for
departed joys, or for a brighter future lot, arose instead.  As my eyes
wandered over the steep banks covered with young grass and green-leaved
plants, and surmounted by budding hedges, I longed intensely for some
familiar flower that might recall the woody dales or green hill-sides of
home: the brown moorlands, of course, were out of the question.  Such a
discovery would make my eyes gush out with water, no doubt; but that was
one of my greatest enjoyments now.  At length I descried, high up between
the twisted roots of an oak, three lovely primroses, peeping so sweetly
from their hiding-place that the tears already started at the sight; but
they grew so high above me, that I tried in vain to gather one or two, to
dream over and to carry with me: I could not reach them unless I climbed
the bank, which I was deterred from doing by hearing a footstep at that
moment behind me, and was, therefore, about to turn away, when I was
startled by the words, 'Allow me to gather them for you, Miss Grey,'
spoken in the grave, low tones of a well-known voice.  Immediately the
flowers were gathered, and in my hand.  It was Mr. Weston, of course--who
else would trouble himself to do so much for _me_?
'I thanked him; whether warmly or coldly, I cannot tell: but certain I am
that I did not express half the gratitude I felt.  It was foolish,
perhaps, to feel any gratitude at all; but it seemed to me, at that
moment, as if this were a remarkable instance of his good-nature: an act
of kindness, which I could not repay, but never should forget: so utterly
unaccustomed was I to receive such civilities, so little prepared to
expect them from anyone within fifty miles of Horton Lodge.  Yet this did
not prevent me from feeling a little uncomfortable in his presence; and I
proceeded to follow my pupils at a much quicker pace than before; though,
perhaps, if Mr. Weston had taken the hint, and let me pass without
another word, I might have repeated it an hour after: but he did not.  A
somewhat rapid walk for me was but an ordinary pace for him.
'Your young ladies have left you alone,' said he.
'Yes, they are occupied with more agreeable company.'
'Then don't trouble yourself to overtake them.'  I slackened my pace; but
next moment regretted having done so: my companion did not speak; and I
had nothing in the world to say, and feared he might be in the same
predicament.  At length, however, he broke the pause by asking, with a
certain quiet abruptness peculiar to himself, if I liked flowers.
'Yes; very much,' I answered, 'wild-flowers especially.'
'_I_ like wild-flowers,' said he; 'others I don't care about, because I
have no particular associations connected with them--except one or two.
What are your favourite flowers?'
'Primroses, bluebells, and heath-blossoms.'
'Not violets?'
'No; because, as you say, I have no particular associations connected
with them; for there are no sweet violets among the hills and valleys
round my home.'
'It must be a great consolation to you to have a home, Miss Grey,'
observed my companion after a short pause: 'however remote, or however
seldom visited, still it is something to look to.'
'It is so much that I think I could not live without it,' replied I, with
an enthusiasm of which I immediately repented; for I thought it must have
sounded essentially silly.
'Oh, yes, you could,' said he, with a thoughtful smile.  'The ties that
bind us to life are tougher than you imagine, or than anyone can who has
not felt how roughly they may be pulled without breaking.  You might be
miserable without a home, but even _you_ could live; and not so miserably
as you suppose.  The human heart is like india-rubber; a little swells
it, but a great deal will not burst it.  If "little more than nothing
will disturb it, little less than all things will suffice" to break it.
As in the outer members of our frame, there is a vital power inherent in
itself that strengthens it against external violence.  Every blow that
shakes it will serve to harden it against a future stroke; as constant
labour thickens the skin of the hand, and strengthens its muscles instead
of wasting them away: so that a day of arduous toil, that might excoriate
a lady's palm, would make no sensible impression on that of a hardy
ploughman.
'I speak from experience--partly my own.  There was a time when I thought
as you do--at least, I was fully persuaded that home and its affections
were the only things that made life tolerable: that, if deprived of
these, existence would become a burden hard to be endured; but now I have
no home--unless you would dignify my two hired rooms at Horton by such a
name;--and not twelve months ago I lost the last and dearest of my early
friends; and yet, not only I live, but I am not wholly destitute of hope
and comfort, even for this life: though I must acknowledge that I can
seldom enter even an humble cottage at the close of day, and see its
inhabitants peaceably gathered around their cheerful hearth, without a
feeling _almost_ of envy at their domestic enjoyment.'
'You don't know what happiness lies before you yet,' said I: 'you are now
only in the commencement of your journey.'
'The best of happiness,' replied he, 'is mine already--the power and the
will to be useful.'
We now approached a stile communicating with a footpath that conducted to
a farm-house, where, I suppose, Mr. Weston purposed to make himself
'useful;' for he presently took leave of me, crossed the stile, and
traversed the path with his usual firm, elastic tread, leaving me to
ponder his words as I continued my course alone.  I had heard before that
he had lost his mother not many months before he came.  She then was the
last and dearest of his early friends; and he had _no home_.  I pitied
him from my heart: I almost wept for sympathy.  And this, I thought,
accounted for the shade of premature thoughtfulness that so frequently
clouded his brow, and obtained for him the reputation of a morose and
sullen disposition with the charitable Miss Murray and all her kin.
'But,' thought I, 'he is not so miserable as I should be under such a
deprivation: he leads an active life; and a wide field for useful
exertion lies before him.  He can _make_ friends; and he can make a home
too, if he pleases; and, doubtless, he will please some time.  God grant
the partner of that home may be worthy of his choice, and make it a happy
one--such a home as he deserves to have!  And how delightful it would be
to--'  But no matter what I thought.
I began this book with the intention of concealing nothing; that those
who liked might have the benefit of perusing a fellow-creature's heart:
but we have some thoughts that all the angels in heaven are welcome to
behold, but not our brother-men--not even the best and kindest amongst
them.
By this time the Greens had taken themselves to their own abode, and the
Murrays had turned down the private road, whither I hastened to follow
them.  I found the two girls warm in an animated discussion on the
respective merits of the two young officers; but on seeing me Rosalie
broke off in the middle of a sentence to exclaim, with malicious glee--
'Oh-ho, Miss Grey! you're come at last, are you?  No _wonder_ you
lingered so long behind; and no _wonder_ you always stand up so
vigorously for Mr. Weston when I abuse him.  Ah-ha!  I see it all now!'
'Now, come, Miss Murray, don't be foolish,' said I, attempting a
good-natured laugh; 'you know such nonsense can make no impression on
me.'
But she still went on talking such intolerable stuff--her sister helping
her with appropriate fiction coined for the occasion--that I thought it
necessary to say something in my own justification.
'What folly all this is!' I exclaimed.  'If Mr. Weston's road happened to
be the same as mine for a few yards, and if he chose to exchange a word
or two in passing, what is there so remarkable in that?  I assure you, I
never spoke to him before: except once.'
'Where? where? and when?' cried they eagerly.
'In Nancy's cottage.'
'Ah-ha! you've met him there, have you?' exclaimed Rosalie, with exultant
laughter.  'Ah! now, Matilda, I've found out why she's so fond of going
to Nancy Brown's!  She goes there to flirt with Mr. Weston.'
'Really, that is not worth contradicting--I only saw him there once, I
tell you--and how could I know he was coming?'
Irritated as I was at their foolish mirth and vexatious imputations, the
uneasiness did not continue long: when they had had their laugh out, they
returned again to the captain and lieutenant; and, while they disputed
and commented upon them, my indignation rapidly cooled; the cause of it
was quickly forgotten, and I turned my thoughts into a pleasanter
channel.  Thus we proceeded up the park, and entered the hall; and as I
ascended the stairs to my own chamber, I had but one thought within me:
my heart was filled to overflowing with one single earnest wish.  Having
entered the room, and shut the door, I fell upon my knees and offered up
a fervent but not impetuous prayer: 'Thy will be done,' I strove to say
throughout; but, 'Father, all things are possible with Thee, and may it
be Thy will,' was sure to follow.  That wish--that prayer--both men and
women would have scorned me for--'But, Father, _Thou_ wilt _not_
despise!' I said, and felt that it was true.  It seemed to me that
another's welfare was at least as ardently implored for as my own; nay,
even _that_ was the principal object of my heart's desire.  I might have
been deceiving myself; but that idea gave me confidence to ask, and power
to hope I did not ask in vain.  As for the primroses, I kept two of them
in a glass in my room until they were completely withered, and the
housemaid threw them out; and the petals of the other I pressed between
the leaves of my Bible--I have them still, and mean to keep them always.
CHAPTER XIV--THE RECTOR
The following day was as fine as the preceding one.  Soon after breakfast
Miss Matilda, having galloped and blundered through a few unprofitable
lessons, and vengeably thumped the piano for an hour, in a terrible
humour with both me and it, because her mamma would not give her a
holiday, had betaken herself to her favourite places of resort, the
yards, the stables, and the dog-kennels; and Miss Murray was gone forth
to enjoy a quiet ramble with a new fashionable novel for her companion,
leaving me in the schoolroom hard at work upon a water-colour drawing
which I had promised to do for her, and which she insisted upon my
finishing that day.
At my feet lay a little rough terrier.  It was the property of Miss
Matilda; but she hated the animal, and intended to sell it, alleging that
it was quite spoiled.  It was really an excellent dog of its kind; but
she affirmed it was fit for nothing, and had not even the sense to know
its own mistress.
The fact was she had purchased it when but a small puppy, insisting at
first that no one should touch it but herself; but soon becoming tired of
so helpless and troublesome a nursling, she had gladly yielded to my
entreaties to be allowed to take charge of it; and I, by carefully
nursing the little creature from infancy to adolescence, of course, had
obtained its affections: a reward I should have greatly valued, and
looked upon as far outweighing all the trouble I had had with it, had not
poor Snap's grateful feelings exposed him to many a harsh word and many a
spiteful kick and pinch from his owner, and were he not now in danger of
being 'put away' in consequence, or transferred to some rough,
stony-hearted master.  But how could I help it?  I could not make the dog
hate me by cruel treatment, and she would not propitiate him by kindness.
However, while I thus sat, working away with my pencil, Mrs. Murray came,
half-sailing, half-bustling, into the room.
'Miss Grey,' she began,--'dear! how can you sit at your drawing such a
day as this?'  (She thought I was doing it for my own pleasure.)  'I
_wonder_ you don't put on your bonnet and go out with the young ladies.'
'I think, ma'am, Miss Murray is reading; and Miss Matilda is amusing
herself with her dogs.'
'If you would try to amuse Miss Matilda yourself a little more, I think
she would not be driven to seek amusement in the companionship of dogs
and horses and grooms, so much as she is; and if you would be a little
more cheerful and conversable with Miss Murray, she would not so often go
wandering in the fields with a book in her hand.  However, I don't want
to vex you,' added she, seeing, I suppose, that my cheeks burned and my
hand trembled with some unamiable emotion.  'Do, pray, try not to be so
touchy--there's no speaking to you else.  And tell me if you know where
Rosalie is gone: and why she likes to be so much alone?'
'She says she likes to be alone when she has a new book to read.'
'But why can't she read it in the park or the garden?--why should she go
into the fields and lanes?  And how is it that that Mr. Hatfield so often
finds her out?  She told me last week he'd walked his horse by her side
all up Moss Lane; and now I'm sure it was he I saw, from my dressing-room
window, walking so briskly past the park-gates, and on towards the field
where she so frequently goes.  I wish you would go and see if she is
there; and just gently remind her that it is not proper for a young lady
of her rank and prospects to be wandering about by herself in that
manner, exposed to the attentions of anyone that presumes to address her;
like some poor neglected girl that has no park to walk in, and no friends
to take care of her: and tell her that her papa would be extremely angry
if he knew of her treating Mr. Hatfield in the familiar manner that I
fear she does; and--oh! if you--if _any_ governess had but half a
mother's watchfulness--half a mother's anxious care, I should be saved
this trouble; and you would see at once the necessity of keeping your eye
upon her, and making your company agreeable to--  Well, go--go; there's
no time to be lost,' cried she, seeing that I had put away my drawing
materials, and was waiting in the doorway for the conclusion of her
address.
According to her prognostications, I found Miss Murray in her favourite
field just without the park; and, unfortunately, not alone; for the tall,
stately figure of Mr. Hatfield was slowly sauntering by her side.
Here was a poser for me.  It was my duty to interrupt the _tete-a-tete_:
but how was it to be done?  Mr. Hatfield could not to be driven away by
so insignificant person as I; and to go and place myself on the other
side of Miss Murray, and intrude my unwelcome presence upon her without
noticing her companion, was a piece of rudeness I could not be guilty of:
neither had I the courage to cry aloud from the top of the field that she
was wanted elsewhere.  So I took the intermediate course of walking
slowly but steadily towards them; resolving, if my approach failed to
scare away the beau, to pass by and tell Miss Murray her mamma wanted
her.
She certainly looked very charming as she strolled, lingering along under
the budding horse-chestnut trees that stretched their long arms over the
park-palings; with her closed book in one hand, and in the other a
graceful sprig of myrtle, which served her as a very pretty plaything;
her bright ringlets escaping profusely from her little bonnet, and gently
stirred by the breeze, her fair cheek flushed with gratified vanity, her
smiling blue eyes, now slyly glancing towards her admirer, now gazing
downward at her myrtle sprig.  But Snap, running before me, interrupted
her in the midst of some half-pert, half-playful repartee, by catching
hold of her dress and vehemently tugging thereat; till Mr. Hatfield, with
his cane, administered a resounding thwack upon the animal's skull, and
sent it yelping back to me with a clamorous outcry that afforded the
reverend gentleman great amusement: but seeing me so near, he thought, I
suppose, he might as well be taking his departure; and, as I stooped to
caress the dog, with ostentatious pity to show my disapproval of his
severity, I heard him say: 'When shall I see you again, Miss Murray?'
'At church, I suppose,' replied she, 'unless your business chances to
bring you here again at the precise moment when I happen to be walking
by.'
'I could always manage to have business here, if I knew precisely when
and where to find you.'
'But if I would, I could not inform you, for I am so immethodical, I
never can tell to-day what I shall do to-morrow.'
'Then give me that, meantime, to comfort me,' said he, half jestingly and
half in earnest, extending his hand for the sprig of myrtle.
'No, indeed, I shan't.'
'Do! _pray_ do!  I shall be the most miserable of men if you don't.  You
cannot be so cruel as to deny me a favour so easily granted and yet so
highly prized!' pleaded he as ardently as if his life depended on it.
By this time I stood within a very few yards of them, impatiently waiting
his departure.
'There then! take it and go,' said Rosalie.
He joyfully received the gift, murmured something that made her blush and
toss her head, but with a little laugh that showed her displeasure was
entirely affected; and then with a courteous salutation withdrew.
'Did you ever see such a man, Miss Grey?' said she, turning to me; 'I'm
so _glad_ you came!  I thought I never _should_, get rid of him; and I
was so terribly afraid of papa seeing him.'
'Has he been with you long?'
'No, not long, but he's so extremely impertinent: and he's always hanging
about, pretending his business or his clerical duties require his
attendance in these parts, and really watching for poor me, and pouncing
upon me wherever he sees me.'
'Well, your mamma thinks you ought not to go beyond the park or garden
without some discreet, matronly person like me to accompany you, and keep
off all intruders.  She descried Mr. Hatfield hurrying past the
park-gates, and forthwith despatched me with instructions to seek you up
and to take care of you, and likewise to warn--'
'Oh, mamma's so tiresome!  As if I couldn't take care of myself.  She
bothered me before about Mr. Hatfield; and I told her she might trust me:
I never should forget my rank and station for the most delightful man
that ever breathed.  I wish he would go down on his knees to-morrow, and
implore me to be his wife, that I might just show her how mistaken she is
in supposing that I could ever--Oh, it provokes me so!  To think that I
could be such a fool as to fall in _love_!  It is quite beneath the
dignity of a woman to do such a thing.  Love!  I detest the word!  As
applied to one of our sex, I think it a perfect insult.  A preference I
_might_ acknowledge; but never for one like poor Mr. Hatfield, who has
not seven hundred a year to bless himself with.  I like to talk to him,
because he's so clever and amusing--I wish Sir Thomas Ashby were half as
nice; besides, I must have _somebody_ to flirt with, and no one else has
the sense to come here; and when we go out, mamma won't let me flirt with
anybody but Sir Thomas--if he's there; and if he's _not_ there, I'm bound
hand and foot, for fear somebody should go and make up some exaggerated
story, and put it into his head that I'm engaged, or likely to be
engaged, to somebody else; or, what is more probable, for fear his nasty
old mother should see or hear of my ongoings, and conclude that I'm not a
fit wife for her excellent son: as if the said son were not the greatest
scamp in Christendom; and as if any woman of common decency were not a
world too good for him.'
'Is it really so, Miss Murray? and does your mamma know it, and yet wish
you to marry him?'
'To be sure, she does!  She knows more against him than I do, I believe:
she keeps it from me lest I should be discouraged; not knowing how little
I care about such things.  For it's no great matter, really: he'll be all
right when he's married, as mamma says; and reformed rakes make the best
husbands, _everybody_ knows.  I only wish he were not so ugly--_that's_
all _I_ think about: but then there's no choice here in the country; and
papa _will not_ let us go to London--'
'But I should think Mr. Hatfield would be far better.'
'And so he would, if he were lord of Ashby Park--there's not a doubt of
it: but the fact is, I _must_ have Ashby Park, whoever shares it with
me.'
'But Mr. Hatfield thinks you like him all this time; you don't consider
how bitterly he will be disappointed when he finds himself mistaken.'
'_No_, indeed!  It will be a proper punishment for his presumption--for
ever _daring_ to think I could like him.  I should enjoy nothing so much
as lifting the veil from his eyes.'
'The sooner you do it the better then.'
'No; I tell you, I like to amuse myself with him.  Besides, he doesn't
really think I like him.  I take good care of that: you don't know how
cleverly I manage.  He may presume to think he can induce me to like him;
for which I shall punish him as he deserves.'
'Well, mind you don't give too much reason for such presumption--that's
all,' replied I.
But all my exhortations were in vain: they only made her somewhat more
solicitous to disguise her wishes and her thoughts from me.  She talked
no more to me about the Rector; but I could see that her mind, if not her
heart, was fixed upon him still, and that she was intent upon obtaining
another interview: for though, in compliance with her mother's request, I
was now constituted the companion of her rambles for a time, she still
persisted in wandering in the fields and lanes that lay in the nearest
proximity to the road; and, whether she talked to me or read the book she
carried in her hand, she kept continually pausing to look round her, or
gaze up the road to see if anyone was coming; and if a horseman trotted
by, I could tell by her unqualified abuse of the poor equestrian, whoever
he might be, that she hated him _because_ he was not Mr. Hatfield.
'Surely,' thought I, 'she is not so indifferent to him as she believes
herself to be, or would have others to believe her; and her mother's
anxiety is not so wholly causeless as she affirms.'
Three days passed away, and he did not make his appearance.  On the
afternoon of the fourth, as we were walking beside the park-palings in
the memorable field, each furnished with a book (for I always took care
to provide myself with something to be doing when she did not require me
to talk), she suddenly interrupted my studies by exclaiming--
'Oh, Miss Grey! do be so kind as to go and see Mark Wood, and take his
wife half-a-crown from me--I should have given or sent it a week ago, but
quite forgot.  There!' said she, throwing me her purse, and speaking very
fast--'Never mind getting it out now, but take the purse and give them
what you like; I would go with you, but I want to finish this volume.
I'll come and meet you when I've done it.  Be quick, will you--and--oh,
wait; hadn't you better read to him a bit?  Run to the house and get some
sort of a good book.  Anything will do.'
I did as I was desired; but, suspecting something from her hurried manner
and the suddenness of the request, I just glanced back before I quitted
the field, and there was Mr. Hatfield about to enter at the gate below.
By sending me to the house for a book, she had just prevented my meeting
him on the road.
'Never mind!' thought I, 'there'll be no great harm done.  Poor Mark will
be glad of the half-crown, and perhaps of the good book too; and if the
Rector does steal Miss Rosalie's heart, it will only humble her pride a
little; and if they do get married at last, it will only save her from a
worse fate; and she will be quite a good enough partner for him, and he
for her.'
Mark Wood was the consumptive labourer whom I mentioned before.  He was
now rapidly wearing away.  Miss Murray, by her liberality, obtained
literally the blessing of him that was ready to perish; for though the
half-crown could be of very little service to him, he was glad of it for
the sake of his wife and children, so soon to be widowed and fatherless.
After I had sat a few minutes, and read a little for the comfort and
edification of himself and his afflicted wife, I left them; but I had not
proceeded fifty yards before I encountered Mr. Weston, apparently on his
way to the same abode.  He greeted me in his usual quiet, unaffected way,
stopped to inquire about the condition of the sick man and his family,
and with a sort of unconscious, brotherly disregard to ceremony took from
my hand the book out of which I had been reading, turned over its pages,
made a few brief but very sensible remarks, and restored it; then told me
about some poor sufferer he had just been visiting, talked a little about
Nancy Brown, made a few observations upon my little rough friend the
terrier, that was frisking at his feet, and finally upon the beauty of
the weather, and departed.
I have omitted to give a detail of his words, from a notion that they
would not interest the reader as they did me, and not because I have
forgotten them.  No; I remember them well; for I thought them over and
over again in the course of that day and many succeeding ones, I know not
how often; and recalled every intonation of his deep, clear voice, every
flash of his quick, brown eye, and every gleam of his pleasant, but too
transient smile.  Such a confession will look very absurd, I fear: but no
matter: I have written it: and they that read it will not know the
writer.
While I was walking along, happy within, and pleased with all around,
Miss Murray came hastening to meet me; her buoyant step, flushed cheek,
and radiant smiles showing that she, too, was happy, in her own way.
Running up to me, she put her arm through mine, and without waiting to
recover breath, began--'Now, Miss Grey, think yourself highly honoured,
for I'm come to tell you my news before I've breathed a word of it to
anyone else.'
'Well, what is it?'
'Oh, _such_ news!  In the first place, you must know that Mr. Hatfield
came upon me just after you were gone.  I was in such a way for fear papa
or mamma should see him; but you know I couldn't call you back again, and
so!--oh, dear!  I can't tell you all about it now, for there's Matilda, I
see, in the park, and I must go and open my budget to her.  But, however,
Hatfield was most uncommonly audacious, unspeakably complimentary, and
unprecedentedly tender--tried to be so, at least--he didn't succeed very
well in _that_, because it's not his vein.  I'll tell you all he said
another time.'
'But what did _you_ say--I'm more interested in that?'
'I'll tell you that, too, at some future period.  I happened to be in a
very good humour just then; but, though I was complaisant and gracious
enough, I took care not to compromise myself in any possible way.  But,
however, the conceited wretch chose to interpret my amiability of temper
his own way, and at length presumed upon my indulgence so far--what do
you think?--he actually made me an offer!'
'And you--'
'I proudly drew myself up, and with the greatest coolness expressed my
astonishment at such an occurrence, and hoped he had seen nothing in my
conduct to justify his expectations.  You should have _seen_ how his
countenance fell!  He went perfectly white in the face.  I assured him
that I esteemed him and all that, but could not possibly accede to his
proposals; and if I did, papa and mamma could never be brought to give
their consent.'
'"But if they could," said he, "would yours be wanting?"
'"Certainly, Mr. Hatfield," I replied, with a cool decision which quelled
all hope at once.  Oh, if you had seen how dreadfully mortified he
was--how crushed to the earth by his disappointment! really, I almost
pitied him myself.
'One more desperate attempt, however, he made.  After a silence of
considerable duration, during which he struggled to be calm, and I to be
grave--for I felt a strong propensity to laugh--which would have ruined
all--he said, with the ghost of a smile--"But tell me plainly, Miss
Murray, if I had the wealth of Sir Hugh Meltham, or the prospects of his
eldest son, would you still refuse me?  Answer me truly, upon your
honour."
'"Certainly," said I.  "That would make no difference whatever."
'It was a great lie, but he looked so confident in his own attractions
still, that I determined not to leave him one stone upon another.  He
looked me full in the face; but I kept my countenance so well that he
could not imagine I was saying anything more than the actual truth.
'"Then it's all over, I suppose," he said, looking as if he could have
died on the spot with vexation and the intensity of his despair.  But he
was angry as well as disappointed.  There was he, suffering so
unspeakably, and there was I, the pitiless cause of it all, so utterly
impenetrable to all the artillery of his looks and words, so calmly cold
and proud, he could not but feel some resentment; and with singular
bitterness he began--"I certainly did not expect this, Miss Murray.  I
might say something about your past conduct, and the hopes you have led
me to foster, but I forbear, on condition--"
'"No conditions, Mr. Hatfield!" said I, now truly indignant at his
insolence.
'"Then let me beg it as a favour," he replied, lowering his voice at
once, and taking a humbler tone: "let me entreat that you will not
mention this affair to anyone whatever.  If you will keep silence about
it, there need be no unpleasantness on either side--nothing, I mean,
beyond what is quite unavoidable: for my own feelings I will endeavour to
keep to myself, if I cannot annihilate them--I will try to forgive, if I
cannot forget the cause of my sufferings.  I will not suppose, Miss
Murray, that you know how deeply you have injured me.  I would not have
you aware of it; but if, in addition to the injury you have already done
me--pardon me, but, whether innocently or not, you _have_ done it--and if
you add to it by giving publicity to this unfortunate affair, or naming
it _at all_, you will find that I too can speak, and though you scorned
my love, you will hardly scorn my--"
'He stopped, but he bit his bloodless lip, and looked so terribly fierce
that I was quite frightened.  However, my pride upheld me still, and I
answered disdainfully; "I do not know what motive you suppose I could
have for naming it to anyone, Mr. Hatfield; but if I were disposed to do
so, you would not deter me by threats; and it is scarcely the part of a
gentleman to attempt it."
'"Pardon me, Miss Murray," said he, "I have loved you so intensely--I do
still adore you so deeply, that I would not willingly offend you; but
though I never have loved, and never _can_ love any woman as I have loved
you, it is equally certain that I never was so ill-treated by any.  On
the contrary, I have always found your sex the kindest and most tender
and obliging of God's creation, till now."  (Think of the conceited
fellow saying that!)  "And the novelty and harshness of the lesson you
have taught me to-day, and the bitterness of being disappointed in the
only quarter on which the happiness of my life depended, must excuse any
appearance of asperity.  If my presence is disagreeable to you, Miss
Murray," he said (for I was looking about me to show how little I cared
for him, so he thought I was tired of him, I suppose)--"if my presence is
disagreeable to you, Miss Murray, you have only to promise me the favour
I named, and I will relieve you at once.  There are many ladies--some
even in this parish--who would be delighted to accept what you have so
scornfully trampled under your feet.  They would be naturally inclined to
hate one whose surpassing loveliness has so completely estranged my heart
from them and blinded me to their attractions; and a single hint of the
truth from me to one of these would be sufficient to raise such a talk
against you as would seriously injure your prospects, and diminish your
chance of success with any other gentleman you or your mamma might design
to entangle."
'"What do your mean, sir?" said I, ready to stamp with passion.
'"I mean that this affair from beginning to end appears to me like a case
of arrant flirtation, to say the least of it--such a case as you would
find it rather inconvenient to have blazoned through the world:
especially with the additions and exaggerations of your female rivals,
who would be too glad to publish the matter, if I only gave them a handle
to it.  But I promise you, on the faith of a gentleman, that no word or
syllable that could tend to your prejudice shall ever escape my lips,
provided you will--"
'"Well, well, I won't mention it," said I.  "You may rely upon my
silence, if that can afford you any consolation."
'"You promise it?"
'"Yes," I answered; for I wanted to get rid of him now.
'"Farewell, then!" said he, in a most doleful, heart-sick tone; and with
a look where pride vainly struggled against despair, he turned and went
away: longing, no doubt, to get home, that he might shut himself up in
his study and cry--if he doesn't burst into tears before he gets there.'
'But you have broken your promise already,' said I, truly horrified at
her perfidy.
'Oh! it's only to you; I know you won't repeat it.'
'Certainly, I shall not: but you say you are going to tell your sister;
and she will tell your brothers when they come home, and Brown
immediately, if you do not tell her yourself; and Brown will blazon it,
or be the means of blazoning it, throughout the country.'
'No, indeed, she won't.  We shall not tell her at all, unless it be under
the promise of the strictest secrecy.'
'But how can you expect her to keep her promises better than her more
enlightened mistress?'
'Well, well, she shan't hear it then,' said Miss Murray, somewhat
snappishly.
'But you will tell your mamma, of course,' pursued I; 'and she will tell
your papa.'
'Of course I shall tell mamma--that is the very thing that pleases me so
much.  I shall now be able to convince her how mistaken she was in her
fears about me.'
'Oh, _that's_ it, is it?  I was wondering what it was that delighted you
so much.'
'Yes; and another thing is, that I've humbled Mr. Hatfield so charmingly;
and another--why, you must allow me some share of female vanity: I don't
pretend to be without that most essential attribute of our sex--and if
you had seen poor Hatfield's intense eagerness in making his ardent
declaration and his flattering proposal, and his agony of mind, that no
effort of pride could conceal, on being refused, you would have allowed I
had some cause to be gratified.'
'The greater his agony, I should think, the less your cause for
gratification.'
'Oh, nonsense!' cried the young lady, shaking herself with vexation.
'You either can't understand me, or you won't.  If I had not confidence
in your magnanimity, I should think you envied me.  But you will,
perhaps, comprehend this cause of pleasure--which is as great as
any--namely, that I am delighted with myself for my prudence, my
self-command, my heartlessness, if you please.  I was not a bit taken by
surprise, not a bit confused, or awkward, or foolish; I just acted and
spoke as I ought to have done, and was completely my own mistress
throughout.  And here was a man, decidedly good-looking--Jane and Susan
Green call him bewitchingly handsome--I suppose they're two of the ladies
he pretends would be so glad to have him; but, however, he was certainly
a very clever, witty, agreeable companion--not what you call clever, but
just enough to make him entertaining; and a man one needn't be ashamed of
anywhere, and would not soon grow tired of; and to confess the truth, I
rather liked him--better even, of late, than Harry Meltham--and he
evidently idolised me; and yet, though he came upon me all alone and
unprepared, I had the wisdom, and the pride, and the strength to refuse
him--and so scornfully and coolly as I did: I have good reason to be
proud of that.'
'And are you equally proud of having told him that his having the wealth
of Sir Hugh Meltham would make no difference to you, when that was not
the case; and of having promised to tell no one of his misadventure,
apparently without the slightest intention of keeping your promise?'
'Of course! what else could I do?  You would not have had me--but I see,
Miss Grey, you're not in a good temper.  Here's Matilda; I'll see what
she and mamma have to say about it.'
She left me, offended at my want of sympathy, and thinking, no doubt,
that I envied her.  I did not--at least, I firmly believed I did not.  I
was sorry for her; I was amazed, disgusted at her heartless vanity; I
wondered why so much beauty should be given to those who made so bad a
use of it, and denied to some who would make it a benefit to both
themselves and others.
But, God knows best, I concluded.  There are, I suppose, some men as
vain, as selfish, and as heartless as she is, and, perhaps, such women
may be useful to punish them.
CHAPTER XV--THE WALK
'Oh, dear!  I wish Hatfield had not been so precipitate!' said Rosalie
next day at four P.M., as, with a portentous yawn, she laid down her
worsted-work and looked listlessly towards the window.  'There's no
inducement to go out now; and nothing to look forward to.  The days will
be so long and dull when there are no parties to enliven them; and there
are none this week, or next either, that I know of.'
'Pity you were so cross to him,' observed Matilda, to whom this
lamentation was addressed.  'He'll never come again: and I suspect you
liked him after all.  I hoped you would have taken him for your beau, and
left dear Harry to me.'
'Humph! my beau must be an Adonis indeed, Matilda, the admired of all
beholders, if I am to be contented with him alone.  I'm sorry to lose
Hatfield, I confess; but the first decent man, or number of men, that
come to supply his place, will be more than welcome.  It's Sunday
to-morrow--I do wonder how he'll look, and whether he'll be able to go
through the service.  Most likely he'll pretend he's got a cold, and make
Mr. Weston do it all.'
'Not he!' exclaimed Matilda, somewhat contemptuously.  'Fool as he is,
he's not so soft as that comes to.'
Her sister was slightly offended; but the event proved Matilda was right:
the disappointed lover performed his pastoral duties as usual.  Rosalie,
indeed, affirmed he looked very pale and dejected: he might be a little
paler; but the difference, if any, was scarcely perceptible.  As for his
dejection, I certainly did not hear his laugh ringing from the vestry as
usual, nor his voice loud in hilarious discourse; though I did hear it
uplifted in rating the sexton in a manner that made the congregation
stare; and, in his transits to and from the pulpit and the
communion-table, there was more of solemn pomp, and less of that
irreverent, self-confident, or rather self-delighted imperiousness with
which he usually swept along--that air that seemed to say, 'You all
reverence and adore me, I know; but if anyone does not, I defy him to the
teeth!'  But the most remarkable change was, that he never once suffered
his eyes to wander in the direction of Mr. Murray's pew, and did not
leave the church till we were gone.
Mr. Hatfield had doubtless received a very severe blow; but his pride
impelled him to use every effort to conceal the effects of it.  He had
been disappointed in his certain hope of obtaining not only a beautiful,
and, to him, highly attractive wife, but one whose rank and fortune might
give brilliance to far inferior charms: he was likewise, no doubt,
intensely mortified by his repulse, and deeply offended at the conduct of
Miss Murray throughout.  It would have given him no little consolation to
have known how disappointed she was to find him apparently so little
moved, and to see that he was able to refrain from casting a single
glance at her throughout both services; though, she declared, it showed
he was thinking of her all the time, or his eyes would have fallen upon
her, if it were only by chance: but if they had so chanced to fall, she
would have affirmed it was because they could not resist the attraction.
It might have pleased him, too, in some degree, to have seen how dull and
dissatisfied she was throughout that week (the greater part of it, at
least), for lack of her usual source of excitement; and how often she
regretted having 'used him up so soon,' like a child that, having
devoured its plumcake too hastily, sits sucking its fingers, and vainly
lamenting its greediness.
At length I was called upon, one fine morning, to accompany her in a walk
to the village.  Ostensibly she went to get some shades of Berlin wool,
at a tolerably respectable shop that was chiefly supported by the ladies
of the vicinity: really--I trust there is no breach of charity in
supposing that she went with the idea of meeting either with the Rector
himself, or some other admirer by the way; for as we went along, she kept
wondering 'what Hatfield would do or say, if we met him,' &c. &c.; as we
passed Mr. Green's park-gates, she 'wondered whether he was at
home--great stupid blockhead'; as Lady Meltham's carriage passed us, she
'wondered what Mr. Harry was doing this fine day'; and then began to
abuse his elder brother for being 'such a fool as to get married and go
and live in London.'
'Why,' said I, 'I thought you wanted to live in London yourself.'
'Yes, because it's so dull here: but then he makes it still duller by
taking himself off: and if he were not married I might have him instead
of that odious Sir Thomas.'
Then, observing the prints of a horse's feet on the somewhat miry road,
she 'wondered whether it was a gentleman's horse,' and finally concluded
it was, for the impressions were too small to have been made by a 'great
clumsy cart-horse'; and then she 'wondered who the rider could be,' and
whether we should meet him coming back, for she was sure he had only
passed that morning; and lastly, when we entered the village and saw only
a few of its humble inhabitants moving about, she 'wondered why the
stupid people couldn't keep in their houses; she was sure she didn't want
to see their ugly faces, and dirty, vulgar clothes--it wasn't for that
she came to Horton!'
Amid all this, I confess, I wondered, too, in secret, whether we should
meet, or catch a glimpse of somebody else; and as we passed his lodgings,
I even went so far as to wonder whether he was at the window.  On
entering the shop, Miss Murray desired me to stand in the doorway while
she transacted her business, and tell her if anyone passed.  But alas!
there was no one visible besides the villagers, except Jane and Susan
Green coming down the single street, apparently returning from a walk.
'Stupid things!' muttered she, as she came out after having concluded her
bargain.  'Why couldn't they have their dolt of a brother with them? even
he would be better than nothing.'
She greeted them, however, with a cheerful smile, and protestations of
pleasure at the happy meeting equal to their own.  They placed themselves
one on each side of her, and all three walked away chatting and laughing
as young ladies do when they get together, if they be but on tolerably
intimate terms.  But I, feeling myself to be one too many, left them to
their merriment and lagged behind, as usual on such occasions: I had no
relish for walking beside Miss Green or Miss Susan like one deaf and
dumb, who could neither speak nor be spoken to.
But this time I was not long alone.  It struck me, first, as very odd,
that just as I was thinking about Mr. Weston he should come up and accost
me; but afterwards, on due reflection, I thought there was nothing odd
about it, unless it were the fact of his speaking to me; for on such a
morning and so near his own abode, it was natural enough that he should
be about; and as for my thinking of him, I had been doing that, with
little intermission, ever since we set out on our journey; so there was
nothing remarkable in that.
'You are alone again, Miss Grey,' said he.
'Yes.'
'What kind of people are those ladies--the Misses Green?'
'I really don't know.'
'That's strange--when you live so near and see them so often!'
'Well, I suppose they are lively, good-tempered girls; but I imagine you
must know them better than I do, yourself, for I never exchanged a word
with either of them.'
'Indeed?  They don't strike me as being particularly reserved.'
'Very likely they are not so to people of their own class; but they
consider themselves as moving in quite a different sphere from me!'
He made no reply to this: but after a short pause, he said,--'I suppose
it's these things, Miss Grey, that make you think you could not live
without a home?'
'Not exactly.  The fact is I am too socially disposed to be able to live
contentedly without a friend; and as the only friends I have, or am
likely to have, are at home, if it--or rather, if they were gone--I will
not say I could not live--but I would rather not live in such a desolate
world.'
'But why do you say the only friends you are likely to have?  Are you so
unsociable that you cannot make friends?'
'No, but I never made one yet; and in my present position there is no
possibility of doing so, or even of forming a common acquaintance.  The
fault may be partly in myself, but I hope not altogether.'
'The fault is partly in society, and partly, I should think, in your
immediate neighbours: and partly, too, in yourself; for many ladies, in
your position, would make themselves be noticed and accounted of.  But
your pupils should be companions for you in some degree; they cannot be
many years younger than yourself.'
'Oh, yes, they are good company sometimes; but I cannot call them
friends, nor would they think of bestowing such a name on me--they have
other companions better suited to their tastes.'
'Perhaps you are too wise for them.  How do you amuse yourself when
alone--do you read much?'
'Reading is my favourite occupation, when I have leisure for it and books
to read.'
From speaking of books in general, he passed to different books in
particular, and proceeded by rapid transitions from topic to topic, till
several matters, both of taste and opinion, had been discussed
considerably within the space of half an hour, but without the
embellishment of many observations from himself; he being evidently less
bent upon communicating his own thoughts and predilections, than on
discovering mine.  He had not the tact, or the art, to effect such a
purpose by skilfully drawing out my sentiments or ideas through the real
or apparent statement of his own, or leading the conversation by
imperceptible gradations to such topics as he wished to advert to: but
such gentle abruptness, and such single-minded straightforwardness, could
not possibly offend me.
'And why should he interest himself at all in my moral and intellectual
capacities: what is it to him what I think or feel?' I asked myself.  And
my heart throbbed in answer to the question.
But Jane and Susan Green soon reached their home.  As they stood
parleying at the park-gates, attempting to persuade Miss Murray to come
in, I wished Mr. Weston would go, that she might not see him with me when
she turned round; but, unfortunately, his business, which was to pay one
more visit to poor Mark Wood, led him to pursue the same path as we did,
till nearly the close of our journey.  When, however, he saw that Rosalie
had taken leave of her friends and I was about to join her, he would have
left me and passed on at a quicker pace; but, as he civilly lifted his
hat in passing her, to my surprise, instead of returning the salute with
a stiff, ungracious bow, she accosted him with one of her sweetest
smiles, and, walking by his side, began to talk to him with all
imaginable cheerfulness and affability; and so we proceeded all three
together.
After a short pause in the conversation, Mr. Weston made some remark
addressed particularly to me, as referring to something we had been
talking of before; but before I could answer, Miss Murray replied to the
observation and enlarged upon it: he rejoined; and, from thence to the
close of the interview, she engrossed him entirely to herself.  It might
be partly owing to my own stupidity, my want of tact and assurance: but I
felt myself wronged: I trembled with apprehension; and I listened with
envy to her easy, rapid flow of utterance, and saw with anxiety the
bright smile with which she looked into his face from time to time: for
she was walking a little in advance, for the purpose (as I judged) of
being seen as well as heard.  If her conversation was light and trivial,
it was amusing, and she was never at a loss for something to say, or for
suitable words to express it in.  There was nothing pert or flippant in
her manner now, as when she walked with Mr. Hatfield, there was only a
gentle, playful kind of vivacity, which I thought must be peculiarly
pleasing to a man of Mr. Weston's disposition and temperament.
When he was gone she began to laugh, and muttered to herself, 'I thought
I could do it!'
'Do what?' I asked.
'Fix that man.'
'What in the world do you mean?'
'I mean that he will go home and dream of me.  I have shot him through
the heart!'
'How do you know?'
'By many infallible proofs: more especially the look he gave me when he
went away.  It was not an impudent look--I exonerate him from that--it
was a look of reverential, tender adoration.  Ha, ha! he's not quite such
a stupid blockhead as I thought him!'
I made no answer, for my heart was in my throat, or something like it,
and I could not trust myself to speak.  'O God, avert it!' I cried,
internally--'for his sake, not for mine!'
Miss Murray made several trivial observations as we passed up the park,
to which (in spite of my reluctance to let one glimpse of my feelings
appear) I could only answer by monosyllables.  Whether she intended to
torment me, or merely to amuse herself, I could not tell--and did not
much care; but I thought of the poor man and his one lamb, and the rich
man with his thousand flocks; and I dreaded I knew not what for Mr.
Weston, independently of my own blighted hopes.
Right glad was I to get into the house, and find myself alone once more
in my own room.  My first impulse was to sink into the chair beside the
bed; and laying my head on the pillow, to seek relief in a passionate
burst of tears: there was an imperative craving for such an indulgence;
but, alas! I must restrain and swallow back my feelings still: there was
the bell--the odious bell for the schoolroom dinner; and I must go down
with a calm face, and smile, and laugh, and talk nonsense--yes, and eat,
too, if possible, as if all was right, and I was just returned from a
pleasant walk.
CHAPTER XVI--THE SUBSTITUTION
Next Sunday was one of the gloomiest of April days--a day of thick, dark
clouds, and heavy showers.  None of the Murrays were disposed to attend
church in the afternoon, excepting Rosalie: she was bent upon going as
usual; so she ordered the carriage, and I went with her: nothing loth, of
course, for at church I might look without fear of scorn or censure upon
a form and face more pleasing to me than the most beautiful of God's
creations; I might listen without disturbance to a voice more charming
than the sweetest music to my ears; I might seem to hold communion with
that soul in which I felt so deeply interested, and imbibe its purest
thoughts and holiest aspirations, with no alloy to such felicity except
the secret reproaches of my conscience, which would too often whisper
that I was deceiving my own self, and mocking God with the service of a
heart more bent upon the creature than the Creator.
Sometimes, such thoughts would give me trouble enough; but sometimes I
could quiet them with thinking--it is not the man, it is his goodness
that I love.  'Whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely,
whatsoever things are honest and of good report, think on these things.'
We do well to worship God in His works; and I know none of them in which
so many of His attributes--so much of His own spirit shines, as in this
His faithful servant; whom to know and not to appreciate, were obtuse
insensibility in me, who have so little else to occupy my heart.
Almost immediately after the conclusion of the service, Miss Murray left
the church.  We had to stand in the porch, for it was raining, and the
carriage was not yet come.  I wondered at her coming forth so hastily,
for neither young Meltham nor Squire Green was there; but I soon found it
was to secure an interview with Mr. Weston as he came out, which he
presently did.  Having saluted us both, he would have passed on, but she
detained him; first with observations upon the disagreeable weather, and
then with asking if he would be so kind as to come some time to-morrow to
see the granddaughter of the old woman who kept the porter's lodge, for
the girl was ill of a fever, and wished to see him.  He promised to do
so.
'And at what time will you be most likely to come, Mr. Weston?  The old
woman will like to know when to expect you--you know such people think
more about having their cottages in order when decent people come to see
them than we are apt to suppose.'
Here was a wonderful instance of consideration from the thoughtless Miss
Murray.  Mr. Weston named an hour in the morning at which he would
endeavour, to be there.  By this time the carriage was ready, and the
footman was waiting, with an open umbrella, to escort Miss Murray through
the churchyard.  I was about to follow; but Mr. Weston had an umbrella
too, and offered me the benefit of its shelter, for it was raining
heavily.
'No, thank you, I don't mind the rain,' I said.  I always lacked common
sense when taken by surprise.
'But you don't _like_ it, I suppose?--an umbrella will do you no harm at
any rate,' he replied, with a smile that showed he was not offended; as a
man of worse temper or less penetration would have been at such a refusal
of his aid.  I could not deny the truth of his assertion, and so went
with him to the carriage; he even offered me his hand on getting in: an
unnecessary piece of civility, but I accepted that too, for fear of
giving offence.  One glance he gave, one little smile at parting--it was
but for a moment; but therein I read, or thought I read, a meaning that
kindled in my heart a brighter flame of hope than had ever yet arisen.
'I would have sent the footman back for you, Miss Grey, if you'd waited a
moment--you needn't have taken Mr. Weston's umbrella,' observed Rosalie,
with a very unamiable cloud upon her pretty face.
'I would have come without an umbrella, but Mr. Weston offered me the
benefit of his, and I could not have refused it more than I did without
offending him,' replied I, smiling placidly; for my inward happiness made
that amusing, which would have wounded me at another time.
The carriage was now in motion.  Miss Murray bent forwards, and looked
out of the window as we were passing Mr. Weston.  He was pacing homewards
along the causeway, and did not turn his head.
'Stupid ass!' cried she, throwing herself back again in the seat.  'You
don't know what you've lost by not looking this way!'
'What has he lost?'
'A bow from me, that would have raised him to the seventh heaven!'
I made no answer.  I saw she was out of humour, and I derived a secret
gratification from the fact, not that she was vexed, but that she thought
she had reason to be so.  It made me think my hopes were not entirely the
offspring of my wishes and imagination.
'I mean to take up Mr. Weston instead of Mr. Hatfield,' said my
companion, after a short pause, resuming something of her usual
cheerfulness.  'The ball at Ashby Park takes place on Tuesday, you know;
and mamma thinks it very likely that Sir Thomas will propose to me then:
such things are often done in the privacy of the ball-room, when
gentlemen are most easily ensnared, and ladies most enchanting.  But if I
am to be married so soon, I must make the best of the present time: I am
determined Hatfield shall not be the only man who shall lay his heart at
my feet, and implore me to accept the worthless gift in vain.'
'If you mean Mr. Weston to be one of your victims,' said I, with affected
indifference, 'you will have to make such overtures yourself that you
will find it difficult to draw back when he asks you to fulfil the
expectations you have raised.'
'I don't suppose he will ask me to marry him, nor should I desire it:
that would be rather too much presumption! but I intend him to feel my
power.  He has felt it already, indeed: but he shall _acknowledge_ it
too; and what visionary hopes he may have, he must keep to himself, and
only amuse me with the result of them--for a time.'
'Oh! that some kind spirit would whisper those words in his ear,' I
inwardly exclaimed.  I was far too indignant to hazard a reply to her
observation aloud; and nothing more was said about Mr. Weston that day,
by me or in my hearing.  But next morning, soon after breakfast, Miss
Murray came into the schoolroom, where her sister was employed at her
studies, or rather her lessons, for studies they were not, and said,
'Matilda, I want you to take a walk with me about eleven o'clock.'
'Oh, I can't, Rosalie!  I have to give orders about my new bridle and
saddle-cloth, and speak to the rat-catcher about his dogs: Miss Grey must
go with you.'
'No, I want you,' said Rosalie; and calling her sister to the window, she
whispered an explanation in her ear; upon which the latter consented to
go.
I remembered that eleven was the hour at which Mr. Weston proposed to
come to the porter's lodge; and remembering that, I beheld the whole
contrivance.  Accordingly, at dinner, I was entertained with a long
account of how Mr. Weston had overtaken them as they were walking along
the road; and how they had had a long walk and talk with him, and really
found him quite an agreeable companion; and how he must have been, and
evidently was, delighted with them and their amazing condescension, &c.
&c.
CHAPTER XVII--CONFESSIONS
As I am in the way of confessions I may as well acknowledge that, about
this time, I paid more attention to dress than ever I had done before.
This is not saying much--for hitherto I had been a little neglectful in
that particular; but now, also, it was no uncommon thing to spend as much
as two minutes in the contemplation of my own image in the glass; though
I never could derive any consolation from such a study.  I could discover
no beauty in those marked features, that pale hollow cheek, and ordinary
dark brown hair; there might be intellect in the forehead, there might be
expression in the dark grey eyes, but what of that?--a low Grecian brow,
and large black eyes devoid of sentiment would be esteemed far
preferable.  It is foolish to wish for beauty.  Sensible people never
either desire it for themselves or care about it in others.  If the mind
be but well cultivated, and the heart well disposed, no one ever cares
for the exterior.  So said the teachers of our childhood; and so say we
to the children of the present day.  All very judicious and proper, no
doubt; but are such assertions supported by actual experience?
We are naturally disposed to love what gives us pleasure, and what more
pleasing than a beautiful face--when we know no harm of the possessor at
least?  A little girl loves her bird--Why?  Because it lives and feels;
because it is helpless and harmless?  A toad, likewise, lives and feels,
and is equally helpless and harmless; but though she would not hurt a
toad, she cannot love it like the bird, with its graceful form, soft
feathers, and bright, speaking eyes.  If a woman is fair and amiable, she
is praised for both qualities, but especially the former, by the bulk of
mankind: if, on the other hand, she is disagreeable in person and
character, her plainness is commonly inveighed against as her greatest
crime, because, to common observers, it gives the greatest offence;
while, if she is plain and good, provided she is a person of retired
manners and secluded life, no one ever knows of her goodness, except her
immediate connections.  Others, on the contrary, are disposed to form
unfavourable opinions of her mind, and disposition, if it be but to
excuse themselves for their instinctive dislike of one so unfavoured by
nature; and _visa versa_ with her whose angel form conceals a vicious
heart, or sheds a false, deceitful charm over defects and foibles that
would not be tolerated in another.  They that have beauty, let them be
thankful for it, and make a good use of it, like any other talent; they
that have it not, let them console themselves, and do the best they can
without it: certainly, though liable to be over-estimated, it is a gift
of God, and not to be despised.  Many will feel this who have felt that
they could love, and whose hearts tell them that they are worthy to be
loved again; while yet they are debarred, by the lack of this or some
such seeming trifle, from giving and receiving that happiness they seem
almost made to feel and to impart.  As well might the humble glowworm
despise that power of giving light without which the roving fly might
pass her and repass her a thousand times, and never rest beside her: she
might hear her winged darling buzzing over and around her; he vainly
seeking her, she longing to be found, but with no power to make her
presence known, no voice to call him, no wings to follow his flight;--the
fly must seek another mate, the worm must live and die alone.
Such were some of my reflections about this period.  I might go on
prosing more and more, I might dive much deeper, and disclose other
thoughts, propose questions the reader might be puzzled to answer, and
deduce arguments that might startle his prejudices, or, perhaps, provoke
his ridicule, because he could not comprehend them; but I forbear.
Now, therefore, let us return to Miss Murray.  She accompanied her mamma
to the ball on Tuesday; of course splendidly attired, and delighted with
her prospects and her charms.  As Ashby Park was nearly ten miles distant
from Horton Lodge, they had to set out pretty early, and I intended to
have spent the evening with Nancy Brown, whom I had not seen for a long
time; but my kind pupil took care I should spend it neither there nor
anywhere else beyond the limits of the schoolroom, by giving me a piece
of music to copy, which kept me closely occupied till bed-time.  About
eleven next morning, as soon as she had left her room, she came to tell
me her news.  Sir Thomas had indeed proposed to her at the ball; an event
which reflected great credit on her mamma's sagacity, if not upon her
skill in contrivance.  I rather incline to the belief that she had first
laid her plans, and then predicted their success.  The offer had been
accepted, of course, and the bridegroom elect was coming that day to
settle matters with Mr. Murray.
Rosalie was pleased with the thoughts of becoming mistress of Ashby Park;
she was elated with the prospect of the bridal ceremony and its attendant
splendour and eclat, the honeymoon spent abroad, and the subsequent
gaieties she expected to enjoy in London and elsewhere; she appeared
pretty well pleased too, for the time being, with Sir Thomas himself,
because she had so lately seen him, danced with him, and been flattered
by him; but, after all, she seemed to shrink from the idea of being so
soon united: she wished the ceremony to be delayed some months, at least;
and I wished it too.  It seemed a horrible thing to hurry on the
inauspicious match, and not to give the poor creature time to think and
reason on the irrevocable step she was about to take.  I made no
pretension to 'a mother's watchful, anxious care,' but I was amazed and
horrified at Mrs. Murray's heartlessness, or want of thought for the real
good of her child; and by my unheeded warnings and exhortations, I vainly
strove to remedy the evil.  Miss Murray only laughed at what I said; and
I soon found that her reluctance to an immediate union arose chiefly from
a desire to do what execution she could among the young gentlemen of her
acquaintance, before she was incapacitated from further mischief of the
kind.  It was for this cause that, before confiding to me the secret of
her engagement, she had extracted a promise that I would not mention a
word on the subject to any one.  And when I saw this, and when I beheld
her plunge more recklessly than ever into the depths of heartless
coquetry, I had no more pity for her.  'Come what will,' I thought, 'she
deserves it.  Sir Thomas cannot be too bad for her; and the sooner she is
incapacitated from deceiving and injuring others the better.'
The wedding was fixed for the first of June.  Between that and the
critical ball was little more than six weeks; but, with Rosalie's
accomplished skill and resolute exertion, much might be done, even within
that period; especially as Sir Thomas spent most of the interim in
London; whither he went up, it was said, to settle affairs with his
lawyer, and make other preparations for the approaching nuptials.  He
endeavoured to supply the want of his presence by a pretty constant fire
of billets-doux; but these did not attract the neighbours' attention, and
open their eyes, as personal visits would have done; and old Lady Ashby's
haughty, sour spirit of reserve withheld her from spreading the news,
while her indifferent health prevented her coming to visit her future
daughter-in-law; so that, altogether, this affair was kept far closer
than such things usually are.
Rosalie would sometimes show her lover's epistles to me, to convince me
what a kind, devoted husband he would make.  She showed me the letters of
another individual, too, the unfortunate Mr. Green, who had not the
courage, or, as she expressed it, the 'spunk,' to plead his cause in
person, but whom one denial would not satisfy: he must write again and
again.  He would not have done so if he could have seen the grimaces his
fair idol made over his moving appeals to her feelings, and heard her
scornful laughter, and the opprobrious epithets she heaped upon him for
his perseverance.
'Why don't you tell him, at once, that you are engaged?' I asked.
'Oh, I don't want him to know that,' replied she.  'If he knew it, his
sisters and everybody would know it, and then there would be an end of
my--ahem!  And, besides, if I told him that, he would think my engagement
was the only obstacle, and that I would have him if I were free; which I
could not bear that any man should think, and he, of all others, at
least.  Besides, I don't care for his letters,' she added,
contemptuously; 'he may write as often as he pleases, and look as great a
calf as he likes when I meet him; it only amuses me.'
Meantime, young Meltham was pretty frequent in his visits to the house or
transits past it; and, judging by Matilda's execrations and reproaches,
her sister paid more attention to him than civility required; in other
words, she carried on as animated a flirtation as the presence of her
parents would admit.  She made some attempts to bring Mr. Hatfield once
more to her feet; but finding them unsuccessful, she repaid his haughty
indifference with still loftier scorn, and spoke of him with as much
disdain and detestation as she had formerly done of his curate.  But,
amid all this, she never for a moment lost sight of Mr. Weston.  She
embraced every opportunity of meeting him, tried every art to fascinate
him, and pursued him with as much perseverance as if she really loved him
and no other, and the happiness of her life depended upon eliciting a
return of affection.  Such conduct was completely beyond my
comprehension.  Had I seen it depicted in a novel, I should have thought
it unnatural; had I heard it described by others, I should have deemed it
a mistake or an exaggeration; but when I saw it with my own eyes, and
suffered from it too, I could only conclude that excessive vanity, like
drunkenness, hardens the heart, enslaves the faculties, and perverts the
feelings; and that dogs are not the only creatures which, when gorged to
the throat, will yet gloat over what they cannot devour, and grudge the
smallest morsel to a starving brother.
She now became extremely beneficent to the poor cottagers.  Her
acquaintance among them was more widely extended, her visits to their
humble dwellings were more frequent and excursive than they had ever been
before.  Hereby, she earned among them the reputation of a condescending
and very charitable young lady; and their encomiums were sure to be
repeated to Mr. Weston: whom also she had thus a daily chance of meeting
in one or other of their abodes, or in her transits to and fro; and
often, likewise, she could gather, through their gossip, to what places
he was likely to go at such and such a time, whether to baptize a child,
or to visit the aged, the sick, the sad, or the dying; and most skilfully
she laid her plans accordingly.  In these excursions she would sometimes
go with her sister--whom, by some means, she had persuaded or bribed to
enter into her schemes--sometimes alone, never, now, with me; so that I
was debarred the pleasure of seeing Mr. Weston, or hearing his voice even
in conversation with another: which would certainly have been a very
great pleasure, however hurtful or however fraught with pain.  I could
not even see him at church: for Miss Murray, under some trivial pretext,
chose to take possession of that corner in the family pew which had been
mine ever since I came; and, unless I had the presumption to station
myself between Mr. and Mrs. Murray, I must sit with my back to the
pulpit, which I accordingly did.
Now, also, I never walked home with my pupils: they said their mamma
thought it did not look well to see three people out of the family
walking, and only two going in the carriage; and, as they greatly
preferred walking in fine weather, I should be honoured by going with the
seniors.  'And besides,' said they, 'you can't walk as fast as we do; you
know you're always lagging behind.'  I knew these were false excuses, but
I made no objections, and never contradicted such assertions, well
knowing the motives which dictated them.  And in the afternoons, during
those six memorable weeks, I never went to church at all.  If I had a
cold, or any slight indisposition, they took advantage of that to make me
stay at home; and often they would tell me they were not going again that
day, themselves, and then pretend to change their minds, and set off
without telling me: so managing their departure that I never discovered
the change of purpose till too late.  Upon their return home, on one of
these occasions, they entertained me with an animated account of a
conversation they had had with Mr. Weston as they came along.  'And he
asked if you were ill, Miss Grey,' said Matilda; 'but we told him you
were quite well, only you didn't want to come to church--so he'll think
you're turned wicked.'
All chance meetings on week-days were likewise carefully prevented; for,
lest I should go to see poor Nancy Brown or any other person, Miss Murray
took good care to provide sufficient employment for all my leisure hours.
There was always some drawing to finish, some music to copy, or some work
to do, sufficient to incapacitate me from indulging in anything beyond a
short walk about the grounds, however she or her sister might be
occupied.
One morning, having sought and waylaid Mr. Weston, they returned in high
glee to give me an account of their interview.  'And he asked after you
again,' said Matilda, in spite of her sister's silent but imperative
intimation that she should hold her tongue.  'He wondered why you were
never with us, and thought you must have delicate health, as you came out
so seldom.'
'He didn't Matilda--what nonsense you're talking!'
'Oh, Rosalie, what a lie!  He did, you know; and you said--Don't,
Rosalie--hang it!--I won't be pinched so!  And, Miss Grey, Rosalie told
him you were quite well, but you were always so buried in your books that
you had no pleasure in anything else.'
'What an idea he must have of me!' I thought.
'And,' I asked, 'does old Nancy ever inquire about me?'
'Yes; and we tell her you are so fond of reading and drawing that you can
do nothing else.'
'That is not the case though; if you had told her I was so busy I could
not come to see her, it would have been nearer the truth.'
'I don't think it would,' replied Miss Murray, suddenly kindling up; 'I'm
sure you have plenty of time to yourself now, when you have so little
teaching to do.'
It was no use beginning to dispute with such indulged, unreasoning
creatures: so I held my peace.  I was accustomed, now, to keeping silence
when things distasteful to my ear were uttered; and now, too, I was used
to wearing a placid smiling countenance when my heart was bitter within
me.  Only those who have felt the like can imagine my feelings, as I sat
with an assumption of smiling indifference, listening to the accounts of
those meetings and interviews with Mr. Weston, which they seemed to find
such pleasure in describing to me; and hearing things asserted of him
which, from the character of the man, I knew to be exaggerations and
perversions of the truth, if not entirely false--things derogatory to
him, and flattering to them--especially to Miss Murray--which I burned to
contradict, or, at least, to show my doubts about, but dared not; lest,
in expressing my disbelief, I should display my interest too.  Other
things I heard, which I felt or feared were indeed too true: but I must
still conceal my anxiety respecting him, my indignation against them,
beneath a careless aspect; others, again, mere hints of something said or
done, which I longed to hear more of, but could not venture to inquire.
So passed the weary time.  I could not even comfort myself with saying,
'She will soon be married; and then there may be hope.'
Soon after her marriage the holidays would come; and when I returned from
home, most likely, Mr. Weston would be gone, for I was told that he and
the Rector could not agree (the Rector's fault, of course), and he was
about to remove to another place.
No--besides my hope in God, my only consolation was in thinking that,
though he know it not, I was more worthy of his love than Rosalie Murray,
charming and engaging as she was; for I could appreciate his excellence,
which she could not: I would devote my life to the promotion of his
happiness; she would destroy his happiness for the momentary
gratification of her own vanity.  'Oh, if he could but know the
difference!'  I would earnestly exclaim.  'But no!  I would not have him
see my heart: yet, if he could but know her hollowness, her worthless,
heartless frivolity, he would then be safe, and I should be--_almost_
happy, though I might never see him more!'
I fear, by this time, the reader is well nigh disgusted with the folly
and weakness I have so freely laid before him.  I never disclosed it
then, and would not have done so had my own sister or my mother been with
me in the house.  I was a close and resolute dissembler--in this one case
at least.  My prayers, my tears, my wishes, fears, and lamentations, were
witnessed by myself and heaven alone.
When we are harassed by sorrows or anxieties, or long oppressed by any
powerful feelings which we must keep to ourselves, for which we can
obtain and seek no sympathy from any living creature, and which yet we
cannot, or will not wholly crush, we often naturally seek relief in
poetry--and often find it, too--whether in the effusions of others, which
seem to harmonize with our existing case, or in our own attempts to give
utterance to those thoughts and feelings in strains less musical,
perchance, but more appropriate, and therefore more penetrating and
sympathetic, and, for the time, more soothing, or more powerful to rouse
and to unburden the oppressed and swollen heart.  Before this time, at
Wellwood House and here, when suffering from home-sick melancholy, I had
sought relief twice or thrice at this secret source of consolation; and
now I flew to it again, with greater avidity than ever, because I seemed
to need it more.  I still preserve those relics of past sufferings and
experience, like pillars of witness set up in travelling through the vale
of life, to mark particular occurrences.  The footsteps are obliterated
now; the face of the country may be changed; but the pillar is still
there, to remind me how all things were when it was reared.  Lest the
reader should be curious to see any of these effusions, I will favour him
with one short specimen: cold and languid as the lines may seem, it was
almost a passion of grief to which they owed their being:--
Oh, they have robbed me of the hope
My spirit held so dear;
They will not let me hear that voice
My soul delights to hear.
They will not let me see that face
I so delight to see;
And they have taken all thy smiles,
And all thy love from me.
Well, let them seize on all they can;--
One treasure still is mine,--
A heart that loves to think on thee,
And feels the worth of thine.
Yes, at least, they could not deprive me of that: I could think of him
day and night; and I could feel that he was worthy to be thought of.
Nobody knew him as I did; nobody could appreciate him as I did; nobody
could love him as I--could, if I might: but there was the evil.  What
business had I to think so much of one that never thought of me?  Was it
not foolish? was it not wrong?  Yet, if I found such deep delight in
thinking of him, and if I kept those thoughts to myself, and troubled no
one else with them, where was the harm of it? I would ask myself.  And
such reasoning prevented me from making any sufficient effort to shake
off my fetters.
But, if those thoughts brought delight, it was a painful, troubled
pleasure, too near akin to anguish; and one that did me more injury than
I was aware of.  It was an indulgence that a person of more wisdom or
more experience would doubtless have denied herself.  And yet, how dreary
to turn my eyes from the contemplation of that bright object and force
them to dwell on the dull, grey, desolate prospect around: the joyless,
hopeless, solitary path that lay before me.  It was wrong to be so
joyless, so desponding; I should have made God my friend, and to do His
will the pleasure and the business of my life; but faith was weak, and
passion was too strong.
In this time of trouble I had two other causes of affliction.  The first
may seem a trifle, but it cost me many a tear: Snap, my little dumb,
rough-visaged, but bright-eyed, warm-hearted companion, the only thing I
had to love me, was taken away, and delivered over to the tender mercies
of the village rat-catcher, a man notorious for his brutal treatment of
his canine slaves.  The other was serious enough; my letters from home
gave intimation that my father's health was worse.  No boding fears were
expressed, but I was grown timid and despondent, and could not help
fearing that some dreadful calamity awaited us there.  I seemed to see
the black clouds gathering round my native hills, and to hear the angry
muttering of a storm that was about to burst, and desolate our hearth.
CHAPTER XVIII--MIRTH AND MOURNING
The 1st of June arrived at last: and Rosalie Murray was transmuted into
Lady Ashby.  Most splendidly beautiful she looked in her bridal costume.
Upon her return from church, after the ceremony, she came flying into the
schoolroom, flushed with excitement, and laughing, half in mirth, and
half in reckless desperation, as it seemed to me.
'Now, Miss Grey, I'm Lady Ashby!' she exclaimed.  'It's done, my fate is
sealed: there's no drawing back now.  I'm come to receive your
congratulations and bid you good-by; and then I'm off for Paris, Rome,
Naples, Switzerland, London--oh, dear! what a deal I shall see and hear
before I come back again.  But don't forget me: I shan't forget you,
though I've been a naughty girl.  Come, why don't you congratulate me?'
'I cannot congratulate you,' I replied, 'till I know whether this change
is really for the better: but I sincerely hope it is; and I wish you true
happiness and the best of blessings.'
'Well, good-by, the carriage is waiting, and they're calling me.'
She gave me a hasty kiss, and was hurrying away; but, suddenly returning,
embraced me with more affection than I thought her capable of evincing,
and departed with tears in her eyes.  Poor girl!  I really loved her
then; and forgave her from my heart all the injury she had done me--and
others also: she had not half known it, I was sure; and I prayed God to
pardon her too.
During the remainder of that day of festal sadness, I was left to my own
devices.  Being too much unhinged for any steady occupation, I wandered
about with a book in my hand for several hours, more thinking than
reading, for I had many things to think about.  In the evening, I made
use of my liberty to go and see my old friend Nancy once again; to
apologize for my long absence (which must have seemed so neglectful and
unkind) by telling her how busy I had been; and to talk, or read, or work
for her, whichever might be most acceptable, and also, of course, to tell
her the news of this important day: and perhaps to obtain a little
information from her in return, respecting Mr. Weston's expected
departure.  But of this she seemed to know nothing, and I hoped, as she
did, that it was all a false report.  She was very glad to see me; but,
happily, her eyes were now so nearly well that she was almost independent
of my services.  She was deeply interested in the wedding; but while I
amused her with the details of the festive day, the splendours of the
bridal party and of the bride herself, she often sighed and shook her
head, and wished good might come of it; she seemed, like me, to regard it
rather as a theme for sorrow than rejoicing.  I sat a long time talking
to her about that and other things--but no one came.
Shall I confess that I sometimes looked towards the door with a
half-expectant wish to see it open and give entrance to Mr. Weston, as
had happened once before? and that, returning through the lanes and
fields, I often paused to look round me, and walked more slowly than was
at all necessary--for, though a fine evening, it was not a hot one--and,
finally, felt a sense of emptiness and disappointment at having reached
the house without meeting or even catching a distant glimpse of any one,
except a few labourers returning from their work?
Sunday, however, was approaching: I should see him then: for now that
Miss Murray was gone, I could have my old corner again.  I should see
him, and by look, speech, and manner, I might judge whether the
circumstance of her marriage had very much afflicted him.  Happily I
could perceive no shadow of a difference: he wore the same aspect as he
had worn two months ago--voice, look, manner, all alike unchanged: there
was the same keen-sighted, unclouded truthfulness in his discourse, the
same forcible clearness in his style, the same earnest simplicity in all
he said and did, that made itself, not marked by the eye and ear, but
felt upon the hearts of his audience.
I walked home with Miss Matilda; but _he did not join us_.  Matilda was
now sadly at a loss for amusement, and wofully in want of a companion:
her brothers at school, her sister married and gone, she too young to be
admitted into society; for which, from Rosalie's example, she was in some
degree beginning to acquire a taste--a taste at least for the company of
certain classes of gentlemen; at this dull time of year--no hunting going
on, no shooting even--for, though she might not join in that, it was
_something_ to see her father or the gamekeeper go out with the dogs, and
to talk with them on their return, about the different birds they had
bagged.  Now, also, she was denied the solace which the companionship of
the coachman, grooms, horses, greyhounds, and pointers might have
afforded; for her mother having, notwithstanding the disadvantages of a
country life, so satisfactorily disposed of her elder daughter, the pride
of her heart had begun seriously to turn her attention to the younger;
and, being truly alarmed at the roughness of her manners, and thinking it
high time to work a reform, had been roused at length to exert her
authority, and prohibited entirely the yards, stables, kennels, and
coach-house.  Of course, she was not implicitly obeyed; but, indulgent as
she had hitherto been, when once her spirit was roused, her temper was
not so gentle as she required that of her governesses to be, and her will
was not to be thwarted with impunity.  After many a scene of contention
between mother and daughter, many a violent outbreak which I was ashamed
to witness, in which the father's authority was often called in to
confirm with oaths and threats the mother's slighted prohibitions--for
even _he_ could see that 'Tilly, though she would have made a fine lad,
was not quite what a young lady ought to be'--Matilda at length found
that her easiest plan was to keep clear of the forbidden regions; unless
she could now and then steal a visit without her watchful mother's
knowledge.
Amid all this, let it not be imagined that I escaped without many a
reprimand, and many an implied reproach, that lost none of its sting from
not being openly worded; but rather wounded the more deeply, because,
from that very reason, it seemed to preclude self-defence.  Frequently, I
was told to amuse Miss Matilda with other things, and to remind her of
her mother's precepts and prohibitions.  I did so to the best of my
power: but she would not be amused against her will, and could not
against her taste; and though I went beyond mere reminding, such gentle
remonstrances as I could use were utterly ineffectual.
'_Dear_ Miss Grey! it is the _strangest_ thing.  I suppose you can't help
it, if it's not in your nature--but I _wonder_ you can't win the
confidence of that girl, and make your society at _least_ as agreeable to
her as that of Robert or Joseph!'
'They can talk the best about the things in which she is most
interested,' I replied.
'Well! that is a strange confession, _however_, to come from her
_governess_!  Who is to form a young lady's tastes, I wonder, if the
governess doesn't do it?  I have known governesses who have so completely
identified themselves with the reputation of their young ladies for
elegance and propriety in mind and manners, that they would blush to
speak a word against them; and to hear the slightest blame imputed to
their pupils was worse than to be censured in their own persons--and I
really think it very natural, for my part.'
'Do you, ma'am?'
'Yes, of course: the young lady's proficiency and elegance is of more
consequence to the governess than her own, as well as to the world.  If
she wishes to prosper in her vocation she must devote all her energies to
her business: all her ideas and all her ambition will tend to the
accomplishment of that one object.  When we wish to decide upon the
merits of a governess, we naturally look at the young ladies she
professes to have educated, and judge accordingly.  The _judicious_
governess knows this: she knows that, while she lives in obscurity
herself, her pupils' virtues and defects will be open to every eye; and
that, unless she loses sight of herself in their cultivation, she need
not hope for success.  You see, Miss Grey, it is just the same as any
other trade or profession: they that wish to prosper must devote
themselves body and soul to their calling; and if they begin to yield to
indolence or self-indulgence they are speedily distanced by wiser
competitors: there is little to choose between a person that ruins her
pupils by neglect, and one that corrupts them by her example.  You will
excuse my dropping these little hints: you know it is all for your own
good.  Many ladies would speak to you much more strongly; and many would
not trouble themselves to speak at all, but quietly look out for a
substitute.  That, of course, would be the _easiest_ plan: but I know the
advantages of a place like this to a person in your situation; and I have
no desire to part with you, as I am sure you would do very well if you
will only think of these things and try to exert yourself a _little_
more: then, I am convinced, you would _soon_ acquire that delicate tact
which alone is wanting to give you a proper influence over the mind of
your pupil.'
I was about to give the lady some idea of the fallacy of her
expectations; but she sailed away as soon as she had concluded her
speech.  Having said what she wished, it was no part of her plan to await
my answer: it was my business to hear, and not to speak.
However, as I have said, Matilda at length yielded in some degree to her
mother's authority (pity it had not been exerted before); and being thus
deprived of almost every source of amusement, there was nothing for it
but to take long rides with the groom and long walks with the governess,
and to visit the cottages and farmhouses on her father's estate, to kill
time in chatting with the old men and women that inhabited them.  In one
of these walks, it was our chance to meet Mr. Weston.  This was what I
had long desired; but now, for a moment, I wished either he or I were
away: I felt my heart throb so violently that I dreaded lest some outward
signs of emotion should appear; but I think he hardly glanced at me, and
I was soon calm enough.  After a brief salutation to both, he asked
Matilda if she had lately heard from her sister.
'Yes,' replied she.  'She was at Paris when she wrote, and very well, and
very happy.'
She spoke the last word emphatically, and with a glance impertinently
sly.  He did not seem to notice it, but replied, with equal emphasis, and
very seriously--
'I hope she will continue to be so.'
'Do you think it likely?' I ventured to inquire: for Matilda had started
off in pursuit of her dog, that was chasing a leveret.
'I cannot tell,' replied he.  'Sir Thomas may be a better man than I
suppose; but, from all I have heard and seen, it seems a pity that one so
young and gay, and--and interesting, to express many things by one
word--whose greatest, if not her only fault, appears to be
thoughtlessness--no trifling fault to be sure, since it renders the
possessor liable to almost every other, and exposes him to so many
temptations--but it seems a pity that she should be thrown away on such a
man.  It was her mother's wish, I suppose?'
'Yes; and her own too, I think, for she always laughed at my attempts to
dissuade her from the step.'
'You did attempt it?  Then, at least, you will have the satisfaction of
knowing that it is no fault of yours, if any harm should come of it.  As
for Mrs. Murray, I don't know how she can justify her conduct: if I had
sufficient acquaintance with her, I'd ask her.'
'It seems unnatural: but some people think rank and wealth the chief
good; and, if they can secure that for their children, they think they
have done their duty.'
'True: but is it not strange that persons of experience, who have been
married themselves, should judge so falsely?'  Matilda now came panting
back, with the lacerated body of the young hare in her hand.
'Was it your intention to kill that hare, or to save it, Miss Murray?'
asked Mr. Weston, apparently puzzled at her gleeful countenance.
'I pretended to want to save it,' she answered, honestly enough, 'as it
was so glaringly out of season; but I was better pleased to see it
lolled.  However, you can both witness that I couldn't help it: Prince
was determined to have her; and he clutched her by the back, and killed
her in a minute!  Wasn't it a noble chase?'
'Very! for a young lady after a leveret.'
There was a quiet sarcasm in the tone of his reply which was not lost
upon her; she shrugged her shoulders, and, turning away with a
significant 'Humph!' asked me how I had enjoyed the fun.  I replied that
I saw no fun in the matter; but admitted that I had not observed the
transaction very narrowly.
'Didn't you see how it doubled--just like an old hare? and didn't you
hear it scream?'
'I'm happy to say I did not.'
'It cried out just like a child.'
'Poor little thing!  What will you do with it?'
'Come along--I shall leave it in the first house we come to.  I don't
want to take it home, for fear papa should scold me for letting the dog
kill it.'
Mr. Weston was now gone, and we too went on our way; but as we returned,
after having deposited the hare in a farm-house, and demolished some
spice-cake and currant-wine in exchange, we met him returning also from
the execution of his mission, whatever it might be.  He carried in his
hand a cluster of beautiful bluebells, which he offered to me; observing,
with a smile, that though he had seen so little of me for the last two
months, he had not forgotten that bluebells were numbered among my
favourite flowers.  It was done as a simple act of goodwill, without
compliment or remarkable courtesy, or any look that could be construed
into 'reverential, tender adoration' (_vide_ Rosalie Murray); but still,
it was something to find my unimportant saying so well remembered: it was
something that he had noticed so accurately the time I had ceased to be
visible.
'I was told,' said he, 'that you were a perfect bookworm, Miss Grey: so
completely absorbed in your studies that you were lost to every other
pleasure.'
'Yes, and it's quite true!' cried Matilda.
'No, Mr. Weston: don't believe it: it's a scandalous libel.  These young
ladies are too fond of making random assertions at the expense of their
friends; and you ought to be careful how you listen to them.'
'I hope _this_ assertion is groundless, at any rate.'
'Why?  Do you particularly object to ladies studying?'
'No; but I object to anyone so devoting himself or herself to study, as
to lose sight of everything else.  Except under peculiar circumstances, I
consider very close and constant study as a waste of time, and an injury
to the mind as well as the body.'
'Well, I have neither the time nor the inclination for such
transgressions.'
We parted again.
Well! what is there remarkable in all this?  Why have I recorded it?
Because, reader, it was important enough to give me a cheerful evening, a
night of pleasing dreams, and a morning of felicitous hopes.
Shallow-brained cheerfulness, foolish dreams, unfounded hopes, you would
say; and I will not venture to deny it: suspicions to that effect arose
too frequently in my own mind.  But our wishes are like tinder: the flint
and steel of circumstances are continually striking out sparks, which
vanish immediately, unless they chance to fall upon the tinder of our
wishes; then, they instantly ignite, and the flame of hope is kindled in
a moment.
But alas! that very morning, my flickering flame of hope was dismally
quenched by a letter from my mother, which spoke so seriously of my
father's increasing illness, that I feared there was little or no chance
of his recovery; and, close at hand as the holidays were, I almost
trembled lest they should come too late for me to meet him in this world.
Two days after, a letter from Mary told me his life was despaired of, and
his end seemed fast approaching.  Then, immediately, I sought permission
to anticipate the vacation, and go without delay.  Mrs. Murray stared,
and wondered at the unwonted energy and boldness with which I urged the
request, and thought there was no occasion to hurry; but finally gave me
leave: stating, however, that there was 'no need to be in such agitation
about the matter--it might prove a false alarm after all; and if
not--why, it was only in the common course of nature: we must all die
some time; and I was not to suppose myself the only afflicted person in
the world;' and concluding with saying I might have the phaeton to take
me to O---.  'And instead of _repining_, Miss Grey, be thankful for the
_privileges_ you enjoy.  There's many a poor clergyman whose family would
be plunged into ruin by the event of his death; but you, you see, have
influential friends ready to continue their patronage, and to show you
every consideration.'
I thanked her for her 'consideration,' and flew to my room to make some
hurried preparations for my departure.  My bonnet and shawl being on, and
a few things hastily crammed into my largest trunk, I descended.  But I
might have done the work more leisurely, for no one else was in a hurry;
and I had still a considerable time to wait for the phaeton.  At length
it came to the door, and I was off: but, oh, what a dreary journey was
that! how utterly different from my former passages homewards!  Being too
late for the last coach to ---, I had to hire a cab for ten miles, and
then a car to take me over the rugged hills.
It was half-past ten before I reached home.  They were not in bed.
My mother and sister both met me in the passage--sad--silent--pale!  I
was so much shocked and terror-stricken that I could not speak, to ask
the information I so much longed yet dreaded to obtain.
'Agnes!' said my mother, struggling to repress some strong emotion.
'Oh, Agnes!' cried Mary, and burst into tears.
'How is he?' I asked, gasping for the answer.
'Dead!'
It was the reply I had anticipated: but the shock seemed none the less
tremendous.
CHAPTER XIX--THE LETTER
My father's mortal remains had been consigned to the tomb; and we, with
sad faces and sombre garments, sat lingering over the frugal
breakfast-table, revolving plans for our future life.  My mother's strong
mind had not given way beneath even this affliction: her spirit, though
crushed, was not broken.  Mary's wish was that I should go back to Horton
Lodge, and that our mother should come and live with her and Mr.
Richardson at the vicarage: she affirmed that he wished it no less than
herself, and that such an arrangement could not fail to benefit all
parties; for my mother's society and experience would be of inestimable
value to them, and they would do all they could to make her happy.  But
no arguments or entreaties could prevail: my mother was determined not to
go.  Not that she questioned, for a moment, the kind wishes and
intentions of her daughter; but she affirmed that so long as God spared
her health and strength, she would make use of them to earn her own
livelihood, and be chargeable to no one; whether her dependence would be
felt as a burden or not.  If she could afford to reside as a lodger
in--vicarage, she would choose that house before all others as the place
of her abode; but not being so circumstanced, she would never come under
its roof, except as an occasional visitor: unless sickness or calamity
should render her assistance really needful, or until age or infirmity
made her incapable of maintaining herself.
'No, Mary,' said she, 'if Richardson and you have anything to spare, you
must lay it aside for your family; and Agnes and I must gather honey for
ourselves.  Thanks to my having had daughters to educate, I have not
forgotten my accomplishments.  God willing, I will check this vain
repining,' she said, while the tears coursed one another down her cheeks
in spite of her efforts; but she wiped them away, and resolutely shaking
back her head, continued, 'I will exert myself, and look out for a small
house, commodiously situated in some populous but healthy district, where
we will take a few young ladies to board and educate--if we can get
them--and as many day pupils as will come, or as we can manage to
instruct.  Your father's relations and old friends will be able to send
us some pupils, or to assist us with their recommendations, no doubt: I
shall not apply to my own.  What say you to it, Agnes? will you be
willing to leave your present situation and try?'
'Quite willing, mamma; and the money I have saved will do to furnish the
house.  It shall be taken from the bank directly.'
'When it is wanted: we must get the house, and settle on preliminaries
first.'
Mary offered to lend the little she possessed; but my mother declined it,
saying that we must begin on an economical plan; and she hoped that the
whole or part of mine, added to what we could get by the sale of the
furniture, and what little our dear papa had contrived to lay aside for
her since the debts were paid, would be sufficient to last us till
Christmas; when, it was hoped, something would accrue from our united
labours.  It was finally settled that this should be our plan; and that
inquiries and preparations should immediately be set on foot; and while
my mother busied herself with these, I should return to Horton Lodge at
the close of my four weeks' vacation, and give notice for my final
departure when things were in train for the speedy commencement of our
school.
We were discussing these affairs on the morning I have mentioned, about a
fortnight after my father's death, when a letter was brought in for my
mother, on beholding which the colour mounted to her face--lately pale
enough with anxious watchings and excessive sorrow.  'From my father!'
murmured she, as she hastily tore off the cover.  It was many years since
she had heard from any of her own relations before.  Naturally wondering
what the letter might contain, I watched her countenance while she read
it, and was somewhat surprised to see her bite her lip and knit her brows
as if in anger.  When she had done, she somewhat irreverently cast it on
the table, saying with a scornful smile,--'Your grandpapa has been so
kind as to write to me.  He says he has no doubt I have long repented of
my "unfortunate marriage," and if I will only acknowledge this, and
confess I was wrong in neglecting his advice, and that I have justly
suffered for it, he will make a lady of me once again--if that be
possible after my long degradation--and remember my girls in his will.
Get my desk, Agnes, and send these things away: I will answer the letter
directly.  But first, as I may be depriving you both of a legacy, it is
just that I should tell you what I mean to say.  I shall say that he is
mistaken in supposing that I can regret the birth of my daughters (who
have been the pride of my life, and are likely to be the comfort of my
old age), or the thirty years I have passed in the company of my best and
dearest friend;--that, had our misfortunes been three times as great as
they were (unless they had been of my bringing on), I should still the
more rejoice to have shared them with your father, and administered what
consolation I was able; and, had his sufferings in illness been ten times
what they wore, I could not regret having watched over and laboured to
relieve them;--that, if he had married a richer wife, misfortunes and
trials would no doubt have come upon him still; while I am egotist enough
to imagine that no other woman could have cheered him through them so
well: not that I am superior to the rest, but I was made for him, and he
for me; and I can no more repent the hours, days, years of happiness we
have spent together, and which neither could have had without the other,
than I can the privilege of having been his nurse in sickness, and his
comfort in affliction.
'Will this do, children?--or shall I say we are all very sorry for what
has happened during the last thirty years, and my daughters wish they had
never been born; but since they have had that misfortune, they will be
thankful for any trifle their grandpapa will be kind enough to bestow?'
Of course, we both applauded our mother's resolution; Mary cleared away
the breakfast things; I brought the desk; the letter was quickly written
and despatched; and, from that day, we heard no more of our grandfather,
till we saw his death announced in the newspaper a considerable time
after--all his worldly possessions, of course, being left to our wealthy
unknown cousins.
CHAPTER XX--THE FAREWELL
A house in A---, the fashionable watering-place, was hired for our
seminary; and a promise of two or three pupils was obtained to commence
with.  I returned to Horton Lodge about the middle of July, leaving my
mother to conclude the bargain for the house, to obtain more pupils, to
sell off the furniture of our old abode, and to fit out the new one.
We often pity the poor, because they have no leisure to mourn their
departed relatives, and necessity obliges them to labour through their
severest afflictions: but is not active employment the best remedy for
overwhelming sorrow--the surest antidote for despair?  It may be a rough
comforter: it may seem hard to be harassed with the cares of life when we
have no relish for its enjoyments; to be goaded to labour when the heart
is ready to break, and the vexed spirit implores for rest only to weep in
silence: but is not labour better than the rest we covet? and are not
those petty, tormenting cares less hurtful than a continual brooding over
the great affliction that oppresses us?  Besides, we cannot have cares,
and anxieties, and toil, without hope--if it be but the hope of
fulfilling our joyless task, accomplishing some needful project, or
escaping some further annoyance.  At any rate, I was glad my mother had
so much employment for every faculty of her action-loving frame.  Our
kind neighbours lamented that she, once so exalted in wealth and station,
should be reduced to such extremity in her time of sorrow; but I am
persuaded that she would have suffered thrice as much had she been left
in affluence, with liberty to remain in that house, the scene of her
early happiness and late affliction, and no stern necessity to prevent
her from incessantly brooding over and lamenting her bereavement.
I will not dilate upon the feelings with which I left the old house, the
well-known garden, the little village church--then doubly dear to me,
because my father, who, for thirty years, had taught and prayed within
its walls, lay slumbering now beneath its flags--and the old bare hills,
delightful in their very desolation, with the narrow vales between,
smiling in green wood and sparkling water--the house where I was born,
the scene of all my early associations, the place where throughout life
my earthly affections had been centred;--and left them to return no more!
True, I was going back to Horton Lodge, where, amid many evils, one
source of pleasure yet remained: but it was pleasure mingled with
excessive pain; and my stay, alas! was limited to six weeks.  And even of
that precious time, day after day slipped by and I did not see him:
except at church, I never saw him for a fortnight after my return.  It
seemed a long time to me: and, as I was often out with my rambling pupil,
of course hopes would keep rising, and disappointments would ensue; and
then, I would say to my own heart, 'Here is a convincing proof--if you
would but have the sense to see it, or the candour to acknowledge
it--that he does not care for you.  If he only thought _half_ as much
about you as you do about him, he would have contrived to meet you many
times ere this: you must know that, by consulting your own feelings.
Therefore, have done with this nonsense: you have no ground for hope:
dismiss, at once, these hurtful thoughts and foolish wishes from your
mind, and turn to your own duty, and the dull blank life that lies before
you.  You might have known such happiness was not for you.'
But I saw him at last.  He came suddenly upon me as I was crossing a
field in returning from a visit to Nancy Brown, which I had taken the
opportunity of paying while Matilda Murray was riding her matchless mare.
He must have heard of the heavy loss I had sustained: he expressed no
sympathy, offered no condolence: but almost the first words he uttered
were,--'How is your mother?'  And this was no matter-of-course question,
for I never told him that I had a mother: he must have learned the fact
from others, if he knew it at all; and, besides, there was sincere
goodwill, and even deep, touching, unobtrusive sympathy in the tone and
manner of the inquiry.  I thanked him with due civility, and told him she
was as well as could be expected.  'What will she do?' was the next
question.  Many would have deemed it an impertinent one, and given an
evasive reply; but such an idea never entered my head, and I gave a brief
but plain statement of my mother's plans and prospects.
'Then you will leave this place shortly?' said he.
'Yes, in a month.'
He paused a minute, as if in thought.  When he spoke again, I hoped it
would be to express his concern at my departure; but it was only to
say,--'I should think you will be willing enough to go?'
'Yes--for some things,' I replied.
'For _some_ things only--I wonder what should make you regret it?'
I was annoyed at this in some degree; because it embarrassed me: I had
only one reason for regretting it; and that was a profound secret, which
he had no business to trouble me about.
'Why,' said I--'why should you suppose that I dislike the place?'
'You told me so yourself,' was the decisive reply.  'You said, at least,
that you could not live contentedly, without a friend; and that you had
no friend here, and no possibility of making one--and, besides, I know
you _must_ dislike it.'
'But if you remember rightly, I said, or meant to say, I could not live
contentedly without a friend in the world: I was not so unreasonable as
to require one always near me.  I think I could be happy in a house full
of enemies, if--' but no; that sentence must not be continued--I paused,
and hastily added,--'And, besides, we cannot well leave a place where we
have lived for two or three years, without some feeling of regret.'
'Will you regret to part with Miss Murray, your sole remaining pupil and
companion?'
'I dare say I shall in some degree: it was not without sorrow I parted
with her sister.'
'I can imagine that.'
'Well, Miss Matilda is quite as good--better in one respect.'
'What is that?'
'She's honest.'
'And the other is not?'
'I should not call her _dis_honest; but it must be confessed she's a
little artful.'
'_Artful_ is she?--I saw she was giddy and vain--and now,' he added,
after a pause, 'I can well believe she was artful too; but so excessively
so as to assume an aspect of extreme simplicity and unguarded openness.
Yes,' continued he, musingly, 'that accounts for some little things that
puzzled me a trifle before.'
After that, he turned the conversation to more general subjects.  He did
not leave me till we had nearly reached the park-gates: he had certainly
stepped a little out of his way to accompany me so far, for he now went
back and disappeared down Moss Lane, the entrance of which we had passed
some time before.  Assuredly I did not regret this circumstance: if
sorrow had any place in my heart, it was that he was gone at last--that
he was no longer walking by my side, and that that short interval of
delightful intercourse was at an end.  He had not breathed a word of
love, or dropped one hint of tenderness or affection, and yet I had been
supremely happy.  To be near him, to hear him talk as he did talk, and to
feel that he thought me worthy to be so spoken to--capable of
understanding and duly appreciating such discourse--was enough.
'Yes, Edward Weston, I could indeed be happy in a house full of enemies,
if I had but one friend, who truly, deeply, and faithfully loved me; and
if that friend were you--though we might be far apart--seldom to hear
from each other, still more seldom to meet--though toil, and trouble, and
vexation might surround me, still--it would be too much happiness for me
to dream of!  Yet who can tell,' said I within myself, as I proceeded up
the park,--'who can tell what this one month may bring forth?  I have
lived nearly three-and-twenty years, and I have suffered much, and tasted
little pleasure yet; is it likely my life all through will be so clouded?
Is it not possible that God may hear my prayers, disperse these gloomy
shadows, and grant me some beams of heaven's sunshine yet?  Will He
entirely deny to me those blessings which are so freely given to others,
who neither ask them nor acknowledge them when received?  May I not still
hope and trust?  I did hope and trust for a while: but, alas, alas! the
time ebbed away: one week followed another, and, excepting one distant
glimpse and two transient meetings--during which scarcely anything was
said--while I was walking with Miss Matilda, I saw nothing of him:
except, of course, at church.
And now, the last Sunday was come, and the last service.  I was often on
the point of melting into tears during the sermon--the last I was to hear
from him: the best I should hear from anyone, I was well assured.  It was
over--the congregation were departing; and I must follow.  I had then
seen him, and heard his voice, too, probably for the last time.  In the
churchyard, Matilda was pounced upon by the two Misses Green.  They had
many inquiries to make about her sister, and I know not what besides.  I
only wished they would have done, that we might hasten back to Horton
Lodge: I longed to seek the retirement of my own room, or some
sequestered nook in the grounds, that I might deliver myself up to my
feelings--to weep my last farewell, and lament my false hopes and vain
delusions.  Only this once, and then adieu to fruitless
dreaming--thenceforth, only sober, solid, sad reality should occupy my
mind.  But while I thus resolved, a low voice close beside me said--'I
suppose you are going this week, Miss Grey?'  'Yes,' I replied.  I was
very much startled; and had I been at all hysterically inclined, I
certainly should have committed myself in some way then.  Thank God, I
was not.
'Well,' said Mr. Weston, 'I want to bid you good-bye--it is not likely I
shall see you again before you go.'
'Good-bye, Mr. Weston,' I said.  Oh, how I struggled to say it calmly!  I
gave him my hand.  He retained it a few seconds in his.
'It is possible we may meet again,' said he; 'will it be of any
consequence to you whether we do or not?'
'Yes, I should be very glad to see you again.'
I _could_ say no less.  He kindly pressed my hand, and went.  Now, I was
happy again--though more inclined to burst into tears than ever.  If I
had been forced to speak at that moment, a succession of sobs would have
inevitably ensued; and as it was, I could not keep the water out of my
eyes.  I walked along with Miss Murray, turning aside my face, and
neglecting to notice several successive remarks, till she bawled out that
I was either deaf or stupid; and then (having recovered my
self-possession), as one awakened from a fit of abstraction, I suddenly
looked up and asked what she had been saying.
CHAPTER XXI--THE SCHOOL
I left Horton Lodge, and went to join my mother in our new abode at A---.
I found her well in health, resigned in spirit, and even cheerful, though
subdued and sober, in her general demeanour.  We had only three boarders
and half a dozen day-pupils to commence with; but by due care and
diligence we hoped ere long to increase the number of both.
I set myself with befitting energy to discharge the duties of this new
mode of life.  I call it _new_, for there was, indeed, a considerable
difference between working with my mother in a school of our own, and
working as a hireling among strangers, despised and trampled upon by old
and young; and for the first few weeks I was by no means unhappy.  'It is
possible we may meet again,' and 'will it be of any consequence to you
whether we do or not?'--Those words still rang in my ear and rested on my
heart: they were my secret solace and support.  'I shall see him
again.--He will come; or he will write.'  No promise, in fact, was too
bright or too extravagant for Hope to whisper in my ear.  I did not
believe half of what she told me: I pretended to laugh at it all; but I
was far more credulous than I myself supposed; otherwise, why did my
heart leap up when a knock was heard at the front door, and the maid, who
opened it, came to tell my mother a gentleman wished to see her? and why
was I out of humour for the rest of the day, because it proved to be a
music-master come to offer his services to our school? and what stopped
my breath for a moment, when the postman having brought a couple of
letters, my mother said, 'Here, Agnes, this is for you,' and threw one of
them to me? and what made the hot blood rush into my face when I saw it
was directed in a gentleman's hand? and why--oh! why did that cold,
sickening sense of disappointment fall upon me, when I had torn open the
cover and found it was _only_ a letter from Mary, which, for some reason
or other, her husband had directed for her?
Was it then come to this--that I should be _disappointed_ to receive a
letter from my only sister: and because it was not written by a
comparative stranger?  Dear Mary! and she had written it so kindly--and
thinking I should be so pleased to have it!--I was not worthy to read it!
And I believe, in my indignation against myself, I should have put it
aside till I had schooled myself into a better frame of mind, and was
become more deserving of the honour and privilege of its perusal: but
there was my mother looking on, and wishful to know what news it
contained; so I read it and delivered it to her, and then went into the
schoolroom to attend to the pupils: but amidst the cares of copies and
sums--in the intervals of correcting errors here, and reproving
derelictions of duty there, I was inwardly taking myself to task with far
sterner severity.  'What a fool you must be,' said my head to my heart,
or my sterner to my softer self;--'how could you ever dream that he would
write to you?  What grounds have you for such a hope--or that he will see
you, or give himself any trouble about you--or even think of you again?'
'What grounds?'--and then Hope set before me that last, short interview,
and repeated the words I had so faithfully treasured in my memory.
'Well, and what was there in that?--Who ever hung his hopes upon so frail
a twig?  What was there in those words that any common acquaintance might
not say to another?  Of course, it was possible you might meet again: he
might have said so if you had been going to New Zealand; but that did not
imply any _intention_ of seeing you--and then, as to the question that
followed, anyone might ask that: and how did you answer?--Merely with a
stupid, commonplace reply, such as you would have given to Master Murray,
or anyone else you had been on tolerably civil terms with.'  'But, then,'
persisted Hope, 'the tone and manner in which he spoke.'  'Oh, that is
nonsense! he always speaks impressively; and at that moment there were
the Greens and Miss Matilda Murray just before, and other people passing
by, and he was obliged to stand close beside you, and to speak very low,
unless he wished everybody to hear what he said, which--though it was
nothing at all particular--of course, he would rather not.'  But then,
above all, that emphatic, yet gentle pressure of the hand, which seemed
to say, '_Trust_ me;' and many other things besides--too delightful,
almost too flattering, to be repeated even to one's self.  'Egregious
folly--too absurd to require contradiction--mere inventions of the
imagination, which you ought to be ashamed of.  If you would but consider
your own unattractive exterior, your unamiable reserve, your foolish
diffidence--which must make you appear cold, dull, awkward, and perhaps
ill-tempered too;--if you had but rightly considered these from the
beginning, you would never have harboured such presumptuous thoughts: and
now that you have been so foolish, pray repent and amend, and let us have
no more of it!'
I cannot say that I implicitly obeyed my own injunctions: but such
reasoning as this became more and more effective as time wore on, and
nothing was seen or heard of Mr. Weston; until, at last, I gave up
hoping, for even my heart acknowledged it was all in vain.  But still, I
would think of him: I would cherish his image in my mind; and treasure
every word, look, and gesture that my memory could retain; and brood over
his excellences and his peculiarities, and, in fact, all I had seen,
heard, or imagined respecting him.
'Agnes, this sea air and change of scene do you no good, I think: I never
saw you look so wretched.  It must be that you sit too much, and allow
the cares of the schoolroom to worry you.  You must learn to take things
easy, and to be more active and cheerful; you must take exercise whenever
you can get it, and leave the most tiresome duties to me: they will only
serve to exercise my patience, and, perhaps, try my temper a little.'
So said my mother, as we sat at work one morning during the Easter
holidays.  I assured her that my employments were not at all oppressive;
that I was well; or, if there was anything amiss, it would be gone as
soon as the trying months of spring were over: when summer came I should
be as strong and hearty as she could wish to see me: but inwardly her
observation startled me.  I knew my strength was declining, my appetite
had failed, and I was grown listless and desponding;--and if, indeed, he
could never care for me, and I could never see him more--if I was
forbidden to minister to his happiness--forbidden, for ever, to taste the
joys of love, to bless, and to be blessed--then, life must be a burden,
and if my heavenly Father would call me away, I should be glad to rest.
But it would not do to die and leave my mother.  Selfish, unworthy
daughter, to forget her for a moment!  Was not her happiness committed in
a great measure to my charge?--and the welfare of our young pupils too?
Should I shrink from the work that God had set before me, because it was
not fitted to my taste?  Did not He know best what I should do, and where
I ought to labour?--and should I long to quit His service before I had
finished my task, and expect to enter into His rest without having
laboured to earn it?  'No; by His help I will arise and address myself
diligently to my appointed duty.  If happiness in this world is not for
me, I will endeavour to promote the welfare of those around me, and my
reward shall be hereafter.'  So said I in my heart; and from that hour I
only permitted my thoughts to wander to Edward Weston--or at least to
dwell upon him now and then--as a treat for rare occasions: and, whether
it was really the approach of summer or the effect of these good
resolutions, or the lapse of time, or all together, tranquillity of mind
was soon restored; and bodily health and vigour began likewise, slowly,
but surely, to return.
Early in June, I received a letter from Lady Ashby, late Miss Murray.
She had written to me twice or thrice before, from the different stages
of her bridal tour, always in good spirits, and professing to be very
happy.  I wondered every time that she had not forgotten me, in the midst
of so much gaiety and variety of scene.  At length, however, there was a
pause; and it seemed she had forgotten me, for upwards of seven months
passed away and no letter.  Of course, I did not break my heart about
_that_, though I often wondered how she was getting on; and when this
last epistle so unexpectedly arrived, I was glad enough to receive it.
It was dated from Ashby Park, where she was come to settle down at last,
having previously divided her time between the continent and the
metropolis.  She made many apologies for having neglected me so long,
assured me she had not forgotten me, and had often intended to write, &c.
&c., but had always been prevented by something.  She acknowledged that
she had been leading a very dissipated life, and I should think her very
wicked and very thoughtless; but, notwithstanding that, she thought a
great deal, and, among other things, that she should vastly like to see
me.  'We have been several days here already,' wrote she.  'We have not a
single friend with us, and are likely to be very dull.  You know I never
had a fancy for living with my husband like two turtles in a nest, were
he the most delightful creature that ever wore a coat; so do take pity
upon me and come.  I suppose your Midsummer holidays commence in June,
the same as other people's; therefore you cannot plead want of time; and
you must and shall come--in fact, I shall die if you don't.  I want you
to visit me as a friend, and stay a long time.  There is nobody with me,
as I told you before, but Sir Thomas and old Lady Ashby: but you needn't
mind them--they'll trouble us but little with their company.  And you
shall have a room to yourself, whenever you like to retire to it, and
plenty of books to read when my company is not sufficiently amusing.  I
forget whether you like babies; if you do, you may have the pleasure of
seeing mine--the most charming child in the world, no doubt; and all the
more so, that I am not troubled with nursing it--I was determined I
wouldn't be bothered with that.  Unfortunately, it is a girl, and Sir
Thomas has never forgiven me: but, however, if you will only come, I
promise you shall be its governess as soon as it can speak; and you shall
bring it up in the way it should go, and make a better woman of it than
its mamma.  And you shall see my poodle, too: a splendid little charmer
imported from Paris: and two fine Italian paintings of great value--I
forget the artist.  Doubtless you will be able to discover prodigious
beauties in them, which you must point out to me, as I only admire by
hearsay; and many elegant curiosities besides, which I purchased at Rome
and elsewhere; and, finally, you shall see my new home--the splendid
house and grounds I used to covet so greatly.  Alas! how far the promise
of anticipation exceeds the pleasure of possession!  There's a fine
sentiment!  I assure you I am become quite a grave old matron: pray come,
if it be only to witness the wonderful change.  Write by return of post,
and tell me when your vacation commences, and say that you will come the
day after, and stay till the day before it closes--in mercy to
'Yours affectionately,
'ROSALIE ASHBY.'
I showed this strange epistle to my mother, and consulted her on what I
ought to do.  She advised me to go; and I went--willing enough to see
Lady Ashby, and her baby, too, and to do anything I could to benefit her,
by consolation or advice; for I imagined she must be unhappy, or she
would not have applied to me thus--but feeling, as may readily be
conceived, that, in accepting the invitation, I made a great sacrifice
for her, and did violence to my feelings in many ways, instead of being
delighted with the honourable distinction of being entreated by the
baronet's lady to visit her as a friend.  However, I determined my visit
should be only for a few days at most; and I will not deny that I derived
some consolation from the idea that, as Ashby Park was not very far from
Horton, I might possibly see Mr. Weston, or, at least, hear something
about him.
CHAPTER XXII--THE VISIT
Ashby Park was certainly a very delightful residence.  The mansion was
stately without, commodious and elegant within; the park was spacious and
beautiful, chiefly on account of its magnificent old trees, its stately
herds of deer, its broad sheet of water, and the ancient woods that
stretched beyond it: for there was no broken ground to give variety to
the landscape, and but very little of that undulating swell which adds so
greatly to the charm of park scenery.  And so, this was the place Rosalie
Murray had so longed to call her own, that she must have a share of it,
on whatever terms it might be offered--whatever price was to be paid for
the title of mistress, and whoever was to be her partner in the honour
and bliss of such a possession!  Well I am not disposed to censure her
now.
She received me very kindly; and, though I was a poor clergyman's
daughter, a governess, and a schoolmistress, she welcomed me with
unaffected pleasure to her home; and--what surprised me rather--took some
pains to make my visit agreeable.  I could see, it is true, that she
expected me to be greatly struck with the magnificence that surrounded
her; and, I confess, I was rather annoyed at her evident efforts to
reassure me, and prevent me from being overwhelmed by so much
grandeur--too much awed at the idea of encountering her husband and
mother-in-law, or too much ashamed of my own humble appearance.  I was
not ashamed of it at all; for, though plain, I had taken good care not to
be shabby or mean, and should have been pretty considerably at my ease, if
my condescending hostess had not taken such manifest pains to make me so;
and, as for the magnificence that surrounded her, nothing that met my
eyes struck me or affected me half so much as her own altered appearance.
Whether from the influence of fashionable dissipation, or some other
evil, a space of little more than twelve months had had the effect that
might be expected from as many years, in reducing the plumpness of her
form, the freshness of her complexion, the vivacity of her movements, and
the exuberance of her spirits.
I wished to know if she was unhappy; but I felt it was not my province to
inquire: I might endeavour to win her confidence; but, if she chose to
conceal her matrimonial cares from me, I would trouble her with no
obtrusive questions.  I, therefore, at first, confined myself to a few
general inquiries about her health and welfare, and a few commendations
on the beauty of the park, and of the little girl that should have been a
boy: a small delicate infant of seven or eight weeks old, whom its mother
seemed to regard with no remarkable degree of interest or affection,
though full as much as I expected her to show.
Shortly after my arrival, she commissioned her maid to conduct me to my
room and see that I had everything I wanted; it was a small,
unpretending, but sufficiently comfortable apartment.  When I descended
thence--having divested myself of all travelling encumbrances, and
arranged my toilet with due consideration for the feelings of my lady
hostess, she conducted me herself to the room I was to occupy when I
chose to be alone, or when she was engaged with visitors, or obliged to
be with her mother-in-law, or otherwise prevented, as she said, from
enjoying the pleasure of my society.  It was a quiet, tidy little
sitting-room; and I was not sorry to be provided with such a harbour of
refuge.
'And some time,' said she, 'I will show you the library: I never examined
its shelves, but, I daresay, it is full of wise books; and you may go and
burrow among them whenever you please.  And now you shall have some
tea--it will soon be dinner-time, but I thought, as you were accustomed
to dine at one, you would perhaps like better to have a cup of tea about
this time, and to dine when we lunch: and then, you know, you can have
your tea in this room, and that will save you from having to dine with
Lady Ashby and Sir Thomas: which would be rather awkward--at least, not
awkward, but rather--a--you know what I mean.  I thought you mightn't
like it so well--especially as we may have other ladies and gentlemen to
dine with us occasionally.'
'Certainly,' said I, 'I would much rather have it as you say, and, if you
have no objection, I should prefer having all my meals in this room.'
'Why so?'
'Because, I imagine, it would be more agreeable to Lady Ashby and Sir
Thomas.'
'Nothing of the kind.'
'At any rate it would be more agreeable to me.'
She made some faint objections, but soon conceded; and I could see that
the proposal was a considerable relief to her.
'Now, come into the drawing-room,' said she.  'There's the dressing bell;
but I won't go yet: it's no use dressing when there's no one to see you;
and I want to have a little discourse.'
The drawing-room was certainly an imposing apartment, and very elegantly
furnished; but I saw its young mistress glance towards me as we entered,
as if to notice how I was impressed by the spectacle, and accordingly I
determined to preserve an aspect of stony indifference, as if I saw
nothing at all remarkable.  But this was only for a moment: immediately
conscience whispered, 'Why should I disappoint her to save my pride?
No--rather let me sacrifice my pride to give her a little innocent
gratification.'  And I honestly looked round, and told her it was a noble
room, and very tastefully furnished.  She said little, but I saw she was
pleased.
She showed me her fat French poodle, that lay curled up on a silk
cushion, and the two fine Italian paintings: which, however, she would
not give me time to examine, but, saying I must look at them some other
day, insisted upon my admiring the little jewelled watch she had
purchased in Geneva; and then she took me round the room to point out
sundry articles of _vertu_ she had brought from Italy: an elegant little
timepiece, and several busts, small graceful figures, and vases, all
beautifully carved in white marble.  She spoke of these with animation,
and heard my admiring comments with a smile of pleasure: that soon,
however, vanished, and was followed by a melancholy sigh; as if in
consideration of the insufficiency of all such baubles to the happiness
of the human heart, and their woeful inability to supply its insatiate
demands.
Then, stretching herself upon a couch, she motioned me to a capacious
easy-chair that stood opposite--not before the fire, but before a wide
open window; for it was summer, be it remembered; a sweet, warm evening
in the latter half of June.  I sat for a moment in silence, enjoying the
still, pure air, and the delightful prospect of the park that lay before
me, rich in verdure and foliage, and basking in yellow sunshine, relieved
by the long shadows of declining day.  But I must take advantage of this
pause: I had inquiries to make, and, like the substance of a lady's
postscript, the most important must come last.  So I began with asking
after Mr. and Mrs. Murray, and Miss Matilda and the young gentlemen.
I was told that papa had the gout, which made him very ferocious; and
that he would not give up his choice wines, and his substantial dinners
and suppers, and had quarrelled with his physician, because the latter
had dared to say that no medicine could cure him while he lived so
freely; that mamma and the rest were well.  Matilda was still wild and
reckless, but she had got a fashionable governess, and was considerably
improved in her manners, and soon to be introduced to the world; and John
and Charles (now at home for the holidays) were, by all accounts, 'fine,
bold, unruly, mischievous boys.'
'And how are the other people getting on?' said I--'the Greens, for
instance?'
'Ah! Mr. Green is heart-broken, you know,' replied she, with a languid
smile: 'he hasn't got over his disappointment yet, and never will, I
suppose.  He's doomed to be an old bachelor; and his sisters are doing
their best to get married.'
'And the Melthams?'
'Oh, they're jogging on as usual, I suppose: but I know very little about
any of them--except Harry,' said she, blushing slightly, and smiling
again.  'I saw a great deal of him while we were in London; for, as soon
as he heard we were there, he came up under pretence of visiting his
brother, and either followed me, like a shadow, wherever I went, or met
me, like a reflection, at every turn.  You needn't look so shocked, Miss
Grey; I was very discreet, I assure you, but, you know, one can't help
being admired.  Poor fellow!  He was not my only worshipper; though he
was certainly the most conspicuous, and, I think, the most devoted among
them all.  And that detestable--ahem--and Sir Thomas chose to take
offence at him--or my profuse expenditure, or something--I don't exactly
know what--and hurried me down to the country at a moment's notice; where
I'm to play the hermit, I suppose, for life.'
And she bit her lip, and frowned vindictively upon the fair domain she
had once so coveted to call her own.
'And Mr. Hatfield,' said I, 'what is become of him?'
Again she brightened up, and answered gaily--'Oh! he made up to an
elderly spinster, and married her, not long since; weighing her heavy
purse against her faded charms, and expecting to find that solace in gold
which was denied him in love--ha, ha!'
'Well, and I think that's all--except Mr. Weston: what is he doing?'
'I don't know, I'm sure.  He's gone from Horton.'
'How long since? and where is he gone to?'
'I know nothing about him,' replied she, yawning--'except that he went
about a month ago--I never asked where' (I would have asked whether it
was to a living or merely another curacy, but thought it better not);
'and the people made a great rout about his leaving,' continued she,
'much to Mr. Hatfield's displeasure; for Hatfield didn't like him,
because he had too much influence with the common people, and because he
was not sufficiently tractable and submissive to him--and for some other
unpardonable sins, I don't know what.  But now I positively must go and
dress: the second bell will ring directly, and if I come to dinner in
this guise, I shall never hear the end of it from Lady Ashby.  It's a
strange thing one can't be mistress in one's own house!  Just ring the
bell, and I'll send for my maid, and tell them to get you some tea.  Only
think of that intolerable woman--'
'Who--your maid?'
'No;--my mother-in-law--and my unfortunate mistake!  Instead of letting
her take herself off to some other house, as she offered to do when I
married, I was fool enough to ask her to live here still, and direct the
affairs of the house for me; because, in the first place, I hoped we
should spend the greater part of the year, in town, and in the second
place, being so young and inexperienced, I was frightened at the idea of
having a houseful of servants to manage, and dinners to order, and
parties to entertain, and all the rest of it, and I thought she might
assist me with her experience; never dreaming she would prove a usurper,
a tyrant, an incubus, a spy, and everything else that's detestable.  I
wish she was dead!'
She then turned to give her orders to the footman, who had been standing
bolt upright within the door for the last half minute, and had heard the
latter part of her animadversions; and, of course, made his own
reflections upon them, notwithstanding the inflexible, wooden countenance
he thought proper to preserve in the drawing-room.  On my remarking
afterwards that he must have heard her, she replied--'Oh, no matter!  I
never care about the footmen; they're mere automatons: it's nothing to
them what their superiors say or do; they won't dare to repeat it; and as
to what they think--if they presume to think at all--of course, nobody
cares for that.  It would be a pretty thing indeed, it we were to be
tongue-tied by our servants!'
So saying, she ran off to make her hasty toilet, leaving me to pilot my
way back to my sitting-room, where, in due time, I was served with a cup
of tea.  After that, I sat musing on Lady Ashby's past and present
condition; and on what little information I had obtained respecting Mr.
Weston, and the small chance there was of ever seeing or hearing anything
more of him throughout my quiet, drab-colour life: which, henceforth,
seemed to offer no alternative between positive rainy days, and days of
dull grey clouds without downfall.  At length, however, I began to weary
of my thoughts, and to wish I knew where to find the library my hostess
had spoken of; and to wonder whether I was to remain there doing nothing
till bed-time.
As I was not rich enough to possess a watch, I could not tell how time
was passing, except by observing the slowly lengthening shadows from the
window; which presented a side view, including a corner of the park, a
clump of trees whose topmost branches had been colonized by an
innumerable company of noisy rooks, and a high wall with a massive wooden
gate: no doubt communicating with the stable-yard, as a broad
carriage-road swept up to it from the park.  The shadow of this wall soon
took possession of the whole of the ground as far as I could see, forcing
the golden sunlight to retreat inch by inch, and at last take refuge in
the very tops of the trees.  Ere long, even they were left in shadow--the
shadow of the distant hills, or of the earth itself; and, in sympathy for
the busy citizens of the rookery, I regretted to see their habitation, so
lately bathed in glorious light, reduced to the sombre, work-a-day hue of
the lower world, or of my own world within.  For a moment, such birds as
soared above the rest might still receive the lustre on their wings,
which imparted to their sable plumage the hue and brilliance of deep red
gold; at last, that too departed.  Twilight came stealing on; the rooks
became more quiet; I became more weary, and wished I were going home
to-morrow.  At length it grew dark; and I was thinking of ringing for a
candle, and betaking myself to bed, when my hostess appeared, with many
apologies for having neglected me so long, and laying all the blame upon
that 'nasty old woman,' as she called her mother-in-law.
'If I didn't sit with her in the drawing-room while Sir Thomas is taking
his wine,' said she, 'she would never forgive me; and then, if I leave
the room the instant he comes--as I have done once or twice--it is an
unpardonable offence against her dear Thomas.  _She_ never showed such
disrespect to _her_ husband: and as for affection, wives never think of
that now-a-days, she supposes: but things were different in _her_
time--as if there was any good to be done by staying in the room, when he
does nothing but grumble and scold when he's in a bad humour, talk
disgusting nonsense when he's in a good one, and go to sleep on the sofa
when he's too stupid for either; which is most frequently the case now,
when he has nothing to do but to sot over his wine.'
'But could you not try to occupy his mind with something better; and
engage him to give up such habits?  I'm sure you have powers of
persuasion, and qualifications for amusing a gentleman, which many ladies
would be glad to possess.'
'And so you think I would lay myself out for his amusement!  No: that's
not _my_ idea of a wife.  It's the husband's part to please the wife, not
hers to please him; and if he isn't satisfied with her as she is--and
thankful to possess her too--he isn't worthy of her, that's all.  And as
for persuasion, I assure you I shan't trouble myself with that: I've
enough to do to bear with him as he is, without attempting to work a
reform.  But I'm sorry I left you so long alone, Miss Grey.  How have you
passed the time?'
'Chiefly in watching the rooks.'
'Mercy, how dull you must have been!  I really must show you the library;
and you must ring for everything you want, just as you would in an inn,
and make yourself comfortable.  I have selfish reasons for wishing to
make you happy, because I want you to stay with me, and not fulfil your
horrid threat of running away in a day or two.'
'Well, don't let me keep you out of the drawing-room any longer to-night,
for at present I am tired and wish to go to bed.'
CHAPTER XXIII--THE PARK
I came down a little before eight, next morning, as I knew by the
striking of a distant clock.  There was no appearance of breakfast.  I
waited above an hour before it came, still vainly longing for access to
the library; and, after that lonely repast was concluded, I waited again
about an hour and a half in great suspense and discomfort, uncertain what
to do.  At length Lady Ashby came to bid me good-morning.  She informed
me she had only just breakfasted, and now wanted me to take an early walk
with her in the park.  She asked how long I had been up, and on receiving
my answer, expressed the deepest regret, and again promised to show me
the library.  I suggested she had better do so at once, and then there
would be no further trouble either with remembering or forgetting.  She
complied, on condition that I would not think of reading, or bothering
with the books now; for she wanted to show me the gardens, and take a
walk in the park with me, before it became too hot for enjoyment; which,
indeed, was nearly the case already.  Of course I readily assented; and
we took our walk accordingly.
As we were strolling in the park, talking of what my companion had seen
and heard during her travelling experience, a gentleman on horseback rode
up and passed us.  As he turned, in passing, and stared me full in the
face, I had a good opportunity of seeing what he was like.  He was tall,
thin, and wasted, with a slight stoop in the shoulders, a pale face, but
somewhat blotchy, and disagreeably red about the eyelids, plain features,
and a general appearance of languor and flatness, relieved by a sinister
expression in the mouth and the dull, soulless eyes.
'I detest that man!' whispered Lady Ashby, with bitter emphasis, as he
slowly trotted by.
'Who is it?' I asked, unwilling to suppose that she should so speak of
her husband.
'Sir Thomas Ashby,' she replied, with dreary composure.
'And do you _detest_ him, Miss Murray?' said I, for I was too much
shocked to remember her name at the moment.
'Yes, I do, Miss Grey, and despise him too; and if you knew him you would
not blame me.'
'But you knew what he was before you married him.'
'No; I only thought so: I did not half know him really.  I know you
warned me against it, and I wish I had listened to you: but it's too late
to regret that now.  And besides, mamma ought to have known better than
either of us, and she never said anything against it--quite the contrary.
And then I thought he adored me, and would let me have my own way: he did
pretend to do so at first, but now he does not care a bit about me.  Yet
I should not care for that: he might do as he pleased, if I might only be
free to amuse myself and to stay in London, or have a few friends down
here: but _he will_ do as he pleases, and I must be a prisoner and a
slave.  The moment he saw I could enjoy myself without him, and that
others knew my value better than himself, the selfish wretch began to
accuse me of coquetry and extravagance; and to abuse Harry Meltham, whose
shoes he was not worthy to clean.  And then he must needs have me down in
the country, to lead the life of a nun, lest I should dishonour him or
bring him to ruin; as if he had not been ten times worse every way, with
his betting-book, and his gaming-table, and his opera-girls, and his Lady
This and Mrs. That--yes, and his bottles of wine, and glasses of
brandy-and-water too!  Oh, I would give ten thousand worlds to be Miss
Murray again!  It is _too_ bad to feel life, health, and beauty wasting
away, unfelt and unenjoyed, for such a brute as that!' exclaimed she,
fairly bursting into tears in the bitterness of her vexation.
Of course, I pitied her exceedingly; as well for her false idea of
happiness and disregard of duty, as for the wretched partner with whom
her fate was linked.  I said what I could to comfort her, and offered
such counsels as I thought she most required: advising her, first, by
gentle reasoning, by kindness, example, and persuasion, to try to
ameliorate her husband; and then, when she had done all she could, if she
still found him incorrigible, to endeavour to abstract herself from
him--to wrap herself up in her own integrity, and trouble herself as
little about him as possible.  I exhorted her to seek consolation in
doing her duty to God and man, to put her trust in Heaven, and solace
herself with the care and nurture of her little daughter; assuring her
she would be amply rewarded by witnessing its progress in strength and
wisdom, and receiving its genuine affection.
'But I can't devote myself entirely to a child,' said she; 'it may
die--which is not at all improbable.'
'But, with care, many a delicate infant has become a strong man or
woman.'
'But it may grow so intolerably like its father that I shall hate it.'
'That is not likely; it is a little girl, and strongly resembles its
mother.'
'No matter; I should like it better if it were a boy--only that its
father will leave it no inheritance that he can possibly squander away.
What pleasure can I have in seeing a girl grow up to eclipse me, and
enjoy those pleasures that I am for ever debarred from?  But supposing I
could be so generous as to take delight in this, still it is _only_ a
child; and I can't centre all my hopes in a child: that is only one
degree better than devoting oneself to a dog.  And as for all the wisdom
and goodness you have been trying to instil into me--that is all very
right and proper, I daresay, and if I were some twenty years older, I
might fructify by it: but people must enjoy themselves when they are
young; and if others won't let them--why, they must hate them for it!'
'The best way to enjoy yourself is to do what is right and hate nobody.
The end of Religion is not to teach us how to die, but how to live; and
the earlier you become wise and good, the more of happiness you secure.
And now, Lady Ashby, I have one more piece of advice to offer you, which
is, that you will not make an enemy of your mother-in-law.  Don't get
into the way of holding her at arms' length, and regarding her with
jealous distrust.  I never saw her, but I have heard good as well as evil
respecting her; and I imagine that, though cold and haughty in her
general demeanour, and even exacting in her requirements, she has strong
affections for those who can reach them; and, though so blindly attached
to her son, she is not without good principles, or incapable of hearing
reason.  If you would but conciliate her a little, and adopt a friendly,
open manner--and even confide your grievances to her--real grievances,
such as you have a right to complain of--it is my firm belief that she
would, in time, become your faithful friend, and a comfort and support to
you, instead of the incubus you describe her.'  But I fear my advice had
little effect upon the unfortunate young lady; and, finding I could
render myself so little serviceable, my residence at Ashby Park became
doubly painful.  But still, I must stay out that day and the following
one, as I had promised to do so: though, resisting all entreaties and
inducements to prolong my visit further, I insisted upon departing the
next morning; affirming that my mother would be lonely without me, and
that she impatiently expected my return.  Nevertheless, it was with a
heavy heart that I bade adieu to poor Lady Ashby, and left her in her
princely home.  It was no slight additional proof of her unhappiness,
that she should so cling to the consolation of my presence, and earnestly
desire the company of one whose general tastes and ideas were so little
congenial to her own--whom she had completely forgotten in her hour of
prosperity, and whose presence would be rather a nuisance than a
pleasure, if she could but have half her heart's desire.
CHAPTER XXIV--THE SANDS
Our school was not situated in the heart of the town: on entering A---
from the north-west there is a row of respectable-looking houses, on each
side of the broad, white road, with narrow slips of garden-ground before
them, Venetian blinds to the windows, and a flight of steps leading to
each trim, brass-handled door.  In one of the largest of these
habitations dwelt my mother and I, with such young ladies as our friends
and the public chose to commit to our charge.  Consequently, we were a
considerable distance from the sea, and divided from it by a labyrinth of
streets and houses.  But the sea was my delight; and I would often gladly
pierce the town to obtain the pleasure of a walk beside it, whether with
the pupils, or alone with my mother during the vacations.  It was
delightful to me at all times and seasons, but especially in the wild
commotion of a rough sea-breeze, and in the brilliant freshness of a
summer morning.
I awoke early on the third morning after my return from Ashby Park--the
sun was shining through the blind, and I thought how pleasant it would be
to pass through the quiet town and take a solitary ramble on the sands
while half the world was in bed.  I was not long in forming the
resolution, nor slow to act upon it.  Of course I would not disturb my
mother, so I stole noiselessly downstairs, and quietly unfastened the
door.  I was dressed and out, when the church clock struck a quarter to
six.  There was a feeling of freshness and vigour in the very streets;
and when I got free of the town, when my foot was on the sands and my
face towards the broad, bright bay, no language can describe the effect
of the deep, clear azure of the sky and ocean, the bright morning
sunshine on the semicircular barrier of craggy cliffs surmounted by green
swelling hills, and on the smooth, wide sands, and the low rocks out at
sea--looking, with their clothing of weeds and moss, like little
grass-grown islands--and above all, on the brilliant, sparkling waves.
And then, the unspeakable purity--and freshness of the air!  There was
just enough heat to enhance the value of the breeze, and just enough wind
to keep the whole sea in motion, to make the waves come bounding to the
shore, foaming and sparkling, as if wild with glee.  Nothing else was
stirring--no living creature was visible besides myself.  My footsteps
were the first to press the firm, unbroken sands;--nothing before had
trampled them since last night's flowing tide had obliterated the deepest
marks of yesterday, and left them fair and even, except where the
subsiding water had left behind it the traces of dimpled pools and little
running streams.
Refreshed, delighted, invigorated, I walked along, forgetting all my
cares, feeling as if I had wings to my feet, and could go at least forty
miles without fatigue, and experiencing a sense of exhilaration to which
I had been an entire stranger since the days of early youth.  About
half-past six, however, the grooms began to come down to air their
masters' horses--first one, and then another, till there were some dozen
horses and five or six riders: but that need not trouble me, for they
would not come as far as the low rocks which I was now approaching.  When
I had reached these, and walked over the moist, slippery sea-weed (at the
risk of floundering into one of the numerous pools of clear, salt water
that lay between them), to a little mossy promontory with the sea
splashing round it, I looked back again to see who next was stirring.
Still, there were only the early grooms with their horses, and one
gentleman with a little dark speck of a dog running before him, and one
water-cart coming out of the town to get water for the baths.  In another
minute or two, the distant bathing machines would begin to move, and then
the elderly gentlemen of regular habits and sober quaker ladies would be
coming to take their salutary morning walks.  But however interesting
such a scene might be, I could not wait to witness it, for the sun and
the sea so dazzled my eyes in that direction, that I could but afford one
glance; and then I turned again to delight myself with the sight and the
sound of the sea, dashing against my promontory--with no prodigious
force, for the swell was broken by the tangled sea-weed and the unseen
rocks beneath; otherwise I should soon have been deluged with spray.  But
the tide was coming in; the water was rising; the gulfs and lakes were
filling; the straits were widening: it was time to seek some safer
footing; so I walked, skipped, and stumbled back to the smooth, wide
sands, and resolved to proceed to a certain bold projection in the
cliffs, and then return.
Presently, I heard a snuffling sound behind me and then a dog came
frisking and wriggling to my feet.  It was my own Snap--the little dark,
wire-haired terrier!  When I spoke his name, he leapt up in my face and
yelled for joy.  Almost as much delighted as himself, I caught the little
creature in my arms, and kissed him repeatedly.  But how came he to be
there?  He could not have dropped from the sky, or come all that way
alone: it must be either his master, the rat-catcher, or somebody else
that had brought him; so, repressing my extravagant caresses, and
endeavouring to repress his likewise, I looked round, and beheld--Mr.
Weston!
'Your dog remembers you well, Miss Grey,' said he, warmly grasping the
hand I offered him without clearly knowing what I was about.  'You rise
early.'
'Not often so early as this,' I replied, with amazing composure,
considering all the circumstances of the case.
'How far do you purpose to extend your walk?'
'I was thinking of returning--it must be almost time, I think.'
He consulted his watch--a gold one now--and told me it was only five
minutes past seven.
'But, doubtless, you have had a long enough walk,' said he, turning
towards the town, to which I now proceeded leisurely to retrace my steps;
and he walked beside me.
'In what part of the town do you live?' asked he.  'I never could
discover.'
Never could discover?  Had he endeavoured to do so then?  I told him the
place of our abode.  He asked how we prospered in our affairs.  I told
him we were doing very well--that we had had a considerable addition to
our pupils after the Christmas vacation, and expected a still further
increase at the close of this.
'You must be an accomplished instructor,' he observed.
'No, it is my mother,' I replied; 'she manages things so well, and is so
active, and clever, and kind.'
'I should like to know your mother.  Will you introduce me to her some
time, if I call?'
'Yes, willingly.'
'And will you allow me the privilege of an old friend, of looking in upon
you now and then?'
'Yes, if--I suppose so.'
This was a very foolish answer, but the truth was, I considered that I
had no right to invite anyone to my mother's house without her knowledge;
and if I had said, 'Yes, if my mother does not object,' it would appear
as if by his question I understood more than was expected; so,
_supposing_ she would not, I added, 'I suppose so:' but of course I
should have said something more sensible and more polite, if I had had my
wits about me.  We continued our walk for a minute in silence; which,
however, was shortly relieved (no small relief to me) by Mr. Weston
commenting upon the brightness of the morning and the beauty of the bay,
and then upon the advantages A--- possessed over many other fashionable
places of resort.
'You don't ask what brings me to A--- ' said he.  'You can't suppose I'm
rich enough to come for my own pleasure.'
'I heard you had left Horton.'
'You didn't hear, then, that I had got the living of F---?'
F--- was a village about two miles distant from A---.
'No,' said I; 'we live so completely out of the world, even here, that
news seldom reaches me through any quarter; except through the medium of
the--_Gazette_.  But I hope you like your new parish; and that I may
congratulate you on the acquisition?'
'I expect to like my parish better a year or two hence, when I have
worked certain reforms I have set my heart upon--or, at least, progressed
some steps towards such an achievement.  But you may congratulate me now;
for I find it very agreeable to _have_ a parish all to myself, with
nobody to interfere with me--to thwart my plans or cripple my exertions:
and besides, I have a respectable house in a rather pleasant
neighbourhood, and three hundred pounds a year; and, in fact, I have
nothing but solitude to complain of, and nothing but a companion to wish
for.'
He looked at me as he concluded: and the flash of his dark eyes seemed to
set my face on fire; greatly to my own discomfiture, for to evince
confusion at such a juncture was intolerable.  I made an effort,
therefore, to remedy the evil, and disclaim all personal application of
the remark by a hasty, ill-expressed reply, to the effect that, if he
waited till he was well known in the neighbourhood, he might have
numerous opportunities for supplying his want among the residents of F---
and its vicinity, or the visitors of A---, if he required so ample a
choice: not considering the compliment implied by such an assertion, till
his answer made me aware of it.
'I am not so presumptuous as to believe that,' said he, 'though you tell
it me; but if it were so, I am rather particular in my notions of a
companion for life, and perhaps I might not find one to suit me among the
ladies you mention.'
'If you require perfection, you never will.'
'I do not--I have no right to require it, as being so far from perfect
myself.'
Here the conversation was interrupted by a water-cart lumbering past us,
for we were now come to the busy part of the sands; and, for the next
eight or ten minutes, between carts and horses, and asses, and men, there
was little room for social intercourse, till we had turned our backs upon
the sea, and begun to ascend the precipitous road leading into the town.
Here my companion offered me his arm, which I accepted, though not with
the intention of using it as a support.
'You don't often come on to the sands, I think,' said he, 'for I have
walked there many times, both morning and evening, since I came, and
never seen you till now; and several times, in passing through the town,
too, I have looked about for your school--but I did not think of
the--Road; and once or twice I made inquiries, but without obtaining the
requisite information.'
When we had surmounted the acclivity, I was about to withdraw my arm from
his, but by a slight tightening of the elbow was tacitly informed that
such was not his will, and accordingly desisted.  Discoursing on
different subjects, we entered the town, and passed through several
streets.  I saw that he was going out of his way to accompany me,
notwithstanding the long walk that was yet before him; and, fearing that
he might be inconveniencing himself from motives of politeness, I
observed--'I fear I am taking you out of your way, Mr. Weston--I believe
the road to F--- lies quite in another direction.'
'I'll leave you at the end of the next street,' said he.
'And when will you come to see mamma?'
'To-morrow--God willing.'
The end of the next street was nearly the conclusion of my journey.  He
stopped there, however, bid me good-morning, and called Snap, who seemed
a little doubtful whether to follow his old mistress or his new master,
but trotted away upon being summoned by the latter.
'I won't offer to restore him to you, Miss Grey,' said Mr. Weston,
smiling, 'because I like him.'
'Oh, I don't want him,' replied I, 'now that he has a good master; I'm
quite satisfied.'
'You take it for granted that I am a good one, then?'
The man and the dog departed, and I returned home, full of gratitude to
heaven for so much bliss, and praying that my hopes might not again be
crushed.
CHAPTER XXV--CONCLUSION
'Well, Agnes, you must not take such long walks again before breakfast,'
said my mother, observing that I drank an extra cup of coffee and ate
nothing--pleading the heat of the weather, and the fatigue of my long
walk as an excuse.  I certainly did feel feverish and tired too.
'You always do things by extremes: now, if you had taken a _short_ walk
every morning, and would continue to do so, it would do you good.'
'Well, mamma, I will.'
'But this is worse than lying in bed or bending over your books: you have
quite put yourself into a fever.'
'I won't do it again,' said I.
I was racking my brains with thinking how to tell her about Mr. Weston,
for she must know he was coming to-morrow.  However, I waited till the
breakfast things were removed, and I was more calm and cool; and then,
having sat down to my drawing, I began--'I met an old friend on the sands
to-day, mamma.'
'An old friend!  Who could it be?'
'Two old friends, indeed.  One was a dog;' and then I reminded her of
Snap, whose history I had recounted before, and related the incident of
his sudden appearance and remarkable recognition; 'and the other,'
continued I, 'was Mr. Weston, the curate of Horton.'
'Mr. Weston!  I never heard of him before.'
'Yes, you have: I've mentioned him several times, I believe: but you
don't remember.'
'I've heard you speak of Mr. Hatfield.'
'Mr. Hatfield was the rector, and Mr. Weston the curate: I used to
mention him sometimes in contradistinction to Mr. Hatfield, as being a
more efficient clergyman.  However, he was on the sands this morning with
the dog--he had bought it, I suppose, from the rat-catcher; and he knew
me as well as it did--probably through its means: and I had a little
conversation with him, in the course of which, as he asked about our
school, I was led to say something about you, and your good management;
and he said he should like to know you, and asked if I would introduce
him to you, if he should take the liberty of calling to-morrow; so I said
I would.  Was I right?'
'Of course.  What kind of a man is he?'
'A very _respectable_ man, I think: but you will see him to-morrow.  He
is the new vicar of F---, and as he has only been there a few weeks, I
suppose he has made no friends yet, and wants a little society.'
The morrow came.  What a fever of anxiety and expectation I was in from
breakfast till noon--at which time he made his appearance!  Having
introduced him to my mother, I took my work to the window, and sat down
to await the result of the interview.  They got on extremely well
together--greatly to my satisfaction, for I had felt very anxious about
what my mother would think of him.  He did not stay long that time: but
when he rose to take leave, she said she should be happy to see him,
whenever he might find it convenient to call again; and when he was gone,
I was gratified by hearing her say,--'Well!  I think he's a very sensible
man.  But why did you sit back there, Agnes,' she added, 'and talk so
little?'
'Because you talked so well, mamma, I thought you required no assistance
from me: and, besides, he was your visitor, not mine.'
After that, he often called upon us--several times in the course of a
week.  He generally addressed most of his conversation to my mother: and
no wonder, for she could converse.  I almost envied the unfettered,
vigorous fluency of her discourse, and the strong sense evinced by
everything she said--and yet, I did not; for, though I occasionally
regretted my own deficiencies for his sake, it gave me very great
pleasure to sit and hear the two beings I loved and honoured above every
one else in the world, discoursing together so amicably, so wisely, and
so well.  I was not always silent, however; nor was I at all neglected.
I was quite as much noticed as I would wish to be: there was no lack of
kind words and kinder looks, no end of delicate attentions, too fine and
subtle to be grasped by words, and therefore indescribable--but deeply
felt at heart.
Ceremony was quickly dropped between us: Mr. Weston came as an expected
guest, welcome at all times, and never deranging the economy of our
household affairs.  He even called me 'Agnes:' the name had been timidly
spoken at first, but, finding it gave no offence in any quarter, he
seemed greatly to prefer that appellation to 'Miss Grey;' and so did I.
How tedious and gloomy were those days in which he did not come!  And yet
not miserable; for I had still the remembrance of the last visit and the
hope of the next to cheer me.  But when two or three days passed without
my seeing him, I certainly felt very anxious--absurdly, unreasonably so;
for, of course, he had his own business and the affairs of his parish to
attend to.  And I dreaded the close of the holidays, when _my_ business
also would begin, and I should be sometimes unable to see him, and
sometimes--when my mother was in the schoolroom--obliged to be with him
alone: a position I did not at all desire, in the house; though to meet
him out of doors, and walk beside him, had proved by no means
disagreeable.
One evening, however, in the last week of the vacation, he
arrived--unexpectedly: for a heavy and protracted thunder-shower during
the afternoon had almost destroyed my hopes of seeing him that day; but
now the storm was over, and the sun was shining brightly.
'A beautiful evening, Mrs. Grey!' said he, as he entered.  'Agnes, I want
you to take a walk with me to ---' (he named a certain part of the
coast--a bold hill on the land side, and towards the sea a steep
precipice, from the summit of which a glorious view is to be had).  'The
rain has laid the dust, and cooled and cleared the air, and the prospect
will be magnificent.  Will you come?'
'Can I go, mamma?'
'Yes; to be sure.'
I went to get ready, and was down again in a few minutes; though, of
course, I took a little more pains with my attire than if I had merely
been going out on some shopping expedition alone.  The thunder-shower had
certainly had a most beneficial effect upon the weather, and the evening
was most delightful.  Mr. Weston would have me to take his arm; he said
little during our passage through the crowded streets, but walked very
fast, and appeared grave and abstracted.  I wondered what was the matter,
and felt an indefinite dread that something unpleasant was on his mind;
and vague surmises, concerning what it might be, troubled me not a
little, and made me grave and silent enough.  But these fantasies
vanished upon reaching the quiet outskirts of the town; for as soon as we
came within sight of the venerable old church, and the--hill, with the
deep blue beyond it, I found my companion was cheerful enough.
'I'm afraid I've been walking too fast for you, Agnes,' said he: 'in my
impatience to be rid of the town, I forgot to consult your convenience;
but now we'll walk as slowly as you please.  I see, by those light clouds
in the west, there will be a brilliant sunset, and we shall be in time to
witness its effect upon the sea, at the most moderate rate of
progression.'
When we had got about half-way up the hill, we fell into silence again;
which, as usual, he was the first to break.
'My house is desolate yet, Miss Grey,' he smilingly observed, 'and I am
acquainted now with all the ladies in my parish, and several in this town
too; and many others I know by sight and by report; but not one of them
will suit me for a companion; in fact, there is only one person in the
world that will: and that is yourself; and I want to know your decision?'
'Are you in earnest, Mr. Weston?'
'In earnest!  How could you think I should jest on such a subject?'
He laid his hand on mine, that rested on his arm: he must have felt it
tremble--but it was no great matter now.
'I hope I have not been too precipitate,' he said, in a serious tone.
'You must have known that it was not my way to flatter and talk soft
nonsense, or even to speak the admiration that I felt; and that a single
word or glance of mine meant more than the honied phrases and fervent
protestations of most other men.'
I said something about not liking to leave my mother, and doing nothing
without her consent.
'I settled everything with Mrs. Grey, while you were putting on your
bonnet,' replied he.  'She said I might have her consent, if I could
obtain yours; and I asked her, in case I should be so happy, to come and
live with us--for I was sure you would like it better.  But she refused,
saying she could now afford to employ an assistant, and would continue
the school till she could purchase an annuity sufficient to maintain her
in comfortable lodgings; and, meantime, she would spend her vacations
alternately with us and your sister, and should be quite contented if you
were happy.  And so now I have overruled your objections on her account.
Have you any other?'
'No--none.'
'You love me then?' said be, fervently pressing my hand.
'Yes.'
* * * * *
Here I pause.  My Diary, from which I have compiled these pages, goes but
little further.  I could go on for years, but I will content myself with
adding, that I shall never forget that glorious summer evening, and
always remember with delight that steep hill, and the edge of the
precipice where we stood together, watching the splendid sunset mirrored
in the restless world of waters at our feet--with hearts filled with
gratitude to heaven, and happiness, and love--almost too full for speech.
A few weeks after that, when my mother had supplied herself with an
assistant, I became the wife of Edward Weston; and never have found cause
to repent it, and am certain that I never shall.  We have had trials, and
we know that we must have them again; but we bear them well together, and
endeavour to fortify ourselves and each other against the final
separation--that greatest of all afflictions to the survivor.  But, if we
keep in mind the glorious heaven beyond, where both may meet again, and
sin and sorrow are unknown, surely that too may be borne; and, meantime,
we endeavour to live to the glory of Him who has scattered so many
blessings in our path.
Edward, by his strenuous exertions, has worked surprising reforms in his
parish, and is esteemed and loved by its inhabitants--as he deserves; for
whatever his faults may be as a man (and no one is entirely without), I
defy anybody to blame him as a pastor, a husband, or a father.
Our children, Edward, Agnes, and little Mary, promise well; their
education, for the time being, is chiefly committed to me; and they shall
want no good thing that a mother's care can give.  Our modest income is
amply sufficient for our requirements: and by practising the economy we
learnt in harder times, and never attempting to imitate our richer
neighbours, we manage not only to enjoy comfort and contentment
ourselves, but to have every year something to lay by for our children,
and something to give to those who need it.
And now I think I have said sufficient.
* * * * *
_Spottiswode & Co. Ltd._, _Printers_, _London_.  _Colchester and Eton_.
WUTHERING HEIGHTS
CHAPTER I
1801.--I have just returned from a visit to my landlord--the solitary
neighbour that I shall be troubled with.  This is certainly a beautiful
country!  In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a
situation so completely removed from the stir of society.  A perfect
misanthropist's heaven: and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair
to divide the desolation between us.  A capital fellow!  He little
imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes
withdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as I rode up, and when his
fingers sheltered themselves, with a jealous resolution, still further in
his waistcoat, as I announced my name.
'Mr. Heathcliff?' I said.
A nod was the answer.
'Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir.  I do myself the honour of calling
as soon as possible after my arrival, to express the hope that I have not
inconvenienced you by my perseverance in soliciting the occupation of
Thrushcross Grange: I heard yesterday you had had some thoughts--'
'Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir,' he interrupted, wincing.  'I should
not allow any one to inconvenience me, if I could hinder it--walk in!'
The 'walk in' was uttered with closed teeth, and expressed the sentiment,
'Go to the Deuce:' even the gate over which he leant manifested no
sympathising movement to the words; and I think that circumstance
determined me to accept the invitation: I felt interested in a man who
seemed more exaggeratedly reserved than myself.
When he saw my horse's breast fairly pushing the barrier, he did put out
his hand to unchain it, and then sullenly preceded me up the causeway,
calling, as we entered the court,--'Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood's horse;
and bring up some wine.'
'Here we have the whole establishment of domestics, I suppose,' was the
reflection suggested by this compound order.  'No wonder the grass grows
up between the flags, and cattle are the only hedge-cutters.'
Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man: very old, perhaps, though hale
and sinewy.  'The Lord help us!' he soliloquised in an undertone of
peevish displeasure, while relieving me of my horse: looking, meantime,
in my face so sourly that I charitably conjectured he must have need of
divine aid to digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no
reference to my unexpected advent.
Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff's dwelling.  'Wuthering'
being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric
tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather.  Pure, bracing
ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed: one may guess
the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant
of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt
thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun.
Happily, the architect had foresight to build it strong: the narrow
windows are deeply set in the wall, and the corners defended with large
jutting stones.
Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of grotesque
carving lavished over the front, and especially about the principal door;
above which, among a wilderness of crumbling griffins and shameless
little boys, I detected the date '1500,' and the name 'Hareton Earnshaw.'
I would have made a few comments, and requested a short history of the
place from the surly owner; but his attitude at the door appeared to
demand my speedy entrance, or complete departure, and I had no desire to
aggravate his impatience previous to inspecting the penetralium.
One stop brought us into the family sitting-room, without any
introductory lobby or passage: they call it here 'the house'
pre-eminently.  It includes kitchen and parlour, generally; but I believe
at Wuthering Heights the kitchen is forced to retreat altogether into
another quarter: at least I distinguished a chatter of tongues, and a
clatter of culinary utensils, deep within; and I observed no signs of
roasting, boiling, or baking, about the huge fireplace; nor any glitter
of copper saucepans and tin cullenders on the walls.  One end, indeed,
reflected splendidly both light and heat from ranks of immense pewter
dishes, interspersed with silver jugs and tankards, towering row after
row, on a vast oak dresser, to the very roof.  The latter had never been
under-drawn: its entire anatomy lay bare to an inquiring eye, except
where a frame of wood laden with oatcakes and clusters of legs of beef,
mutton, and ham, concealed it.  Above the chimney were sundry villainous
old guns, and a couple of horse-pistols: and, by way of ornament, three
gaudily-painted canisters disposed along its ledge.  The floor was of
smooth, white stone; the chairs, high-backed, primitive structures,
painted green: one or two heavy black ones lurking in the shade.  In an
arch under the dresser reposed a huge, liver-coloured bitch pointer,
surrounded by a swarm of squealing puppies; and other dogs haunted other
recesses.
The apartment and furniture would have been nothing extraordinary as
belonging to a homely, northern farmer, with a stubborn countenance, and
stalwart limbs set out to advantage in knee-breeches and gaiters.  Such
an individual seated in his arm-chair, his mug of ale frothing on the
round table before him, is to be seen in any circuit of five or six miles
among these hills, if you go at the right time after dinner.  But Mr.
Heathcliff forms a singular contrast to his abode and style of living.  He
is a dark-skinned gipsy in aspect, in dress and manners a gentleman: that
is, as much a gentleman as many a country squire: rather slovenly,
perhaps, yet not looking amiss with his negligence, because he has an
erect and handsome figure; and rather morose.  Possibly, some people
might suspect him of a degree of under-bred pride; I have a sympathetic
chord within that tells me it is nothing of the sort: I know, by
instinct, his reserve springs from an aversion to showy displays of
feeling--to manifestations of mutual kindliness.  He'll love and hate
equally under cover, and esteem it a species of impertinence to be loved
or hated again.  No, I'm running on too fast: I bestow my own attributes
over-liberally on him.  Mr. Heathcliff may have entirely dissimilar
reasons for keeping his hand out of the way when he meets a would-be
acquaintance, to those which actuate me.  Let me hope my constitution is
almost peculiar: my dear mother used to say I should never have a
comfortable home; and only last summer I proved myself perfectly unworthy
of one.
While enjoying a month of fine weather at the sea-coast, I was thrown
into the company of a most fascinating creature: a real goddess in my
eyes, as long as she took no notice of me.  I 'never told my love'
vocally; still, if looks have language, the merest idiot might have
guessed I was over head and ears: she understood me at last, and looked a
return--the sweetest of all imaginable looks.  And what did I do?  I
confess it with shame--shrunk icily into myself, like a snail; at every
glance retired colder and farther; till finally the poor innocent was led
to doubt her own senses, and, overwhelmed with confusion at her supposed
mistake, persuaded her mamma to decamp.  By this curious turn of
disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness; how
undeserved, I alone can appreciate.
I took a seat at the end of the hearthstone opposite that towards which
my landlord advanced, and filled up an interval of silence by attempting
to caress the canine mother, who had left her nursery, and was sneaking
wolfishly to the back of my legs, her lip curled up, and her white teeth
watering for a snatch.  My caress provoked a long, guttural gnarl.
'You'd better let the dog alone,' growled Mr. Heathcliff in unison,
checking fiercer demonstrations with a punch of his foot.  'She's not
accustomed to be spoiled--not kept for a pet.'  Then, striding to a side
door, he shouted again, 'Joseph!'
Joseph mumbled indistinctly in the depths of the cellar, but gave no
intimation of ascending; so his master dived down to him, leaving me
_vis-a-vis_ the ruffianly bitch and a pair of grim shaggy sheep-dogs,
who shared with her a jealous guardianship over all my movements. Not
anxious to come in contact with their fangs, I sat still; but, imagining
they would scarcely understand tacit insults, I unfortunately indulged
in winking and making faces at the trio, and some turn of my physiognomy
so irritated madam, that she suddenly broke into a fury and leapt on my
knees. I flung her back, and hastened to interpose the table between us.
This proceeding aroused the whole hive: half-a-dozen four-footed fiends,
of various sizes and ages, issued from hidden dens to the common centre.
I felt my heels and coat-laps peculiar subjects of assault; and parrying
off the larger combatants as effectually as I could with the poker, I
was constrained to demand, aloud, assistance from some of the household
in re-establishing peace.
Mr. Heathcliff and his man climbed the cellar steps with vexatious
phlegm: I don't think they moved one second faster than usual, though
the hearth was an absolute tempest of worrying and yelping. Happily, an
inhabitant of the kitchen made more despatch: a lusty dame, with
tucked-up gown, bare arms, and fire-flushed cheeks, rushed into the
midst of us flourishing a frying-pan: and used that weapon, and her
tongue, to such purpose, that the storm subsided magically, and she only
remained, heaving like a sea after a high wind, when her master entered
on the scene.
'What the devil is the matter?' he asked, eyeing me in a manner that I
could ill endure, after this inhospitable treatment.
'What the devil, indeed!' I muttered.  'The herd of possessed swine could
have had no worse spirits in them than those animals of yours, sir.  You
might as well leave a stranger with a brood of tigers!'
'They won't meddle with persons who touch nothing,' he remarked, putting
the bottle before me, and restoring the displaced table.  'The dogs do
right to be vigilant.  Take a glass of wine?'
'No, thank you.'
'Not bitten, are you?'
'If I had been, I would have set my signet on the biter.'  Heathcliff's
countenance relaxed into a grin.
'Come, come,' he said, 'you are flurried, Mr. Lockwood.  Here, take a
little wine.  Guests are so exceedingly rare in this house that I and my
dogs, I am willing to own, hardly know how to receive them.  Your health,
sir?'
I bowed and returned the pledge; beginning to perceive that it would be
foolish to sit sulking for the misbehaviour of a pack of curs; besides, I
felt loth to yield the fellow further amusement at my expense; since his
humour took that turn.  He--probably swayed by prudential consideration
of the folly of offending a good tenant--relaxed a little in the laconic
style of chipping off his pronouns and auxiliary verbs, and introduced
what he supposed would be a subject of interest to me,--a discourse on
the advantages and disadvantages of my present place of retirement.  I
found him very intelligent on the topics we touched; and before I went
home, I was encouraged so far as to volunteer another visit to-morrow.  He
evidently wished no repetition of my intrusion.  I shall go,
notwithstanding.  It is astonishing how sociable I feel myself compared
with him.
CHAPTER II
Yesterday afternoon set in misty and cold.  I had half a mind to spend it
by my study fire, instead of wading through heath and mud to Wuthering
Heights.  On coming up from dinner, however, (N.B.--I dine between twelve
and one o'clock; the housekeeper, a matronly lady, taken as a fixture
along with the house, could not, or would not, comprehend my request that
I might be served at five)--on mounting the stairs with this lazy
intention, and stepping into the room, I saw a servant-girl on her knees
surrounded by brushes and coal-scuttles, and raising an infernal dust as
she extinguished the flames with heaps of cinders.  This spectacle drove
me back immediately; I took my hat, and, after a four-miles' walk,
arrived at Heathcliff's garden-gate just in time to escape the first
feathery flakes of a snow-shower.
On that bleak hill-top the earth was hard with a black frost, and the air
made me shiver through every limb.  Being unable to remove the chain, I
jumped over, and, running up the flagged causeway bordered with
straggling gooseberry-bushes, knocked vainly for admittance, till my
knuckles tingled and the dogs howled.
'Wretched inmates!' I ejaculated, mentally, 'you deserve perpetual
isolation from your species for your churlish inhospitality. At least, I
would not keep my doors barred in the day-time. I don't care--I will get
in!' So resolved, I grasped the latch and shook it vehemently.
Vinegar-faced Joseph projected his head from a round window of the barn.
'What are ye for?' he shouted.  'T' maister's down i' t' fowld.  Go round
by th' end o' t' laith, if ye went to spake to him.'
'Is there nobody inside to open the door?' I hallooed, responsively.
'There's nobbut t' missis; and shoo'll not oppen 't an ye mak' yer
flaysome dins till neeght.'
'Why?  Cannot you tell her whom I am, eh, Joseph?'
'Nor-ne me!  I'll hae no hend wi't,' muttered the head, vanishing.
The snow began to drive thickly.  I seized the handle to essay another
trial; when a young man without coat, and shouldering a pitchfork,
appeared in the yard behind.  He hailed me to follow him, and, after
marching through a wash-house, and a paved area containing a coal-shed,
pump, and pigeon-cot, we at length arrived in the huge, warm, cheerful
apartment where I was formerly received.  It glowed delightfully in the
radiance of an immense fire, compounded of coal, peat, and wood; and near
the table, laid for a plentiful evening meal, I was pleased to observe
the 'missis,' an individual whose existence I had never previously
suspected.  I bowed and waited, thinking she would bid me take a seat.
She looked at me, leaning back in her chair, and remained motionless and
mute.
'Rough weather!' I remarked.  'I'm afraid, Mrs. Heathcliff, the door must
bear the consequence of your servants' leisure attendance: I had hard
work to make them hear me.'
She never opened her mouth.  I stared--she stared also: at any rate, she
kept her eyes on me in a cool, regardless manner, exceedingly
embarrassing and disagreeable.
'Sit down,' said the young man, gruffly.  'He'll be in soon.'
I obeyed; and hemmed, and called the villain Juno, who deigned, at this
second interview, to move the extreme tip of her tail, in token of owning
my acquaintance.
'A beautiful animal!' I commenced again.  'Do you intend parting with the
little ones, madam?'
'They are not mine,' said the amiable hostess, more repellingly than
Heathcliff himself could have replied.
'Ah, your favourites are among these?' I continued, turning to an obscure
cushion full of something like cats.
'A strange choice of favourites!' she observed scornfully.
Unluckily, it was a heap of dead rabbits.  I hemmed once more, and drew
closer to the hearth, repeating my comment on the wildness of the
evening.
'You should not have come out,' she said, rising and reaching from the
chimney-piece two of the painted canisters.
Her position before was sheltered from the light; now, I had a distinct
view of her whole figure and countenance.  She was slender, and
apparently scarcely past girlhood: an admirable form, and the most
exquisite little face that I have ever had the pleasure of beholding;
small features, very fair; flaxen ringlets, or rather golden, hanging
loose on her delicate neck; and eyes, had they been agreeable in
expression, that would have been irresistible: fortunately for my
susceptible heart, the only sentiment they evinced hovered between scorn
and a kind of desperation, singularly unnatural to be detected there.  The
canisters were almost out of her reach; I made a motion to aid her; she
turned upon me as a miser might turn if any one attempted to assist him
in counting his gold.
'I don't want your help,' she snapped; 'I can get them for myself.'
'I beg your pardon!' I hastened to reply.
'Were you asked to tea?' she demanded, tying an apron over her neat black
frock, and standing with a spoonful of the leaf poised over the pot.
'I shall be glad to have a cup,' I answered.
'Were you asked?' she repeated.
'No,' I said, half smiling.  'You are the proper person to ask me.'
She flung the tea back, spoon and all, and resumed her chair in a pet;
her forehead corrugated, and her red under-lip pushed out, like a child's
ready to cry.
Meanwhile, the young man had slung on to his person a decidedly shabby
upper garment, and, erecting himself before the blaze, looked down on me
from the corner of his eyes, for all the world as if there were some
mortal feud unavenged between us.  I began to doubt whether he were a
servant or not: his dress and speech were both rude, entirely devoid of
the superiority observable in Mr. and Mrs. Heathcliff; his thick brown
curls were rough and uncultivated, his whiskers encroached bearishly over
his cheeks, and his hands were embrowned like those of a common labourer:
still his bearing was free, almost haughty, and he showed none of a
domestic's assiduity in attending on the lady of the house.  In the
absence of clear proofs of his condition, I deemed it best to abstain
from noticing his curious conduct; and, five minutes afterwards, the
entrance of Heathcliff relieved me, in some measure, from my
uncomfortable state.
'You see, sir, I am come, according to promise!' I exclaimed, assuming
the cheerful; 'and I fear I shall be weather-bound for half an hour, if
you can afford me shelter during that space.'
'Half an hour?' he said, shaking the white flakes from his clothes; 'I
wonder you should select the thick of a snow-storm to ramble about in.  Do
you know that you run a risk of being lost in the marshes?  People
familiar with these moors often miss their road on such evenings; and I
can tell you there is no chance of a change at present.'
'Perhaps I can get a guide among your lads, and he might stay at the
Grange till morning--could you spare me one?'
'No, I could not.'
'Oh, indeed!  Well, then, I must trust to my own sagacity.'
'Umph!'
'Are you going to mak' the tea?' demanded he of the shabby coat, shifting
his ferocious gaze from me to the young lady.
'Is _he_ to have any?' she asked, appealing to Heathcliff.
'Get it ready, will you?' was the answer, uttered so savagely that I
started.  The tone in which the words were said revealed a genuine bad
nature.  I no longer felt inclined to call Heathcliff a capital fellow.
When the preparations were finished, he invited me with--'Now, sir, bring
forward your chair.'  And we all, including the rustic youth, drew round
the table: an austere silence prevailing while we discussed our meal.
I thought, if I had caused the cloud, it was my duty to make an effort to
dispel it.  They could not every day sit so grim and taciturn; and it was
impossible, however ill-tempered they might be, that the universal scowl
they wore was their every-day countenance.
'It is strange,' I began, in the interval of swallowing one cup of tea
and receiving another--'it is strange how custom can mould our tastes and
ideas: many could not imagine the existence of happiness in a life of
such complete exile from the world as you spend, Mr. Heathcliff; yet,
I'll venture to say, that, surrounded by your family, and with your
amiable lady as the presiding genius over your home and heart--'
'My amiable lady!' he interrupted, with an almost diabolical sneer on his
face.  'Where is she--my amiable lady?'
'Mrs. Heathcliff, your wife, I mean.'
'Well, yes--oh, you would intimate that her spirit has taken the post of
ministering angel, and guards the fortunes of Wuthering Heights, even
when her body is gone.  Is that it?'
Perceiving myself in a blunder, I attempted to correct it.  I might have
seen there was too great a disparity between the ages of the parties to
make it likely that they were man and wife.  One was about forty: a
period of mental vigour at which men seldom cherish the delusion of being
married for love by girls: that dream is reserved for the solace of our
declining years.  The other did not look seventeen.
Then it flashed upon me--'The clown at my elbow, who is drinking his tea
out of a basin and eating his bread with unwashed hands, may be her
husband: Heathcliff junior, of course.  Here is the consequence of being
buried alive: she has thrown herself away upon that boor from sheer
ignorance that better individuals existed!  A sad pity--I must beware how
I cause her to regret her choice.'  The last reflection may seem
conceited; it was not.  My neighbour struck me as bordering on repulsive;
I knew, through experience, that I was tolerably attractive.
'Mrs. Heathcliff is my daughter-in-law,' said Heathcliff, corroborating
my surmise.  He turned, as he spoke, a peculiar look in her direction: a
look of hatred; unless he has a most perverse set of facial muscles that
will not, like those of other people, interpret the language of his soul.
'Ah, certainly--I see now: you are the favoured possessor of the
beneficent fairy,' I remarked, turning to my neighbour.
This was worse than before: the youth grew crimson, and clenched his
fist, with every appearance of a meditated assault.  But he seemed to
recollect himself presently, and smothered the storm in a brutal curse,
muttered on my behalf: which, however, I took care not to notice.
'Unhappy in your conjectures, sir,' observed my host; 'we neither of us
have the privilege of owning your good fairy; her mate is dead.  I said
she was my daughter-in-law: therefore, she must have married my son.'
'And this young man is--'
'Not my son, assuredly.'
Heathcliff smiled again, as if it were rather too bold a jest to
attribute the paternity of that bear to him.
'My name is Hareton Earnshaw,' growled the other; 'and I'd counsel you to
respect it!'
'I've shown no disrespect,' was my reply, laughing internally at the
dignity with which he announced himself.
He fixed his eye on me longer than I cared to return the stare, for fear
I might be tempted either to box his ears or render my hilarity audible.
I began to feel unmistakably out of place in that pleasant family circle.
The dismal spiritual atmosphere overcame, and more than neutralised, the
glowing physical comforts round me; and I resolved to be cautious how I
ventured under those rafters a third time.
The business of eating being concluded, and no one uttering a word of
sociable conversation, I approached a window to examine the weather.  A
sorrowful sight I saw: dark night coming down prematurely, and sky and
hills mingled in one bitter whirl of wind and suffocating snow.
'I don't think it possible for me to get home now without a guide,' I
could not help exclaiming.  'The roads will be buried already; and, if
they were bare, I could scarcely distinguish a foot in advance.'
'Hareton, drive those dozen sheep into the barn porch.  They'll be
covered if left in the fold all night: and put a plank before them,' said
Heathcliff.
'How must I do?' I continued, with rising irritation.
There was no reply to my question; and on looking round I saw only Joseph
bringing in a pail of porridge for the dogs, and Mrs. Heathcliff leaning
over the fire, diverting herself with burning a bundle of matches which
had fallen from the chimney-piece as she restored the tea-canister to its
place.  The former, when he had deposited his burden, took a critical
survey of the room, and in cracked tones grated out--'Aw wonder how yah
can faishion to stand thear i' idleness un war, when all on 'ems goan
out!  Bud yah're a nowt, and it's no use talking--yah'll niver mend o'yer
ill ways, but goa raight to t' divil, like yer mother afore ye!'
I imagined, for a moment, that this piece of eloquence was addressed to
me; and, sufficiently enraged, stepped towards the aged rascal with an
intention of kicking him out of the door.  Mrs. Heathcliff, however,
checked me by her answer.
'You scandalous old hypocrite!' she replied.  'Are you not afraid of
being carried away bodily, whenever you mention the devil's name?  I warn
you to refrain from provoking me, or I'll ask your abduction as a special
favour!  Stop! look here, Joseph,' she continued, taking a long, dark
book from a shelf; 'I'll show you how far I've progressed in the Black
Art: I shall soon be competent to make a clear house of it.  The red cow
didn't die by chance; and your rheumatism can hardly be reckoned among
providential visitations!'
'Oh, wicked, wicked!' gasped the elder; 'may the Lord deliver us from
evil!'
'No, reprobate! you are a castaway--be off, or I'll hurt you seriously!
I'll have you all modelled in wax and clay! and the first who passes the
limits I fix shall--I'll not say what he shall be done to--but, you'll
see!  Go, I'm looking at you!'
The little witch put a mock malignity into her beautiful eyes, and
Joseph, trembling with sincere horror, hurried out, praying, and
ejaculating 'wicked' as he went.  I thought her conduct must be prompted
by a species of dreary fun; and, now that we were alone, I endeavoured to
interest her in my distress.
'Mrs. Heathcliff,' I said earnestly, 'you must excuse me for troubling
you.  I presume, because, with that face, I'm sure you cannot help being
good-hearted.  Do point out some landmarks by which I may know my way
home: I have no more idea how to get there than you would have how to get
to London!'
'Take the road you came,' she answered, ensconcing herself in a chair,
with a candle, and the long book open before her.  'It is brief advice,
but as sound as I can give.'
'Then, if you hear of me being discovered dead in a bog or a pit full of
snow, your conscience won't whisper that it is partly your fault?'
'How so?  I cannot escort you.  They wouldn't let me go to the end of the
garden wall.'
'_You_!  I should be sorry to ask you to cross the threshold, for my
convenience, on such a night,' I cried.  'I want you to tell me my way,
not to _show_ it: or else to persuade Mr. Heathcliff to give me a guide.'
'Who?  There is himself, Earnshaw, Zillah, Joseph and I.  Which would you
have?'
'Are there no boys at the farm?'
'No; those are all.'
'Then, it follows that I am compelled to stay.'
'That you may settle with your host.  I have nothing to do with it.'
'I hope it will be a lesson to you to make no more rash journeys on these
hills,' cried Heathcliff's stern voice from the kitchen entrance.  'As to
staying here, I don't keep accommodations for visitors: you must share a
bed with Hareton or Joseph, if you do.'
'I can sleep on a chair in this room,' I replied.
'No, no!  A stranger is a stranger, be he rich or poor: it will not suit
me to permit any one the range of the place while I am off guard!' said
the unmannerly wretch.
With this insult my patience was at an end.  I uttered an expression of
disgust, and pushed past him into the yard, running against Earnshaw in
my haste.  It was so dark that I could not see the means of exit; and, as
I wandered round, I heard another specimen of their civil behaviour
amongst each other.  At first the young man appeared about to befriend
me.
'I'll go with him as far as the park,' he said.
'You'll go with him to hell!' exclaimed his master, or whatever relation
he bore.  'And who is to look after the horses, eh?'
'A man's life is of more consequence than one evening's neglect of the
horses: somebody must go,' murmured Mrs. Heathcliff, more kindly than I
expected.
'Not at your command!' retorted Hareton.  'If you set store on him, you'd
better be quiet.'
'Then I hope his ghost will haunt you; and I hope Mr. Heathcliff will
never get another tenant till the Grange is a ruin,' she answered,
sharply.
'Hearken, hearken, shoo's cursing on 'em!' muttered Joseph, towards whom
I had been steering.
He sat within earshot, milking the cows by the light of a lantern, which
I seized unceremoniously, and, calling out that I would send it back on
the morrow, rushed to the nearest postern.
'Maister, maister, he's staling t' lanthern!' shouted the ancient,
pursuing my retreat.  'Hey, Gnasher!  Hey, dog!  Hey Wolf, holld him,
holld him!'
On opening the little door, two hairy monsters flew at my throat, bearing
me down, and extinguishing the light; while a mingled guffaw from
Heathcliff and Hareton put the copestone on my rage and humiliation.
Fortunately, the beasts seemed more bent on stretching their paws, and
yawning, and flourishing their tails, than devouring me alive; but they
would suffer no resurrection, and I was forced to lie till their
malignant masters pleased to deliver me: then, hatless and trembling with
wrath, I ordered the miscreants to let me out--on their peril to keep me
one minute longer--with several incoherent threats of retaliation that,
in their indefinite depth of virulency, smacked of King Lear.
The vehemence of my agitation brought on a copious bleeding at the nose,
and still Heathcliff laughed, and still I scolded.  I don't know what
would have concluded the scene, had there not been one person at hand
rather more rational than myself, and more benevolent than my
entertainer.  This was Zillah, the stout housewife; who at length issued
forth to inquire into the nature of the uproar.  She thought that some of
them had been laying violent hands on me; and, not daring to attack her
master, she turned her vocal artillery against the younger scoundrel.
'Well, Mr. Earnshaw,' she cried, 'I wonder what you'll have agait next?
Are we going to murder folk on our very door-stones?  I see this house
will never do for me--look at t' poor lad, he's fair choking!  Wisht,
wisht; you mun'n't go on so.  Come in, and I'll cure that: there now,
hold ye still.'
With these words she suddenly splashed a pint of icy water down my neck,
and pulled me into the kitchen.  Mr. Heathcliff followed, his accidental
merriment expiring quickly in his habitual moroseness.
I was sick exceedingly, and dizzy, and faint; and thus compelled perforce
to accept lodgings under his roof.  He told Zillah to give me a glass of
brandy, and then passed on to the inner room; while she condoled with me
on my sorry predicament, and having obeyed his orders, whereby I was
somewhat revived, ushered me to bed.
CHAPTER III
While leading the way upstairs, she recommended that I should hide the
candle, and not make a noise; for her master had an odd notion about the
chamber she would put me in, and never let anybody lodge there willingly.
I asked the reason.  She did not know, she answered: she had only lived
there a year or two; and they had so many queer goings on, she could not
begin to be curious.
Too stupefied to be curious myself, I fastened my door and glanced round
for the bed.  The whole furniture consisted of a chair, a clothes-press,
and a large oak case, with squares cut out near the top resembling coach
windows.  Having approached this structure, I looked inside, and
perceived it to be a singular sort of old-fashioned couch, very
conveniently designed to obviate the necessity for every member of the
family having a room to himself.  In fact, it formed a little closet, and
the ledge of a window, which it enclosed, served as a table.  I slid back
the panelled sides, got in with my light, pulled them together again, and
felt secure against the vigilance of Heathcliff, and every one else.
The ledge, where I placed my candle, had a few mildewed books piled up in
one corner; and it was covered with writing scratched on the paint.  This
writing, however, was nothing but a name repeated in all kinds of
characters, large and small--_Catherine Earnshaw_, here and there varied
to _Catherine Heathcliff_, and then again to _Catherine Linton_.
In vapid listlessness I leant my head against the window, and continued
spelling over Catherine Earnshaw--Heathcliff--Linton, till my eyes
closed; but they had not rested five minutes when a glare of white
letters started from the dark, as vivid as spectres--the air swarmed with
Catherines; and rousing myself to dispel the obtrusive name, I discovered
my candle-wick reclining on one of the antique volumes, and perfuming the
place with an odour of roasted calf-skin.  I snuffed it off, and, very
ill at ease under the influence of cold and lingering nausea, sat up and
spread open the injured tome on my knee.  It was a Testament, in lean
type, and smelling dreadfully musty: a fly-leaf bore the
inscription--'Catherine Earnshaw, her book,' and a date some quarter of a
century back.  I shut it, and took up another and another, till I had
examined all.  Catherine's library was select, and its state of
dilapidation proved it to have been well used, though not altogether for
a legitimate purpose: scarcely one chapter had escaped, a pen-and-ink
commentary--at least the appearance of one--covering every morsel of
blank that the printer had left.  Some were detached sentences; other
parts took the form of a regular diary, scrawled in an unformed, childish
hand.  At the top of an extra page (quite a treasure, probably, when
first lighted on) I was greatly amused to behold an excellent caricature
of my friend Joseph,--rudely, yet powerfully sketched.  An immediate
interest kindled within me for the unknown Catherine, and I began
forthwith to decipher her faded hieroglyphics.
'An awful Sunday,' commenced the paragraph beneath.  'I wish my father
were back again.  Hindley is a detestable substitute--his conduct to
Heathcliff is atrocious--H. and I are going to rebel--we took our
initiatory step this evening.
'All day had been flooding with rain; we could not go to church, so
Joseph must needs get up a congregation in the garret; and, while Hindley
and his wife basked downstairs before a comfortable fire--doing anything
but reading their Bibles, I'll answer for it--Heathcliff, myself, and the
unhappy ploughboy were commanded to take our prayer-books, and mount: we
were ranged in a row, on a sack of corn, groaning and shivering, and
hoping that Joseph would shiver too, so that he might give us a short
homily for his own sake.  A vain idea!  The service lasted precisely
three hours; and yet my brother had the face to exclaim, when he saw us
descending, "What, done already?"  On Sunday evenings we used to be
permitted to play, if we did not make much noise; now a mere titter is
sufficient to send us into corners.
'"You forget you have a master here," says the tyrant.  "I'll demolish
the first who puts me out of temper!  I insist on perfect sobriety and
silence.  Oh, boy! was that you?  Frances darling, pull his hair as you
go by: I heard him snap his fingers."  Frances pulled his hair heartily,
and then went and seated herself on her husband's knee, and there they
were, like two babies, kissing and talking nonsense by the hour--foolish
palaver that we should be ashamed of.  We made ourselves as snug as our
means allowed in the arch of the dresser.  I had just fastened our
pinafores together, and hung them up for a curtain, when in comes Joseph,
on an errand from the stables.  He tears down my handiwork, boxes my
ears, and croaks:
'"T' maister nobbut just buried, and Sabbath not o'ered, und t' sound o'
t' gospel still i' yer lugs, and ye darr be laiking!  Shame on ye! sit ye
down, ill childer! there's good books eneugh if ye'll read 'em: sit ye
down, and think o' yer sowls!"
'Saying this, he compelled us so to square our positions that we might
receive from the far-off fire a dull ray to show us the text of the
lumber he thrust upon us.  I could not bear the employment.  I took my
dingy volume by the scroop, and hurled it into the dog-kennel, vowing I
hated a good book.  Heathcliff kicked his to the same place.  Then there
was a hubbub!
'"Maister Hindley!" shouted our chaplain.  "Maister, coom hither!  Miss
Cathy's riven th' back off 'Th' Helmet o' Salvation,' un' Heathcliff's
pawsed his fit into t' first part o' 'T' Brooad Way to Destruction!'  It's
fair flaysome that ye let 'em go on this gait.  Ech! th' owd man wad ha'
laced 'em properly--but he's goan!"
'Hindley hurried up from his paradise on the hearth, and seizing one of
us by the collar, and the other by the arm, hurled both into the
back-kitchen; where, Joseph asseverated, "owd Nick" would fetch us as
sure as we were living: and, so comforted, we each sought a separate
nook to await his advent. I reached this book, and a pot of ink from a
shelf, and pushed the house-door ajar to give me light, and I have got
the time on with writing for twenty minutes; but my companion is
impatient, and proposes that we should appropriate the dairywoman's
cloak, and have a scamper on the moors, under its shelter. A pleasant
suggestion--and then, if the surly old man come in, he may believe his
prophecy verified--we cannot be damper, or colder, in the rain than we
are here.'
* * * * * *
I suppose Catherine fulfilled her project, for the next sentence took up
another subject: she waxed lachrymose.
'How little did I dream that Hindley would ever make me cry so!' she
wrote.  'My head aches, till I cannot keep it on the pillow; and still I
can't give over.  Poor Heathcliff!  Hindley calls him a vagabond, and
won't let him sit with us, nor eat with us any more; and, he says, he and
I must not play together, and threatens to turn him out of the house if
we break his orders.  He has been blaming our father (how dared he?) for
treating H. too liberally; and swears he will reduce him to his right
place--'
* * * * * *
I began to nod drowsily over the dim page: my eye wandered from
manuscript to print.  I saw a red ornamented title--'Seventy Times Seven,
and the First of the Seventy-First.  A Pious Discourse delivered by the
Reverend Jabez Branderham, in the Chapel of Gimmerden Sough.'  And while
I was, half-consciously, worrying my brain to guess what Jabez Branderham
would make of his subject, I sank back in bed, and fell asleep.  Alas,
for the effects of bad tea and bad temper!  What else could it be that
made me pass such a terrible night?  I don't remember another that I can
at all compare with it since I was capable of suffering.
I began to dream, almost before I ceased to be sensible of my locality.  I
thought it was morning; and I had set out on my way home, with Joseph for
a guide.  The snow lay yards deep in our road; and, as we floundered on,
my companion wearied me with constant reproaches that I had not brought a
pilgrim's staff: telling me that I could never get into the house without
one, and boastfully flourishing a heavy-headed cudgel, which I understood
to be so denominated.  For a moment I considered it absurd that I should
need such a weapon to gain admittance into my own residence.  Then a new
idea flashed across me.  I was not going there: we were journeying to
hear the famous Jabez Branderham preach, from the text--'Seventy Times
Seven;' and either Joseph, the preacher, or I had committed the 'First of
the Seventy-First,' and were to be publicly exposed and excommunicated.
We came to the chapel.  I have passed it really in my walks, twice or
thrice; it lies in a hollow, between two hills: an elevated hollow, near
a swamp, whose peaty moisture is said to answer all the purposes of
embalming on the few corpses deposited there.  The roof has been kept
whole hitherto; but as the clergyman's stipend is only twenty pounds per
annum, and a house with two rooms, threatening speedily to determine into
one, no clergyman will undertake the duties of pastor: especially as it
is currently reported that his flock would rather let him starve than
increase the living by one penny from their own pockets.  However, in my
dream, Jabez had a full and attentive congregation; and he preached--good
God! what a sermon; divided into _four hundred and ninety_ parts, each
fully equal to an ordinary address from the pulpit, and each discussing a
separate sin!  Where he searched for them, I cannot tell.  He had his
private manner of interpreting the phrase, and it seemed necessary the
brother should sin different sins on every occasion.  They were of the
most curious character: odd transgressions that I never imagined
previously.
Oh, how weary I grow.  How I writhed, and yawned, and nodded, and
revived!  How I pinched and pricked myself, and rubbed my eyes, and stood
up, and sat down again, and nudged Joseph to inform me if he would _ever_
have done.  I was condemned to hear all out: finally, he reached the
'_First of the Seventy-First_.'  At that crisis, a sudden inspiration
descended on me; I was moved to rise and denounce Jabez Branderham as the
sinner of the sin that no Christian need pardon.
'Sir,' I exclaimed, 'sitting here within these four walls, at one
stretch, I have endured and forgiven the four hundred and ninety heads of
your discourse.  Seventy times seven times have I plucked up my hat and
been about to depart--Seventy times seven times have you preposterously
forced me to resume my seat.  The four hundred and ninety-first is too
much.  Fellow-martyrs, have at him!  Drag him down, and crush him to
atoms, that the place which knows him may know him no more!'
'_Thou art the Man_!' cried Jabez, after a solemn pause, leaning over his
cushion.  'Seventy times seven times didst thou gapingly contort thy
visage--seventy times seven did I take counsel with my soul--Lo, this is
human weakness: this also may be absolved!  The First of the
Seventy-First is come.  Brethren, execute upon him the judgment written.
Such honour have all His saints!'
With that concluding word, the whole assembly, exalting their pilgrim's
staves, rushed round me in a body; and I, having no weapon to raise in
self-defence, commenced grappling with Joseph, my nearest and most
ferocious assailant, for his.  In the confluence of the multitude,
several clubs crossed; blows, aimed at me, fell on other sconces.
Presently the whole chapel resounded with rappings and counter rappings:
every man's hand was against his neighbour; and Branderham, unwilling to
remain idle, poured forth his zeal in a shower of loud taps on the boards
of the pulpit, which responded so smartly that, at last, to my
unspeakable relief, they woke me.  And what was it that had suggested the
tremendous tumult?  What had played Jabez's part in the row?  Merely the
branch of a fir-tree that touched my lattice as the blast wailed by, and
rattled its dry cones against the panes!  I listened doubtingly an
instant; detected the disturber, then turned and dozed, and dreamt again:
if possible, still more disagreeably than before.
This time, I remembered I was lying in the oak closet, and I heard
distinctly the gusty wind, and the driving of the snow; I heard, also,
the fir bough repeat its teasing sound, and ascribed it to the right
cause: but it annoyed me so much, that I resolved to silence it, if
possible; and, I thought, I rose and endeavoured to unhasp the casement.
The hook was soldered into the staple: a circumstance observed by me when
awake, but forgotten.  'I must stop it, nevertheless!' I muttered,
knocking my knuckles through the glass, and stretching an arm out to
seize the importunate branch; instead of which, my fingers closed on the
fingers of a little, ice-cold hand!  The intense horror of nightmare came
over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a
most melancholy voice sobbed, 'Let me in--let me in!'  'Who are you?' I
asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself.  'Catherine Linton,'
it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of _Linton_?  I had read
_Earnshaw_ twenty times for Linton)--'I'm come home: I'd lost my way on
the moor!'  As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child's face looking
through the window.  Terror made me cruel; and, finding it useless to
attempt shaking the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken
pane, and rubbed it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the
bedclothes: still it wailed, 'Let me in!' and maintained its tenacious
grip, almost maddening me with fear.  'How can I!' I said at length.
'Let _me_ go, if you want me to let you in!'  The fingers relaxed, I
snatched mine through the hole, hurriedly piled the books up in a pyramid
against it, and stopped my ears to exclude the lamentable prayer.  I
seemed to keep them closed above a quarter of an hour; yet, the instant I
listened again, there was the doleful cry moaning on!  'Begone!' I
shouted.  'I'll never let you in, not if you beg for twenty years.'  'It
is twenty years,' mourned the voice: 'twenty years.  I've been a waif for
twenty years!'  Thereat began a feeble scratching outside, and the pile
of books moved as if thrust forward.  I tried to jump up; but could not
stir a limb; and so yelled aloud, in a frenzy of fright.  To my
confusion, I discovered the yell was not ideal: hasty footsteps
approached my chamber door; somebody pushed it open, with a vigorous
hand, and a light glimmered through the squares at the top of the bed.  I
sat shuddering yet, and wiping the perspiration from my forehead: the
intruder appeared to hesitate, and muttered to himself.  At last, he
said, in a half-whisper, plainly not expecting an answer, 'Is any one
here?'  I considered it best to confess my presence; for I knew
Heathcliff's accents, and feared he might search further, if I kept
quiet.  With this intention, I turned and opened the panels.  I shall not
soon forget the effect my action produced.
Heathcliff stood near the entrance, in his shirt and trousers; with a
candle dripping over his fingers, and his face as white as the wall
behind him.  The first creak of the oak startled him like an electric
shock: the light leaped from his hold to a distance of some feet, and his
agitation was so extreme, that he could hardly pick it up.
'It is only your guest, sir,' I called out, desirous to spare him the
humiliation of exposing his cowardice further.  'I had the misfortune to
scream in my sleep, owing to a frightful nightmare.  I'm sorry I
disturbed you.'
'Oh, God confound you, Mr. Lockwood!  I wish you were at the--' commenced
my host, setting the candle on a chair, because he found it impossible to
hold it steady.  'And who showed you up into this room?' he continued,
crushing his nails into his palms, and grinding his teeth to subdue the
maxillary convulsions.  'Who was it?  I've a good mind to turn them out
of the house this moment?'
'It was your servant Zillah,' I replied, flinging myself on to the floor,
and rapidly resuming my garments.  'I should not care if you did, Mr.
Heathcliff; she richly deserves it.  I suppose that she wanted to get
another proof that the place was haunted, at my expense.  Well, it
is--swarming with ghosts and goblins!  You have reason in shutting it up,
I assure you.  No one will thank you for a doze in such a den!'
'What do you mean?' asked Heathcliff, 'and what are you doing?  Lie down
and finish out the night, since you _are_ here; but, for heaven's sake!
don't repeat that horrid noise: nothing could excuse it, unless you were
having your throat cut!'
'If the little fiend had got in at the window, she probably would have
strangled me!' I returned.  'I'm not going to endure the persecutions of
your hospitable ancestors again.  Was not the Reverend Jabez Branderham
akin to you on the mother's side?  And that minx, Catherine Linton, or
Earnshaw, or however she was called--she must have been a
changeling--wicked little soul!  She told me she had been walking the
earth these twenty years: a just punishment for her mortal
transgressions, I've no doubt!'
Scarcely were these words uttered when I recollected the association of
Heathcliff's with Catherine's name in the book, which had completely
slipped from my memory, till thus awakened.  I blushed at my
inconsideration: but, without showing further consciousness of the
offence, I hastened to add--'The truth is, sir, I passed the first part
of the night in--'  Here I stopped afresh--I was about to say 'perusing
those old volumes,' then it would have revealed my knowledge of their
written, as well as their printed, contents; so, correcting myself, I
went on--'in spelling over the name scratched on that window-ledge.  A
monotonous occupation, calculated to set me asleep, like counting, or--'
'What _can_ you mean by talking in this way to _me_!' thundered
Heathcliff with savage vehemence.  'How--how _dare_ you, under my
roof?--God! he's mad to speak so!'  And he struck his forehead with rage.
I did not know whether to resent this language or pursue my explanation;
but he seemed so powerfully affected that I took pity and proceeded with
my dreams; affirming I had never heard the appellation of 'Catherine
Linton' before, but reading it often over produced an impression which
personified itself when I had no longer my imagination under control.
Heathcliff gradually fell back into the shelter of the bed, as I spoke;
finally sitting down almost concealed behind it.  I guessed, however, by
his irregular and intercepted breathing, that he struggled to vanquish an
excess of violent emotion.  Not liking to show him that I had heard the
conflict, I continued my toilette rather noisily, looked at my watch, and
soliloquised on the length of the night: 'Not three o'clock yet!  I could
have taken oath it had been six.  Time stagnates here: we must surely
have retired to rest at eight!'
'Always at nine in winter, and rise at four,' said my host, suppressing a
groan: and, as I fancied, by the motion of his arm's shadow, dashing a
tear from his eyes.  'Mr. Lockwood,' he added, 'you may go into my room:
you'll only be in the way, coming down-stairs so early: and your childish
outcry has sent sleep to the devil for me.'
'And for me, too,' I replied.  'I'll walk in the yard till daylight, and
then I'll be off; and you need not dread a repetition of my intrusion.
I'm now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or
town.  A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself.'
'Delightful company!' muttered Heathcliff.  'Take the candle, and go
where you please.  I shall join you directly.  Keep out of the yard,
though, the dogs are unchained; and the house--Juno mounts sentinel
there, and--nay, you can only ramble about the steps and passages.  But,
away with you!  I'll come in two minutes!'
I obeyed, so far as to quit the chamber; when, ignorant where the narrow
lobbies led, I stood still, and was witness, involuntarily, to a piece of
superstition on the part of my landlord which belied, oddly, his apparent
sense.  He got on to the bed, and wrenched open the lattice, bursting, as
he pulled at it, into an uncontrollable passion of tears.  'Come in! come
in!' he sobbed.  'Cathy, do come.  Oh, do--_once_ more!  Oh! my heart's
darling! hear me _this_ time, Catherine, at last!'  The spectre showed a
spectre's ordinary caprice: it gave no sign of being; but the snow and
wind whirled wildly through, even reaching my station, and blowing out
the light.
There was such anguish in the gush of grief that accompanied this raving,
that my compassion made me overlook its folly, and I drew off, half angry
to have listened at all, and vexed at having related my ridiculous
nightmare, since it produced that agony; though _why_ was beyond my
comprehension.  I descended cautiously to the lower regions, and landed
in the back-kitchen, where a gleam of fire, raked compactly together,
enabled me to rekindle my candle.  Nothing was stirring except a
brindled, grey cat, which crept from the ashes, and saluted me with a
querulous mew.
Two benches, shaped in sections of a circle, nearly enclosed the hearth;
on one of these I stretched myself, and Grimalkin mounted the other.  We
were both of us nodding ere any one invaded our retreat, and then it was
Joseph, shuffling down a wooden ladder that vanished in the roof, through
a trap: the ascent to his garret, I suppose.  He cast a sinister look at
the little flame which I had enticed to play between the ribs, swept the
cat from its elevation, and bestowing himself in the vacancy, commenced
the operation of stuffing a three-inch pipe with tobacco.  My presence in
his sanctum was evidently esteemed a piece of impudence too shameful for
remark: he silently applied the tube to his lips, folded his arms, and
puffed away.  I let him enjoy the luxury unannoyed; and after sucking out
his last wreath, and heaving a profound sigh, he got up, and departed as
solemnly as he came.
A more elastic footstep entered next; and now I opened my mouth for a
'good-morning,' but closed it again, the salutation unachieved; for
Hareton Earnshaw was performing his orison _sotto voce_, in a series of
curses directed against every object he touched, while he rummaged a
corner for a spade or shovel to dig through the drifts.  He glanced over
the back of the bench, dilating his nostrils, and thought as little of
exchanging civilities with me as with my companion the cat.  I guessed,
by his preparations, that egress was allowed, and, leaving my hard couch,
made a movement to follow him.  He noticed this, and thrust at an inner
door with the end of his spade, intimating by an inarticulate sound that
there was the place where I must go, if I changed my locality.
It opened into the house, where the females were already astir; Zillah
urging flakes of flame up the chimney with a colossal bellows; and Mrs.
Heathcliff, kneeling on the hearth, reading a book by the aid of the
blaze.  She held her hand interposed between the furnace-heat and her
eyes, and seemed absorbed in her occupation; desisting from it only to
chide the servant for covering her with sparks, or to push away a dog,
now and then, that snoozled its nose overforwardly into her face.  I was
surprised to see Heathcliff there also.  He stood by the fire, his back
towards me, just finishing a stormy scene with poor Zillah; who ever and
anon interrupted her labour to pluck up the corner of her apron, and
heave an indignant groan.
'And you, you worthless--' he broke out as I entered, turning to his
daughter-in-law, and employing an epithet as harmless as duck, or sheep,
but generally represented by a dash--.  'There you are, at your idle
tricks again!  The rest of them do earn their bread--you live on my
charity!  Put your trash away, and find something to do.  You shall pay
me for the plague of having you eternally in my sight--do you hear,
damnable jade?'
'I'll put my trash away, because you can make me if I refuse,' answered
the young lady, closing her book, and throwing it on a chair.  'But I'll
not do anything, though you should swear your tongue out, except what I
please!'
Heathcliff lifted his hand, and the speaker sprang to a safer distance,
obviously acquainted with its weight.  Having no desire to be entertained
by a cat-and-dog combat, I stepped forward briskly, as if eager to
partake the warmth of the hearth, and innocent of any knowledge of the
interrupted dispute.  Each had enough decorum to suspend further
hostilities: Heathcliff placed his fists, out of temptation, in his
pockets; Mrs. Heathcliff curled her lip, and walked to a seat far off,
where she kept her word by playing the part of a statue during the
remainder of my stay.  That was not long.  I declined joining their
breakfast, and, at the first gleam of dawn, took an opportunity of
escaping into the free air, now clear, and still, and cold as impalpable
ice.
My landlord halloed for me to stop ere I reached the bottom of the
garden, and offered to accompany me across the moor.  It was well he did,
for the whole hill-back was one billowy, white ocean; the swells and
falls not indicating corresponding rises and depressions in the ground:
many pits, at least, were filled to a level; and entire ranges of mounds,
the refuse of the quarries, blotted from the chart which my yesterday's
walk left pictured in my mind.  I had remarked on one side of the road,
at intervals of six or seven yards, a line of upright stones, continued
through the whole length of the barren: these were erected and daubed
with lime on purpose to serve as guides in the dark, and also when a
fall, like the present, confounded the deep swamps on either hand with
the firmer path: but, excepting a dirty dot pointing up here and there,
all traces of their existence had vanished: and my companion found it
necessary to warn me frequently to steer to the right or left, when I
imagined I was following, correctly, the windings of the road.
We exchanged little conversation, and he halted at the entrance of
Thrushcross Park, saying, I could make no error there.  Our adieux were
limited to a hasty bow, and then I pushed forward, trusting to my own
resources; for the porter's lodge is untenanted as yet.  The distance
from the gate to the grange is two miles; I believe I managed to make it
four, what with losing myself among the trees, and sinking up to the neck
in snow: a predicament which only those who have experienced it can
appreciate.  At any rate, whatever were my wanderings, the clock chimed
twelve as I entered the house; and that gave exactly an hour for every
mile of the usual way from Wuthering Heights.
My human fixture and her satellites rushed to welcome me; exclaiming,
tumultuously, they had completely given me up: everybody conjectured that
I perished last night; and they were wondering how they must set about
the search for my remains.  I bid them be quiet, now that they saw me
returned, and, benumbed to my very heart, I dragged up-stairs; whence,
after putting on dry clothes, and pacing to and fro thirty or forty
minutes, to restore the animal heat, I adjourned to my study, feeble as a
kitten: almost too much so to enjoy the cheerful fire and smoking coffee
which the servant had prepared for my refreshment.
CHAPTER IV
What vain weathercocks we are!  I, who had determined to hold myself
independent of all social intercourse, and thanked my stars that, at
length, I had lighted on a spot where it was next to impracticable--I,
weak wretch, after maintaining till dusk a struggle with low spirits and
solitude, was finally compelled to strike my colours; and under pretence
of gaining information concerning the necessities of my establishment, I
desired Mrs. Dean, when she brought in supper, to sit down while I ate
it; hoping sincerely she would prove a regular gossip, and either rouse
me to animation or lull me to sleep by her talk.
'You have lived here a considerable time,' I commenced; 'did you not say
sixteen years?'
'Eighteen, sir: I came when the mistress was married, to wait on her;
after she died, the master retained me for his housekeeper.'
'Indeed.'
There ensued a pause.  She was not a gossip, I feared; unless about her
own affairs, and those could hardly interest me.  However, having studied
for an interval, with a fist on either knee, and a cloud of meditation
over her ruddy countenance, she ejaculated--'Ah, times are greatly
changed since then!'
'Yes,' I remarked, 'you've seen a good many alterations, I suppose?'
'I have: and troubles too,' she said.
'Oh, I'll turn the talk on my landlord's family!' I thought to myself.  'A
good subject to start!  And that pretty girl-widow, I should like to know
her history: whether she be a native of the country, or, as is more
probable, an exotic that the surly _indigenae_ will not recognise for
kin.'  With this intention I asked Mrs. Dean why Heathcliff let
Thrushcross Grange, and preferred living in a situation and residence so
much inferior.  'Is he not rich enough to keep the estate in good order?'
I inquired.
'Rich, sir!' she returned.  'He has nobody knows what money, and every
year it increases.  Yes, yes, he's rich enough to live in a finer house
than this: but he's very near--close-handed; and, if he had meant to flit
to Thrushcross Grange, as soon as he heard of a good tenant he could not
have borne to miss the chance of getting a few hundreds more.  It is
strange people should be so greedy, when they are alone in the world!'
'He had a son, it seems?'
'Yes, he had one--he is dead.'
'And that young lady, Mrs. Heathcliff, is his widow?'
'Yes.'
'Where did she come from originally?'
'Why, sir, she is my late master's daughter: Catherine Linton was her
maiden name.  I nursed her, poor thing!  I did wish Mr. Heathcliff would
remove here, and then we might have been together again.'
'What!  Catherine Linton?' I exclaimed, astonished.  But a minute's
reflection convinced me it was not my ghostly Catherine.  'Then,' I
continued, 'my predecessor's name was Linton?'
'It was.'
'And who is that Earnshaw: Hareton Earnshaw, who lives with Mr.
Heathcliff?  Are they relations?'
'No; he is the late Mrs. Linton's nephew.'
'The young lady's cousin, then?'
'Yes; and her husband was her cousin also: one on the mother's, the other
on the father's side: Heathcliff married Mr. Linton's sister.'
'I see the house at Wuthering Heights has "Earnshaw" carved over the
front door.  Are they an old family?'
'Very old, sir; and Hareton is the last of them, as our Miss Cathy is of
us--I mean, of the Lintons.  Have you been to Wuthering Heights?  I beg
pardon for asking; but I should like to hear how she is!'
'Mrs. Heathcliff? she looked very well, and very handsome; yet, I think,
not very happy.'
'Oh dear, I don't wonder!  And how did you like the master?'
'A rough fellow, rather, Mrs. Dean.  Is not that his character?
'Rough as a saw-edge, and hard as whinstone!  The less you meddle with
him the better.'
'He must have had some ups and downs in life to make him such a churl.  Do
you know anything of his history?'
'It's a cuckoo's, sir--I know all about it: except where he was born, and
who were his parents, and how he got his money at first.  And Hareton has
been cast out like an unfledged dunnock!  The unfortunate lad is the only
one in all this parish that does not guess how he has been cheated.'
'Well, Mrs. Dean, it will be a charitable deed to tell me something of my
neighbours: I feel I shall not rest if I go to bed; so be good enough to
sit and chat an hour.'
'Oh, certainly, sir!  I'll just fetch a little sewing, and then I'll sit
as long as you please.  But you've caught cold: I saw you shivering, and
you must have some gruel to drive it out.'
The worthy woman bustled off, and I crouched nearer the fire; my head
felt hot, and the rest of me chill: moreover, I was excited, almost to a
pitch of foolishness, through my nerves and brain.  This caused me to
feel, not uncomfortable, but rather fearful (as I am still) of serious
effects from the incidents of to-day and yesterday.  She returned
presently, bringing a smoking basin and a basket of work; and, having
placed the former on the hob, drew in her seat, evidently pleased to find
me so companionable.
Before I came to live here, she commenced--waiting no farther invitation
to her story--I was almost always at Wuthering Heights; because my mother
had nursed Mr. Hindley Earnshaw, that was Hareton's father, and I got
used to playing with the children: I ran errands too, and helped to make
hay, and hung about the farm ready for anything that anybody would set me
to.  One fine summer morning--it was the beginning of harvest, I
remember--Mr. Earnshaw, the old master, came down-stairs, dressed for a
journey; and, after he had told Joseph what was to be done during the
day, he turned to Hindley, and Cathy, and me--for I sat eating my
porridge with them--and he said, speaking to his son, 'Now, my bonny man,
I'm going to Liverpool to-day, what shall I bring you?  You may choose
what you like: only let it be little, for I shall walk there and back:
sixty miles each way, that is a long spell!'  Hindley named a fiddle, and
then he asked Miss Cathy; she was hardly six years old, but she could
ride any horse in the stable, and she chose a whip.  He did not forget
me; for he had a kind heart, though he was rather severe sometimes.  He
promised to bring me a pocketful of apples and pears, and then he kissed
his children, said good-bye, and set off.
It seemed a long while to us all--the three days of his absence--and
often did little Cathy ask when he would be home.  Mrs. Earnshaw expected
him by supper-time on the third evening, and she put the meal off hour
after hour; there were no signs of his coming, however, and at last the
children got tired of running down to the gate to look.  Then it grew
dark; she would have had them to bed, but they begged sadly to be allowed
to stay up; and, just about eleven o'clock, the door-latch was raised
quietly, and in stepped the master.  He threw himself into a chair,
laughing and groaning, and bid them all stand off, for he was nearly
killed--he would not have such another walk for the three kingdoms.
'And at the end of it to be flighted to death!' he said, opening his
great-coat, which he held bundled up in his arms.  'See here, wife!  I
was never so beaten with anything in my life: but you must e'en take it
as a gift of God; though it's as dark almost as if it came from the
devil.'
We crowded round, and over Miss Cathy's head I had a peep at a dirty,
ragged, black-haired child; big enough both to walk and talk: indeed, its
face looked older than Catherine's; yet when it was set on its feet, it
only stared round, and repeated over and over again some gibberish that
nobody could understand.  I was frightened, and Mrs. Earnshaw was ready
to fling it out of doors: she did fly up, asking how he could fashion to
bring that gipsy brat into the house, when they had their own bairns to
feed and fend for?  What he meant to do with it, and whether he were mad?
The master tried to explain the matter; but he was really half dead with
fatigue, and all that I could make out, amongst her scolding, was a tale
of his seeing it starving, and houseless, and as good as dumb, in the
streets of Liverpool, where he picked it up and inquired for its owner.
Not a soul knew to whom it belonged, he said; and his money and time
being both limited, he thought it better to take it home with him at
once, than run into vain expenses there: because he was determined he
would not leave it as he found it.  Well, the conclusion was, that my
mistress grumbled herself calm; and Mr. Earnshaw told me to wash it, and
give it clean things, and let it sleep with the children.
Hindley and Cathy contented themselves with looking and listening till
peace was restored: then, both began searching their father's pockets
for the presents he had promised them. The former was a boy of fourteen,
but when he drew out what had been a fiddle, crushed to morsels in the
great-coat, he blubbered aloud; and Cathy, when she learned the master
had lost her whip in attending on the stranger, showed her humour by
grinning and spitting at the stupid little thing; earning for her pains
a sound blow from her father, to teach her cleaner manners. They
entirely refused to have it in bed with them, or even in their room; and
I had no more sense, so I put it on the landing of the stairs, hoping it
might be gone on the morrow. By chance, or else attracted by hearing his
voice, it crept to Mr. Earnshaw's door, and there he found it on
quitting his chamber. Inquiries were made as to how it got there; I was
obliged to confess, and in recompense for my cowardice and inhumanity
was sent out of the house.
This was Heathcliff's first introduction to the family.  On coming back a
few days afterwards (for I did not consider my banishment perpetual), I
found they had christened him 'Heathcliff': it was the name of a son who
died in childhood, and it has served him ever since, both for Christian
and surname.  Miss Cathy and he were now very thick; but Hindley hated
him: and to say the truth I did the same; and we plagued and went on with
him shamefully: for I wasn't reasonable enough to feel my injustice, and
the mistress never put in a word on his behalf when she saw him wronged.
He seemed a sullen, patient child; hardened, perhaps, to ill-treatment:
he would stand Hindley's blows without winking or shedding a tear, and my
pinches moved him only to draw in a breath and open his eyes, as if he
had hurt himself by accident, and nobody was to blame.  This endurance
made old Earnshaw furious, when he discovered his son persecuting the
poor fatherless child, as he called him.  He took to Heathcliff
strangely, believing all he said (for that matter, he said precious
little, and generally the truth), and petting him up far above Cathy, who
was too mischievous and wayward for a favourite.
So, from the very beginning, he bred bad feeling in the house; and at
Mrs. Earnshaw's death, which happened in less than two years after, the
young master had learned to regard his father as an oppressor rather than
a friend, and Heathcliff as a usurper of his parent's affections and his
privileges; and he grew bitter with brooding over these injuries.  I
sympathised a while; but when the children fell ill of the measles, and I
had to tend them, and take on me the cares of a woman at once, I changed
my idea.  Heathcliff was dangerously sick; and while he lay at the worst
he would have me constantly by his pillow: I suppose he felt I did a good
deal for him, and he hadn't wit to guess that I was compelled to do it.
However, I will say this, he was the quietest child that ever nurse
watched over.  The difference between him and the others forced me to be
less partial.  Cathy and her brother harassed me terribly: he was as
uncomplaining as a lamb; though hardness, not gentleness, made him give
little trouble.
He got through, and the doctor affirmed it was in a great measure owing
to me, and praised me for my care.  I was vain of his commendations, and
softened towards the being by whose means I earned them, and thus Hindley
lost his last ally: still I couldn't dote on Heathcliff, and I wondered
often what my master saw to admire so much in the sullen boy; who never,
to my recollection, repaid his indulgence by any sign of gratitude.  He
was not insolent to his benefactor, he was simply insensible; though
knowing perfectly the hold he had on his heart, and conscious he had only
to speak and all the house would be obliged to bend to his wishes.  As an
instance, I remember Mr. Earnshaw once bought a couple of colts at the
parish fair, and gave the lads each one.  Heathcliff took the handsomest,
but it soon fell lame, and when he discovered it, he said to Hindley--
'You must exchange horses with me: I don't like mine; and if you won't I
shall tell your father of the three thrashings you've given me this week,
and show him my arm, which is black to the shoulder.'  Hindley put out
his tongue, and cuffed him over the ears.  'You'd better do it at once,'
he persisted, escaping to the porch (they were in the stable): 'you will
have to: and if I speak of these blows, you'll get them again with
interest.'  'Off, dog!' cried Hindley, threatening him with an iron
weight used for weighing potatoes and hay.  'Throw it,' he replied,
standing still, 'and then I'll tell how you boasted that you would turn
me out of doors as soon as he died, and see whether he will not turn you
out directly.'  Hindley threw it, hitting him on the breast, and down he
fell, but staggered up immediately, breathless and white; and, had not I
prevented it, he would have gone just so to the master, and got full
revenge by letting his condition plead for him, intimating who had caused
it.  'Take my colt, Gipsy, then!' said young Earnshaw.  'And I pray that
he may break your neck: take him, and be damned, you beggarly interloper!
and wheedle my father out of all he has: only afterwards show him what
you are, imp of Satan.--And take that, I hope he'll kick out your
brains!'
Heathcliff had gone to loose the beast, and shift it to his own stall; he
was passing behind it, when Hindley finished his speech by knocking him
under its feet, and without stopping to examine whether his hopes were
fulfilled, ran away as fast as he could.  I was surprised to witness how
coolly the child gathered himself up, and went on with his intention;
exchanging saddles and all, and then sitting down on a bundle of hay to
overcome the qualm which the violent blow occasioned, before he entered
the house.  I persuaded him easily to let me lay the blame of his bruises
on the horse: he minded little what tale was told since he had what he
wanted.  He complained so seldom, indeed, of such stirs as these, that I
really thought him not vindictive: I was deceived completely, as you will
hear.
CHAPTER V
In the course of time Mr. Earnshaw began to fail. He had been active and
healthy, yet his strength left him suddenly; and when he was confined to
the chimney-corner he grew grievously irritable. A nothing vexed him;
and suspected slights of his authority nearly threw him into fits. This
was especially to be remarked if any one attempted to impose upon, or
domineer over, his favourite: he was painfully jealous lest a word
should be spoken amiss to him; seeming to have got into his head the
notion that, because he liked Heathcliff, all hated, and longed to do
him an ill-turn. It was a disadvantage to the lad; for the kinder among
us did not wish to fret the master, so we humoured his partiality; and
that humouring was rich nourishment to the child's pride and black
tempers. Still it became in a manner necessary; twice, or thrice,
Hindley's manifestation of scorn, while his father was near, roused the
old man to a fury: he seized his stick to strike him, and shook with
rage that he could not do it.
At last, our curate (we had a curate then who made the living answer by
teaching the little Lintons and Earnshaws, and farming his bit of land
himself) advised that the young man should be sent to college; and Mr.
Earnshaw agreed, though with a heavy spirit, for he said--'Hindley was
nought, and would never thrive as where he wandered.'
I hoped heartily we should have peace now.  It hurt me to think the
master should be made uncomfortable by his own good deed.  I fancied the
discontent of age and disease arose from his family disagreements; as he
would have it that it did: really, you know, sir, it was in his sinking
frame.  We might have got on tolerably, notwithstanding, but for two
people--Miss Cathy, and Joseph, the servant: you saw him, I daresay, up
yonder.  He was, and is yet most likely, the wearisomest self-righteous
Pharisee that ever ransacked a Bible to rake the promises to himself and
fling the curses to his neighbours.  By his knack of sermonising and
pious discoursing, he contrived to make a great impression on Mr.
Earnshaw; and the more feeble the master became, the more influence he
gained.  He was relentless in worrying him about his soul's concerns, and
about ruling his children rigidly.  He encouraged him to regard Hindley
as a reprobate; and, night after night, he regularly grumbled out a long
string of tales against Heathcliff and Catherine: always minding to
flatter Earnshaw's weakness by heaping the heaviest blame on the latter.
Certainly she had ways with her such as I never saw a child take up
before; and she put all of us past our patience fifty times and oftener
in a day: from the hour she came down-stairs till the hour she went to
bed, we had not a minute's security that she wouldn't be in mischief.  Her
spirits were always at high-water mark, her tongue always going--singing,
laughing, and plaguing everybody who would not do the same.  A wild,
wicked slip she was--but she had the bonniest eye, the sweetest smile,
and lightest foot in the parish: and, after all, I believe she meant no
harm; for when once she made you cry in good earnest, it seldom happened
that she would not keep you company, and oblige you to be quiet that you
might comfort her.  She was much too fond of Heathcliff.  The greatest
punishment we could invent for her was to keep her separate from him: yet
she got chided more than any of us on his account.  In play, she liked
exceedingly to act the little mistress; using her hands freely, and
commanding her companions: she did so to me, but I would not bear
slapping and ordering; and so I let her know.
Now, Mr. Earnshaw did not understand jokes from his children: he had
always been strict and grave with them; and Catherine, on her part, had
no idea why her father should be crosser and less patient in his ailing
condition than he was in his prime.  His peevish reproofs wakened in her
a naughty delight to provoke him: she was never so happy as when we were
all scolding her at once, and she defying us with her bold, saucy look,
and her ready words; turning Joseph's religious curses into ridicule,
baiting me, and doing just what her father hated most--showing how her
pretended insolence, which he thought real, had more power over
Heathcliff than his kindness: how the boy would do _her_ bidding in
anything, and _his_ only when it suited his own inclination.  After
behaving as badly as possible all day, she sometimes came fondling to
make it up at night.  'Nay, Cathy,' the old man would say, 'I cannot love
thee, thou'rt worse than thy brother.  Go, say thy prayers, child, and
ask God's pardon.  I doubt thy mother and I must rue that we ever reared
thee!'  That made her cry, at first; and then being repulsed continually
hardened her, and she laughed if I told her to say she was sorry for her
faults, and beg to be forgiven.
But the hour came, at last, that ended Mr. Earnshaw's troubles on earth.
He died quietly in his chair one October evening, seated by the
fire-side.  A high wind blustered round the house, and roared in the
chimney: it sounded wild and stormy, yet it was not cold, and we were all
together--I, a little removed from the hearth, busy at my knitting, and
Joseph reading his Bible near the table (for the servants generally sat
in the house then, after their work was done).  Miss Cathy had been sick,
and that made her still; she leant against her father's knee, and
Heathcliff was lying on the floor with his head in her lap.  I remember
the master, before he fell into a doze, stroking her bonny hair--it
pleased him rarely to see her gentle--and saying, 'Why canst thou not
always be a good lass, Cathy?'  And she turned her face up to his, and
laughed, and answered, 'Why cannot you always be a good man, father?'  But
as soon as she saw him vexed again, she kissed his hand, and said she
would sing him to sleep.  She began singing very low, till his fingers
dropped from hers, and his head sank on his breast.  Then I told her to
hush, and not stir, for fear she should wake him.  We all kept as mute as
mice a full half-hour, and should have done so longer, only Joseph,
having finished his chapter, got up and said that he must rouse the
master for prayers and bed.  He stepped forward, and called him by name,
and touched his shoulder; but he would not move: so he took the candle
and looked at him.  I thought there was something wrong as he set down
the light; and seizing the children each by an arm, whispered them to
'frame up-stairs, and make little din--they might pray alone that
evening--he had summut to do.'
'I shall bid father good-night first,' said Catherine, putting her arms
round his neck, before we could hinder her.  The poor thing discovered
her loss directly--she screamed out--'Oh, he's dead, Heathcliff! he's
dead!'  And they both set up a heart-breaking cry.
I joined my wail to theirs, loud and bitter; but Joseph asked what we
could be thinking of to roar in that way over a saint in heaven.  He told
me to put on my cloak and run to Gimmerton for the doctor and the parson.
I could not guess the use that either would be of, then.  However, I
went, through wind and rain, and brought one, the doctor, back with me;
the other said he would come in the morning.  Leaving Joseph to explain
matters, I ran to the children's room: their door was ajar, I saw they
had never lain down, though it was past midnight; but they were calmer,
and did not need me to console them.  The little souls were comforting
each other with better thoughts than I could have hit on: no parson in
the world ever pictured heaven so beautifully as they did, in their
innocent talk; and, while I sobbed and listened, I could not help wishing
we were all there safe together.
CHAPTER VI
Mr. Hindley came home to the funeral; and--a thing that amazed us, and
set the neighbours gossiping right and left--he brought a wife with him.
What she was, and where she was born, he never informed us: probably, she
had neither money nor name to recommend her, or he would scarcely have
kept the union from his father.
She was not one that would have disturbed the house much on her own
account.  Every object she saw, the moment she crossed the threshold,
appeared to delight her; and every circumstance that took place about
her: except the preparing for the burial, and the presence of the
mourners.  I thought she was half silly, from her behaviour while that
went on: she ran into her chamber, and made me come with her, though I
should have been dressing the children: and there she sat shivering and
clasping her hands, and asking repeatedly--'Are they gone yet?'  Then she
began describing with hysterical emotion the effect it produced on her to
see black; and started, and trembled, and, at last, fell a-weeping--and
when I asked what was the matter, answered, she didn't know; but she felt
so afraid of dying!  I imagined her as little likely to die as myself.
She was rather thin, but young, and fresh-complexioned, and her eyes
sparkled as bright as diamonds.  I did remark, to be sure, that mounting
the stairs made her breathe very quick; that the least sudden noise set
her all in a quiver, and that she coughed troublesomely sometimes: but I
knew nothing of what these symptoms portended, and had no impulse to
sympathise with her.  We don't in general take to foreigners here, Mr.
Lockwood, unless they take to us first.
Young Earnshaw was altered considerably in the three years of his
absence. He had grown sparer, and lost his colour, and spoke and dressed
quite differently; and, on the very day of his return, he told Joseph
and me we must thenceforth quarter ourselves in the back-kitchen, and
leave the house for him. Indeed, he would have carpeted and papered a
small spare room for a parlour; but his wife expressed such pleasure at
the white floor and huge glowing fireplace, at the pewter dishes and
delf-case, and dog-kennel, and the wide space there was to move about in
where they usually sat, that he thought it unnecessary to her comfort,
and so dropped the intention.
She expressed pleasure, too, at finding a sister among her new
acquaintance; and she prattled to Catherine, and kissed her, and ran
about with her, and gave her quantities of presents, at the beginning.
Her affection tired very soon, however, and when she grew peevish,
Hindley became tyrannical.  A few words from her, evincing a dislike to
Heathcliff, were enough to rouse in him all his old hatred of the boy.  He
drove him from their company to the servants, deprived him of the
instructions of the curate, and insisted that he should labour out of
doors instead; compelling him to do so as hard as any other lad on the
farm.
Heathcliff bore his degradation pretty well at first, because Cathy
taught him what she learnt, and worked or played with him in the fields.
They both promised fair to grow up as rude as savages; the young master
being entirely negligent how they behaved, and what they did, so they
kept clear of him.  He would not even have seen after their going to
church on Sundays, only Joseph and the curate reprimanded his
carelessness when they absented themselves; and that reminded him to
order Heathcliff a flogging, and Catherine a fast from dinner or supper.
But it was one of their chief amusements to run away to the moors in the
morning and remain there all day, and the after punishment grew a mere
thing to laugh at.  The curate might set as many chapters as he pleased
for Catherine to get by heart, and Joseph might thrash Heathcliff till
his arm ached; they forgot everything the minute they were together
again: at least the minute they had contrived some naughty plan of
revenge; and many a time I've cried to myself to watch them growing more
reckless daily, and I not daring to speak a syllable, for fear of losing
the small power I still retained over the unfriended creatures.  One
Sunday evening, it chanced that they were banished from the sitting-room,
for making a noise, or a light offence of the kind; and when I went to
call them to supper, I could discover them nowhere.  We searched the
house, above and below, and the yard and stables; they were invisible:
and, at last, Hindley in a passion told us to bolt the doors, and swore
nobody should let them in that night.  The household went to bed; and I,
too, anxious to lie down, opened my lattice and put my head out to
hearken, though it rained: determined to admit them in spite of the
prohibition, should they return.  In a while, I distinguished steps
coming up the road, and the light of a lantern glimmered through the
gate.  I threw a shawl over my head and ran to prevent them from waking
Mr. Earnshaw by knocking.  There was Heathcliff, by himself: it gave me a
start to see him alone.
'Where is Miss Catherine?' I cried hurriedly. 'No accident, I hope?' 'At
Thrushcross Grange,' he answered; 'and I would have been there too, but
they had not the manners to ask me to stay.' 'Well, you will catch it!'
I said: 'you'll never be content till you're sent about your business.
What in the world led you wandering to Thrushcross Grange?' 'Let me get
off my wet clothes, and I'll tell you all about it, Nelly,' he replied.
I bid him beware of rousing the master, and while he undressed and I
waited to put out the candle, he continued--'Cathy and I escaped from
the wash-house to have a ramble at liberty, and getting a glimpse of the
Grange lights, we thought we would just go and see whether the Lintons
passed their Sunday evenings standing shivering in corners, while their
father and mother sat eating and drinking, and singing and laughing, and
burning their eyes out before the fire. Do you think they do? Or reading
sermons, and being catechised by their manservant, and set to learn a
column of Scripture names, if they don't answer properly?' 'Probably
not,' I responded. 'They are good children, no doubt, and don't deserve
the treatment you receive, for your bad conduct.' 'Don't cant, Nelly,'
he said: 'nonsense! We ran from the top of the Heights to the park,
without stopping--Catherine completely beaten in the race, because she
was barefoot. You'll have to seek for her shoes in the bog to-morrow. We
crept through a broken hedge, groped our way up the path, and planted
ourselves on a flower-plot under the drawing-room window. The light came
from thence; they had not put up the shutters, and the curtains were
only half closed. Both of us were able to look in by standing on the
basement, and clinging to the ledge, and we saw--ah! it was beautiful--a
splendid place carpeted with crimson, and crimson-covered chairs and
tables, and a pure white ceiling bordered by gold, a shower of
glass-drops hanging in silver chains from the centre, and shimmering
with little soft tapers. Old Mr. and Mrs. Linton were not there; Edgar
and his sisters had it entirely to themselves. Shouldn't they have been
happy? We should have thought ourselves in heaven! And now, guess what
your good children were doing? Isabella--I believe she is eleven, a year
younger than Cathy--lay screaming at the farther end of the room,
shrieking as if witches were running red-hot needles into her. Edgar
stood on the hearth weeping silently, and in the middle of the table sat
a little dog, shaking its paw and yelping; which, from their mutual
accusations, we understood they had nearly pulled in two between them.
The idiots! That was their pleasure! to quarrel who should hold a heap
of warm hair, and each begin to cry because both, after struggling to
get it, refused to take it. We laughed outright at the petted things; we
did despise them! When would you catch me wishing to have what Catherine
wanted? or find us by ourselves, seeking entertainment in yelling, and
sobbing, and rolling on the ground, divided by the whole room? I'd not
exchange, for a thousand lives, my condition here, for Edgar Linton's at
Thrushcross Grange--not if I might have the privilege of flinging Joseph
off the highest gable, and painting the house-front with Hindley's
blood!'
'Hush, hush!' I interrupted.  'Still you have not told me, Heathcliff,
how Catherine is left behind?'
'I told you we laughed,' he answered. 'The Lintons heard us, and with
one accord they shot like arrows to the door; there was silence, and
then a cry, "Oh, mamma, mamma! Oh, papa! Oh, mamma, come here. Oh, papa,
oh!" They really did howl out something in that way. We made frightful
noises to terrify them still more, and then we dropped off the ledge,
because somebody was drawing the bars, and we felt we had better flee. I
had Cathy by the hand, and was urging her on, when all at once she fell
down. "Run, Heathcliff, run!" she whispered. "They have let the bull-dog
loose, and he holds me!" The devil had seized her ankle, Nelly: I heard
his abominable snorting. She did not yell out--no! she would have
scorned to do it, if she had been spitted on the horns of a mad cow. I
did, though: I vociferated curses enough to annihilate any fiend in
Christendom; and I got a stone and thrust it between his jaws, and tried
with all my might to cram it down his throat. A beast of a servant came
up with a lantern, at last, shouting--"Keep fast, Skulker, keep fast!"
He changed his note, however, when he saw Skulker's game. The dog was
throttled off; his huge, purple tongue hanging half a foot out of his
mouth, and his pendent lips streaming with bloody slaver. The man took
Cathy up; she was sick: not from fear, I'm certain, but from pain. He
carried her in; I followed, grumbling execrations and vengeance. "What
prey, Robert?" hallooed Linton from the entrance. "Skulker has caught a
little girl, sir," he replied; "and there's a lad here," he added,
making a clutch at me, "who looks an out-and-outer! Very like the
robbers were for putting them through the window to open the doors to
the gang after all were asleep, that they might murder us at their ease.
Hold your tongue, you foul-mouthed thief, you! you shall go to the
gallows for this. Mr. Linton, sir, don't lay by your gun." "No, no,
Robert," said the old fool. "The rascals knew that yesterday was my
rent-day: they thought to have me cleverly. Come in; I'll furnish them a
reception. There, John, fasten the chain. Give Skulker some water,
Jenny. To beard a magistrate in his stronghold, and on the Sabbath, too!
Where will their insolence stop? Oh, my dear Mary, look here! Don't be
afraid, it is but a boy--yet the villain scowls so plainly in his face;
would it not be a kindness to the country to hang him at once, before he
shows his nature in acts as well as features?" He pulled me under the
chandelier, and Mrs. Linton placed her spectacles on her nose and raised
her hands in horror. The cowardly children crept nearer also, Isabella
lisping--"Frightful thing! Put him in the cellar, papa. He's exactly
like the son of the fortune-teller that stole my tame pheasant. Isn't
he, Edgar?"
'While they examined me, Cathy came round; she heard the last speech, and
laughed.  Edgar Linton, after an inquisitive stare, collected sufficient
wit to recognise her.  They see us at church, you know, though we seldom
meet them elsewhere.  "That's Miss Earnshaw?" he whispered to his mother,
"and look how Skulker has bitten her--how her foot bleeds!"
'"Miss Earnshaw?  Nonsense!" cried the dame; "Miss Earnshaw scouring the
country with a gipsy!  And yet, my dear, the child is in mourning--surely
it is--and she may be lamed for life!"
'"What culpable carelessness in her brother!" exclaimed Mr. Linton,
turning from me to Catherine.  "I've understood from Shielders"' (that
was the curate, sir) '"that he lets her grow up in absolute heathenism.
But who is this?  Where did she pick up this companion?  Oho! I declare
he is that strange acquisition my late neighbour made, in his journey to
Liverpool--a little Lascar, or an American or Spanish castaway."
'"A wicked boy, at all events," remarked the old lady, "and quite unfit
for a decent house!  Did you notice his language, Linton?  I'm shocked
that my children should have heard it."
'I recommenced cursing--don't be angry, Nelly--and so Robert was ordered
to take me off.  I refused to go without Cathy; he dragged me into the
garden, pushed the lantern into my hand, assured me that Mr. Earnshaw
should be informed of my behaviour, and, bidding me march directly,
secured the door again.  The curtains were still looped up at one corner,
and I resumed my station as spy; because, if Catherine had wished to
return, I intended shattering their great glass panes to a million of
fragments, unless they let her out.  She sat on the sofa quietly.  Mrs.
Linton took off the grey cloak of the dairy-maid which we had borrowed
for our excursion, shaking her head and expostulating with her, I
suppose: she was a young lady, and they made a distinction between her
treatment and mine.  Then the woman-servant brought a basin of warm
water, and washed her feet; and Mr. Linton mixed a tumbler of negus, and
Isabella emptied a plateful of cakes into her lap, and Edgar stood gaping
at a distance.  Afterwards, they dried and combed her beautiful hair, and
gave her a pair of enormous slippers, and wheeled her to the fire; and I
left her, as merry as she could be, dividing her food between the little
dog and Skulker, whose nose she pinched as he ate; and kindling a spark
of spirit in the vacant blue eyes of the Lintons--a dim reflection from
her own enchanting face.  I saw they were full of stupid admiration; she
is so immeasurably superior to them--to everybody on earth, is she not,
Nelly?'
'There will more come of this business than you reckon on,' I answered,
covering him up and extinguishing the light.  'You are incurable,
Heathcliff; and Mr. Hindley will have to proceed to extremities, see if
he won't.'  My words came truer than I desired.  The luckless adventure
made Earnshaw furious.  And then Mr. Linton, to mend matters, paid us a
visit himself on the morrow, and read the young master such a lecture on
the road he guided his family, that he was stirred to look about him, in
earnest.  Heathcliff received no flogging, but he was told that the first
word he spoke to Miss Catherine should ensure a dismissal; and Mrs.
Earnshaw undertook to keep her sister-in-law in due restraint when she
returned home; employing art, not force: with force she would have found
it impossible.
CHAPTER VII
Cathy stayed at Thrushcross Grange five weeks: till Christmas.  By that
time her ankle was thoroughly cured, and her manners much improved.  The
mistress visited her often in the interval, and commenced her plan of
reform by trying to raise her self-respect with fine clothes and
flattery, which she took readily; so that, instead of a wild, hatless
little savage jumping into the house, and rushing to squeeze us all
breathless, there 'lighted from a handsome black pony a very dignified
person, with brown ringlets falling from the cover of a feathered beaver,
and a long cloth habit, which she was obliged to hold up with both hands
that she might sail in.  Hindley lifted her from her horse, exclaiming
delightedly, 'Why, Cathy, you are quite a beauty!  I should scarcely have
known you: you look like a lady now.  Isabella Linton is not to be
compared with her, is she, Frances?'  'Isabella has not her natural
advantages,' replied his wife: 'but she must mind and not grow wild again
here.  Ellen, help Miss Catherine off with her things--Stay, dear, you
will disarrange your curls--let me untie your hat.'
I removed the habit, and there shone forth beneath a grand plaid silk
frock, white trousers, and burnished shoes; and, while her eyes sparkled
joyfully when the dogs came bounding up to welcome her, she dared hardly
touch them lest they should fawn upon her splendid garments.  She kissed
me gently: I was all flour making the Christmas cake, and it would not
have done to give me a hug; and then she looked round for Heathcliff.  Mr.
and Mrs. Earnshaw watched anxiously their meeting; thinking it would
enable them to judge, in some measure, what grounds they had for hoping
to succeed in separating the two friends.
Heathcliff was hard to discover, at first.  If he were careless, and
uncared for, before Catherine's absence, he had been ten times more so
since.  Nobody but I even did him the kindness to call him a dirty boy,
and bid him wash himself, once a week; and children of his age seldom
have a natural pleasure in soap and water.  Therefore, not to mention his
clothes, which had seen three months' service in mire and dust, and his
thick uncombed hair, the surface of his face and hands was dismally
beclouded.  He might well skulk behind the settle, on beholding such a
bright, graceful damsel enter the house, instead of a rough-headed
counterpart of himself, as he expected.  'Is Heathcliff not here?' she
demanded, pulling off her gloves, and displaying fingers wonderfully
whitened with doing nothing and staying indoors.
'Heathcliff, you may come forward,' cried Mr. Hindley, enjoying his
discomfiture, and gratified to see what a forbidding young blackguard he
would be compelled to present himself.  'You may come and wish Miss
Catherine welcome, like the other servants.'
Cathy, catching a glimpse of her friend in his concealment, flew to
embrace him; she bestowed seven or eight kisses on his cheek within the
second, and then stopped, and drawing back, burst into a laugh,
exclaiming, 'Why, how very black and cross you look! and how--how funny
and grim!  But that's because I'm used to Edgar and Isabella Linton.
Well, Heathcliff, have you forgotten me?'
She had some reason to put the question, for shame and pride threw double
gloom over his countenance, and kept him immovable.
'Shake hands, Heathcliff,' said Mr. Earnshaw, condescendingly; 'once in a
way that is permitted.'
'I shall not,' replied the boy, finding his tongue at last; 'I shall not
stand to be laughed at.  I shall not bear it!'  And he would have broken
from the circle, but Miss Cathy seized him again.
'I did not mean to laugh at you,' she said; 'I could not hinder myself:
Heathcliff, shake hands at least!  What are you sulky for?  It was only
that you looked odd.  If you wash your face and brush your hair, it will
be all right: but you are so dirty!'
She gazed concernedly at the dusky fingers she held in her own, and also
at her dress; which she feared had gained no embellishment from its
contact with his.
'You needn't have touched me!' he answered, following her eye and
snatching away his hand.  'I shall be as dirty as I please: and I like to
be dirty, and I will be dirty.'
With that he dashed headforemost out of the room, amid the merriment of
the master and mistress, and to the serious disturbance of Catherine; who
could not comprehend how her remarks should have produced such an
exhibition of bad temper.
After playing lady's-maid to the new-comer, and putting my cakes in the
oven, and making the house and kitchen cheerful with great fires,
befitting Christmas-eve, I prepared to sit down and amuse myself by
singing carols, all alone; regardless of Joseph's affirmations that he
considered the merry tunes I chose as next door to songs.  He had retired
to private prayer in his chamber, and Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw were engaging
Missy's attention by sundry gay trifles bought for her to present to the
little Lintons, as an acknowledgment of their kindness.  They had invited
them to spend the morrow at Wuthering Heights, and the invitation had
been accepted, on one condition: Mrs. Linton begged that her darlings
might be kept carefully apart from that 'naughty swearing boy.'
Under these circumstances I remained solitary.  I smelt the rich scent of
the heating spices; and admired the shining kitchen utensils, the
polished clock, decked in holly, the silver mugs ranged on a tray ready
to be filled with mulled ale for supper; and above all, the speckless
purity of my particular care--the scoured and well-swept floor.  I gave
due inward applause to every object, and then I remembered how old
Earnshaw used to come in when all was tidied, and call me a cant lass,
and slip a shilling into my hand as a Christmas-box; and from that I went
on to think of his fondness for Heathcliff, and his dread lest he should
suffer neglect after death had removed him: and that naturally led me to
consider the poor lad's situation now, and from singing I changed my mind
to crying.  It struck me soon, however, there would be more sense in
endeavouring to repair some of his wrongs than shedding tears over them:
I got up and walked into the court to seek him.  He was not far; I found
him smoothing the glossy coat of the new pony in the stable, and feeding
the other beasts, according to custom.
'Make haste, Heathcliff!' I said, 'the kitchen is so comfortable; and
Joseph is up-stairs: make haste, and let me dress you smart before Miss
Cathy comes out, and then you can sit together, with the whole hearth to
yourselves, and have a long chatter till bedtime.'
He proceeded with his task, and never turned his head towards me.
'Come--are you coming?' I continued.  'There's a little cake for each of
you, nearly enough; and you'll need half-an-hour's donning.'
I waited five minutes, but getting no answer left him.  Catherine supped
with her brother and sister-in-law: Joseph and I joined at an unsociable
meal, seasoned with reproofs on one side and sauciness on the other.  His
cake and cheese remained on the table all night for the fairies.  He
managed to continue work till nine o'clock, and then marched dumb and
dour to his chamber.  Cathy sat up late, having a world of things to
order for the reception of her new friends: she came into the kitchen
once to speak to her old one; but he was gone, and she only stayed to ask
what was the matter with him, and then went back.  In the morning he rose
early; and, as it was a holiday, carried his ill-humour on to the moors;
not re-appearing till the family were departed for church.  Fasting and
reflection seemed to have brought him to a better spirit.  He hung about
me for a while, and having screwed up his courage, exclaimed
abruptly--'Nelly, make me decent, I'm going to be good.'
'High time, Heathcliff,' I said; 'you _have_ grieved Catherine: she's
sorry she ever came home, I daresay!  It looks as if you envied her,
because she is more thought of than you.'
The notion of _envying_ Catherine was incomprehensible to him, but the
notion of grieving her he understood clearly enough.
'Did she say she was grieved?' he inquired, looking very serious.
'She cried when I told her you were off again this morning.'
'Well, _I_ cried last night,' he returned, 'and I had more reason to cry
than she.'
'Yes: you had the reason of going to bed with a proud heart and an empty
stomach,' said I.  'Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.  But,
if you be ashamed of your touchiness, you must ask pardon, mind, when she
comes in.  You must go up and offer to kiss her, and say--you know best
what to say; only do it heartily, and not as if you thought her converted
into a stranger by her grand dress.  And now, though I have dinner to get
ready, I'll steal time to arrange you so that Edgar Linton shall look
quite a doll beside you: and that he does.  You are younger, and yet,
I'll be bound, you are taller and twice as broad across the shoulders;
you could knock him down in a twinkling; don't you feel that you could?'
Heathcliff's face brightened a moment; then it was overcast afresh, and
he sighed.
'But, Nelly, if I knocked him down twenty times, that wouldn't make him
less handsome or me more so.  I wish I had light hair and a fair skin,
and was dressed and behaved as well, and had a chance of being as rich as
he will be!'
'And cried for mamma at every turn,' I added, 'and trembled if a country
lad heaved his fist against you, and sat at home all day for a shower of
rain.  Oh, Heathcliff, you are showing a poor spirit!  Come to the glass,
and I'll let you see what you should wish.  Do you mark those two lines
between your eyes; and those thick brows, that, instead of rising arched,
sink in the middle; and that couple of black fiends, so deeply buried,
who never open their windows boldly, but lurk glinting under them, like
devil's spies?  Wish and learn to smooth away the surly wrinkles, to
raise your lids frankly, and change the fiends to confident, innocent
angels, suspecting and doubting nothing, and always seeing friends where
they are not sure of foes.  Don't get the expression of a vicious cur
that appears to know the kicks it gets are its dessert, and yet hates all
the world, as well as the kicker, for what it suffers.'
'In other words, I must wish for Edgar Linton's great blue eyes and even
forehead,' he replied.  'I do--and that won't help me to them.'
'A good heart will help you to a bonny face, my lad,' I continued, 'if
you were a regular black; and a bad one will turn the bonniest into
something worse than ugly.  And now that we've done washing, and combing,
and sulking--tell me whether you don't think yourself rather handsome?
I'll tell you, I do.  You're fit for a prince in disguise.  Who knows but
your father was Emperor of China, and your mother an Indian queen, each
of them able to buy up, with one week's income, Wuthering Heights and
Thrushcross Grange together?  And you were kidnapped by wicked sailors
and brought to England.  Were I in your place, I would frame high notions
of my birth; and the thoughts of what I was should give me courage and
dignity to support the oppressions of a little farmer!'
So I chattered on; and Heathcliff gradually lost his frown and began to
look quite pleasant, when all at once our conversation was interrupted by
a rumbling sound moving up the road and entering the court.  He ran to
the window and I to the door, just in time to behold the two Lintons
descend from the family carriage, smothered in cloaks and furs, and the
Earnshaws dismount from their horses: they often rode to church in
winter.  Catherine took a hand of each of the children, and brought them
into the house and set them before the fire, which quickly put colour
into their white faces.
I urged my companion to hasten now and show his amiable humour, and he
willingly obeyed; but ill luck would have it that, as he opened the door
leading from the kitchen on one side, Hindley opened it on the other.
They met, and the master, irritated at seeing him clean and cheerful, or,
perhaps, eager to keep his promise to Mrs. Linton, shoved him back with a
sudden thrust, and angrily bade Joseph 'keep the fellow out of the
room--send him into the garret till dinner is over.  He'll be cramming
his fingers in the tarts and stealing the fruit, if left alone with them
a minute.'
'Nay, sir,' I could not avoid answering, 'he'll touch nothing, not he:
and I suppose he must have his share of the dainties as well as we.'
'He shall have his share of my hand, if I catch him downstairs till
dark,' cried Hindley.  'Begone, you vagabond!  What! you are attempting
the coxcomb, are you?  Wait till I get hold of those elegant locks--see
if I won't pull them a bit longer!'
'They are long enough already,' observed Master Linton, peeping from the
doorway; 'I wonder they don't make his head ache.  It's like a colt's
mane over his eyes!'
He ventured this remark without any intention to insult; but Heathcliff's
violent nature was not prepared to endure the appearance of impertinence
from one whom he seemed to hate, even then, as a rival.  He seized a
tureen of hot apple sauce (the first thing that came under his grip) and
dashed it full against the speaker's face and neck; who instantly
commenced a lament that brought Isabella and Catherine hurrying to the
place.  Mr. Earnshaw snatched up the culprit directly and conveyed him to
his chamber; where, doubtless, he administered a rough remedy to cool the
fit of passion, for he appeared red and breathless.  I got the dishcloth,
and rather spitefully scrubbed Edgar's nose and mouth, affirming it
served him right for meddling.  His sister began weeping to go home, and
Cathy stood by confounded, blushing for all.
'You should not have spoken to him!' she expostulated with Master Linton.
'He was in a bad temper, and now you've spoilt your visit; and he'll be
flogged: I hate him to be flogged!  I can't eat my dinner.  Why did you
speak to him, Edgar?'
'I didn't,' sobbed the youth, escaping from my hands, and finishing the
remainder of the purification with his cambric pocket-handkerchief.  'I
promised mamma that I wouldn't say one word to him, and I didn't.'
'Well, don't cry,' replied Catherine, contemptuously; 'you're not killed.
Don't make more mischief; my brother is coming: be quiet!  Hush,
Isabella!  Has anybody hurt you?'
'There, there, children--to your seats!' cried Hindley, bustling in.
'That brute of a lad has warmed me nicely.  Next time, Master Edgar, take
the law into your own fists--it will give you an appetite!'
The little party recovered its equanimity at sight of the fragrant feast.
They were hungry after their ride, and easily consoled, since no real
harm had befallen them.  Mr. Earnshaw carved bountiful platefuls, and the
mistress made them merry with lively talk.  I waited behind her chair,
and was pained to behold Catherine, with dry eyes and an indifferent air,
commence cutting up the wing of a goose before her.  'An unfeeling
child,' I thought to myself; 'how lightly she dismisses her old
playmate's troubles.  I could not have imagined her to be so selfish.'
She lifted a mouthful to her lips: then she set it down again: her cheeks
flushed, and the tears gushed over them.  She slipped her fork to the
floor, and hastily dived under the cloth to conceal her emotion.  I did
not call her unfeeling long; for I perceived she was in purgatory
throughout the day, and wearying to find an opportunity of getting by
herself, or paying a visit to Heathcliff, who had been locked up by the
master: as I discovered, on endeavouring to introduce to him a private
mess of victuals.
In the evening we had a dance.  Cathy begged that he might be liberated
then, as Isabella Linton had no partner: her entreaties were vain, and I
was appointed to supply the deficiency.  We got rid of all gloom in the
excitement of the exercise, and our pleasure was increased by the arrival
of the Gimmerton band, mustering fifteen strong: a trumpet, a trombone,
clarionets, bassoons, French horns, and a bass viol, besides singers.
They go the rounds of all the respectable houses, and receive
contributions every Christmas, and we esteemed it a first-rate treat to
hear them.  After the usual carols had been sung, we set them to songs
and glees.  Mrs. Earnshaw loved the music, and so they gave us plenty.
Catherine loved it too: but she said it sounded sweetest at the top of
the steps, and she went up in the dark: I followed. They shut the house
door below, never noting our absence, it was so full of people. She made
no stay at the stairs'-head, but mounted farther, to the garret where
Heathcliff was confined, and called him. He stubbornly declined
answering for a while: she persevered, and finally persuaded him to hold
communion with her through the boards. I let the poor things converse
unmolested, till I supposed the songs were going to cease, and the
singers to get some refreshment: then I clambered up the ladder to warn
her. Instead of finding her outside, I heard her voice within. The
little monkey had crept by the skylight of one garret, along the roof,
into the skylight of the other, and it was with the utmost difficulty I
could coax her out again. When she did come, Heathcliff came with her,
and she insisted that I should take him into the kitchen, as my
fellow-servant had gone to a neighbour's, to be removed from the sound
of our 'devil's psalmody,' as it pleased him to call it. I told them I
intended by no means to encourage their tricks: but as the prisoner had
never broken his fast since yesterday's dinner, I would wink at his
cheating Mr. Hindley that once. He went down: I set him a stool by the
fire, and offered him a quantity of good things: but he was sick and
could eat little, and my attempts to entertain him were thrown away. He
leant his two elbows on his knees, and his chin on his hands and
remained rapt in dumb meditation. On my inquiring the subject of his
thoughts, he answered gravely--'I'm trying to settle how I shall pay
Hindley back. I don't care how long I wait, if I can only do it at last.
I hope he will not die before I do!'
'For shame, Heathcliff!' said I.  'It is for God to punish wicked people;
we should learn to forgive.'
'No, God won't have the satisfaction that I shall,' he returned.  'I only
wish I knew the best way!  Let me alone, and I'll plan it out: while I'm
thinking of that I don't feel pain.'
'But, Mr. Lockwood, I forget these tales cannot divert you.  I'm annoyed
how I should dream of chattering on at such a rate; and your gruel cold,
and you nodding for bed!  I could have told Heathcliff's history, all
that you need hear, in half a dozen words.'
* * * * *
Thus interrupting herself, the housekeeper rose, and proceeded to lay
aside her sewing; but I felt incapable of moving from the hearth, and I
was very far from nodding.  'Sit still, Mrs. Dean,' I cried; 'do sit
still another half-hour.  You've done just right to tell the story
leisurely.  That is the method I like; and you must finish it in the same
style.  I am interested in every character you have mentioned, more or
less.'
'The clock is on the stroke of eleven, sir.'
'No matter--I'm not accustomed to go to bed in the long hours.  One or
two is early enough for a person who lies till ten.'
'You shouldn't lie till ten.  There's the very prime of the morning gone
long before that time.  A person who has not done one-half his day's work
by ten o'clock, runs a chance of leaving the other half undone.'
'Nevertheless, Mrs. Dean, resume your chair; because to-morrow I intend
lengthening the night till afternoon.  I prognosticate for myself an
obstinate cold, at least.'
'I hope not, sir.  Well, you must allow me to leap over some three years;
during that space Mrs. Earnshaw--'
'No, no, I'll allow nothing of the sort!  Are you acquainted with the
mood of mind in which, if you were seated alone, and the cat licking its
kitten on the rug before you, you would watch the operation so intently
that puss's neglect of one ear would put you seriously out of temper?'
'A terribly lazy mood, I should say.'
'On the contrary, a tiresomely active one. It is mine, at present; and,
therefore, continue minutely. I perceive that people in these regions
acquire over people in towns the value that a spider in a dungeon does
over a spider in a cottage, to their various occupants; and yet the
deepened attraction is not entirely owing to the situation of the
looker-on. They _do_ live more in earnest, more in themselves, and less
in surface, change, and frivolous external things. I could fancy a love
for life here almost possible; and I was a fixed unbeliever in any love
of a year's standing. One state resembles setting a hungry man down to a
single dish, on which he may concentrate his entire appetite and do it
justice; the other, introducing him to a table laid out by French cooks:
he can perhaps extract as much enjoyment from the whole; but each part
is a mere atom in his regard and remembrance.'
'Oh! here we are the same as anywhere else, when you get to know us,'
observed Mrs. Dean, somewhat puzzled at my speech.
'Excuse me,' I responded; 'you, my good friend, are a striking evidence
against that assertion.  Excepting a few provincialisms of slight
consequence, you have no marks of the manners which I am habituated to
consider as peculiar to your class.  I am sure you have thought a great
deal more than the generality of servants think.  You have been compelled
to cultivate your reflective faculties for want of occasions for
frittering your life away in silly trifles.'
Mrs. Dean laughed.
'I certainly esteem myself a steady, reasonable kind of body,' she said;
'not exactly from living among the hills and seeing one set of faces, and
one series of actions, from year's end to year's end; but I have
undergone sharp discipline, which has taught me wisdom; and then, I have
read more than you would fancy, Mr. Lockwood.  You could not open a book
in this library that I have not looked into, and got something out of
also: unless it be that range of Greek and Latin, and that of French; and
those I know one from another: it is as much as you can expect of a poor
man's daughter.  However, if I am to follow my story in true gossip's
fashion, I had better go on; and instead of leaping three years, I will
be content to pass to the next summer--the summer of 1778, that is nearly
twenty-three years ago.'
CHAPTER VIII
On the morning of a fine June day my first bonny little nursling, and the
last of the ancient Earnshaw stock, was born.  We were busy with the hay
in a far-away field, when the girl that usually brought our breakfasts
came running an hour too soon across the meadow and up the lane, calling
me as she ran.
'Oh, such a grand bairn!' she panted out.  'The finest lad that ever
breathed!  But the doctor says missis must go: he says she's been in a
consumption these many months.  I heard him tell Mr. Hindley: and now she
has nothing to keep her, and she'll be dead before winter.  You must come
home directly.  You're to nurse it, Nelly: to feed it with sugar and
milk, and take care of it day and night.  I wish I were you, because it
will be all yours when there is no missis!'
'But is she very ill?' I asked, flinging down my rake and tying my
bonnet.
'I guess she is; yet she looks bravely,' replied the girl, 'and she talks
as if she thought of living to see it grow a man.  She's out of her head
for joy, it's such a beauty!  If I were her I'm certain I should not die:
I should get better at the bare sight of it, in spite of Kenneth.  I was
fairly mad at him.  Dame Archer brought the cherub down to master, in the
house, and his face just began to light up, when the old croaker steps
forward, and says he--"Earnshaw, it's a blessing your wife has been
spared to leave you this son.  When she came, I felt convinced we
shouldn't keep her long; and now, I must tell you, the winter will
probably finish her.  Don't take on, and fret about it too much: it can't
be helped.  And besides, you should have known better than to choose such
a rush of a lass!"'
'And what did the master answer?' I inquired.
'I think he swore: but I didn't mind him, I was straining to see the
bairn,' and she began again to describe it rapturously.  I, as zealous as
herself, hurried eagerly home to admire, on my part; though I was very
sad for Hindley's sake.  He had room in his heart only for two idols--his
wife and himself: he doted on both, and adored one, and I couldn't
conceive how he would bear the loss.
When we got to Wuthering Heights, there he stood at the front door; and,
as I passed in, I asked, 'how was the baby?'
'Nearly ready to run about, Nell!' he replied, putting on a cheerful
smile.
'And the mistress?' I ventured to inquire; 'the doctor says she's--'
'Damn the doctor!' he interrupted, reddening.  'Frances is quite right:
she'll be perfectly well by this time next week.  Are you going
up-stairs? will you tell her that I'll come, if she'll promise not to
talk.  I left her because she would not hold her tongue; and she
must--tell her Mr. Kenneth says she must be quiet.'
I delivered this message to Mrs. Earnshaw; she seemed in flighty spirits,
and replied merrily, 'I hardly spoke a word, Ellen, and there he has gone
out twice, crying.  Well, say I promise I won't speak: but that does not
bind me not to laugh at him!'
Poor soul!  Till within a week of her death that gay heart never failed
her; and her husband persisted doggedly, nay, furiously, in affirming her
health improved every day.  When Kenneth warned him that his medicines
were useless at that stage of the malady, and he needn't put him to
further expense by attending her, he retorted, 'I know you need not--she's
well--she does not want any more attendance from you!  She never was in a
consumption.  It was a fever; and it is gone: her pulse is as slow as
mine now, and her cheek as cool.'
He told his wife the same story, and she seemed to believe him; but one
night, while leaning on his shoulder, in the act of saying she thought
she should be able to get up to-morrow, a fit of coughing took her--a
very slight one--he raised her in his arms; she put her two hands about
his neck, her face changed, and she was dead.
As the girl had anticipated, the child Hareton fell wholly into my hands.
Mr. Earnshaw, provided he saw him healthy and never heard him cry, was
contented, as far as regarded him.  For himself, he grew desperate: his
sorrow was of that kind that will not lament.  He neither wept nor
prayed; he cursed and defied: execrated God and man, and gave himself up
to reckless dissipation.  The servants could not bear his tyrannical and
evil conduct long: Joseph and I were the only two that would stay.  I had
not the heart to leave my charge; and besides, you know, I had been his
foster-sister, and excused his behaviour more readily than a stranger
would.  Joseph remained to hector over tenants and labourers; and because
it was his vocation to be where he had plenty of wickedness to reprove.
The master's bad ways and bad companions formed a pretty example for
Catherine and Heathcliff.  His treatment of the latter was enough to make
a fiend of a saint.  And, truly, it appeared as if the lad _were_
possessed of something diabolical at that period.  He delighted to
witness Hindley degrading himself past redemption; and became daily more
notable for savage sullenness and ferocity.  I could not half tell what
an infernal house we had.  The curate dropped calling, and nobody decent
came near us, at last; unless Edgar Linton's visits to Miss Cathy might
be an exception.  At fifteen she was the queen of the country-side; she
had no peer; and she did turn out a haughty, headstrong creature!  I own
I did not like her, after infancy was past; and I vexed her frequently by
trying to bring down her arrogance: she never took an aversion to me,
though.  She had a wondrous constancy to old attachments: even Heathcliff
kept his hold on her affections unalterably; and young Linton, with all
his superiority, found it difficult to make an equally deep impression.
He was my late master: that is his portrait over the fireplace.  It used
to hang on one side, and his wife's on the other; but hers has been
removed, or else you might see something of what she was.  Can you make
that out?
Mrs. Dean raised the candle, and I discerned a soft-featured face,
exceedingly resembling the young lady at the Heights, but more pensive
and amiable in expression.  It formed a sweet picture.  The long light
hair curled slightly on the temples; the eyes were large and serious; the
figure almost too graceful.  I did not marvel how Catherine Earnshaw
could forget her first friend for such an individual.  I marvelled much
how he, with a mind to correspond with his person, could fancy my idea of
Catherine Earnshaw.
'A very agreeable portrait,' I observed to the house-keeper.  'Is it
like?'
'Yes,' she answered; 'but he looked better when he was animated; that is
his everyday countenance: he wanted spirit in general.'
Catherine had kept up her acquaintance with the Lintons since her
five-weeks' residence among them; and as she had no temptation to show
her rough side in their company, and had the sense to be ashamed of
being rude where she experienced such invariable courtesy, she imposed
unwittingly on the old lady and gentleman by her ingenious cordiality;
gained the admiration of Isabella, and the heart and soul of her
brother: acquisitions that flattered her from the first--for she was
full of ambition--and led her to adopt a double character without
exactly intending to deceive any one. In the place where she heard
Heathcliff termed a 'vulgar young ruffian,' and 'worse than a brute,'
she took care not to act like him; but at home she had small inclination
to practise politeness that would only be laughed at, and restrain an
unruly nature when it would bring her neither credit nor praise.
Mr. Edgar seldom mustered courage to visit Wuthering Heights openly.  He
had a terror of Earnshaw's reputation, and shrunk from encountering him;
and yet he was always received with our best attempts at civility: the
master himself avoided offending him, knowing why he came; and if he
could not be gracious, kept out of the way.  I rather think his
appearance there was distasteful to Catherine; she was not artful, never
played the coquette, and had evidently an objection to her two friends
meeting at all; for when Heathcliff expressed contempt of Linton in his
presence, she could not half coincide, as she did in his absence; and
when Linton evinced disgust and antipathy to Heathcliff, she dared not
treat his sentiments with indifference, as if depreciation of her
playmate were of scarcely any consequence to her.  I've had many a laugh
at her perplexities and untold troubles, which she vainly strove to hide
from my mockery.  That sounds ill-natured: but she was so proud it became
really impossible to pity her distresses, till she should be chastened
into more humility.  She did bring herself, finally, to confess, and to
confide in me: there was not a soul else that she might fashion into an
adviser.
Mr. Hindley had gone from home one afternoon, and Heathcliff presumed to
give himself a holiday on the strength of it.  He had reached the age of
sixteen then, I think, and without having bad features, or being
deficient in intellect, he contrived to convey an impression of inward
and outward repulsiveness that his present aspect retains no traces of.
In the first place, he had by that time lost the benefit of his early
education: continual hard work, begun soon and concluded late, had
extinguished any curiosity he once possessed in pursuit of knowledge, and
any love for books or learning.  His childhood's sense of superiority,
instilled into him by the favours of old Mr. Earnshaw, was faded away.  He
struggled long to keep up an equality with Catherine in her studies, and
yielded with poignant though silent regret: but he yielded completely;
and there was no prevailing on him to take a step in the way of moving
upward, when he found he must, necessarily, sink beneath his former
level.  Then personal appearance sympathised with mental deterioration:
he acquired a slouching gait and ignoble look; his naturally reserved
disposition was exaggerated into an almost idiotic excess of unsociable
moroseness; and he took a grim pleasure, apparently, in exciting the
aversion rather than the esteem of his few acquaintances.
Catherine and he were constant companions still at his seasons of respite
from labour; but he had ceased to express his fondness for her in words,
and recoiled with angry suspicion from her girlish caresses, as if
conscious there could be no gratification in lavishing such marks of
affection on him.  On the before-named occasion he came into the house to
announce his intention of doing nothing, while I was assisting Miss Cathy
to arrange her dress: she had not reckoned on his taking it into his head
to be idle; and imagining she would have the whole place to herself, she
managed, by some means, to inform Mr. Edgar of her brother's absence, and
was then preparing to receive him.
'Cathy, are you busy this afternoon?' asked Heathcliff.  'Are you going
anywhere?'
'No, it is raining,' she answered.
'Why have you that silk frock on, then?' he said.  'Nobody coming here, I
hope?'
'Not that I know of,' stammered Miss: 'but you should be in the field
now, Heathcliff.  It is an hour past dinnertime: I thought you were
gone.'
'Hindley does not often free us from his accursed presence,' observed the
boy.  'I'll not work any more to-day: I'll stay with you.'
'Oh, but Joseph will tell,' she suggested; 'you'd better go!'
'Joseph is loading lime on the further side of Penistone Crags; it will
take him till dark, and he'll never know.'
So, saying, he lounged to the fire, and sat down.  Catherine reflected an
instant, with knitted brows--she found it needful to smooth the way for
an intrusion.  'Isabella and Edgar Linton talked of calling this
afternoon,' she said, at the conclusion of a minute's silence.  'As it
rains, I hardly expect them; but they may come, and if they do, you run
the risk of being scolded for no good.'
'Order Ellen to say you are engaged, Cathy,' he persisted; 'don't turn me
out for those pitiful, silly friends of yours!  I'm on the point,
sometimes, of complaining that they--but I'll not--'
'That they what?' cried Catherine, gazing at him with a troubled
countenance.  'Oh, Nelly!' she added petulantly, jerking her head away
from my hands, 'you've combed my hair quite out of curl!  That's enough;
let me alone.  What are you on the point of complaining about,
Heathcliff?'
'Nothing--only look at the almanack on that wall;' he pointed to a framed
sheet hanging near the window, and continued, 'The crosses are for the
evenings you have spent with the Lintons, the dots for those spent with
me.  Do you see?  I've marked every day.'
'Yes--very foolish: as if I took notice!' replied Catherine, in a peevish
tone.  'And where is the sense of that?'
'To show that I _do_ take notice,' said Heathcliff.
'And should I always be sitting with you?' she demanded, growing more
irritated.  'What good do I get?  What do you talk about?  You might be
dumb, or a baby, for anything you say to amuse me, or for anything you
do, either!'
'You never told me before that I talked too little, or that you disliked
my company, Cathy!' exclaimed Heathcliff, in much agitation.
'It's no company at all, when people know nothing and say nothing,' she
muttered.
Her companion rose up, but he hadn't time to express his feelings
further, for a horse's feet were heard on the flags, and having knocked
gently, young Linton entered, his face brilliant with delight at the
unexpected summon she had received.  Doubtless Catherine marked the
difference between her friends, as one came in and the other went out.
The contrast resembled what you see in exchanging a bleak, hilly, coal
country for a beautiful fertile valley; and his voice and greeting were
as opposite as his aspect.  He had a sweet, low manner of speaking, and
pronounced his words as you do: that's less gruff than we talk here, and
softer.
'I'm not come too soon, am I?' he said, casting a look at me: I had begun
to wipe the plate, and tidy some drawers at the far end in the dresser.
'No,' answered Catherine.  'What are you doing there, Nelly?'
'My work, Miss,' I replied.  (Mr. Hindley had given me directions to make
a third party in any private visits Linton chose to pay.)
She stepped behind me and whispered crossly, 'Take yourself and your
dusters off; when company are in the house, servants don't commence
scouring and cleaning in the room where they are!'
'It's a good opportunity, now that master is away,' I answered aloud: 'he
hates me to be fidgeting over these things in his presence.  I'm sure Mr.
Edgar will excuse me.'
'I hate you to be fidgeting in _my_ presence,' exclaimed the young lady
imperiously, not allowing her guest time to speak: she had failed to
recover her equanimity since the little dispute with Heathcliff.
'I'm sorry for it, Miss Catherine,' was my response; and I proceeded
assiduously with my occupation.
She, supposing Edgar could not see her, snatched the cloth from my hand,
and pinched me, with a prolonged wrench, very spitefully on the arm.  I've
said I did not love her, and rather relished mortifying her vanity now
and then: besides, she hurt me extremely; so I started up from my knees,
and screamed out, 'Oh, Miss, that's a nasty trick!  You have no right to
nip me, and I'm not going to bear it.'
'I didn't touch you, you lying creature!' cried she, her fingers tingling
to repeat the act, and her ears red with rage.  She never had power to
conceal her passion, it always set her whole complexion in a blaze.
'What's that, then?' I retorted, showing a decided purple witness to
refute her.
She stamped her foot, wavered a moment, and then, irresistibly impelled
by the naughty spirit within her, slapped me on the cheek: a stinging
blow that filled both eyes with water.
'Catherine, love!  Catherine!' interposed Linton, greatly shocked at the
double fault of falsehood and violence which his idol had committed.
'Leave the room, Ellen!' she repeated, trembling all over.
Little Hareton, who followed me everywhere, and was sitting near me on
the floor, at seeing my tears commenced crying himself, and sobbed out
complaints against 'wicked aunt Cathy,' which drew her fury on to his
unlucky head: she seized his shoulders, and shook him till the poor child
waxed livid, and Edgar thoughtlessly laid hold of her hands to deliver
him.  In an instant one was wrung free, and the astonished young man felt
it applied over his own ear in a way that could not be mistaken for jest.
He drew back in consternation.  I lifted Hareton in my arms, and walked
off to the kitchen with him, leaving the door of communication open, for
I was curious to watch how they would settle their disagreement.  The
insulted visitor moved to the spot where he had laid his hat, pale and
with a quivering lip.
'That's right!' I said to myself.  'Take warning and begone!  It's a
kindness to let you have a glimpse of her genuine disposition.'
'Where are you going?' demanded Catherine, advancing to the door.
He swerved aside, and attempted to pass.
'You must not go!' she exclaimed, energetically.
'I must and shall!' he replied in a subdued voice.
'No,' she persisted, grasping the handle; 'not yet, Edgar Linton: sit
down; you shall not leave me in that temper.  I should be miserable all
night, and I won't be miserable for you!'
'Can I stay after you have struck me?' asked Linton.
Catherine was mute.
'You've made me afraid and ashamed of you,' he continued; 'I'll not come
here again!'
Her eyes began to glisten and her lids to twinkle.
'And you told a deliberate untruth!' he said.
'I didn't!' she cried, recovering her speech; 'I did nothing
deliberately.  Well, go, if you please--get away!  And now I'll cry--I'll
cry myself sick!'
She dropped down on her knees by a chair, and set to weeping in serious
earnest.  Edgar persevered in his resolution as far as the court; there
he lingered.  I resolved to encourage him.
'Miss is dreadfully wayward, sir,' I called out.  'As bad as any marred
child: you'd better be riding home, or else she will be sick, only to
grieve us.'
The soft thing looked askance through the window: he possessed the power
to depart as much as a cat possesses the power to leave a mouse half
killed, or a bird half eaten.  Ah, I thought, there will be no saving
him: he's doomed, and flies to his fate!  And so it was: he turned
abruptly, hastened into the house again, shut the door behind him; and
when I went in a while after to inform them that Earnshaw had come home
rabid drunk, ready to pull the whole place about our ears (his ordinary
frame of mind in that condition), I saw the quarrel had merely effected a
closer intimacy--had broken the outworks of youthful timidity, and
enabled them to forsake the disguise of friendship, and confess
themselves lovers.
Intelligence of Mr. Hindley's arrival drove Linton speedily to his horse,
and Catherine to her chamber.  I went to hide little Hareton, and to take
the shot out of the master's fowling-piece, which he was fond of playing
with in his insane excitement, to the hazard of the lives of any who
provoked, or even attracted his notice too much; and I had hit upon the
plan of removing it, that he might do less mischief if he did go the
length of firing the gun.
CHAPTER IX
He entered, vociferating oaths dreadful to hear; and caught me in the act
of stowing his son away in the kitchen cupboard.  Hareton was impressed
with a wholesome terror of encountering either his wild beast's fondness
or his madman's rage; for in one he ran a chance of being squeezed and
kissed to death, and in the other of being flung into the fire, or dashed
against the wall; and the poor thing remained perfectly quiet wherever I
chose to put him.
'There, I've found it out at last!' cried Hindley, pulling me back by the
skin of my neck, like a dog.  'By heaven and hell, you've sworn between
you to murder that child!  I know how it is, now, that he is always out
of my way.  But, with the help of Satan, I shall make you swallow the
carving-knife, Nelly!  You needn't laugh; for I've just crammed Kenneth,
head-downmost, in the Black-horse marsh; and two is the same as one--and
I want to kill some of you: I shall have no rest till I do!'
'But I don't like the carving-knife, Mr. Hindley,' I answered; 'it has
been cutting red herrings.  I'd rather be shot, if you please.'
'You'd rather be damned!' he said; 'and so you shall.  No law in England
can hinder a man from keeping his house decent, and mine's abominable!
Open your mouth.'  He held the knife in his hand, and pushed its point
between my teeth: but, for my part, I was never much afraid of his
vagaries.  I spat out, and affirmed it tasted detestably--I would not
take it on any account.
'Oh!' said he, releasing me, 'I see that hideous little villain is not
Hareton: I beg your pardon, Nell.  If it be, he deserves flaying alive
for not running to welcome me, and for screaming as if I were a goblin.
Unnatural cub, come hither!  I'll teach thee to impose on a good-hearted,
deluded father.  Now, don't you think the lad would be handsomer cropped?
It makes a dog fiercer, and I love something fierce--get me a
scissors--something fierce and trim!  Besides, it's infernal
affectation--devilish conceit it is, to cherish our ears--we're asses
enough without them.  Hush, child, hush!  Well then, it is my darling!
wisht, dry thy eyes--there's a joy; kiss me.  What! it won't?  Kiss me,
Hareton!  Damn thee, kiss me!  By God, as if I would rear such a monster!
As sure as I'm living, I'll break the brat's neck.'
Poor Hareton was squalling and kicking in his father's arms with all his
might, and redoubled his yells when he carried him up-stairs and lifted
him over the banister.  I cried out that he would frighten the child into
fits, and ran to rescue him.  As I reached them, Hindley leant forward on
the rails to listen to a noise below; almost forgetting what he had in
his hands.  'Who is that?' he asked, hearing some one approaching the
stairs'-foot.  I leant forward also, for the purpose of signing to
Heathcliff, whose step I recognised, not to come further; and, at the
instant when my eye quitted Hareton, he gave a sudden spring, delivered
himself from the careless grasp that held him, and fell.
There was scarcely time to experience a thrill of horror before we saw
that the little wretch was safe.  Heathcliff arrived underneath just at
the critical moment; by a natural impulse he arrested his descent, and
setting him on his feet, looked up to discover the author of the
accident.  A miser who has parted with a lucky lottery ticket for five
shillings, and finds next day he has lost in the bargain five thousand
pounds, could not show a blanker countenance than he did on beholding the
figure of Mr. Earnshaw above.  It expressed, plainer than words could do,
the intensest anguish at having made himself the instrument of thwarting
his own revenge.  Had it been dark, I daresay he would have tried to
remedy the mistake by smashing Hareton's skull on the steps; but, we
witnessed his salvation; and I was presently below with my precious
charge pressed to my heart.  Hindley descended more leisurely, sobered
and abashed.
'It is your fault, Ellen,' he said; 'you should have kept him out of
sight: you should have taken him from me!  Is he injured anywhere?'
'Injured!' I cried angrily; 'if he is not killed, he'll be an idiot!  Oh!
I wonder his mother does not rise from her grave to see how you use him.
You're worse than a heathen--treating your own flesh and blood in that
manner!'  He attempted to touch the child, who, on finding himself with
me, sobbed off his terror directly.  At the first finger his father laid
on him, however, he shrieked again louder than before, and struggled as
if he would go into convulsions.
'You shall not meddle with him!' I continued.  'He hates you--they all
hate you--that's the truth!  A happy family you have; and a pretty state
you're come to!'
'I shall come to a prettier, yet, Nelly,' laughed the misguided man,
recovering his hardness.  'At present, convey yourself and him away.  And
hark you, Heathcliff! clear you too quite from my reach and hearing.  I
wouldn't murder you to-night; unless, perhaps, I set the house on fire:
but that's as my fancy goes.'
While saying this he took a pint bottle of brandy from the dresser, and
poured some into a tumbler.
'Nay, don't!' I entreated.  'Mr. Hindley, do take warning.  Have mercy on
this unfortunate boy, if you care nothing for yourself!'
'Any one will do better for him than I shall,' he answered.
'Have mercy on your own soul!' I said, endeavouring to snatch the glass
from his hand.
'Not I!  On the contrary, I shall have great pleasure in sending it to
perdition to punish its Maker,' exclaimed the blasphemer.  'Here's to its
hearty damnation!'
He drank the spirits and impatiently bade us go; terminating his command
with a sequel of horrid imprecations too bad to repeat or remember.
'It's a pity he cannot kill himself with drink,' observed Heathcliff,
muttering an echo of curses back when the door was shut.  'He's doing his
very utmost; but his constitution defies him.  Mr. Kenneth says he would
wager his mare that he'll outlive any man on this side Gimmerton, and go
to the grave a hoary sinner; unless some happy chance out of the common
course befall him.'
I went into the kitchen, and sat down to lull my little lamb to sleep.
Heathcliff, as I thought, walked through to the barn.  It turned out
afterwards that he only got as far as the other side the settle, when he
flung himself on a bench by the wall, removed from the fire and remained
silent.
I was rocking Hareton on my knee, and humming a song that began,--
It was far in the night, and the bairnies grat,
The mither beneath the mools heard that,
when Miss Cathy, who had listened to the hubbub from her room, put her
head in, and whispered,--'Are you alone, Nelly?'
'Yes, Miss,' I replied.
She entered and approached the hearth.  I, supposing she was going to say
something, looked up.  The expression of her face seemed disturbed and
anxious.  Her lips were half asunder, as if she meant to speak, and she
drew a breath; but it escaped in a sigh instead of a sentence.  I resumed
my song; not having forgotten her recent behaviour.
'Where's Heathcliff?' she said, interrupting me.
'About his work in the stable,' was my answer.
He did not contradict me; perhaps he had fallen into a doze.  There
followed another long pause, during which I perceived a drop or two
trickle from Catherine's cheek to the flags.  Is she sorry for her
shameful conduct?--I asked myself.  That will be a novelty: but she may
come to the point--as she will--I sha'n't help her!  No, she felt small
trouble regarding any subject, save her own concerns.
'Oh, dear!' she cried at last.  'I'm very unhappy!'
'A pity,' observed I.  'You're hard to please; so many friends and so few
cares, and can't make yourself content!'
'Nelly, will you keep a secret for me?' she pursued, kneeling down by me,
and lifting her winsome eyes to my face with that sort of look which
turns off bad temper, even when one has all the right in the world to
indulge it.
'Is it worth keeping?' I inquired, less sulkily.
'Yes, and it worries me, and I must let it out!  I want to know what I
should do.  To-day, Edgar Linton has asked me to marry him, and I've
given him an answer.  Now, before I tell you whether it was a consent or
denial, you tell me which it ought to have been.'
'Really, Miss Catherine, how can I know?' I replied.  'To be sure,
considering the exhibition you performed in his presence this afternoon,
I might say it would be wise to refuse him: since he asked you after
that, he must either be hopelessly stupid or a venturesome fool.'
'If you talk so, I won't tell you any more,' she returned, peevishly
rising to her feet.  'I accepted him, Nelly.  Be quick, and say whether I
was wrong!'
'You accepted him!  Then what good is it discussing the matter?  You have
pledged your word, and cannot retract.'
'But say whether I should have done so--do!' she exclaimed in an
irritated tone; chafing her hands together, and frowning.
'There are many things to be considered before that question can be
answered properly,' I said, sententiously.  'First and foremost, do you
love Mr. Edgar?'
'Who can help it?  Of course I do,' she answered.
Then I put her through the following catechism: for a girl of twenty-two
it was not injudicious.
'Why do you love him, Miss Cathy?'
'Nonsense, I do--that's sufficient.'
'By no means; you must say why?'
'Well, because he is handsome, and pleasant to be with.'
'Bad!' was my commentary.
'And because he is young and cheerful.'
'Bad, still.'
'And because he loves me.'
'Indifferent, coming there.'
'And he will be rich, and I shall like to be the greatest woman of the
neighbourhood, and I shall be proud of having such a husband.'
'Worst of all.  And now, say how you love him?'
'As everybody loves--You're silly, Nelly.'
'Not at all--Answer.'
'I love the ground under his feet, and the air over his head, and
everything he touches, and every word he says.  I love all his looks, and
all his actions, and him entirely and altogether.  There now!'
'And why?'
'Nay; you are making a jest of it: it is exceedingly ill-natured!  It's
no jest to me!' said the young lady, scowling, and turning her face to
the fire.
'I'm very far from jesting, Miss Catherine,' I replied.  'You love Mr.
Edgar because he is handsome, and young, and cheerful, and rich, and
loves you.  The last, however, goes for nothing: you would love him
without that, probably; and with it you wouldn't, unless he possessed the
four former attractions.'
'No, to be sure not: I should only pity him--hate him, perhaps, if he
were ugly, and a clown.'
'But there are several other handsome, rich young men in the world:
handsomer, possibly, and richer than he is.  What should hinder you from
loving them?'
'If there be any, they are out of my way: I've seen none like Edgar.'
'You may see some; and he won't always be handsome, and young, and may
not always be rich.'
'He is now; and I have only to do with the present.  I wish you would
speak rationally.'
'Well, that settles it: if you have only to do with the present, marry
Mr. Linton.'
'I don't want your permission for that--I _shall_ marry him: and yet you
have not told me whether I'm right.'
'Perfectly right; if people be right to marry only for the present.  And
now, let us hear what you are unhappy about.  Your brother will be
pleased; the old lady and gentleman will not object, I think; you will
escape from a disorderly, comfortless home into a wealthy, respectable
one; and you love Edgar, and Edgar loves you.  All seems smooth and easy:
where is the obstacle?'
'_Here_! and _here_!' replied Catherine, striking one hand on her
forehead, and the other on her breast: 'in whichever place the soul
lives.  In my soul and in my heart, I'm convinced I'm wrong!'
'That's very strange!  I cannot make it out.'
'It's my secret.  But if you will not mock at me, I'll explain it: I
can't do it distinctly; but I'll give you a feeling of how I feel.'
She seated herself by me again: her countenance grew sadder and graver,
and her clasped hands trembled.
'Nelly, do you never dream queer dreams?' she said, suddenly, after some
minutes' reflection.
'Yes, now and then,' I answered.
'And so do I.  I've dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me
ever after, and changed my ideas: they've gone through and through me,
like wine through water, and altered the colour of my mind.  And this is
one: I'm going to tell it--but take care not to smile at any part of it.'
'Oh! don't, Miss Catherine!' I cried.  'We're dismal enough without
conjuring up ghosts and visions to perplex us.  Come, come, be merry and
like yourself!  Look at little Hareton! _he's_ dreaming nothing dreary.
How sweetly he smiles in his sleep!'
'Yes; and how sweetly his father curses in his solitude!  You remember
him, I daresay, when he was just such another as that chubby thing:
nearly as young and innocent.  However, Nelly, I shall oblige you to
listen: it's not long; and I've no power to be merry to-night.'
'I won't hear it, I won't hear it!' I repeated, hastily.
I was superstitious about dreams then, and am still; and Catherine had an
unusual gloom in her aspect, that made me dread something from which I
might shape a prophecy, and foresee a fearful catastrophe.  She was
vexed, but she did not proceed.  Apparently taking up another subject,
she recommenced in a short time.
'If I were in heaven, Nelly, I should be extremely miserable.'
'Because you are not fit to go there,' I answered.  'All sinners would be
miserable in heaven.'
'But it is not for that.  I dreamt once that I was there.'
'I tell you I won't hearken to your dreams, Miss Catherine!  I'll go to
bed,' I interrupted again.
She laughed, and held me down; for I made a motion to leave my chair.
'This is nothing,' cried she: 'I was only going to say that heaven did
not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to
earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the
middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing
for joy.  That will do to explain my secret, as well as the other.  I've
no more business to marry Edgar Linton than I have to be in heaven; and
if the wicked man in there had not brought Heathcliff so low, I shouldn't
have thought of it.  It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he
shall never know how I love him: and that, not because he's handsome,
Nelly, but because he's more myself than I am.  Whatever our souls are
made of, his and mine are the same; and Linton's is as different as a
moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire.'
Ere this speech ended I became sensible of Heathcliff's presence.  Having
noticed a slight movement, I turned my head, and saw him rise from the
bench, and steal out noiselessly.  He had listened till he heard
Catherine say it would degrade her to marry him, and then he stayed to
hear no further.  My companion, sitting on the ground, was prevented by
the back of the settle from remarking his presence or departure; but I
started, and bade her hush!
'Why?' she asked, gazing nervously round.
'Joseph is here,' I answered, catching opportunely the roll of his
cartwheels up the road; 'and Heathcliff will come in with him.  I'm not
sure whether he were not at the door this moment.'
'Oh, he couldn't overhear me at the door!' said she.  'Give me Hareton,
while you get the supper, and when it is ready ask me to sup with you.  I
want to cheat my uncomfortable conscience, and be convinced that
Heathcliff has no notion of these things.  He has not, has he?  He does
not know what being in love is!'
'I see no reason that he should not know, as well as you,' I returned;
'and if you are his choice, he'll be the most unfortunate creature that
ever was born!  As soon as you become Mrs. Linton, he loses friend, and
love, and all!  Have you considered how you'll bear the separation, and
how he'll bear to be quite deserted in the world?  Because, Miss
Catherine--'
'He quite deserted! we separated!' she exclaimed, with an accent of
indignation.  'Who is to separate us, pray?  They'll meet the fate of
Milo!  Not as long as I live, Ellen: for no mortal creature.  Every
Linton on the face of the earth might melt into nothing before I could
consent to forsake Heathcliff.  Oh, that's not what I intend--that's not
what I mean!  I shouldn't be Mrs. Linton were such a price demanded!
He'll be as much to me as he has been all his lifetime.  Edgar must shake
off his antipathy, and tolerate him, at least.  He will, when he learns
my true feelings towards him.  Nelly, I see now you think me a selfish
wretch; but did it never strike you that if Heathcliff and I married, we
should be beggars? whereas, if I marry Linton I can aid Heathcliff to
rise, and place him out of my brother's power.'
'With your husband's money, Miss Catherine?' I asked.  'You'll find him
not so pliable as you calculate upon: and, though I'm hardly a judge, I
think that's the worst motive you've given yet for being the wife of
young Linton.'
'It is not,' retorted she; 'it is the best!  The others were the
satisfaction of my whims: and for Edgar's sake, too, to satisfy him.  This
is for the sake of one who comprehends in his person my feelings to Edgar
and myself.  I cannot express it; but surely you and everybody have a
notion that there is or should be an existence of yours beyond you.  What
were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained here?  My great
miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and
felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself.  If
all else perished, and _he_ remained, _I_ should still continue to be;
and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would
turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it.--My love for
Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well
aware, as winter changes the trees.  My love for Heathcliff resembles the
eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.
Nelly, I _am_ Heathcliff!  He's always, always in my mind: not as a
pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own
being.  So don't talk of our separation again: it is impracticable; and--'
She paused, and hid her face in the folds of my gown; but I jerked it
forcibly away.  I was out of patience with her folly!
'If I can make any sense of your nonsense, Miss,' I said, 'it only goes
to convince me that you are ignorant of the duties you undertake in
marrying; or else that you are a wicked, unprincipled girl.  But trouble
me with no more secrets: I'll not promise to keep them.'
'You'll keep that?' she asked, eagerly.
'No, I'll not promise,' I repeated.
She was about to insist, when the entrance of Joseph finished our
conversation; and Catherine removed her seat to a corner, and nursed
Hareton, while I made the supper.  After it was cooked, my fellow-servant
and I began to quarrel who should carry some to Mr. Hindley; and we
didn't settle it till all was nearly cold.  Then we came to the agreement
that we would let him ask, if he wanted any; for we feared particularly
to go into his presence when he had been some time alone.
'And how isn't that nowt comed in fro' th' field, be this time?  What is
he about? girt idle seeght!' demanded the old man, looking round for
Heathcliff.
'I'll call him,' I replied.  'He's in the barn, I've no doubt.'
I went and called, but got no answer.  On returning, I whispered to
Catherine that he had heard a good part of what she said, I was sure; and
told how I saw him quit the kitchen just as she complained of her
brother's conduct regarding him.  She jumped up in a fine fright, flung
Hareton on to the settle, and ran to seek for her friend herself; not
taking leisure to consider why she was so flurried, or how her talk would
have affected him.  She was absent such a while that Joseph proposed we
should wait no longer.  He cunningly conjectured they were staying away
in order to avoid hearing his protracted blessing.  They were 'ill eneugh
for ony fahl manners,' he affirmed.  And on their behalf he added that
night a special prayer to the usual quarter-of-an-hour's supplication
before meat, and would have tacked another to the end of the grace, had
not his young mistress broken in upon him with a hurried command that he
must run down the road, and, wherever Heathcliff had rambled, find and
make him re-enter directly!
'I want to speak to him, and I _must_, before I go upstairs,' she said.
'And the gate is open: he is somewhere out of hearing; for he would not
reply, though I shouted at the top of the fold as loud as I could.'
Joseph objected at first; she was too much in earnest, however, to suffer
contradiction; and at last he placed his hat on his head, and walked
grumbling forth.  Meantime, Catherine paced up and down the floor,
exclaiming--'I wonder where he is--I wonder where he can be!  What did I
say, Nelly?  I've forgotten.  Was he vexed at my bad humour this
afternoon?  Dear! tell me what I've said to grieve him?  I do wish he'd
come.  I do wish he would!'
'What a noise for nothing!' I cried, though rather uneasy myself.  'What
a trifle scares you!  It's surely no great cause of alarm that Heathcliff
should take a moonlight saunter on the moors, or even lie too sulky to
speak to us in the hay-loft.  I'll engage he's lurking there.  See if I
don't ferret him out!'
I departed to renew my search; its result was disappointment, and
Joseph's quest ended in the same.
'Yon lad gets war und war!' observed he on re-entering.  'He's left th'
gate at t' full swing, and Miss's pony has trodden dahn two rigs o' corn,
and plottered through, raight o'er into t' meadow!  Hahsomdiver, t'
maister 'ull play t' devil to-morn, and he'll do weel.  He's patience
itsseln wi' sich careless, offald craters--patience itsseln he is!  Bud
he'll not be soa allus--yah's see, all on ye!  Yah mun'n't drive him out
of his heead for nowt!'
'Have you found Heathcliff, you ass?' interrupted Catherine.  'Have you
been looking for him, as I ordered?'
'I sud more likker look for th' horse,' he replied.  'It 'ud be to more
sense.  Bud I can look for norther horse nur man of a neeght loike
this--as black as t' chimbley! und Heathcliff's noan t' chap to coom at
_my_ whistle--happen he'll be less hard o' hearing wi' _ye_!'
It _was_ a very dark evening for summer: the clouds appeared inclined to
thunder, and I said we had better all sit down; the approaching rain
would be certain to bring him home without further trouble.  However,
Catherine would not be persuaded into tranquillity.  She kept wandering
to and fro, from the gate to the door, in a state of agitation which
permitted no repose; and at length took up a permanent situation on one
side of the wall, near the road: where, heedless of my expostulations and
the growling thunder, and the great drops that began to plash around her,
she remained, calling at intervals, and then listening, and then crying
outright.  She beat Hareton, or any child, at a good passionate fit of
crying.
About midnight, while we still sat up, the storm came rattling over the
Heights in full fury.  There was a violent wind, as well as thunder, and
either one or the other split a tree off at the corner of the building: a
huge bough fell across the roof, and knocked down a portion of the east
chimney-stack, sending a clatter of stones and soot into the
kitchen-fire.  We thought a bolt had fallen in the middle of us; and
Joseph swung on to his knees, beseeching the Lord to remember the
patriarchs Noah and Lot, and, as in former times, spare the righteous,
though he smote the ungodly.  I felt some sentiment that it must be a
judgment on us also.  The Jonah, in my mind, was Mr. Earnshaw; and I
shook the handle of his den that I might ascertain if he were yet living.
He replied audibly enough, in a fashion which made my companion
vociferate, more clamorously than before, that a wide distinction might
be drawn between saints like himself and sinners like his master.  But
the uproar passed away in twenty minutes, leaving us all unharmed;
excepting Cathy, who got thoroughly drenched for her obstinacy in
refusing to take shelter, and standing bonnetless and shawlless to catch
as much water as she could with her hair and clothes.  She came in and
lay down on the settle, all soaked as she was, turning her face to the
back, and putting her hands before it.
'Well, Miss!' I exclaimed, touching her shoulder; 'you are not bent on
getting your death, are you?  Do you know what o'clock it is?  Half-past
twelve.  Come, come to bed! there's no use waiting any longer on that
foolish boy: he'll be gone to Gimmerton, and he'll stay there now.  He
guesses we shouldn't wait for him till this late hour: at least, he
guesses that only Mr. Hindley would be up; and he'd rather avoid having
the door opened by the master.'
'Nay, nay, he's noan at Gimmerton,' said Joseph.  'I's niver wonder but
he's at t' bothom of a bog-hoile.  This visitation worn't for nowt, and I
wod hev' ye to look out, Miss--yah muh be t' next.  Thank Hivin for all!
All warks togither for gooid to them as is chozzen, and piked out fro'
th' rubbidge!  Yah knaw whet t' Scripture ses.'  And he began quoting
several texts, referring us to chapters and verses where we might find
them.
I, having vainly begged the wilful girl to rise and remove her wet
things, left him preaching and her shivering, and betook myself to bed
with little Hareton, who slept as fast as if everyone had been sleeping
round him.  I heard Joseph read on a while afterwards; then I
distinguished his slow step on the ladder, and then I dropped asleep.
Coming down somewhat later than usual, I saw, by the sunbeams piercing
the chinks of the shutters, Miss Catherine still seated near the
fireplace.  The house-door was ajar, too; light entered from its unclosed
windows; Hindley had come out, and stood on the kitchen hearth, haggard
and drowsy.
'What ails you, Cathy?' he was saying when I entered: 'you look as dismal
as a drowned whelp.  Why are you so damp and pale, child?'
'I've been wet,' she answered reluctantly, 'and I'm cold, that's all.'
'Oh, she is naughty!' I cried, perceiving the master to be tolerably
sober.  'She got steeped in the shower of yesterday evening, and there
she has sat the night through, and I couldn't prevail on her to stir.'
Mr. Earnshaw stared at us in surprise.  'The night through,' he repeated.
'What kept her up? not fear of the thunder, surely?  That was over hours
since.'
Neither of us wished to mention Heathcliff's absence, as long as we could
conceal it; so I replied, I didn't know how she took it into her head to
sit up; and she said nothing.  The morning was fresh and cool; I threw
back the lattice, and presently the room filled with sweet scents from
the garden; but Catherine called peevishly to me, 'Ellen, shut the
window.  I'm starving!'  And her teeth chattered as she shrank closer to
the almost extinguished embers.
'She's ill,' said Hindley, taking her wrist; 'I suppose that's the reason
she would not go to bed.  Damn it!  I don't want to be troubled with more
sickness here.  What took you into the rain?'
'Running after t' lads, as usuald!' croaked Joseph, catching an
opportunity from our hesitation to thrust in his evil tongue.  'If I war
yah, maister, I'd just slam t' boards i' their faces all on 'em, gentle
and simple!  Never a day ut yah're off, but yon cat o' Linton comes
sneaking hither; and Miss Nelly, shoo's a fine lass! shoo sits watching
for ye i' t' kitchen; and as yah're in at one door, he's out at t'other;
and, then, wer grand lady goes a-courting of her side!  It's bonny
behaviour, lurking amang t' fields, after twelve o' t' night, wi' that
fahl, flaysome divil of a gipsy, Heathcliff!  They think _I'm_ blind; but
I'm noan: nowt ut t' soart!--I seed young Linton boath coming and going,
and I seed _yah_' (directing his discourse to me), 'yah gooid fur nowt,
slattenly witch! nip up and bolt into th' house, t' minute yah heard t'
maister's horse-fit clatter up t' road.'
'Silence, eavesdropper!' cried Catherine; 'none of your insolence before
me!  Edgar Linton came yesterday by chance, Hindley; and it was _I_ who
told him to be off: because I knew you would not like to have met him as
you were.'
'You lie, Cathy, no doubt,' answered her brother, 'and you are a
confounded simpleton!  But never mind Linton at present: tell me, were
you not with Heathcliff last night?  Speak the truth, now.  You need not
be afraid of harming him: though I hate him as much as ever, he did me a
good turn a short time since that will make my conscience tender of
breaking his neck.  To prevent it, I shall send him about his business
this very morning; and after he's gone, I'd advise you all to look sharp:
I shall only have the more humour for you.'
'I never saw Heathcliff last night,' answered Catherine, beginning to sob
bitterly: 'and if you do turn him out of doors, I'll go with him.  But,
perhaps, you'll never have an opportunity: perhaps, he's gone.'  Here she
burst into uncontrollable grief, and the remainder of her words were
inarticulate.
Hindley lavished on her a torrent of scornful abuse, and bade her get to
her room immediately, or she shouldn't cry for nothing!  I obliged her to
obey; and I shall never forget what a scene she acted when we reached her
chamber: it terrified me.  I thought she was going mad, and I begged
Joseph to run for the doctor.  It proved the commencement of delirium:
Mr. Kenneth, as soon as he saw her, pronounced her dangerously ill; she
had a fever.  He bled her, and he told me to let her live on whey and
water-gruel, and take care she did not throw herself downstairs or out of
the window; and then he left: for he had enough to do in the parish,
where two or three miles was the ordinary distance between cottage and
cottage.
Though I cannot say I made a gentle nurse, and Joseph and the master were
no better, and though our patient was as wearisome and headstrong as a
patient could be, she weathered it through.  Old Mrs. Linton paid us
several visits, to be sure, and set things to rights, and scolded and
ordered us all; and when Catherine was convalescent, she insisted on
conveying her to Thrushcross Grange: for which deliverance we were very
grateful.  But the poor dame had reason to repent of her kindness: she
and her husband both took the fever, and died within a few days of each
other.
Our young lady returned to us saucier and more passionate, and haughtier
than ever.  Heathcliff had never been heard of since the evening of the
thunder-storm; and, one day, I had the misfortune, when she had provoked
me exceedingly, to lay the blame of his disappearance on her: where
indeed it belonged, as she well knew.  From that period, for several
months, she ceased to hold any communication with me, save in the
relation of a mere servant.  Joseph fell under a ban also: he would speak
his mind, and lecture her all the same as if she were a little girl; and
she esteemed herself a woman, and our mistress, and thought that her
recent illness gave her a claim to be treated with consideration.  Then
the doctor had said that she would not bear crossing much; she ought to
have her own way; and it was nothing less than murder in her eyes for any
one to presume to stand up and contradict her.  From Mr. Earnshaw and his
companions she kept aloof; and tutored by Kenneth, and serious threats of
a fit that often attended her rages, her brother allowed her whatever she
pleased to demand, and generally avoided aggravating her fiery temper.  He
was rather too indulgent in humouring her caprices; not from affection,
but from pride: he wished earnestly to see her bring honour to the family
by an alliance with the Lintons, and as long as she let him alone she
might trample on us like slaves, for aught he cared!  Edgar Linton, as
multitudes have been before and will be after him, was infatuated: and
believed himself the happiest man alive on the day he led her to
Gimmerton Chapel, three years subsequent to his father's death.
Much against my inclination, I was persuaded to leave Wuthering Heights
and accompany her here. Little Hareton was nearly five years old, and I
had just begun to teach him his letters.  We made a sad parting; but
Catherine's tears were more powerful than ours.  When I refused to go,
and when she found her entreaties did not move me, she went lamenting to
her husband and brother.  The former offered me munificent wages; the
latter ordered me to pack up: he wanted no women in the house, he said,
now that there was no mistress; and as to Hareton, the curate should take
him in hand, by-and-by.  And so I had but one choice left: to do as I was
ordered.  I told the master he got rid of all decent people only to run
to ruin a little faster; I kissed Hareton, said good-by; and since then
he has been a stranger: and it's very queer to think it, but I've no
doubt he has completely forgotten all about Ellen Dean, and that he was
ever more than all the world to her and she to him!
* * * * *
At this point of the housekeeper's story she chanced to glance towards
the time-piece over the chimney; and was in amazement on seeing the
minute-hand measure half-past one.  She would not hear of staying a
second longer: in truth, I felt rather disposed to defer the sequel of
her narrative myself.  And now that she is vanished to her rest, and I
have meditated for another hour or two, I shall summon courage to go
also, in spite of aching laziness of head and limbs.
CHAPTER X
A charming introduction to a hermit's life!  Four weeks' torture,
tossing, and sickness!  Oh, these bleak winds and bitter northern skies,
and impassable roads, and dilatory country surgeons!  And oh, this dearth
of the human physiognomy! and, worse than all, the terrible intimation of
Kenneth that I need not expect to be out of doors till spring!
Mr. Heathcliff has just honoured me with a call.  About seven days ago he
sent me a brace of grouse--the last of the season.  Scoundrel!  He is not
altogether guiltless in this illness of mine; and that I had a great mind
to tell him.  But, alas! how could I offend a man who was charitable
enough to sit at my bedside a good hour, and talk on some other subject
than pills and draughts, blisters and leeches?  This is quite an easy
interval.  I am too weak to read; yet I feel as if I could enjoy
something interesting.  Why not have up Mrs. Dean to finish her tale?  I
can recollect its chief incidents, as far as she had gone.  Yes: I
remember her hero had run off, and never been heard of for three years;
and the heroine was married.  I'll ring: she'll be delighted to find me
capable of talking cheerfully.  Mrs. Dean came.
'It wants twenty minutes, sir, to taking the medicine,' she commenced.
'Away, away with it!' I replied; 'I desire to have--'
'The doctor says you must drop the powders.'
'With all my heart!  Don't interrupt me.  Come and take your seat here.
Keep your fingers from that bitter phalanx of vials.  Draw your knitting
out of your pocket--that will do--now continue the history of Mr.
Heathcliff, from where you left off, to the present day.  Did he finish
his education on the Continent, and come back a gentleman? or did he get
a sizar's place at college, or escape to America, and earn honours by
drawing blood from his foster-country? or make a fortune more promptly on
the English highways?'
'He may have done a little in all these vocations, Mr. Lockwood; but I
couldn't give my word for any.  I stated before that I didn't know how he
gained his money; neither am I aware of the means he took to raise his
mind from the savage ignorance into which it was sunk: but, with your
leave, I'll proceed in my own fashion, if you think it will amuse and not
weary you.  Are you feeling better this morning?'
'Much.'
'That's good news.'
* * * * *
I got Miss Catherine and myself to Thrushcross Grange; and, to my
agreeable disappointment, she behaved infinitely better than I dared to
expect.  She seemed almost over-fond of Mr. Linton; and even to his
sister she showed plenty of affection.  They were both very attentive to
her comfort, certainly.  It was not the thorn bending to the
honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn.  There were no
mutual concessions: one stood erect, and the others yielded: and who can
be ill-natured and bad-tempered when they encounter neither opposition
nor indifference?  I observed that Mr. Edgar had a deep-rooted fear of
ruffling her humour.  He concealed it from her; but if ever he heard me
answer sharply, or saw any other servant grow cloudy at some imperious
order of hers, he would show his trouble by a frown of displeasure that
never darkened on his own account.  He many a time spoke sternly to me
about my pertness; and averred that the stab of a knife could not inflict
a worse pang than he suffered at seeing his lady vexed.  Not to grieve a
kind master, I learned to be less touchy; and, for the space of half a
year, the gunpowder lay as harmless as sand, because no fire came near to
explode it.  Catherine had seasons of gloom and silence now and then:
they were respected with sympathising silence by her husband, who
ascribed them to an alteration in her constitution, produced by her
perilous illness; as she was never subject to depression of spirits
before.  The return of sunshine was welcomed by answering sunshine from
him.  I believe I may assert that they were really in possession of deep
and growing happiness.
It ended.  Well, we _must_ be for ourselves in the long run; the mild and
generous are only more justly selfish than the domineering; and it ended
when circumstances caused each to feel that the one's interest was not
the chief consideration in the other's thoughts.  On a mellow evening in
September, I was coming from the garden with a heavy basket of apples
which I had been gathering.  It had got dusk, and the moon looked over
the high wall of the court, causing undefined shadows to lurk in the
corners of the numerous projecting portions of the building.  I set my
burden on the house-steps by the kitchen-door, and lingered to rest, and
drew in a few more breaths of the soft, sweet air; my eyes were on the
moon, and my back to the entrance, when I heard a voice behind me
say,--'Nelly, is that you?'
It was a deep voice, and foreign in tone; yet there was something in the
manner of pronouncing my name which made it sound familiar.  I turned
about to discover who spoke, fearfully; for the doors were shut, and I
had seen nobody on approaching the steps.  Something stirred in the
porch; and, moving nearer, I distinguished a tall man dressed in dark
clothes, with dark face and hair.  He leant against the side, and held
his fingers on the latch as if intending to open for himself.  'Who can
it be?' I thought.  'Mr. Earnshaw?  Oh, no!  The voice has no resemblance
to his.'
'I have waited here an hour,' he resumed, while I continued staring; 'and
the whole of that time all round has been as still as death.  I dared not
enter.  You do not know me?  Look, I'm not a stranger!'
A ray fell on his features; the cheeks were sallow, and half covered with
black whiskers; the brows lowering, the eyes deep-set and singular.  I
remembered the eyes.
'What!' I cried, uncertain whether to regard him as a worldly visitor,
and I raised my hands in amazement.  'What! you come back?  Is it really
you?  Is it?'
'Yes, Heathcliff,' he replied, glancing from me up to the windows, which
reflected a score of glittering moons, but showed no lights from within.
'Are they at home? where is she?  Nelly, you are not glad! you needn't be
so disturbed.  Is she here?  Speak!  I want to have one word with
her--your mistress.  Go, and say some person from Gimmerton desires to
see her.'
'How will she take it?' I exclaimed.  'What will she do?  The surprise
bewilders me--it will put her out of her head!  And you _are_ Heathcliff!
But altered!  Nay, there's no comprehending it.  Have you been for a
soldier?'
'Go and carry my message,' he interrupted, impatiently.  'I'm in hell
till you do!'
He lifted the latch, and I entered; but when I got to the parlour where
Mr. and Mrs. Linton were, I could not persuade myself to proceed.  At
length I resolved on making an excuse to ask if they would have the
candles lighted, and I opened the door.
They sat together in a window whose lattice lay back against the wall,
and displayed, beyond the garden trees, and the wild green park, the
valley of Gimmerton, with a long line of mist winding nearly to its top
(for very soon after you pass the chapel, as you may have noticed, the
sough that runs from the marshes joins a beck which follows the bend of
the glen).  Wuthering Heights rose above this silvery vapour; but our old
house was invisible; it rather dips down on the other side.  Both the
room and its occupants, and the scene they gazed on, looked wondrously
peaceful.  I shrank reluctantly from performing my errand; and was
actually going away leaving it unsaid, after having put my question about
the candles, when a sense of my folly compelled me to return, and mutter,
'A person from Gimmerton wishes to see you ma'am.'
'What does he want?' asked Mrs. Linton.
'I did not question him,' I answered.
'Well, close the curtains, Nelly,' she said; 'and bring up tea.  I'll be
back again directly.'
She quitted the apartment; Mr. Edgar inquired, carelessly, who it was.
'Some one mistress does not expect,' I replied.  'That Heathcliff--you
recollect him, sir--who used to live at Mr. Earnshaw's.'
'What! the gipsy--the ploughboy?' he cried.  'Why did you not say so to
Catherine?'
'Hush! you must not call him by those names, master,' I said.  'She'd be
sadly grieved to hear you.  She was nearly heartbroken when he ran off.  I
guess his return will make a jubilee to her.'
Mr. Linton walked to a window on the other side of the room that
overlooked the court.  He unfastened it, and leant out.  I suppose they
were below, for he exclaimed quickly: 'Don't stand there, love!  Bring
the person in, if it be anyone particular.'  Ere long, I heard the click
of the latch, and Catherine flew up-stairs, breathless and wild; too
excited to show gladness: indeed, by her face, you would rather have
surmised an awful calamity.
'Oh, Edgar, Edgar!' she panted, flinging her arms round his neck.  'Oh,
Edgar darling!  Heathcliff's come back--he is!'  And she tightened her
embrace to a squeeze.
'Well, well,' cried her husband, crossly, 'don't strangle me for that!  He
never struck me as such a marvellous treasure.  There is no need to be
frantic!'
'I know you didn't like him,' she answered, repressing a little the
intensity of her delight.  'Yet, for my sake, you must be friends now.
Shall I tell him to come up?'
'Here,' he said, 'into the parlour?'
'Where else?' she asked.
He looked vexed, and suggested the kitchen as a more suitable place for
him.  Mrs. Linton eyed him with a droll expression--half angry, half
laughing at his fastidiousness.
'No,' she added, after a while; 'I cannot sit in the kitchen.  Set two
tables here, Ellen: one for your master and Miss Isabella, being gentry;
the other for Heathcliff and myself, being of the lower orders.  Will
that please you, dear?  Or must I have a fire lighted elsewhere?  If so,
give directions.  I'll run down and secure my guest.  I'm afraid the joy
is too great to be real!'
She was about to dart off again; but Edgar arrested her.
'_You_ bid him step up,' he said, addressing me; 'and, Catherine, try to
be glad, without being absurd.  The whole household need not witness the
sight of your welcoming a runaway servant as a brother.'
I descended, and found Heathcliff waiting under the porch, evidently
anticipating an invitation to enter.  He followed my guidance without
waste of words, and I ushered him into the presence of the master and
mistress, whose flushed cheeks betrayed signs of warm talking.  But the
lady's glowed with another feeling when her friend appeared at the door:
she sprang forward, took both his hands, and led him to Linton; and then
she seized Linton's reluctant fingers and crushed them into his.  Now,
fully revealed by the fire and candlelight, I was amazed, more than ever,
to behold the transformation of Heathcliff.  He had grown a tall,
athletic, well-formed man; beside whom my master seemed quite slender and
youth-like.  His upright carriage suggested the idea of his having been
in the army.  His countenance was much older in expression and decision
of feature than Mr. Linton's; it looked intelligent, and retained no
marks of former degradation.  A half-civilised ferocity lurked yet in the
depressed brows and eyes full of black fire, but it was subdued; and his
manner was even dignified: quite divested of roughness, though stern for
grace.  My master's surprise equalled or exceeded mine: he remained for a
minute at a loss how to address the ploughboy, as he had called him.
Heathcliff dropped his slight hand, and stood looking at him coolly till
he chose to speak.
'Sit down, sir,' he said, at length.  'Mrs. Linton, recalling old times,
would have me give you a cordial reception; and, of course, I am
gratified when anything occurs to please her.'
'And I also,' answered Heathcliff, 'especially if it be anything in which
I have a part.  I shall stay an hour or two willingly.'
He took a seat opposite Catherine, who kept her gaze fixed on him as if
she feared he would vanish were she to remove it.  He did not raise his
to her often: a quick glance now and then sufficed; but it flashed back,
each time more confidently, the undisguised delight he drank from hers.
They were too much absorbed in their mutual joy to suffer embarrassment.
Not so Mr. Edgar: he grew pale with pure annoyance: a feeling that
reached its climax when his lady rose, and stepping across the rug,
seized Heathcliff's hands again, and laughed like one beside herself.
'I shall think it a dream to-morrow!' she cried.  'I shall not be able to
believe that I have seen, and touched, and spoken to you once more.  And
yet, cruel Heathcliff! you don't deserve this welcome.  To be absent and
silent for three years, and never to think of me!'
'A little more than you have thought of me,' he murmured.  'I heard of
your marriage, Cathy, not long since; and, while waiting in the yard
below, I meditated this plan--just to have one glimpse of your face, a
stare of surprise, perhaps, and pretended pleasure; afterwards settle my
score with Hindley; and then prevent the law by doing execution on
myself.  Your welcome has put these ideas out of my mind; but beware of
meeting me with another aspect next time!  Nay, you'll not drive me off
again.  You were really sorry for me, were you?  Well, there was cause.
I've fought through a bitter life since I last heard your voice; and you
must forgive me, for I struggled only for you!'
'Catherine, unless we are to have cold tea, please to come to the table,'
interrupted Linton, striving to preserve his ordinary tone, and a due
measure of politeness.  'Mr. Heathcliff will have a long walk, wherever
he may lodge to-night; and I'm thirsty.'
She took her post before the urn; and Miss Isabella came, summoned by the
bell; then, having handed their chairs forward, I left the room.  The
meal hardly endured ten minutes.  Catherine's cup was never filled: she
could neither eat nor drink.  Edgar had made a slop in his saucer, and
scarcely swallowed a mouthful.  Their guest did not protract his stay
that evening above an hour longer.  I asked, as he departed, if he went
to Gimmerton?
'No, to Wuthering Heights,' he answered: 'Mr. Earnshaw invited me, when I
called this morning.'
Mr. Earnshaw invited _him_! and _he_ called on Mr. Earnshaw!  I pondered
this sentence painfully, after he was gone.  Is he turning out a bit of a
hypocrite, and coming into the country to work mischief under a cloak?  I
mused: I had a presentiment in the bottom of my heart that he had better
have remained away.
About the middle of the night, I was wakened from my first nap by Mrs.
Linton gliding into my chamber, taking a seat on my bedside, and pulling
me by the hair to rouse me.
'I cannot rest, Ellen,' she said, by way of apology.  'And I want some
living creature to keep me company in my happiness!  Edgar is sulky,
because I'm glad of a thing that does not interest him: he refuses to
open his mouth, except to utter pettish, silly speeches; and he affirmed
I was cruel and selfish for wishing to talk when he was so sick and
sleepy.  He always contrives to be sick at the least cross!  I gave a few
sentences of commendation to Heathcliff, and he, either for a headache or
a pang of envy, began to cry: so I got up and left him.'
'What use is it praising Heathcliff to him?' I answered.  'As lads they
had an aversion to each other, and Heathcliff would hate just as much to
hear him praised: it's human nature.  Let Mr. Linton alone about him,
unless you would like an open quarrel between them.'
'But does it not show great weakness?' pursued she.  'I'm not envious: I
never feel hurt at the brightness of Isabella's yellow hair and the
whiteness of her skin, at her dainty elegance, and the fondness all the
family exhibit for her.  Even you, Nelly, if we have a dispute sometimes,
you back Isabella at once; and I yield like a foolish mother: I call her
a darling, and flatter her into a good temper.  It pleases her brother to
see us cordial, and that pleases me.  But they are very much alike: they
are spoiled children, and fancy the world was made for their
accommodation; and though I humour both, I think a smart chastisement
might improve them all the same.'
'You're mistaken, Mrs. Linton,' said I.  'They humour you: I know what
there would be to do if they did not.  You can well afford to indulge
their passing whims as long as their business is to anticipate all your
desires.  You may, however, fall out, at last, over something of equal
consequence to both sides; and then those you term weak are very capable
of being as obstinate as you.'
'And then we shall fight to the death, sha'n't we, Nelly?' she returned,
laughing.  'No! I tell you, I have such faith in Linton's love, that I
believe I might kill him, and he wouldn't wish to retaliate.'
I advised her to value him the more for his affection.
'I do,' she answered, 'but he needn't resort to whining for trifles.  It
is childish and, instead of melting into tears because I said that
Heathcliff was now worthy of anyone's regard, and it would honour the
first gentleman in the country to be his friend, he ought to have said it
for me, and been delighted from sympathy.  He must get accustomed to him,
and he may as well like him: considering how Heathcliff has reason to
object to him, I'm sure he behaved excellently!'
'What do you think of his going to Wuthering Heights?' I inquired.  'He
is reformed in every respect, apparently: quite a Christian: offering the
right hand of fellowship to his enemies all around!'
'He explained it,' she replied.  'I wonder as much as you.  He said he
called to gather information concerning me from you, supposing you
resided there still; and Joseph told Hindley, who came out and fell to
questioning him of what he had been doing, and how he had been living;
and finally, desired him to walk in.  There were some persons sitting at
cards; Heathcliff joined them; my brother lost some money to him, and,
finding him plentifully supplied, he requested that he would come again
in the evening: to which he consented.  Hindley is too reckless to select
his acquaintance prudently: he doesn't trouble himself to reflect on the
causes he might have for mistrusting one whom he has basely injured.  But
Heathcliff affirms his principal reason for resuming a connection with
his ancient persecutor is a wish to install himself in quarters at walking
distance from the Grange, and an attachment to the house where we lived
together; and likewise a hope that I shall have more opportunities of
seeing him there than I could have if he settled in Gimmerton.  He means
to offer liberal payment for permission to lodge at the Heights; and
doubtless my brother's covetousness will prompt him to accept the terms:
he was always greedy; though what he grasps with one hand he flings away
with the other.'
'It's a nice place for a young man to fix his dwelling in!' said I.  'Have
you no fear of the consequences, Mrs. Linton?'
'None for my friend,' she replied: 'his strong head will keep him from
danger; a little for Hindley: but he can't be made morally worse than he
is; and I stand between him and bodily harm.  The event of this evening
has reconciled me to God and humanity!  I had risen in angry rebellion
against Providence.  Oh, I've endured very, very bitter misery, Nelly!  If
that creature knew how bitter, he'd be ashamed to cloud its removal with
idle petulance.  It was kindness for him which induced me to bear it
alone: had I expressed the agony I frequently felt, he would have been
taught to long for its alleviation as ardently as I.  However, it's over,
and I'll take no revenge on his folly; I can afford to suffer anything
hereafter!  Should the meanest thing alive slap me on the cheek, I'd not
only turn the other, but I'd ask pardon for provoking it; and, as a
proof, I'll go make my peace with Edgar instantly.  Good-night!  I'm an
angel!'
In this self-complacent conviction she departed; and the success of her
fulfilled resolution was obvious on the morrow: Mr. Linton had not only
abjured his peevishness (though his spirits seemed still subdued by
Catherine's exuberance of vivacity), but he ventured no objection to her
taking Isabella with her to Wuthering Heights in the afternoon; and she
rewarded him with such a summer of sweetness and affection in return as
made the house a paradise for several days; both master and servants
profiting from the perpetual sunshine.
Heathcliff--Mr. Heathcliff I should say in future--used the liberty of
visiting at Thrushcross Grange cautiously, at first: he seemed estimating
how far its owner would bear his intrusion.  Catherine, also, deemed it
judicious to moderate her expressions of pleasure in receiving him; and
he gradually established his right to be expected.  He retained a great
deal of the reserve for which his boyhood was remarkable; and that served
to repress all startling demonstrations of feeling.  My master's
uneasiness experienced a lull, and further circumstances diverted it into
another channel for a space.
His new source of trouble sprang from the not anticipated misfortune of
Isabella Linton evincing a sudden and irresistible attraction towards the
tolerated guest.  She was at that time a charming young lady of eighteen;
infantile in manners, though possessed of keen wit, keen feelings, and a
keen temper, too, if irritated.  Her brother, who loved her tenderly, was
appalled at this fantastic preference.  Leaving aside the degradation of
an alliance with a nameless man, and the possible fact that his property,
in default of heirs male, might pass into such a one's power, he had
sense to comprehend Heathcliff's disposition: to know that, though his
exterior was altered, his mind was unchangeable and unchanged.  And he
dreaded that mind: it revolted him: he shrank forebodingly from the idea
of committing Isabella to its keeping.  He would have recoiled still more
had he been aware that her attachment rose unsolicited, and was bestowed
where it awakened no reciprocation of sentiment; for the minute he
discovered its existence he laid the blame on Heathcliff's deliberate
designing.
We had all remarked, during some time, that Miss Linton fretted and pined
over something.  She grew cross and wearisome; snapping at and teasing
Catherine continually, at the imminent risk of exhausting her limited
patience.  We excused her, to a certain extent, on the plea of
ill-health: she was dwindling and fading before our eyes.  But one day,
when she had been peculiarly wayward, rejecting her breakfast,
complaining that the servants did not do what she told them; that the
mistress would allow her to be nothing in the house, and Edgar neglected
her; that she had caught a cold with the doors being left open, and we
let the parlour fire go out on purpose to vex her, with a hundred yet
more frivolous accusations, Mrs. Linton peremptorily insisted that she
should get to bed; and, having scolded her heartily, threatened to send
for the doctor.  Mention of Kenneth caused her to exclaim, instantly,
that her health was perfect, and it was only Catherine's harshness which
made her unhappy.
'How can you say I am harsh, you naughty fondling?' cried the mistress,
amazed at the unreasonable assertion.  'You are surely losing your
reason.  When have I been harsh, tell me?'
'Yesterday,' sobbed Isabella, 'and now!'
'Yesterday!' said her sister-in-law.  'On what occasion?'
'In our walk along the moor: you told me to ramble where I pleased, while
you sauntered on with Mr. Heathcliff!'
'And that's your notion of harshness?' said Catherine, laughing.  'It was
no hint that your company was superfluous?  We didn't care whether you
kept with us or not; I merely thought Heathcliff's talk would have
nothing entertaining for your ears.'
'Oh, no,' wept the young lady; 'you wished me away, because you knew I
liked to be there!'
'Is she sane?' asked Mrs. Linton, appealing to me.  'I'll repeat our
conversation, word for word, Isabella; and you point out any charm it
could have had for you.'
'I don't mind the conversation,' she answered: 'I wanted to be with--'
'Well?' said Catherine, perceiving her hesitate to complete the sentence.
'With him: and I won't be always sent off!' she continued, kindling up.
'You are a dog in the manger, Cathy, and desire no one to be loved but
yourself!'
'You are an impertinent little monkey!' exclaimed Mrs. Linton, in
surprise.  'But I'll not believe this idiotcy!  It is impossible that you
can covet the admiration of Heathcliff--that you consider him an
agreeable person!  I hope I have misunderstood you, Isabella?'
'No, you have not,' said the infatuated girl.  'I love him more than ever
you loved Edgar, and he might love me, if you would let him!'
'I wouldn't be you for a kingdom, then!' Catherine declared,
emphatically: and she seemed to speak sincerely.  'Nelly, help me to
convince her of her madness.  Tell her what Heathcliff is: an unreclaimed
creature, without refinement, without cultivation; an arid wilderness of
furze and whinstone.  I'd as soon put that little canary into the park on
a winter's day, as recommend you to bestow your heart on him!  It is
deplorable ignorance of his character, child, and nothing else, which
makes that dream enter your head.  Pray, don't imagine that he conceals
depths of benevolence and affection beneath a stern exterior!  He's not a
rough diamond--a pearl-containing oyster of a rustic: he's a fierce,
pitiless, wolfish man.  I never say to him, "Let this or that enemy
alone, because it would be ungenerous or cruel to harm them;" I say, "Let
them alone, because _I_ should hate them to be wronged:" and he'd crush
you like a sparrow's egg, Isabella, if he found you a troublesome charge.
I know he couldn't love a Linton; and yet he'd be quite capable of
marrying your fortune and expectations: avarice is growing with him a
besetting sin.  There's my picture: and I'm his friend--so much so, that
had he thought seriously to catch you, I should, perhaps, have held my
tongue, and let you fall into his trap.'
Miss Linton regarded her sister-in-law with indignation.
'For shame! for shame!' she repeated, angrily.  'You are worse than
twenty foes, you poisonous friend!'
'Ah! you won't believe me, then?' said Catherine.  'You think I speak
from wicked selfishness?'
'I'm certain you do,' retorted Isabella; 'and I shudder at you!'
'Good!' cried the other.  'Try for yourself, if that be your spirit: I
have done, and yield the argument to your saucy insolence.'--
'And I must suffer for her egotism!' she sobbed, as Mrs. Linton left the
room.  'All, all is against me: she has blighted my single consolation.
But she uttered falsehoods, didn't she?  Mr. Heathcliff is not a fiend:
he has an honourable soul, and a true one, or how could he remember her?'
'Banish him from your thoughts, Miss,' I said.  'He's a bird of bad omen:
no mate for you.  Mrs. Linton spoke strongly, and yet I can't contradict
her.  She is better acquainted with his heart than I, or any one besides;
and she never would represent him as worse than he is.  Honest people
don't hide their deeds.  How has he been living? how has he got rich? why
is he staying at Wuthering Heights, the house of a man whom he abhors?
They say Mr. Earnshaw is worse and worse since he came.  They sit up all
night together continually, and Hindley has been borrowing money on his
land, and does nothing but play and drink: I heard only a week ago--it
was Joseph who told me--I met him at Gimmerton: "Nelly," he said, "we's
hae a crowner's 'quest enow, at ahr folks'.  One on 'em 's a'most getten
his finger cut off wi' hauding t' other fro' stickin' hisseln loike a
cawlf.  That's maister, yeah knaw, 'at 's soa up o' going tuh t' grand
'sizes.  He's noan feared o' t' bench o' judges, norther Paul, nur Peter,
nur John, nur Matthew, nor noan on 'em, not he!  He fair likes--he langs
to set his brazened face agean 'em!  And yon bonny lad Heathcliff, yah
mind, he's a rare 'un.  He can girn a laugh as well 's onybody at a
raight divil's jest.  Does he niver say nowt of his fine living amang us,
when he goes to t' Grange?  This is t' way on 't:--up at sun-down: dice,
brandy, cloised shutters, und can'le-light till next day at noon: then,
t'fooil gangs banning und raving to his cham'er, makking dacent fowks dig
thur fingers i' thur lugs fur varry shame; un' the knave, why he can
caint his brass, un' ate, un' sleep, un' off to his neighbour's to gossip
wi' t' wife.  I' course, he tells Dame Catherine how her fathur's goold
runs into his pocket, and her fathur's son gallops down t' broad road,
while he flees afore to oppen t' pikes!"  Now, Miss Linton, Joseph is an
old rascal, but no liar; and, if his account of Heathcliff's conduct be
true, you would never think of desiring such a husband, would you?'
'You are leagued with the rest, Ellen!' she replied.  'I'll not listen to
your slanders.  What malevolence you must have to wish to convince me
that there is no happiness in the world!'
Whether she would have got over this fancy if left to herself, or
persevered in nursing it perpetually, I cannot say: she had little time
to reflect.  The day after, there was a justice-meeting at the next town;
my master was obliged to attend; and Mr. Heathcliff, aware of his
absence, called rather earlier than usual.  Catherine and Isabella were
sitting in the library, on hostile terms, but silent: the latter alarmed
at her recent indiscretion, and the disclosure she had made of her secret
feelings in a transient fit of passion; the former, on mature
consideration, really offended with her companion; and, if she laughed
again at her pertness, inclined to make it no laughing matter to her.  She
did laugh as she saw Heathcliff pass the window.  I was sweeping the
hearth, and I noticed a mischievous smile on her lips.  Isabella,
absorbed in her meditations, or a book, remained till the door opened;
and it was too late to attempt an escape, which she would gladly have
done had it been practicable.
'Come in, that's right!' exclaimed the mistress, gaily, pulling a chair
to the fire.  'Here are two people sadly in need of a third to thaw the
ice between them; and you are the very one we should both of us choose.
Heathcliff, I'm proud to show you, at last, somebody that dotes on you
more than myself.  I expect you to feel flattered.  Nay, it's not Nelly;
don't look at her!  My poor little sister-in-law is breaking her heart by
mere contemplation of your physical and moral beauty.  It lies in your
own power to be Edgar's brother!  No, no, Isabella, you sha'n't run off,'
she continued, arresting, with feigned playfulness, the confounded girl,
who had risen indignantly.  'We were quarrelling like cats about you,
Heathcliff; and I was fairly beaten in protestations of devotion and
admiration: and, moreover, I was informed that if I would but have the
manners to stand aside, my rival, as she will have herself to be, would
shoot a shaft into your soul that would fix you for ever, and send my
image into eternal oblivion!'
'Catherine!' said Isabella, calling up her dignity, and disdaining to
struggle from the tight grasp that held her, 'I'd thank you to adhere to
the truth and not slander me, even in joke!  Mr. Heathcliff, be kind
enough to bid this friend of yours release me: she forgets that you and I
are not intimate acquaintances; and what amuses her is painful to me
beyond expression.'
As the guest answered nothing, but took his seat, and looked thoroughly
indifferent what sentiments she cherished concerning him, she turned and
whispered an earnest appeal for liberty to her tormentor.
'By no means!' cried Mrs. Linton in answer.  'I won't be named a dog in
the manger again.  You _shall_ stay: now then!  Heathcliff, why don't you
evince satisfaction at my pleasant news?  Isabella swears that the love
Edgar has for me is nothing to that she entertains for you.  I'm sure she
made some speech of the kind; did she not, Ellen?  And she has fasted
ever since the day before yesterday's walk, from sorrow and rage that I
despatched her out of your society under the idea of its being
unacceptable.'
'I think you belie her,' said Heathcliff, twisting his chair to face
them.  'She wishes to be out of my society now, at any rate!'
And he stared hard at the object of discourse, as one might do at a
strange repulsive animal: a centipede from the Indies, for instance,
which curiosity leads one to examine in spite of the aversion it raises.
The poor thing couldn't bear that; she grew white and red in rapid
succession, and, while tears beaded her lashes, bent the strength of her
small fingers to loosen the firm clutch of Catherine; and perceiving that
as fast as she raised one finger off her arm another closed down, and she
could not remove the whole together, she began to make use of her nails;
and their sharpness presently ornamented the detainer's with crescents of
red.
'There's a tigress!' exclaimed Mrs. Linton, setting her free, and shaking
her hand with pain.  'Begone, for God's sake, and hide your vixen face!
How foolish to reveal those talons to him.  Can't you fancy the
conclusions he'll draw?  Look, Heathcliff! they are instruments that will
do execution--you must beware of your eyes.'
'I'd wrench them off her fingers, if they ever menaced me,' he answered,
brutally, when the door had closed after her.  'But what did you mean by
teasing the creature in that manner, Cathy?  You were not speaking the
truth, were you?'
'I assure you I was,' she returned.  'She has been dying for your sake
several weeks, and raving about you this morning, and pouring forth a
deluge of abuse, because I represented your failings in a plain light,
for the purpose of mitigating her adoration.  But don't notice it
further: I wished to punish her sauciness, that's all.  I like her too
well, my dear Heathcliff, to let you absolutely seize and devour her up.'
'And I like her too ill to attempt it,' said he, 'except in a very
ghoulish fashion.  You'd hear of odd things if I lived alone with that
mawkish, waxen face: the most ordinary would be painting on its white the
colours of the rainbow, and turning the blue eyes black, every day or
two: they detestably resemble Linton's.'
'Delectably!' observed Catherine.  'They are dove's eyes--angel's!'
'She's her brother's heir, is she not?' he asked, after a brief silence.
'I should be sorry to think so,' returned his companion.  'Half a dozen
nephews shall erase her title, please heaven!  Abstract your mind from
the subject at present: you are too prone to covet your neighbour's
goods; remember _this_ neighbour's goods are mine.'
'If they were _mine_, they would be none the less that,' said Heathcliff;
'but though Isabella Linton may be silly, she is scarcely mad; and, in
short, we'll dismiss the matter, as you advise.'
From their tongues they did dismiss it; and Catherine, probably, from her
thoughts.  The other, I felt certain, recalled it often in the course of
the evening.  I saw him smile to himself--grin rather--and lapse into
ominous musing whenever Mrs. Linton had occasion to be absent from the
apartment.
I determined to watch his movements.  My heart invariably cleaved to the
master's, in preference to Catherine's side: with reason I imagined, for
he was kind, and trustful, and honourable; and she--she could not be
called _opposite_, yet she seemed to allow herself such wide latitude,
that I had little faith in her principles, and still less sympathy for
her feelings.  I wanted something to happen which might have the effect
of freeing both Wuthering Heights and the Grange of Mr. Heathcliff
quietly; leaving us as we had been prior to his advent.  His visits were
a continual nightmare to me; and, I suspected, to my master also.  His
abode at the Heights was an oppression past explaining.  I felt that God
had forsaken the stray sheep there to its own wicked wanderings, and an
evil beast prowled between it and the fold, waiting his time to spring
and destroy.
CHAPTER XI
Sometimes, while meditating on these things in solitude, I've got up in a
sudden terror, and put on my bonnet to go see how all was at the farm.
I've persuaded my conscience that it was a duty to warn him how people
talked regarding his ways; and then I've recollected his confirmed bad
habits, and, hopeless of benefiting him, have flinched from re-entering
the dismal house, doubting if I could bear to be taken at my word.
One time I passed the old gate, going out of my way, on a journey to
Gimmerton. It was about the period that my narrative has reached: a
bright frosty afternoon; the ground bare, and the road hard and dry. I
came to a stone where the highway branches off on to the moor at your
left hand; a rough sand-pillar, with the letters W. H. cut on its north
side, on the east, G., and on the south-west, T. G. It serves as a
guide-post to the Grange, the Heights, and village. The sun shone yellow
on its grey head, reminding me of summer; and I cannot say why, but all
at once a gush of child's sensations flowed into my heart. Hindley and I
held it a favourite spot twenty years before. I gazed long at the
weather-worn block; and, stooping down, perceived a hole near the bottom
still full of snail-shells and pebbles, which we were fond of storing
there with more perishable things; and, as fresh as reality, it appeared
that I beheld my early playmate seated on the withered turf: his dark,
square head bent forward, and his little hand scooping out the earth
with a piece of slate. 'Poor Hindley!' I exclaimed, involuntarily. I
started: my bodily eye was cheated into a momentary belief that the
child lifted its face and stared straight into mine! It vanished in a
twinkling; but immediately I felt an irresistible yearning to be at the
Heights. Superstition urged me to comply with this impulse: supposing he
should be dead! I thought--or should die soon!--supposing it were a sign
of death! The nearer I got to the house the more agitated I grew; and on
catching sight of it I trembled in every limb. The apparition had
outstripped me: it stood looking through the gate. That was my first
idea on observing an elf-locked, brown-eyed boy setting his ruddy
countenance against the bars. Further reflection suggested this must be
Hareton, _my_ Hareton, not altered greatly since I left him, ten months
since.
'God bless thee, darling!' I cried, forgetting instantaneously my
foolish fears. 'Hareton, it's Nelly! Nelly, thy nurse.'
He retreated out of arm's length, and picked up a large flint.
'I am come to see thy father, Hareton,' I added, guessing from the
action that Nelly, if she lived in his memory at all, was not recognised
as one with me.
He raised his missile to hurl it; I commenced a soothing speech, but
could not stay his hand: the stone struck my bonnet; and then ensued,
from the stammering lips of the little fellow, a string of curses, which,
whether he comprehended them or not, were delivered with practised
emphasis, and distorted his baby features into a shocking expression of
malignity.  You may be certain this grieved more than angered me.  Fit to
cry, I took an orange from my pocket, and offered it to propitiate him.
He hesitated, and then snatched it from my hold; as if he fancied I only
intended to tempt and disappoint him.  I showed another, keeping it out
of his reach.
'Who has taught you those fine words, my bairn?' I inquired.  'The
curate?'
'Damn the curate, and thee!  Gie me that,' he replied.
'Tell us where you got your lessons, and you shall have it,' said I.
'Who's your master?'
'Devil daddy,' was his answer.
'And what do you learn from daddy?' I continued.
He jumped at the fruit; I raised it higher.  'What does he teach you?' I
asked.
'Naught,' said he, 'but to keep out of his gait.  Daddy cannot bide me,
because I swear at him.'
'Ah! and the devil teaches you to swear at daddy?' I observed.
'Ay--nay,' he drawled.
'Who, then?'
'Heathcliff.'
'I asked if he liked Mr. Heathcliff.'
'Ay!' he answered again.
Desiring to have his reasons for liking him, I could only gather the
sentences--'I known't: he pays dad back what he gies to me--he curses
daddy for cursing me.  He says I mun do as I will.'
'And the curate does not teach you to read and write, then?' I pursued.
'No, I was told the curate should have his--teeth dashed down his--throat,
if he stepped over the threshold--Heathcliff had promised that!'
I put the orange in his hand, and bade him tell his father that a woman
called Nelly Dean was waiting to speak with him, by the garden gate.  He
went up the walk, and entered the house; but, instead of Hindley,
Heathcliff appeared on the door-stones; and I turned directly and ran
down the road as hard as ever I could race, making no halt till I gained
the guide-post, and feeling as scared as if I had raised a goblin.  This
is not much connected with Miss Isabella's affair: except that it urged
me to resolve further on mounting vigilant guard, and doing my utmost to
check the spread of such bad influence at the Grange: even though I
should wake a domestic storm, by thwarting Mrs. Linton's pleasure.
The next time Heathcliff came my young lady chanced to be feeding some
pigeons in the court.  She had never spoken a word to her sister-in-law
for three days; but she had likewise dropped her fretful complaining, and
we found it a great comfort.  Heathcliff had not the habit of bestowing a
single unnecessary civility on Miss Linton, I knew.  Now, as soon as he
beheld her, his first precaution was to take a sweeping survey of the
house-front.  I was standing by the kitchen-window, but I drew out of
sight.  He then stepped across the pavement to her, and said something:
she seemed embarrassed, and desirous of getting away; to prevent it, he
laid his hand on her arm.  She averted her face: he apparently put some
question which she had no mind to answer.  There was another rapid glance
at the house, and supposing himself unseen, the scoundrel had the
impudence to embrace her.
'Judas!  Traitor!' I ejaculated.  'You are a hypocrite, too, are you?  A
deliberate deceiver.'
'Who is, Nelly?' said Catherine's voice at my elbow: I had been
over-intent on watching the pair outside to mark her entrance.
'Your worthless friend!' I answered, warmly: 'the sneaking rascal yonder.
Ah, he has caught a glimpse of us--he is coming in!  I wonder will he
have the heart to find a plausible excuse for making love to Miss, when
he told you he hated her?'
Mrs. Linton saw Isabella tear herself free, and run into the garden; and
a minute after, Heathcliff opened the door.  I couldn't withhold giving
some loose to my indignation; but Catherine angrily insisted on silence,
and threatened to order me out of the kitchen, if I dared to be so
presumptuous as to put in my insolent tongue.
'To hear you, people might think you were the mistress!' she cried.  'You
want setting down in your right place!  Heathcliff, what are you about,
raising this stir?  I said you must let Isabella alone!--I beg you will,
unless you are tired of being received here, and wish Linton to draw the
bolts against you!'
'God forbid that he should try!' answered the black villain.  I detested
him just then.  'God keep him meek and patient!  Every day I grow madder
after sending him to heaven!'
'Hush!' said Catherine, shutting the inner door!  'Don't vex me.  Why
have you disregarded my request?  Did she come across you on purpose?'
'What is it to you?' he growled.  'I have a right to kiss her, if she
chooses; and you have no right to object.  I am not _your_ husband: _you_
needn't be jealous of me!'
'I'm not jealous of you,' replied the mistress; 'I'm jealous for you.
Clear your face: you sha'n't scowl at me!  If you like Isabella, you
shall marry her.  But do you like her?  Tell the truth, Heathcliff!
There, you won't answer.  I'm certain you don't.'
'And would Mr. Linton approve of his sister marrying that man?' I
inquired.
'Mr. Linton should approve,' returned my lady, decisively.
'He might spare himself the trouble,' said Heathcliff: 'I could do as
well without his approbation. And as to you, Catherine, I have a mind to
speak a few words now, while we are at it. I want you to be aware that I
_know_ you have treated me infernally--infernally! Do you hear? And if
you flatter yourself that I don't perceive it, you are a fool; and if
you think I can be consoled by sweet words, you are an idiot: and if you
fancy I'll suffer unrevenged, I'll convince you of the contrary, in a
very little while! Meantime, thank you for telling me your
sister-in-law's secret: I swear I'll make the most of it. And stand you
aside!'
'What new phase of his character is this?' exclaimed Mrs. Linton, in
amazement.  'I've treated you infernally--and you'll take your revenge!
How will you take it, ungrateful brute?  How have I treated you
infernally?'
'I seek no revenge on you,' replied Heathcliff, less vehemently.  'That's
not the plan.  The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don't turn
against him; they crush those beneath them.  You are welcome to torture
me to death for your amusement, only allow me to amuse myself a little in
the same style, and refrain from insult as much as you are able.  Having
levelled my palace, don't erect a hovel and complacently admire your own
charity in giving me that for a home.  If I imagined you really wished me
to marry Isabel, I'd cut my throat!'
'Oh, the evil is that I am _not_ jealous, is it?' cried Catherine.  'Well,
I won't repeat my offer of a wife: it is as bad as offering Satan a lost
soul.  Your bliss lies, like his, in inflicting misery.  You prove it.
Edgar is restored from the ill-temper he gave way to at your coming; I
begin to be secure and tranquil; and you, restless to know us at peace,
appear resolved on exciting a quarrel.  Quarrel with Edgar, if you
please, Heathcliff, and deceive his sister: you'll hit on exactly the
most efficient method of revenging yourself on me.'
The conversation ceased.  Mrs. Linton sat down by the fire, flushed and
gloomy.  The spirit which served her was growing intractable: she could
neither lay nor control it.  He stood on the hearth with folded arms,
brooding on his evil thoughts; and in this position I left them to seek
the master, who was wondering what kept Catherine below so long.
'Ellen,' said he, when I entered, 'have you seen your mistress?'
'Yes; she's in the kitchen, sir,' I answered.  'She's sadly put out by
Mr. Heathcliff's behaviour: and, indeed, I do think it's time to arrange
his visits on another footing.  There's harm in being too soft, and now
it's come to this--.'  And I related the scene in the court, and, as near
as I dared, the whole subsequent dispute.  I fancied it could not be very
prejudicial to Mrs. Linton; unless she made it so afterwards, by assuming
the defensive for her guest.  Edgar Linton had difficulty in hearing me
to the close.  His first words revealed that he did not clear his wife of
blame.
'This is insufferable!' he exclaimed.  'It is disgraceful that she should
own him for a friend, and force his company on me!  Call me two men out
of the hall, Ellen.  Catherine shall linger no longer to argue with the
low ruffian--I have humoured her enough.'
He descended, and bidding the servants wait in the passage, went,
followed by me, to the kitchen.  Its occupants had recommenced their
angry discussion: Mrs. Linton, at least, was scolding with renewed
vigour; Heathcliff had moved to the window, and hung his head, somewhat
cowed by her violent rating apparently.  He saw the master first, and
made a hasty motion that she should be silent; which she obeyed,
abruptly, on discovering the reason of his intimation.
'How is this?' said Linton, addressing her; 'what notion of propriety
must you have to remain here, after the language which has been held to
you by that blackguard?  I suppose, because it is his ordinary talk you
think nothing of it: you are habituated to his baseness, and, perhaps,
imagine I can get used to it too!'
'Have you been listening at the door, Edgar?' asked the mistress, in a
tone particularly calculated to provoke her husband, implying both
carelessness and contempt of his irritation.  Heathcliff, who had raised
his eyes at the former speech, gave a sneering laugh at the latter; on
purpose, it seemed, to draw Mr. Linton's attention to him.  He succeeded;
but Edgar did not mean to entertain him with any high flights of passion.
'I've been so far forbearing with you, sir,' he said quietly; 'not that I
was ignorant of your miserable, degraded character, but I felt you were
only partly responsible for that; and Catherine wishing to keep up your
acquaintance, I acquiesced--foolishly.  Your presence is a moral poison
that would contaminate the most virtuous: for that cause, and to prevent
worse consequences, I shall deny you hereafter admission into this house,
and give notice now that I require your instant departure.  Three
minutes' delay will render it involuntary and ignominious.
Heathcliff measured the height and breadth of the speaker with an eye
full of derision.
'Cathy, this lamb of yours threatens like a bull!' he said.  'It is in
danger of splitting its skull against my knuckles.  By God!  Mr. Linton,
I'm mortally sorry that you are not worth knocking down!'
My master glanced towards the passage, and signed me to fetch the men: he
had no intention of hazarding a personal encounter.  I obeyed the hint;
but Mrs. Linton, suspecting something, followed; and when I attempted to
call them, she pulled me back, slammed the door to, and locked it.
'Fair means!' she said, in answer to her husband's look of angry
surprise.  'If you have not courage to attack him, make an apology, or
allow yourself to be beaten.  It will correct you of feigning more valour
than you possess.  No, I'll swallow the key before you shall get it!  I'm
delightfully rewarded for my kindness to each!  After constant indulgence
of one's weak nature, and the other's bad one, I earn for thanks two
samples of blind ingratitude, stupid to absurdity!  Edgar, I was
defending you and yours; and I wish Heathcliff may flog you sick, for
daring to think an evil thought of me!'
It did not need the medium of a flogging to produce that effect on the
master.  He tried to wrest the key from Catherine's grasp, and for safety
she flung it into the hottest part of the fire; whereupon Mr. Edgar was
taken with a nervous trembling, and his countenance grew deadly pale.  For
his life he could not avert that excess of emotion: mingled anguish and
humiliation overcame him completely.  He leant on the back of a chair,
and covered his face.
'Oh, heavens!  In old days this would win you knighthood!' exclaimed Mrs.
Linton.  'We are vanquished! we are vanquished!  Heathcliff would as soon
lift a finger at you as the king would march his army against a colony of
mice.  Cheer up! you sha'n't be hurt!  Your type is not a lamb, it's a
sucking leveret.'
'I wish you joy of the milk-blooded coward, Cathy!' said her friend.  'I
compliment you on your taste.  And that is the slavering, shivering thing
you preferred to me!  I would not strike him with my fist, but I'd kick
him with my foot, and experience considerable satisfaction.  Is he
weeping, or is he going to faint for fear?'
The fellow approached and gave the chair on which Linton rested a push.
He'd better have kept his distance: my master quickly sprang erect, and
struck him full on the throat a blow that would have levelled a slighter
man.  It took his breath for a minute; and while he choked, Mr. Linton
walked out by the back door into the yard, and from thence to the front
entrance.
'There! you've done with coming here,' cried Catherine.  'Get away, now;
he'll return with a brace of pistols and half-a-dozen assistants.  If he
did overhear us, of course he'd never forgive you.  You've played me an
ill turn, Heathcliff!  But go--make haste!  I'd rather see Edgar at bay
than you.'
'Do you suppose I'm going with that blow burning in my gullet?' he
thundered.  'By hell, no!  I'll crush his ribs in like a rotten hazel-nut
before I cross the threshold!  If I don't floor him now, I shall murder
him some time; so, as you value his existence, let me get at him!'
'He is not coming,' I interposed, framing a bit of a lie.  'There's the
coachman and the two gardeners; you'll surely not wait to be thrust into
the road by them!  Each has a bludgeon; and master will, very likely, be
watching from the parlour-windows to see that they fulfil his orders.'
The gardeners and coachman were there: but Linton was with them.  They
had already entered the court.  Heathcliff, on the second thoughts,
resolved to avoid a struggle against three underlings: he seized the
poker, smashed the lock from the inner door, and made his escape as they
tramped in.
Mrs. Linton, who was very much excited, bade me accompany her up-stairs.
She did not know my share in contributing to the disturbance, and I was
anxious to keep her in ignorance.
'I'm nearly distracted, Nelly!' she exclaimed, throwing herself on the
sofa.  'A thousand smiths' hammers are beating in my head!  Tell Isabella
to shun me; this uproar is owing to her; and should she or any one else
aggravate my anger at present, I shall get wild.  And, Nelly, say to
Edgar, if you see him again to-night, that I'm in danger of being
seriously ill.  I wish it may prove true.  He has startled and distressed
me shockingly!  I want to frighten him.  Besides, he might come and begin
a string of abuse or complainings; I'm certain I should recriminate, and
God knows where we should end!  Will you do so, my good Nelly?  You are
aware that I am no way blamable in this matter.  What possessed him to
turn listener?  Heathcliff's talk was outrageous, after you left us; but
I could soon have diverted him from Isabella, and the rest meant nothing.
Now all is dashed wrong; by the fool's craving to hear evil of self, that
haunts some people like a demon!  Had Edgar never gathered our
conversation, he would never have been the worse for it.  Really, when he
opened on me in that unreasonable tone of displeasure after I had scolded
Heathcliff till I was hoarse for him, I did not care hardly what they did
to each other; especially as I felt that, however the scene closed, we
should all be driven asunder for nobody knows how long!  Well, if I
cannot keep Heathcliff for my friend--if Edgar will be mean and jealous,
I'll try to break their hearts by breaking my own.  That will be a prompt
way of finishing all, when I am pushed to extremity!  But it's a deed to
be reserved for a forlorn hope; I'd not take Linton by surprise with it.
To this point he has been discreet in dreading to provoke me; you must
represent the peril of quitting that policy, and remind him of my
passionate temper, verging, when kindled, on frenzy.  I wish you could
dismiss that apathy out of that countenance, and look rather more anxious
about me.'
The stolidity with which I received these instructions was, no doubt,
rather exasperating: for they were delivered in perfect sincerity; but I
believed a person who could plan the turning of her fits of passion to
account, beforehand, might, by exerting her will, manage to control
herself tolerably, even while under their influence; and I did not wish
to 'frighten' her husband, as she said, and multiply his annoyances for
the purpose of serving her selfishness.  Therefore I said nothing when I
met the master coming towards the parlour; but I took the liberty of
turning back to listen whether they would resume their quarrel together.
He began to speak first.
'Remain where you are, Catherine,' he said; without any anger in his
voice, but with much sorrowful despondency.  'I shall not stay.  I am
neither come to wrangle nor be reconciled; but I wish just to learn
whether, after this evening's events, you intend to continue your
intimacy with--'
'Oh, for mercy's sake,' interrupted the mistress, stamping her foot, 'for
mercy's sake, let us hear no more of it now!  Your cold blood cannot be
worked into a fever: your veins are full of ice-water; but mine are
boiling, and the sight of such chillness makes them dance.'
'To get rid of me, answer my question,' persevered Mr. Linton.  'You must
answer it; and that violence does not alarm me.  I have found that you
can be as stoical as anyone, when you please.  Will you give up
Heathcliff hereafter, or will you give up me?  It is impossible for you
to be _my_ friend and _his_ at the same time; and I absolutely _require_
to know which you choose.'
'I require to be let alone!' exclaimed Catherine, furiously.  'I demand
it!  Don't you see I can scarcely stand?  Edgar, you--you leave me!'
She rang the bell till it broke with a twang; I entered leisurely.  It
was enough to try the temper of a saint, such senseless, wicked rages!
There she lay dashing her head against the arm of the sofa, and grinding
her teeth, so that you might fancy she would crash them to splinters!  Mr.
Linton stood looking at her in sudden compunction and fear.  He told me
to fetch some water.  She had no breath for speaking.  I brought a glass
full; and as she would not drink, I sprinkled it on her face.  In a few
seconds she stretched herself out stiff, and turned up her eyes, while
her cheeks, at once blanched and livid, assumed the aspect of death.
Linton looked terrified.
'There is nothing in the world the matter,' I whispered.  I did not want
him to yield, though I could not help being afraid in my heart.
'She has blood on her lips!' he said, shuddering.
'Never mind!' I answered, tartly. And I told him how she had resolved,
previous to his coming, on exhibiting a fit of frenzy. I incautiously
gave the account aloud, and she heard me; for she started up--her hair
flying over her shoulders, her eyes flashing, the muscles of her neck
and arms standing out preternaturally. I made up my mind for broken
bones, at least; but she only glared about her for an instant, and then
rushed from the room. The master directed me to follow; I did, to her
chamber-door: she hindered me from going further by securing it against
me.
As she never offered to descend to breakfast next morning, I went to ask
whether she would have some carried up.  'No!' she replied, peremptorily.
The same question was repeated at dinner and tea; and again on the morrow
after, and received the same answer.  Mr. Linton, on his part, spent his
time in the library, and did not inquire concerning his wife's
occupations.  Isabella and he had had an hour's interview, during which
he tried to elicit from her some sentiment of proper horror for
Heathcliff's advances: but he could make nothing of her evasive replies,
and was obliged to close the examination unsatisfactorily; adding,
however, a solemn warning, that if she were so insane as to encourage
that worthless suitor, it would dissolve all bonds of relationship
between herself and him.
CHAPTER XII
While Miss Linton moped about the park and garden, always silent, and
almost always in tears; and her brother shut himself up among books that
he never opened--wearying, I guessed, with a continual vague expectation
that Catherine, repenting her conduct, would come of her own accord to
ask pardon, and seek a reconciliation--and _she_ fasted pertinaciously,
under the idea, probably, that at every meal Edgar was ready to choke for
her absence, and pride alone held him from running to cast himself at her
feet; I went about my household duties, convinced that the Grange had but
one sensible soul in its walls, and that lodged in my body.  I wasted no
condolences on Miss, nor any expostulations on my mistress; nor did I pay
much attention to the sighs of my master, who yearned to hear his lady's
name, since he might not hear her voice.  I determined they should come
about as they pleased for me; and though it was a tiresomely slow
process, I began to rejoice at length in a faint dawn of its progress: as
I thought at first.
Mrs. Linton, on the third day, unbarred her door, and having finished the
water in her pitcher and decanter, desired a renewed supply, and a basin
of gruel, for she believed she was dying.  That I set down as a speech
meant for Edgar's ears; I believed no such thing, so I kept it to myself
and brought her some tea and dry toast.  She ate and drank eagerly, and
sank back on her pillow again, clenching her hands and groaning.  'Oh, I
will die,' she exclaimed, 'since no one cares anything about me.  I wish
I had not taken that.'  Then a good while after I heard her murmur, 'No,
I'll not die--he'd be glad--he does not love me at all--he would never
miss me!'
'Did you want anything, ma'am?' I inquired, still preserving my external
composure, in spite of her ghastly countenance and strange, exaggerated
manner.
'What is that apathetic being doing?' she demanded, pushing the thick
entangled locks from her wasted face.  'Has he fallen into a lethargy, or
is he dead?'
'Neither,' replied I; 'if you mean Mr. Linton.  He's tolerably well, I
think, though his studies occupy him rather more than they ought: he is
continually among his books, since he has no other society.'
I should not have spoken so if I had known her true condition, but I
could not get rid of the notion that she acted a part of her disorder.
'Among his books!' she cried, confounded.  'And I dying!  I on the brink
of the grave!  My God! does he know how I'm altered?' continued she,
staring at her reflection in a mirror hanging against the opposite wall.
'Is that Catherine Linton?  He imagines me in a pet--in play, perhaps.
Cannot you inform him that it is frightful earnest?  Nelly, if it be not
too late, as soon as I learn how he feels, I'll choose between these two:
either to starve at once--that would be no punishment unless he had a
heart--or to recover, and leave the country.  Are you speaking the truth
about him now?  Take care.  Is he actually so utterly indifferent for my
life?'
'Why, ma'am,' I answered, 'the master has no idea of your being deranged;
and of course he does not fear that you will let yourself die of hunger.'
'You think not?  Cannot you tell him I will?' she returned.  'Persuade
him! speak of your own mind: say you are certain I will!'
'No, you forget, Mrs. Linton,' I suggested, 'that you have eaten some
food with a relish this evening, and to-morrow you will perceive its good
effects.'
'If I were only sure it would kill him,' she interrupted, 'I'd kill
myself directly!  These three awful nights I've never closed my lids--and
oh, I've been tormented!  I've been haunted, Nelly!  But I begin to fancy
you don't like me.  How strange!  I thought, though everybody hated and
despised each other, they could not avoid loving me.  And they have all
turned to enemies in a few hours: they have, I'm positive; the people
here.  How dreary to meet death, surrounded by their cold faces!
Isabella, terrified and repelled, afraid to enter the room, it would be
so dreadful to watch Catherine go.  And Edgar standing solemnly by to see
it over; then offering prayers of thanks to God for restoring peace to
his house, and going back to his _books_!  What in the name of all that
feels has he to do with _books_, when I am dying?'
She could not bear the notion which I had put into her head of Mr.
Linton's philosophical resignation.  Tossing about, she increased her
feverish bewilderment to madness, and tore the pillow with her teeth;
then raising herself up all burning, desired that I would open the
window.  We were in the middle of winter, the wind blew strong from the
north-east, and I objected.  Both the expressions flitting over her face,
and the changes of her moods, began to alarm me terribly; and brought to
my recollection her former illness, and the doctor's injunction that she
should not be crossed.  A minute previously she was violent; now,
supported on one arm, and not noticing my refusal to obey her, she seemed
to find childish diversion in pulling the feathers from the rents she had
just made, and ranging them on the sheet according to their different
species: her mind had strayed to other associations.
'That's a turkey's,' she murmured to herself; 'and this is a wild duck's;
and this is a pigeon's.  Ah, they put pigeons' feathers in the pillows--no
wonder I couldn't die!  Let me take care to throw it on the floor when I
lie down.  And here is a moor-cock's; and this--I should know it among a
thousand--it's a lapwing's.  Bonny bird; wheeling over our heads in the
middle of the moor.  It wanted to get to its nest, for the clouds had
touched the swells, and it felt rain coming.  This feather was picked up
from the heath, the bird was not shot: we saw its nest in the winter,
full of little skeletons.  Heathcliff set a trap over it, and the old
ones dared not come.  I made him promise he'd never shoot a lapwing after
that, and he didn't.  Yes, here are more!  Did he shoot my lapwings,
Nelly?  Are they red, any of them?  Let me look.'
'Give over with that baby-work!' I interrupted, dragging the pillow away,
and turning the holes towards the mattress, for she was removing its
contents by handfuls.  'Lie down and shut your eyes: you're wandering.
There's a mess!  The down is flying about like snow.'
I went here and there collecting it.
'I see in you, Nelly,' she continued dreamily, 'an aged woman: you have
grey hair and bent shoulders.  This bed is the fairy cave under Penistone
crags, and you are gathering elf-bolts to hurt our heifers; pretending,
while I am near, that they are only locks of wool.  That's what you'll
come to fifty years hence: I know you are not so now.  I'm not wandering:
you're mistaken, or else I should believe you really _were_ that withered
hag, and I should think I _was_ under Penistone Crags; and I'm conscious
it's night, and there are two candles on the table making the black press
shine like jet.'
'The black press? where is that?' I asked.  'You are talking in your
sleep!'
'It's against the wall, as it always is,' she replied.  'It _does_ appear
odd--I see a face in it!'
'There's no press in the room, and never was,' said I, resuming my seat,
and looping up the curtain that I might watch her.
'Don't _you_ see that face?' she inquired, gazing earnestly at the
mirror.
And say what I could, I was incapable of making her comprehend it to be
her own; so I rose and covered it with a shawl.
'It's behind there still!' she pursued, anxiously.  'And it stirred.  Who
is it?  I hope it will not come out when you are gone!  Oh!  Nelly, the
room is haunted!  I'm afraid of being alone!'
I took her hand in mine, and bid her be composed; for a succession of
shudders convulsed her frame, and she would keep straining her gaze
towards the glass.
'There's nobody here!' I insisted.  'It was _yourself_, Mrs. Linton: you
knew it a while since.'
'Myself!' she gasped, 'and the clock is striking twelve!  It's true,
then! that's dreadful!'
Her fingers clutched the clothes, and gathered them over her eyes.  I
attempted to steal to the door with an intention of calling her husband;
but I was summoned back by a piercing shriek--the shawl had dropped from
the frame.
'Why, what is the matter?' cried I.  'Who is coward now?  Wake up!  That
is the glass--the mirror, Mrs. Linton; and you see yourself in it, and
there am I too by your side.'
Trembling and bewildered, she held me fast, but the horror gradually
passed from her countenance; its paleness gave place to a glow of shame.
'Oh, dear!  I thought I was at home,' she sighed.  'I thought I was lying
in my chamber at Wuthering Heights.  Because I'm weak, my brain got
confused, and I screamed unconsciously.  Don't say anything; but stay
with me.  I dread sleeping: my dreams appal me.'
'A sound sleep would do you good, ma'am,' I answered: 'and I hope this
suffering will prevent your trying starving again.'
'Oh, if I were but in my own bed in the old house!' she went on bitterly,
wringing her hands.  'And that wind sounding in the firs by the lattice.
Do let me feel it--it comes straight down the moor--do let me have one
breath!'  To pacify her I held the casement ajar a few seconds.  A cold
blast rushed through; I closed it, and returned to my post.  She lay
still now, her face bathed in tears.  Exhaustion of body had entirely
subdued her spirit: our fiery Catherine was no better than a wailing
child.
'How long is it since I shut myself in here?' she asked, suddenly
reviving.
'It was Monday evening,' I replied, 'and this is Thursday night, or
rather Friday morning, at present.'
'What! of the same week?' she exclaimed.  'Only that brief time?'
'Long enough to live on nothing but cold water and ill-temper,' observed
I.
'Well, it seems a weary number of hours,' she muttered doubtfully: 'it
must be more. I remember being in the parlour after they had quarrelled,
and Edgar being cruelly provoking, and me running into this room
desperate. As soon as ever I had barred the door, utter blackness
overwhelmed me, and I fell on the floor. I couldn't explain to Edgar how
certain I felt of having a fit, or going raging mad, if he persisted in
teasing me! I had no command of tongue, or brain, and he did not guess
my agony, perhaps: it barely left me sense to try to escape from him and
his voice. Before I recovered sufficiently to see and hear, it began to
be dawn, and, Nelly, I'll tell you what I thought, and what has kept
recurring and recurring till I feared for my reason. I thought as I lay
there, with my head against that table leg, and my eyes dimly discerning
the grey square of the window, that I was enclosed in the oak-panelled
bed at home; and my heart ached with some great grief which, just
waking, I could not recollect. I pondered, and worried myself to
discover what it could be, and, most strangely, the whole last seven
years of my life grew a blank! I did not recall that they had been at
all. I was a child; my father was just buried, and my misery arose from
the separation that Hindley had ordered between me and Heathcliff. I was
laid alone, for the first time; and, rousing from a dismal doze after a
night of weeping, I lifted my hand to push the panels aside: it struck
the table-top! I swept it along the carpet, and then memory burst in: my
late anguish was swallowed in a paroxysm of despair. I cannot say why I
felt so wildly wretched: it must have been temporary derangement; for
there is scarcely cause. But, supposing at twelve years old I had been
wrenched from the Heights, and every early association, and my all in
all, as Heathcliff was at that time, and been converted at a stroke into
Mrs. Linton, the lady of Thrushcross Grange, and the wife of a stranger:
an exile, and outcast, thenceforth, from what had been my world. You may
fancy a glimpse of the abyss where I grovelled! Shake your head as you
will, Nelly, you have helped to unsettle me! You should have spoken to
Edgar, indeed you should, and compelled him to leave me quiet! Oh, I'm
burning! I wish I were out of doors! I wish I were a girl again, half
savage and hardy, and free; and laughing at injuries, not maddening
under them! Why am I so changed? why does my blood rush into a hell of
tumult at a few words? I'm sure I should be myself were I once among the
heather on those hills. Open the window again wide: fasten it open!
Quick, why don't you move?'
'Because I won't give you your death of cold,' I answered.
'You won't give me a chance of life, you mean,' she said, sullenly.
'However, I'm not helpless yet; I'll open it myself.'
And sliding from the bed before I could hinder her, she crossed the room,
walking very uncertainly, threw it back, and bent out, careless of the
frosty air that cut about her shoulders as keen as a knife.  I entreated,
and finally attempted to force her to retire.  But I soon found her
delirious strength much surpassed mine (she was delirious, I became
convinced by her subsequent actions and ravings).  There was no moon, and
everything beneath lay in misty darkness: not a light gleamed from any
house, far or near all had been extinguished long ago: and those at
Wuthering Heights were never visible--still she asserted she caught their
shining.
'Look!' she cried eagerly, 'that's my room with the candle in it, and the
trees swaying before it; and the other candle is in Joseph's garret.
Joseph sits up late, doesn't he?  He's waiting till I come home that he
may lock the gate.  Well, he'll wait a while yet.  It's a rough journey,
and a sad heart to travel it; and we must pass by Gimmerton Kirk to go
that journey!  We've braved its ghosts often together, and dared each
other to stand among the graves and ask them to come.  But, Heathcliff,
if I dare you now, will you venture?  If you do, I'll keep you.  I'll not
lie there by myself: they may bury me twelve feet deep, and throw the
church down over me, but I won't rest till you are with me.  I never
will!'
She paused, and resumed with a strange smile.  'He's considering--he'd
rather I'd come to him!  Find a way, then! not through that kirkyard.  You
are slow!  Be content, you always followed me!'
Perceiving it vain to argue against her insanity, I was planning how I
could reach something to wrap about her, without quitting my hold of
herself (for I could not trust her alone by the gaping lattice), when, to
my consternation, I heard the rattle of the door-handle, and Mr. Linton
entered.  He had only then come from the library; and, in passing through
the lobby, had noticed our talking and been attracted by curiosity, or
fear, to examine what it signified, at that late hour.
'Oh, sir!' I cried, checking the exclamation risen to his lips at the
sight which met him, and the bleak atmosphere of the chamber.  'My poor
mistress is ill, and she quite masters me: I cannot manage her at all;
pray, come and persuade her to go to bed.  Forget your anger, for she's
hard to guide any way but her own.'
'Catherine ill?' he said, hastening to us.  'Shut the window, Ellen!
Catherine! why--'
He was silent.  The haggardness of Mrs. Linton's appearance smote him
speechless, and he could only glance from her to me in horrified
astonishment.
'She's been fretting here,' I continued, 'and eating scarcely anything,
and never complaining: she would admit none of us till this evening, and
so we couldn't inform you of her state, as we were not aware of it
ourselves; but it is nothing.'
I felt I uttered my explanations awkwardly; the master frowned.  'It is
nothing, is it, Ellen Dean?' he said sternly.  'You shall account more
clearly for keeping me ignorant of this!'  And he took his wife in his
arms, and looked at her with anguish.
At first she gave him no glance of recognition: he was invisible to her
abstracted gaze.  The delirium was not fixed, however; having weaned her
eyes from contemplating the outer darkness, by degrees she centred her
attention on him, and discovered who it was that held her.
'Ah! you are come, are you, Edgar Linton?' she said, with angry
animation.  'You are one of those things that are ever found when least
wanted, and when you are wanted, never!  I suppose we shall have plenty
of lamentations now--I see we shall--but they can't keep me from my
narrow home out yonder: my resting-place, where I'm bound before spring
is over!  There it is: not among the Lintons, mind, under the
chapel-roof, but in the open air, with a head-stone; and you may please
yourself whether you go to them or come to me!'
'Catherine, what have you done?' commenced the master.  'Am I nothing to
you any more?  Do you love that wretch Heath--'
'Hush!' cried Mrs. Linton.  'Hush, this moment!  You mention that name
and I end the matter instantly by a spring from the window!  What you
touch at present you may have; but my soul will be on that hill-top
before you lay hands on me again.  I don't want you, Edgar: I'm past
wanting you.  Return to your books.  I'm glad you possess a consolation,
for all you had in me is gone.'
'Her mind wanders, sir,' I interposed.  'She has been talking nonsense
the whole evening; but let her have quiet, and proper attendance, and
she'll rally.  Hereafter, we must be cautious how we vex her.'
'I desire no further advice from you,' answered Mr. Linton.  'You knew
your mistress's nature, and you encouraged me to harass her.  And not to
give me one hint of how she has been these three days!  It was heartless!
Months of sickness could not cause such a change!'
I began to defend myself, thinking it too bad to be blamed for another's
wicked waywardness.  'I knew Mrs. Linton's nature to be headstrong and
domineering,' cried I: 'but I didn't know that you wished to foster her
fierce temper!  I didn't know that, to humour her, I should wink at Mr.
Heathcliff.  I performed the duty of a faithful servant in telling you,
and I have got a faithful servant's wages!  Well, it will teach me to be
careful next time.  Next time you may gather intelligence for yourself!'
'The next time you bring a tale to me you shall quit my service, Ellen
Dean,' he replied.
'You'd rather hear nothing about it, I suppose, then, Mr. Linton?' said
I.  'Heathcliff has your permission to come a-courting to Miss, and to
drop in at every opportunity your absence offers, on purpose to poison
the mistress against you?'
Confused as Catherine was, her wits were alert at applying our
conversation.
'Ah!  Nelly has played traitor,' she exclaimed, passionately.  'Nelly is
my hidden enemy.  You witch!  So you do seek elf-bolts to hurt us!  Let
me go, and I'll make her rue!  I'll make her howl a recantation!'
A maniac's fury kindled under her brows; she struggled desperately to
disengage herself from Linton's arms.  I felt no inclination to tarry the
event; and, resolving to seek medical aid on my own responsibility, I
quitted the chamber.
In passing the garden to reach the road, at a place where a bridle hook
is driven into the wall, I saw something white moved irregularly,
evidently by another agent than the wind.  Notwithstanding my hurry, I
stayed to examine it, lest ever after I should have the conviction
impressed on my imagination that it was a creature of the other world.  My
surprise and perplexity were great on discovering, by touch more than
vision, Miss Isabella's springer, Fanny, suspended by a handkerchief, and
nearly at its last gasp.  I quickly released the animal, and lifted it
into the garden.  I had seen it follow its mistress up-stairs when she
went to bed; and wondered much how it could have got out there, and what
mischievous person had treated it so.  While untying the knot round the
hook, it seemed to me that I repeatedly caught the beat of horses' feet
galloping at some distance; but there were such a number of things to
occupy my reflections that I hardly gave the circumstance a thought:
though it was a strange sound, in that place, at two o'clock in the
morning.
Mr. Kenneth was fortunately just issuing from his house to see a patient
in the village as I came up the street; and my account of Catherine
Linton's malady induced him to accompany me back immediately.  He was a
plain rough man; and he made no scruple to speak his doubts of her
surviving this second attack; unless she were more submissive to his
directions than she had shown herself before.
'Nelly Dean,' said he, 'I can't help fancying there's an extra cause for
this.  What has there been to do at the Grange?  We've odd reports up
here.  A stout, hearty lass like Catherine does not fall ill for a
trifle; and that sort of people should not either.  It's hard work
bringing them through fevers, and such things.  How did it begin?'
'The master will inform you,' I answered; 'but you are acquainted with
the Earnshaws' violent dispositions, and Mrs. Linton caps them all.  I
may say this; it commenced in a quarrel.  She was struck during a tempest
of passion with a kind of fit.  That's her account, at least: for she
flew off in the height of it, and locked herself up.  Afterwards, she
refused to eat, and now she alternately raves and remains in a half
dream; knowing those about her, but having her mind filled with all sorts
of strange ideas and illusions.'
'Mr. Linton will be sorry?' observed Kenneth, interrogatively.
'Sorry? he'll break his heart should anything happen!' I replied.  'Don't
alarm him more than necessary.'
'Well, I told him to beware,' said my companion; 'and he must bide the
consequences of neglecting my warning!  Hasn't he been intimate with Mr.
Heathcliff lately?'
'Heathcliff frequently visits at the Grange,' answered I, 'though more on
the strength of the mistress having known him when a boy, than because
the master likes his company.  At present he's discharged from the
trouble of calling; owing to some presumptuous aspirations after Miss
Linton which he manifested.  I hardly think he'll be taken in again.'
'And does Miss Linton turn a cold shoulder on him?' was the doctor's next
question.
'I'm not in her confidence,' returned I, reluctant to continue the
subject.
'No, she's a sly one,' he remarked, shaking his head.  'She keeps her own
counsel!  But she's a real little fool.  I have it from good authority
that last night (and a pretty night it was!) she and Heathcliff were
walking in the plantation at the back of your house above two hours; and
he pressed her not to go in again, but just mount his horse and away with
him!  My informant said she could only put him off by pledging her word
of honour to be prepared on their first meeting after that: when it was
to be he didn't hear; but you urge Mr. Linton to look sharp!'
This news filled me with fresh fears; I outstripped Kenneth, and ran most
of the way back.  The little dog was yelping in the garden yet.  I spared
a minute to open the gate for it, but instead of going to the house door,
it coursed up and down snuffing the grass, and would have escaped to the
road, had I not seized it and conveyed it in with me.  On ascending to
Isabella's room, my suspicions were confirmed: it was empty.  Had I been
a few hours sooner Mrs. Linton's illness might have arrested her rash
step.  But what could be done now?  There was a bare possibility of
overtaking them if pursued instantly.  _I_ could not pursue them,
however; and I dared not rouse the family, and fill the place with
confusion; still less unfold the business to my master, absorbed as he
was in his present calamity, and having no heart to spare for a second
grief!  I saw nothing for it but to hold my tongue, and suffer matters to
take their course; and Kenneth being arrived, I went with a badly
composed countenance to announce him.  Catherine lay in a troubled sleep:
her husband had succeeded in soothing the excess of frenzy; he now hung
over her pillow, watching every shade and every change of her painfully
expressive features.
The doctor, on examining the case for himself, spoke hopefully to him of
its having a favourable termination, if we could only preserve around her
perfect and constant tranquillity.  To me, he signified the threatening
danger was not so much death, as permanent alienation of intellect.
I did not close my eyes that night, nor did Mr. Linton: indeed, we never
went to bed; and the servants were all up long before the usual hour,
moving through the house with stealthy tread, and exchanging whispers as
they encountered each other in their vocations.  Every one was active but
Miss Isabella; and they began to remark how sound she slept: her brother,
too, asked if she had risen, and seemed impatient for her presence, and
hurt that she showed so little anxiety for her sister-in-law.  I trembled
lest he should send me to call her; but I was spared the pain of being
the first proclaimant of her flight.  One of the maids, a thoughtless
girl, who had been on an early errand to Gimmerton, came panting
up-stairs, open-mouthed, and dashed into the chamber, crying: 'Oh, dear,
dear!  What mun we have next?  Master, master, our young lady--'
'Hold your noise!' cried, I hastily, enraged at her clamorous manner.
'Speak lower, Mary--What is the matter?' said Mr. Linton.  'What ails
your young lady?'
'She's gone, she's gone!  Yon' Heathcliff's run off wi' her!' gasped the
girl.
'That is not true!' exclaimed Linton, rising in agitation.  'It cannot
be: how has the idea entered your head?  Ellen Dean, go and seek her.  It
is incredible: it cannot be.'
As he spoke he took the servant to the door, and then repeated his demand
to know her reasons for such an assertion.
'Why, I met on the road a lad that fetches milk here,' she stammered,
'and he asked whether we weren't in trouble at the Grange.  I thought he
meant for missis's sickness, so I answered, yes.  Then says he, "There's
somebody gone after 'em, I guess?"  I stared.  He saw I knew nought about
it, and he told how a gentleman and lady had stopped to have a horse's
shoe fastened at a blacksmith's shop, two miles out of Gimmerton, not
very long after midnight! and how the blacksmith's lass had got up to spy
who they were: she knew them both directly.  And she noticed the
man--Heathcliff it was, she felt certain: nob'dy could mistake him,
besides--put a sovereign in her father's hand for payment.  The lady had
a cloak about her face; but having desired a sup of water, while she
drank it fell back, and she saw her very plain.  Heathcliff held both
bridles as they rode on, and they set their faces from the village, and
went as fast as the rough roads would let them.  The lass said nothing to
her father, but she told it all over Gimmerton this morning.'
I ran and peeped, for form's sake, into Isabella's room; confirming, when
I returned, the servant's statement.  Mr. Linton had resumed his seat by
the bed; on my re-entrance, he raised his eyes, read the meaning of my
blank aspect, and dropped them without giving an order, or uttering a
word.
'Are we to try any measures for overtaking and bringing her back,' I
inquired.  'How should we do?'
'She went of her own accord,' answered the master; 'she had a right to go
if she pleased.  Trouble me no more about her.  Hereafter she is only my
sister in name: not because I disown her, but because she has disowned
me.'
And that was all he said on the subject: he did not make single inquiry
further, or mention her in any way, except directing me to send what
property she had in the house to her fresh home, wherever it was, when I
knew it.
CHAPTER XIII
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 too 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 shone delighted as she gathered them
eagerly together.
'These are the earliest flowers at the Heights,' she exclaimed.  'They
remind me of soft thaw 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.'
Linton 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 waited 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 an
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 Thrushcross 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
sha'n't tell 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 farm-house, 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 under-lip, 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 daresay 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 Edgar'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 jargon I did not comprehend.
'Shall you and I be friends, Hareton?' was my next essay at conversation.
An oath, and a threat to set Throttler on me if I did not 'frame off'
rewarded my perseverance.
'Hey, Throttler, lad!' whispered the little wretch, rousing a half-bred
bull-dog 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--'Mim! mim! mim!  Did iver Christian body hear aught like it?
Mincing un' munching!  How can I tell whet ye say?'
'I say, I wish you to come with me into the house!' I cried, thinking him
deaf, yet highly disgusted at his rudeness.
'None o' me!  I getten summut 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 through 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.'
'Is 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 bull-dog.'
'It's well the hellish villain has kept his word!' growled 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-fastened 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 be conducted to a bedroom!  Mr. Earnshaw vouchsafed 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
pre-eminent: 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 Heathcliff's chamber,' said he; 'open that
door--he's 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 Heathcliff.
'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 have 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 are 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 bid him quit
the house?'
'No!' thundered Earnshaw; 'should he offer to leave me, he's a dead man:
persuade him to attempt it, and you are a murderess!  Am I to lose _all_,
without a chance of retrieval?  Is Hareton to be a beggar?  Oh,
damnation!  I _will_ have it back; and I'll have _his_ gold too; and then
his blood; and hell shall 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
moroseness 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.'
'Gooid Lord!' he muttered, sitting down, and stroking his ribbed
stockings from the knee to the ankle.  'If there's to be fresh
ortherings--just when I getten used to two maisters, if I mun hev' a
_mistress_ set o'er my heead, it's like time to be flitting.  I niver
_did_ think to see t' day that I mud lave th' owld 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 racked me to recall past
happiness and the greater peril there was of conjuring up its apparition,
the quicker the thible ran round, and the faster the handfuls of meal
fell into the water.  Joseph beheld my style of cookery with growing
indignation.
'Thear!' he ejaculated.  'Hareton, thou willn't sup thy porridge
to-neeght; they'll be naught but lumps as big as my neive.  Thear, agean!
I'd fling in bowl un' all, if I wer ye!  There, pale t' guilp off, un'
then ye'll hae done wi' 't.  Bang, bang.  It's a mercy t' bothom isn't
deaved out!'
It _was_ rather a rough mess, I own, when poured into the basins; four
had been provided, and a gallon pitcher of new milk was brought from the
dairy, which Hareton seized and commenced drinking and spilling from the
expansive lip.  I expostulated, and desired that he should have his in a
mug; 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 barn was every bit as good' as I, 'and every bit as
wollsome,' and wondering how I could fashion to be so conceited.
Meanwhile, the infant ruffian continued sucking; and glowered up at me
defyingly, as he slavered into the jug.
'I shall have my supper in another room,' I said.  'Have you no place you
call a parlour?'
'_Parlour_!' he echoed, sneeringly, '_parlour_!  Nay, we've noa
_parlours_.  If yah dunnut loike wer company, there's maister's; un' if
yah dunnut loike maister, there's us.'
'Then I shall go up-stairs,' I answered; 'show me a chamber.'
I put my basin on a tray, and went myself to fetch some more milk.  With
great grumblings, the fellow rose, and preceded me in my ascent: we
mounted to the garrets; he opened a door, now and then, to look into the
apartments we passed.
'Here's a rahm,' he said, at last, flinging back a cranky board on
hinges.  'It's weel eneugh to ate a few porridge in.  There's a pack o'
corn i' t' corner, thear, meeterly clane; if ye're feared o' muckying yer
grand silk cloes, spread yer hankerchir o' t' top on't.'
The 'rahm' was a kind of lumber-hole smelling strong of malt and grain;
various sacks of which articles were piled around, leaving a wide, bare
space in the middle.
'Why, man,' I exclaimed, facing him angrily, 'this is not a place to
sleep in.  I wish to see my bed-room.'
'_Bed-rume_!' he repeated, in a tone of mockery. 'Yah's see all t'
_bed-rumes_ thear 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 Maister _Hathecliff's_ ye're wanting?' cried he, as if making a
new discovery.  'Couldn't ye ha' said soa, at onst? un' then, I mud ha'
telled ye, baht all this wark, that that's just one ye cannut see--he
allas keeps it locked, un' nob'dy iver mells on't but hisseln.'
'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 adjuration; 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
vallances hung in festoons, wrenched from their rings, and the iron rod
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 here is t' maister's.'  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.
'Whear the divil?' began the religious elder.  'The Lord bless us!  The
Lord forgie us!  Whear the _hell_ wold ye gang? ye marred, wearisome
nowt!  Ye've seen all but Hareton's bit of a cham'er.  There's not
another hoile to lig down in i' th' hahse!'
I was so vexed, I flung my tray and its contents on the ground; and then
seated myself at the stairs'-head, hid my face in my hands, and cried.
'Ech! ech!' exclaimed Joseph.  'Weel done, Miss Cathy! weel done, Miss
Cathy!  Howsiver, t' maister sall just tum'le o'er them brooken pots; un'
then we's hear summut; we's hear how it's to be.  Gooid-for-naught
madling! ye desarve pining fro' this to Chrustmas, flinging t' precious
gifts o'God under fooit i' yer flaysome rages!  But I'm mista'en if ye
shew yer sperrit lang.  Will Hathecliff bide sich bonny ways, think ye? I
nobbut wish he may catch ye i' that plisky.  I nobbut 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 bestirring 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 Skulker: it had spent its whelphood
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 down-stairs, 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 Hareton, to put him to bed. I had found
shelter in Hareton's room, and the old man, on seeing me, said,--'They's
rahm for boath ye un' yer pride, now, I sud think i' the hahse. It's
empty; ye may hev' it all to yerseln, un' Him as allus maks a third, i'
sich ill 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 _our_ 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.
CHAPTER XIV
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'm 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 had 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 wan and listless; her hair uncurled: some locks hanging
lankly down, and some carelessly twisted round her head. Probably she
had not touched her dress since yester evening. Hindley was not there.
Mr. Heathcliff 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 slattern! 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 importuned 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,
Nelly), 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, ma'am, 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 intercommunication, 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 hearthstone, 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: nay, 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 hereafter
by the remembrance of what she once was, by common humanity, and a sense
of duty!'
'That is quite possible,' remarked Heathcliff, 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 say, Mr. Heathcliff,' I replied, 'you must not: you never shall,
through my means.  Another encounter between you and the master would
kill her altogether.'
'With your aid that may be avoided,' he continued; '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 her
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 Hindley,
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 has 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.  Tush!  He is scarcely a degree dearer to her than her dog, or her
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.  'Somebody's 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.  You'd
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 over nice, 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 has been
brought up like an only daughter, whom every one 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 elegancies, 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 has 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 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 let you alone for
half a day, won't you come sighing and wheedling to me again?  I daresay
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 her precious
person were secure from injury!  Now, was it not the depth of
absurdity--of genuine idiotcy, for that pitiful, slavish, mean-minded
brach to dream that I could love her?  Tell your master, Nelly, that I
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, is 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 irefully; 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 sha'n'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 up-stairs; I have something to say
to Ellen Dean in private.  That's not the way: up-stairs, 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 to-night; 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 insure 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
mischief.'
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 tranquillity for his satisfaction.  'The commonest 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!' exclaimed
Heathcliff; 'you shall not leave Wuthering Heights till to-morrow
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 am never mentioned to her.  To whom should she mention me if I am 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 tranquillity?  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 vigour 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 footman?  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 I 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 tales; 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 missive into Mrs. Linton's hand.
But here is Kenneth; I'll go down, and tell him how much better you are.
My history is _dree_, as we say, and will serve to while away another
morning.
Dree, 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.
CHAPTER XV
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 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 up-stairs.
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--you 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 endeavoured 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 petulantly 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.
Gimmerton chapel bells were still ringing; and the full, mellow flow of
the beck in the valley came soothingly 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 days 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, guessing 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 raise
its ears as if about to bark, and then smoothing them back, announce, 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 loosed his hold for some five minutes, during which
period he bestowed more kisses than ever he gave in his life before, I
daresay: 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 vane 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 am 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 are at peace I
shall writhe in the torments of hell?'
'I shall not be at peace,' moaned 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 mine 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 leant 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 towards 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 musingly, '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 foamed 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 wring 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 inflict 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 worse 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 upbraid
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?'
They were 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 wore 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.
Ere 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 any one 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 up 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.
'No!' she shrieked.  'Oh, don't, don't go.  It is the last time!  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 instantly.  That is the most
diabolical deed that ever you did.  We are all done for--master,
mistress, and servant.'
I wrung my 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 the lifeless-looking form in his
arms.
'Look there!' he said.  'Unless you be a fiend, help her 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 larch-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.
CHAPTER XVI
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 know Edgar.  The latter's distraction at his bereavement
is a subject too painful to be dwelt on; its after-effects showed how
deep the sorrow sunk.  A great addition, in my eyes, was his being left
without an heir.  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 son's.  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--stole 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, should no 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
fulness.  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 tranquillity, 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
Gimmerton.  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; leant against an old ash-tree, his hat 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 ousels 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 that.  Put your 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?' asked Heathcliff, 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--fain, notwithstanding his
hardihood, to have a support behind him; for, after the struggle, he
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 wring them, till he forces a cry of
humiliation.'
'Quietly as a lamb!' 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 Earnshaw, 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 unutterable!  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 decease; and till 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 kirk-yard, where the wall is so low that heath and
bilberry-plants have climbed over it from the moor; and peat-mould 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.
CHAPTER XVII
That Friday made the last of our fine days for a month.  In the evening
the weather broke: the wind shifted from south to north-east, and brought
rain first, and then sleet and snow.  On the morrow one could hardly
imagine that there had been three weeks of summer: the primroses and
crocuses were hidden under wintry drifts; the larks were silent, the
young leaves of the early trees smitten and blackened.  And dreary, and
chill, and dismal, that morrow did creep over!  My master kept his room;
I took possession of the lonely parlour, converting it into a nursery:
and there I was, sitting with the moaning doll of a child laid on my
knee; rocking it to and fro, and watching, meanwhile, the still driving
flakes build up the uncurtained window, when the door opened, and some
person entered, out of breath and laughing!  My anger was greater than my
astonishment for a minute.  I supposed it one of the maids, and I
cried--'Have done!  How dare you show your giddiness here; What would Mr.
Linton say if he heard you?'
'Excuse me!' answered a familiar voice; 'but I know Edgar is in bed, and
I cannot stop myself.'
With that the speaker came forward to the fire, panting and holding her
hand to her side.
'I have run the whole way from Wuthering Heights!' she continued, after a
pause; 'except where I've flown.  I couldn't count the number of falls
I've had.  Oh, I'm aching all over!  Don't be alarmed!  There shall be an
explanation as soon as I can give it; only just have the goodness to step
out and order the carriage to take me on to Gimmerton, and tell a servant
to seek up a few clothes in my wardrobe.'
The intruder was Mrs. Heathcliff.  She certainly seemed in no laughing
predicament: her hair streamed on her shoulders, dripping with snow and
water; she was dressed in the girlish dress she commonly wore, befitting
her age more than her position: a low frock with short sleeves, and
nothing on either head or neck.  The frock was of light silk, and clung
to her with wet, and her feet were protected merely by thin slippers; add
to this a deep cut under one ear, which only the cold prevented from
bleeding profusely, a white face scratched and bruised, and a frame
hardly able to support itself through fatigue; and you may fancy my first
fright was not much allayed when I had had leisure to examine her.
'My dear young lady,' I exclaimed, 'I'll stir nowhere, and hear nothing,
till you have removed every article of your clothes, and put on dry
things; and certainly you shall not go to Gimmerton to-night, so it is
needless to order the carriage.'
'Certainly I shall,' she said; 'walking or riding: yet I've no objection
to dress myself decently.  And--ah, see how it flows down my neck now!
The fire does make it smart.'
She insisted on my fulfilling her directions, before she would let me
touch her; and not till after the coachman had been instructed to get
ready, and a maid set to pack up some necessary attire, did I obtain her
consent for binding the wound and helping to change her garments.
'Now, Ellen,' she said, when my task was finished and she was seated in
an easy-chair on the hearth, with a cup of tea before her, 'you sit down
opposite me, and put poor Catherine's baby away: I don't like to see it!
You mustn't think I care little for Catherine, because I behaved so
foolishly on entering: I've cried, too, bitterly--yes, more than any one
else has reason to cry.  We parted unreconciled, you remember, and I
sha'n't forgive myself.  But, for all that, I was not going to sympathise
with him--the brute beast!  Oh, give me the poker!  This is the last
thing of his I have about me:' she slipped the gold ring from her third
finger, and threw it on the floor.  'I'll smash it!' she continued,
striking it with childish spite, 'and then I'll burn it!' and she took
and dropped the misused article among the coals.  'There! he shall buy
another, if he gets me back again.  He'd be capable of coming to seek me,
to tease Edgar.  I dare not stay, lest that notion should possess his
wicked head!  And besides, Edgar has not been kind, has he?  And I won't
come suing for his assistance; nor will I bring him into more trouble.
Necessity compelled me to seek shelter here; though, if I had not learned
he was out of the way, I'd have halted at the kitchen, washed my face,
warmed myself, got you to bring what I wanted, and departed again to
anywhere out of the reach of my accursed--of that incarnate goblin!  Ah,
he was in such a fury!  If he had caught me!  It's a pity Earnshaw is not
his match in strength: I wouldn't have run till I'd seen him all but
demolished, had Hindley been able to do it!'
'Well, don't talk so fast, Miss!' I interrupted; 'you'll disorder the
handkerchief I have tied round your face, and make the cut bleed again.
Drink your tea, and take breath, and give over laughing: laughter is
sadly out of place under this roof, and in your condition!'
'An undeniable truth,' she replied.  'Listen to that child!  It maintains
a constant wail--send it out of my hearing for an hour; I sha'n't stay
any longer.'
I rang the bell, and committed it to a servant's care; and then I
inquired what had urged her to escape from Wuthering Heights in such an
unlikely plight, and where she meant to go, as she refused remaining with
us.
'I ought, and I wished to remain,' answered she, 'to cheer Edgar and take
care of the baby, for two things, and because the Grange is my right
home.  But I tell you he wouldn't let me!  Do you think he could bear to
see me grow fat and merry--could bear to think that we were tranquil, and
not resolve on poisoning our comfort?  Now, I have the satisfaction of
being sure that he detests me, to the point of its annoying him seriously
to have me within ear-shot or eyesight: I notice, when I enter his
presence, the muscles of his countenance are involuntarily distorted into
an expression of hatred; partly arising from his knowledge of the good
causes I have to feel that sentiment for him, and partly from original
aversion.  It is strong enough to make me feel pretty certain that he
would not chase me over England, supposing I contrived a clear escape;
and therefore I must get quite away.  I've recovered from my first desire
to be killed by him: I'd rather he'd kill himself!  He has extinguished
my love effectually, and so I'm at my ease.  I can recollect yet how I
loved him; and can dimly imagine that I could still be loving him, if--no,
no!  Even if he had doted on me, the devilish nature would have revealed
its existence somehow.  Catherine had an awfully perverted taste to
esteem him so dearly, knowing him so well.  Monster! would that he could
be blotted out of creation, and out of my memory!'
'Hush, hush!  He's a human being,' I said.  'Be more charitable: there
are worse men than he is yet!'
'He's not a human being,' she retorted; 'and he has no claim on my
charity.  I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death, and
flung it back to me.  People feel with their hearts, Ellen: and since he
has destroyed mine, I have not power to feel for him: and I would not,
though he groaned from this to his dying day, and wept tears of blood for
Catherine!  No, indeed, indeed, I wouldn't!'  And here Isabella began to
cry; but, immediately dashing the water from her lashes, she recommenced.
'You asked, what has driven me to flight at last?  I was compelled to
attempt it, because I had succeeded in rousing his rage a pitch above his
malignity.  Pulling out the nerves with red hot pincers requires more
coolness than knocking on the head.  He was worked up to forget the
fiendish prudence he boasted of, and proceeded to murderous violence.  I
experienced pleasure in being able to exasperate him: the sense of
pleasure woke my instinct of self-preservation, so I fairly broke free;
and if ever I come into his hands again he is welcome to a signal
revenge.
'Yesterday, you know, Mr. Earnshaw should have been at the funeral.  He
kept himself sober for the purpose--tolerably sober: not going to bed mad
at six o'clock and getting up drunk at twelve.  Consequently, he rose, in
suicidal low spirits, as fit for the church as for a dance; and instead,
he sat down by the fire and swallowed gin or brandy by tumblerfuls.
'Heathcliff--I shudder to name him! has been a stranger in the house from
last Sunday till to-day.  Whether the angels have fed him, or his kin
beneath, I cannot tell; but he has not eaten a meal with us for nearly a
week.  He has just come home at dawn, and gone up-stairs to his chamber;
locking himself in--as if anybody dreamt of coveting his company!  There
he has continued, praying like a Methodist: only the deity he implored is
senseless dust and ashes; and God, when addressed, was curiously
confounded with his own black father!  After concluding these precious
orisons--and they lasted generally till he grew hoarse and his voice was
strangled in his throat--he would be off again; always straight down to
the Grange!  I wonder Edgar did not send for a constable, and give him
into custody!  For me, grieved as I was about Catherine, it was
impossible to avoid regarding this season of deliverance from degrading
oppression as a holiday.
'I recovered spirits sufficient to bear Joseph's eternal lectures without
weeping, and to move up and down the house less with the foot of a
frightened thief than formerly.  You wouldn't think that I should cry at
anything Joseph could say; but he and Hareton are detestable companions.
I'd rather sit with Hindley, and hear his awful talk, than with "t'
little maister" and his staunch supporter, that odious old man!  When
Heathcliff is in, I'm often obliged to seek the kitchen and their
society, or starve among the damp uninhabited chambers; when he is not,
as was the case this week, I establish a table and chair at one corner of
the house fire, and never mind how Mr. Earnshaw may occupy himself; and
he does not interfere with my arrangements.  He is quieter now than he
used to be, if no one provokes him: more sullen and depressed, and less
furious.  Joseph affirms he's sure he's an altered man: that the Lord has
touched his heart, and he is saved "so as by fire."  I'm puzzled to
detect signs of the favourable change: but it is not my business.
'Yester-evening I sat in my nook reading some old books till late on
towards twelve.  It seemed so dismal to go up-stairs, with the wild snow
blowing outside, and my thoughts continually reverting to the kirk-yard
and the new-made grave!  I dared hardly lift my eyes from the page before
me, that melancholy scene so instantly usurped its place.  Hindley sat
opposite, his head leant on his hand; perhaps meditating on the same
subject.  He had ceased drinking at a point below irrationality, and had
neither stirred nor spoken during two or three hours.  There was no sound
through the house but the moaning wind, which shook the windows every now
and then, the faint crackling of the coals, and the click of my snuffers
as I removed at intervals the long wick of the candle.  Hareton and
Joseph were probably fast asleep in bed.  It was very, very sad: and
while I read I sighed, for it seemed as if all joy had vanished from the
world, never to be restored.
'The doleful silence was broken at length by the sound of the kitchen
latch: Heathcliff had returned from his watch earlier than usual; owing,
I suppose, to the sudden storm.  That entrance was fastened, and we heard
him coming round to get in by the other.  I rose with an irrepressible
expression of what I felt on my lips, which induced my companion, who had
been staring towards the door, to turn and look at me.
'"I'll keep him out five minutes," he exclaimed.  "You won't object?"
'"No, you may keep him out the whole night for me," I answered.  "Do! put
the key in the lock, and draw the bolts."
'Earnshaw accomplished this ere his guest reached the front; he then came
and brought his chair to the other side of my table, leaning over it, and
searching in my eyes for a sympathy with the burning hate that gleamed
from his: as he both looked and felt like an assassin, he couldn't
exactly find that; but he discovered enough to encourage him to speak.
'"You, and I," he said, "have each a great debt to settle with the man
out yonder!  If we were neither of us cowards, we might combine to
discharge it.  Are you as soft as your brother?  Are you willing to
endure to the last, and not once attempt a repayment?"
'"I'm weary of enduring now," I replied; "and I'd be glad of a
retaliation that wouldn't recoil on myself; but treachery and violence
are spears pointed at both ends; they wound those who resort to them
worse than their enemies."
'"Treachery and violence are a just return for treachery and violence!"
cried Hindley.  "Mrs. Heathcliff, I'll ask you to do nothing; but sit
still and be dumb.  Tell me now, can you?  I'm sure you would have as
much pleasure as I in witnessing the conclusion of the fiend's existence;
he'll be _your_ death unless you overreach him; and he'll be _my_ ruin.
Damn the hellish villain!  He knocks at the door as if he were master
here already!  Promise to hold your tongue, and before that clock
strikes--it wants three minutes of one--you're a free woman!"
'He took the implements which I described to you in my letter from his
breast, and would have turned down the candle.  I snatched it away,
however, and seized his arm.
'"I'll not hold my tongue!" I said; "you mustn't touch him.  Let the door
remain shut, and be quiet!"
'"No!  I've formed my resolution, and by God I'll execute it!" cried the
desperate being.  "I'll do you a kindness in spite of yourself, and
Hareton justice!  And you needn't trouble your head to screen me;
Catherine is gone.  Nobody alive would regret me, or be ashamed, though I
cut my throat this minute--and it's time to make an end!"
'I might as well have struggled with a bear, or reasoned with a lunatic.
The only resource left me was to run to a lattice and warn his intended
victim of the fate which awaited him.
'"You'd better seek shelter somewhere else to-night!" I exclaimed, in
rather a triumphant tone.  "Mr. Earnshaw has a mind to shoot you, if you
persist in endeavouring to enter."
'"You'd better open the door, you--" he answered, addressing me by some
elegant term that I don't care to repeat.
'"I shall not meddle in the matter," I retorted again.  "Come in and get
shot, if you please.  I've done my duty."
'With that I shut the window and returned to my place by the fire; having
too small a stock of hypocrisy at my command to pretend any anxiety for
the danger that menaced him.  Earnshaw swore passionately at me:
affirming that I loved the villain yet; and calling me all sorts of names
for the base spirit I evinced.  And I, in my secret heart (and conscience
never reproached me), thought what a blessing it would be for _him_
should Heathcliff put him out of misery; and what a blessing for _me_
should he send Heathcliff to his right abode!  As I sat nursing these
reflections, the casement behind me was banged on to the floor by a blow
from the latter individual, and his black countenance looked blightingly
through.  The stanchions stood too close to suffer his shoulders to
follow, and I smiled, exulting in my fancied security.  His hair and
clothes were whitened with snow, and his sharp cannibal teeth, revealed
by cold and wrath, gleamed through the dark.
'"Isabella, let me in, or I'll make you repent!" he "girned," as Joseph
calls it.
'"I cannot commit murder," I replied.  "Mr. Hindley stands sentinel with
a knife and loaded pistol."
'"Let me in by the kitchen door," he said.
'"Hindley will be there before me," I answered: "and that's a poor love
of yours that cannot bear a shower of snow!  We were left at peace in our
beds as long as the summer moon shone, but the moment a blast of winter
returns, you must run for shelter!  Heathcliff, if I were you, I'd go
stretch myself over her grave and die like a faithful dog.  The world is
surely not worth living in now, is it?  You had distinctly impressed on
me the idea that Catherine was the whole joy of your life: I can't
imagine how you think of surviving her loss."
'"He's there, is he?" exclaimed my companion, rushing to the gap.  "If I
can get my arm out I can hit him!"
'I'm afraid, Ellen, you'll set me down as really wicked; but you don't
know all, so don't judge.  I wouldn't have aided or abetted an attempt on
even _his_ life for anything.  Wish that he were dead, I must; and
therefore I was fearfully disappointed, and unnerved by terror for the
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.
On the day succeeding Isabella's unexpected visit I had no opportunity of
speaking to my master: he shunned conversation, and was fit for
discussing nothing.  When I could get him to listen, I saw it pleased him
that his sister had left her husband; whom he abhorred with an intensity
which the mildness of his nature would scarcely seem to allow.  So deep
and sensitive was his aversion, that he refrained from going anywhere
where he was likely to see or hear of Heathcliff.  Grief, and that
together, transformed him into a complete hermit: he threw up his office
of magistrate, ceased even to attend church, avoided the village on all
occasions, and spent a life of entire seclusion within the limits of his
park and grounds; only varied by solitary rambles on the moors, and
visits to the grave of his wife, mostly at evening, or early morning
before other wanderers were abroad.  But he was too good to be thoroughly
unhappy long.  _He_ didn't pray for Catherine's soul to haunt him.  Time
brought resignation, and a melancholy sweeter than common joy.  He
recalled her memory with ardent, tender love, and hopeful aspiring to the
better world; where he doubted not she was gone.
And he had earthly consolation and affections also.  For a few days, I
said, he seemed regardless of the puny successor to the departed: that
coldness melted as fast as snow in April, and ere the tiny thing could
stammer a word or totter a step it wielded a despot's sceptre in his
heart.  It was named Catherine; but he never called it the name in full,
as he had never called the first Catherine short: probably because
Heathcliff had a habit of doing so.  The little one was always Cathy: it
formed to him a distinction from the mother, and yet a connection with
her; and his attachment sprang from its relation to her, far more than
from its being his own.
I used to draw a comparison between him and Hindley Earnshaw, and perplex
myself to explain satisfactorily why their conduct was so opposite in
similar circumstances.  They had both been fond husbands, and were both
attached to their children; and I could not see how they shouldn't both
have taken the same road, for good or evil.  But, I thought in my mind,
Hindley, with apparently the stronger head, has shown himself sadly the
worse and the weaker man.  When his ship struck, the captain abandoned
his post; and the crew, instead of trying to save her, rushed into riot
and confusion, leaving no hope for their luckless vessel.  Linton, on the
contrary, displayed the true courage of a loyal and faithful soul: he
trusted God; and God comforted him.  One hoped, and the other despaired:
they chose their own lots, and were righteously doomed to endure them.
But you'll not want to hear my moralising, Mr. Lockwood; you'll judge, as
well as I can, all these things: at least, you'll think you will, and
that's the same.  The end of Earnshaw was what might have been expected;
it followed fast on his sister's: there were scarcely six months between
them.  We, at the Grange, never got a very succinct account of his state
preceding it; all that I did learn was on occasion of going to aid in the
preparations for the funeral.  Mr. Kenneth came to announce the event to
my master.
'Well, Nelly,' said he, riding into the yard one morning, too early not
to alarm me with an instant presentiment of bad news, 'it's yours and my
turn to go into mourning at present.  Who's given us the slip now, do you
think?'
'Who?' I asked in a flurry.
'Why, guess!' he returned, dismounting, and slinging his bridle on a hook
by the door.  'And nip up the corner of your apron: I'm certain you'll
need it.'
'Not Mr. Heathcliff, surely?' I exclaimed.
'What! would you have tears for him?' said the doctor.  'No, Heathcliff's
a tough young fellow: he looks blooming to-day.  I've just seen him.  He's
rapidly regaining flesh since he lost his better half.'
'Who is it, then, Mr. Kenneth?' I repeated impatiently.
'Hindley Earnshaw!  Your old friend Hindley,' he replied, 'and my wicked
gossip: though he's been too wild for me this long while.  There!  I said
we should draw water.  But cheer up!  He died true to his character:
drunk as a lord.  Poor lad!  I'm sorry, too.  One can't help missing an
old companion: though he had the worst tricks with him that ever man
imagined, and has done me many a rascally turn.  He's barely
twenty-seven, it seems; that's your own age: who would have thought you
were born in one year?'
I confess this blow was greater to me than the shock of Mrs. Linton's
death: ancient associations lingered round my heart; I sat down in the
porch and wept as for a blood relation, desiring Mr. Kenneth to get
another servant to introduce him to the master.  I could not hinder
myself from pondering on the question--'Had he had fair play?'  Whatever
I did, that idea would bother me: it was so tiresomely pertinacious that
I resolved on requesting leave to go to Wuthering Heights, and assist in
the last duties to the dead.  Mr. Linton was extremely reluctant to
consent, but I pleaded eloquently for the friendless condition in which
he lay; and I said my old master and foster-brother had a claim on my
services as strong as his own.  Besides, I reminded him that the child
Hareton was his wife's nephew, and, in the absence of nearer kin, he
ought to act as its guardian; and he ought to and must inquire how the
property was left, and look over the concerns of his brother-in-law.  He
was unfit for attending to such matters then, but he bid me speak to his
lawyer; and at length permitted me to go.  His lawyer had been Earnshaw's
also: I called at the village, and asked him to accompany me.  He shook
his head, and advised that Heathcliff should be let alone; affirming, if
the truth were known, Hareton would be found little else than a beggar.
'His father died in debt,' he said; 'the whole property is mortgaged, and
the sole chance for the natural heir is to allow him an opportunity of
creating some interest in the creditor's heart, that he may be inclined
to deal leniently towards him.'
When I reached the Heights, I explained that I had come to see everything
carried on decently; and Joseph, who appeared in sufficient distress,
expressed satisfaction at my presence.  Mr. Heathcliff said he did not
perceive that I was wanted; but I might stay and order the arrangements
for the funeral, if I chose.
'Correctly,' he remarked, 'that fool's body should be buried at the
cross-roads, without ceremony of any kind. I happened to leave him ten
minutes yesterday afternoon, and in that interval he fastened the two
doors of the house against me, and he has spent the night in drinking
himself to death deliberately! We broke in this morning, for we heard
him sporting like a horse; and there he was, laid over the settle:
flaying and scalping would not have wakened him. I sent for Kenneth, and
he came; but not till the beast had changed into carrion: he was both
dead and cold, and stark; and so you'll allow it was useless making more
stir about him!'
The old servant confirmed this statement, but muttered:
'I'd rayther he'd goan hisseln for t' doctor!  I sud ha' taen tent o' t'
maister better nor him--and he warn't deead when I left, naught o' t'
soart!'
I insisted on the funeral being respectable.  Mr. Heathcliff said I might
have my own way there too: only, he desired me to remember that the money
for the whole affair came out of his pocket.  He maintained a hard,
careless deportment, indicative of neither joy nor sorrow: if anything,
it expressed a flinty gratification at a piece of difficult work
successfully executed.  I observed once, indeed, something like
exultation in his aspect: it was just when the people were bearing the
coffin from the house.  He had the hypocrisy to represent a mourner: and
previous to following with Hareton, he lifted the unfortunate child on to
the table and muttered, with peculiar gusto, 'Now, my bonny lad, you are
_mine_!  And we'll see if one tree won't grow as crooked as another, with
the same wind to twist it!'  The unsuspecting thing was pleased at this
speech: he played with Heathcliff's whiskers, and stroked his cheek; but
I divined its meaning, and observed tartly, 'That boy must go back with
me to Thrushcross Grange, sir.  There is nothing in the world less yours
than he is!'
'Does Linton say so?' he demanded.
'Of course--he has ordered me to take him,' I replied.
'Well,' said the scoundrel, 'we'll not argue the subject now: but I have
a fancy to try my hand at rearing a young one; so intimate to your master
that I must supply the place of this with my own, if he attempt to remove
it.  I don't engage to let Hareton go undisputed; but I'll be pretty sure
to make the other come!  Remember to tell him.'
This hint was enough to bind our hands.  I repeated its substance on my
return; and Edgar Linton, little interested at the commencement, spoke no
more of interfering.  I'm not aware that he could have done it to any
purpose, had he been ever so willing.
The guest was now the master of Wuthering Heights: he held firm
possession, and proved to the attorney--who, in his turn, proved it to
Mr. Linton--that Earnshaw had mortgaged every yard of land he owned for
cash to supply his mania for gaming; and he, Heathcliff, was the
mortgagee.  In that manner Hareton, who should now be the first gentleman
in the neighbourhood, was reduced to a state of complete dependence on
his father's inveterate enemy; and lives in his own house as a servant,
deprived of the advantage of wages: quite unable to right himself,
because of his friendlessness, and his ignorance that he has been
wronged.
CHAPTER XVIII
The twelve years, continued Mrs. Dean, following that dismal period were
the happiest of my life: my greatest troubles in their passage rose from
our little lady's trifling illnesses, which she had to experience in
common with all children, rich and poor.  For the rest, after the first
six months, she grew like a larch, and could walk and talk too, in her
own way, before the heath blossomed a second time over Mrs. Linton's
dust.  She was the most winning thing that ever brought sunshine into a
desolate house: a real beauty in face, with the Earnshaws' handsome dark
eyes, but the Lintons' fair skin and small features, and yellow curling
hair.  Her spirit was high, though not rough, and qualified by a heart
sensitive and lively to excess in its affections.  That capacity for
intense attachments reminded me of her mother: still she did not resemble
her: for she could be soft and mild as a dove, and she had a gentle voice
and pensive expression: her anger was never furious; her love never
fierce: it was deep and tender.  However, it must be acknowledged, she
had faults to foil her gifts.  A propensity to be saucy was one; and a
perverse will, that indulged children invariably acquire, whether they be
good tempered or cross.  If a servant chanced to vex her, it was
always--'I shall tell papa!'  And if he reproved her, even by a look, you
would have thought it a heart-breaking business: I don't believe he ever
did speak a harsh word to her.  He took her education entirely on
himself, and made it an amusement.  Fortunately, curiosity and a quick
intellect made her an apt scholar: she learned rapidly and eagerly, and
did honour to his teaching.
Till she reached the age of thirteen she had not once been beyond the
range of the park by herself.  Mr. Linton would take her with him a mile
or so outside, on rare occasions; but he trusted her to no one else.
Gimmerton was an unsubstantial name in her ears; the chapel, the only
building she had approached or entered, except her own home.  Wuthering
Heights and Mr. Heathcliff did not exist for her: she was a perfect
recluse; and, apparently, perfectly contented.  Sometimes, indeed, while
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; commanding 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 she addressed; 'you'll lose nothing by being
civil.  Though Mr. Hareton, there, be not the master's son, he's your
cousin: and I was never hired to serve you.'
'_He_ my cousin!' cried Cathy, with a scornful laugh.
'Yes, indeed,' responded her reprover.
'Oh, Ellen! don't let them say such things,' she pursued in great
trouble.  'Papa is gone to fetch my cousin from London: my cousin is a
gentleman's son.  That my--' she stopped, and wept outright; upset at the
bare notion of relationship with such a clown.
'Hush, hush!' I whispered; 'people can have many cousins and of all
sorts, Miss Cathy, without being any the worse for it; only they needn't
keep their company, if they be disagreeable and bad.'
'He's not--he's not my cousin, Ellen!' she went on, gathering fresh grief
from reflection, and flinging herself into my arms for refuge from the
idea.
I was much vexed at her and the servant for their mutual revelations;
having no doubt of Linton's approaching arrival, communicated by the
former, being reported to Mr. Heathcliff; and feeling as confident that
Catherine's first thought on her father's return would be to seek an
explanation of the latter's assertion concerning her rude-bred kindred.
Hareton, recovering from his disgust at being taken for a servant, seemed
moved by her distress; and, having fetched the pony round to the door, he
took, to propitiate her, a fine crooked-legged terrier whelp from the
kennel, and putting it into her hand, bid her whist! for he meant nought.
Pausing in her lamentations, she surveyed him with a glance of awe and
horror, then burst forth anew.
I could scarcely refrain from smiling at this antipathy to the poor
fellow; who was a well-made, athletic youth, good-looking in features,
and stout and healthy, but attired in garments befitting his daily
occupations of working on the farm and lounging among the moors after
rabbits and game.  Still, I thought I could detect in his physiognomy a
mind owning better qualities than his father ever possessed.  Good things
lost amid a wilderness of weeds, to be sure, whose rankness far
over-topped their neglected growth; yet, notwithstanding, evidence of a
wealthy soil, that might yield luxuriant crops under other and favourable
circumstances.  Mr. Heathcliff, I believe, had not treated him physically
ill; thanks to his fearless nature, which offered no temptation to that
course of oppression: he had none of the timid susceptibility that would
have given zest to ill-treatment, in Heathcliff's judgment.  He appeared
to have bent his malevolence on making him a brute: he was never taught
to read or write; never rebuked for any bad habit which did not annoy his
keeper; never led a single step towards virtue, or guarded by a single
precept against vice.  And from what I heard, Joseph contributed much to
his deterioration, by a narrow-minded partiality which prompted him to
flatter and pet him, as a boy, because he was the head of the old family.
And as he had been in the habit of accusing Catherine Earnshaw and
Heathcliff, when children, of putting the master past his patience, and
compelling him to seek solace in drink by what he termed their 'offald
ways,' so at present he laid the whole burden of Hareton's faults on the
shoulders of the usurper of his property.  If the lad swore, he wouldn't
correct him: nor however culpably he behaved.  It gave Joseph
satisfaction, apparently, to watch him go the worst lengths: he allowed
that the lad was ruined: that his soul was abandoned to perdition; but
then he reflected that Heathcliff must answer for it.  Hareton's blood
would be required at his hands; and there lay immense consolation in that
thought.  Joseph had instilled into him a pride of name, and of his
lineage; he would, had he dared, have fostered hate between him and the
present owner of the Heights: but his dread of that owner amounted to
superstition; and he confined his feelings regarding him to muttered
innuendoes and private comminations.  I don't pretend to be intimately
acquainted with the mode of living customary in those days at Wuthering
Heights: I only speak from hearsay; for I saw little.  The villagers
affirmed Mr. Heathcliff was _near_, and a cruel hard landlord to his
tenants; but the house, inside, had regained its ancient aspect of
comfort under female management, and the scenes of riot common in
Hindley's time were not now enacted within its walls.  The master was too
gloomy to seek companionship with any people, good or bad; and he is yet.
This, however, is not making progress with my story.  Miss Cathy rejected
the peace-offering of the terrier, and demanded her own dogs, Charlie and
Phoenix.  They came limping and hanging their heads; and we set out for
home, sadly out of sorts, every one of us.  I could not wring from my
little lady how she had spent the day; except that, as I supposed, the
goal of her pilgrimage was Penistone Crags; and she arrived without
adventure to the gate of the farm-house, when Hareton happened to issue
forth, attended by some canine followers, who attacked her train.  They
had a smart battle, before their owners could separate them: that formed
an introduction.  Catherine told Hareton who she was, and where she was
going; and asked him to show her the way: finally, beguiling him to
accompany her.  He opened the mysteries of the Fairy Cave, and twenty
other queer places.  But, being in disgrace, I was not favoured with a
description of the interesting objects she saw.  I could gather, however,
that her guide had been a favourite till she hurt his feelings by
addressing him as a servant; and Heathcliff's housekeeper hurt hers by
calling him her cousin.  Then the language he had held to her rankled in
her heart; she who was always 'love,' and 'darling,' and 'queen,' and
'angel,' with everybody at the Grange, to be insulted so shockingly by a
stranger!  She did not comprehend it; and hard work I had to obtain a
promise that she would not lay the grievance before her father.  I
explained how he objected to the whole household at the Heights, and how
sorry he would be to find she had been there; but I insisted most on the
fact, that if she revealed my negligence of his orders, he would perhaps
be so angry that I should have to leave; and Cathy couldn't bear that
prospect: she pledged her word, and kept it for my sake.  After all, she
was a sweet little girl.
CHAPTER XIX
A letter, edged with black, announced the day of my master's return.
Isabella was dead; and he wrote to bid me get mourning for his daughter,
and arrange a room, and other accommodations, for his youthful nephew.
Catherine ran wild with joy at the idea of welcoming her father back; and
indulged most sanguine anticipations of the innumerable excellencies of
her 'real' cousin.  The evening of their expected arrival came.  Since
early morning she had been busy ordering her own small affairs; and now
attired in her new black frock--poor thing! her aunt's death impressed
her with no definite sorrow--she obliged me, by constant worrying, to
walk with her down through the grounds to meet them.
'Linton is just six months younger than I am,' she chattered, as we
strolled leisurely over the swells and hollows of mossy turf, under
shadow of the trees.  'How delightful it will be to have him for a
playfellow!  Aunt Isabella sent papa a beautiful lock of his hair; it was
lighter than mine--more flaxen, and quite as fine.  I have it carefully
preserved in a little glass box; and I've often thought what a pleasure
it would be to see its owner.  Oh! I am happy--and papa, dear, dear papa!
Come, Ellen, let us run! come, run.'
She ran, and returned and ran again, many times before my sober footsteps
reached the gate, and then she seated herself on the grassy bank beside
the path, and tried to wait patiently; but that was impossible: she
couldn't be still a minute.
'How long they are!' she exclaimed.  'Ah, I see, some dust on the
road--they are coming!  No!  When will they be here?  May we not go a
little way--half a mile, Ellen, only just half a mile?  Do say Yes: to
that clump of birches at the turn!'
I refused staunchly.  At length her suspense was ended: the travelling
carriage rolled in sight.  Miss Cathy shrieked and stretched out her arms
as soon as she caught her father's face looking from the window.  He
descended, nearly as eager as herself; and a considerable interval
elapsed ere they had a thought to spare for any but themselves.  While
they exchanged caresses I took a peep in to see after Linton.  He was
asleep in a corner, wrapped in a warm, fur-lined cloak, as if it had been
winter.  A pale, delicate, effeminate boy, who might have been taken for
my master's younger brother, so strong was the resemblance: but there was
a sickly peevishness in his aspect that Edgar Linton never had.  The
latter saw me looking; and having shaken hands, advised me to close the
door, and leave him undisturbed; for the journey had fatigued him.  Cathy
would fain have taken one glance, but her father told her to come, and
they walked together up the park, while I hastened before to prepare the
servants.
'Now, darling,' said Mr. Linton, addressing his daughter, as they halted
at the bottom of the front steps: 'your cousin is not so strong or so
merry as you are, and he has lost his mother, remember, a very short time
since; therefore, don't expect him to play and run about with you
directly.  And don't harass him much by talking: let him be quiet this
evening, at least, will you?'
'Yes, yes, papa,' answered Catherine: 'but I do want to see him; and he
hasn't once looked out.'
The carriage stopped; and the sleeper being roused, was lifted to the
ground by his uncle.
'This is your cousin Cathy, Linton,' he said, putting their little hands
together.  'She's fond of you already; and mind you don't grieve her by
crying to-night.  Try to be cheerful now; the travelling is at an end,
and you have nothing to do but rest and amuse yourself as you please.'
'Let me go to bed, then,' answered the boy, shrinking from Catherine's
salute; and he put his fingers to remove incipient tears.
'Come, come, there's a good child,' I whispered, leading him in.  'You'll
make her weep too--see how sorry she is for you!'
I do not know whether it was sorrow for him, but his cousin put on as sad
a countenance as himself, and returned to her father.  All three entered,
and mounted to the library, where tea was laid ready.  I proceeded to
remove Linton's cap and mantle, and placed him on a chair by the table;
but he was no sooner seated than he began to cry afresh.  My master
inquired what was the matter.
'I can't sit on a chair,' sobbed the boy.
'Go to the sofa, then, and Ellen shall bring you some tea,' answered his
uncle patiently.
He had been greatly tried, during the journey, I felt convinced, by his
fretful ailing charge.  Linton slowly trailed himself off, and lay down.
Cathy carried a footstool and her cup to his side.  At first she sat
silent; but that could not last: she had resolved to make a pet of her
little cousin, as she would have him to be; and she commenced stroking
his curls, and kissing his cheek, and offering him tea in her saucer,
like a baby.  This pleased him, for he was not much better: he dried his
eyes, and lightened into a faint smile.
'Oh, he'll do very well,' said the master to me, after watching them a
minute.  'Very well, if we can keep him, Ellen.  The company of a child
of his own age will instil new spirit into him soon, and by wishing for
strength he'll gain it.'
'Ay, if we can keep him!' I mused to myself; and sore misgivings came
over me that there was slight hope of that.  And then, I thought, how
ever will that weakling live at Wuthering Heights?  Between his father
and Hareton, what playmates and instructors they'll be.  Our doubts were
presently decided--even earlier than I expected.  I had just taken the
children up-stairs, after tea was finished, and seen Linton asleep--he
would not suffer me to leave him till that was the case--I had come down,
and was standing by the table in the hall, lighting a bedroom candle for
Mr. Edgar, when a maid stepped out of the kitchen and informed me that
Mr. Heathcliff's servant Joseph was at the door, and wished to speak with
the master.
'I shall ask him what he wants first,' I said, in considerable
trepidation.  'A very unlikely hour to be troubling people, and the
instant they have returned from a long journey.  I don't think the master
can see him.'
Joseph had advanced through the kitchen as I uttered these words, and now
presented himself in the hall.  He was donned in his Sunday garments,
with his most sanctimonious and sourest face, and, holding his hat in one
hand, and his stick in the other, he proceeded to clean his shoes on the
mat.
'Good-evening, Joseph,' I said, coldly.  'What business brings you here
to-night?'
'It's Maister Linton I mun spake to,' he answered, waving me disdainfully
aside.
'Mr. Linton is going to bed; unless you have something particular to say,
I'm sure he won't hear it now,' I continued.  'You had better sit down in
there, and entrust your message to me.'
'Which is his rahm?' pursued the fellow, surveying the range of closed
doors.
I perceived he was bent on refusing my mediation, so very reluctantly I
went up to the library, and announced the unseasonable visitor, advising
that he should be dismissed till next day.  Mr. Linton had no time to
empower me to do so, for Joseph mounted close at my heels, and, pushing
into the apartment, planted himself at the far side of the table, with
his two fists clapped on the head of his stick, and began in an elevated
tone, as if anticipating opposition--
'Hathecliff has sent me for his lad, and I munn't goa back 'bout him.'
Edgar Linton was silent a minute; an expression of exceeding sorrow
overcast his features: he would have pitied the child on his own account;
but, recalling Isabella's hopes and fears, and anxious wishes for her
son, and her commendations of him to his care, he grieved bitterly at the
prospect of yielding him up, and searched in his heart how it might be
avoided.  No plan offered itself: the very exhibition of any desire to
keep him would have rendered the claimant more peremptory: there was
nothing left but to resign him.  However, he was not going to rouse him
from his sleep.
'Tell Mr. Heathcliff,' he answered calmly, 'that his son shall come to
Wuthering Heights to-morrow.  He is in bed, and too tired to go the
distance now.  You may also tell him that the mother of Linton desired
him to remain under my guardianship; and, at present, his health is very
precarious.'
'Noa!' said Joseph, giving a thud with his prop on the floor, and
assuming an authoritative air.  'Noa! that means naught.  Hathecliff maks
noa 'count o' t' mother, nor ye norther; but he'll heu' his lad; und I
mun tak' him--soa now ye knaw!'
'You shall not to-night!' answered Linton decisively.  'Walk down stairs
at once, and repeat to your master what I have said.  Ellen, show him
down.  Go--'
And, aiding the indignant elder with a lift by the arm, he rid the room
of him and closed the door.
'Varrah weell!' shouted Joseph, as he slowly drew off.  'To-morn, he's
come hisseln, and thrust _him_ out, if ye darr!'
CHAPTER XX
To obviate the danger of this threat being fulfilled, Mr. Linton
commissioned me to take the boy home early, on Catherine's pony; and,
said he--'As we shall now have no influence over his destiny, good or
bad, you must say nothing of where he is gone to my daughter: she cannot
associate with him hereafter, and it is better for her to remain in
ignorance of his proximity; lest she should be restless, and anxious to
visit the Heights.  Merely tell her his father sent for him suddenly, and
he has been obliged to leave us.'
Linton was very reluctant to be roused from his bed at five o'clock, and
astonished to be informed that he must prepare for further travelling;
but I softened off the matter by stating that he was going to spend some
time with his father, Mr. Heathcliff, who wished to see him so much, he
did not like to defer the pleasure till he should recover from his late
journey.
'My father!' he cried, in strange perplexity.  'Mamma never told me I had
a father.  Where does he live?  I'd rather stay with uncle.'
'He lives a little distance from the Grange,' I replied; 'just beyond
those hills: not so far, but you may walk over here when you get hearty.
And you should be glad to go home, and to see him.  You must try to love
him, as you did your mother, and then he will love you.'
'But why have I not heard of him before?' asked Linton.  'Why didn't
mamma and he live together, as other people do?'
'He had business to keep him in the north,' I answered, 'and your
mother's health required her to reside in the south.'
'And why didn't mamma speak to me about him?' persevered the child.  'She
often talked of uncle, and I learnt to love him long ago.  How am I to
love papa?  I don't know him.'
'Oh, all children love their parents,' I said.  'Your mother, perhaps,
thought you would want to be with him if she mentioned him often to you.
Let us make haste.  An early ride on such a beautiful morning is much
preferable to an hour's more sleep.'
'Is _she_ to go with us,' he demanded, 'the little girl I saw yesterday?'
'Not now,' replied I.
'Is uncle?' he continued.
'No, I shall be your companion there,' I said.
Linton sank back on his pillow and fell into a brown study.
'I won't go without uncle,' he cried at length: 'I can't tell where you
mean to take me.'
I attempted to persuade him of the naughtiness of showing reluctance to
meet his father; still he obstinately resisted any progress towards
dressing, and I had to call for my master's assistance in coaxing him out
of bed.  The poor thing was finally got off, with several delusive
assurances that his absence should be short: that Mr. Edgar and Cathy
would visit him, and other promises, equally ill-founded, which I
invented and reiterated at intervals throughout the way.  The pure
heather-scented air, the bright sunshine, and the gentle canter of Minny,
relieved his despondency after a while.  He began to put questions
concerning his new home, and its inhabitants, with greater interest and
liveliness.
'Is Wuthering Heights as pleasant a place as Thrushcross Grange?' he
inquired, turning to take a last glance into the valley, whence a light
mist mounted and formed a fleecy cloud on the skirts of the blue.
'It is not so buried in trees,' I replied, 'and it is not quite so large,
but you can see the country beautifully all round; and the air is
healthier for you--fresher and drier.  You will, perhaps, think the
building old and dark at first; though it is a respectable house: the
next best in the neighbourhood.  And you will have such nice rambles on
the moors.  Hareton Earnshaw--that is, Miss Cathy's other cousin, and so
yours in a manner--will show you all the sweetest spots; and you can
bring a book in fine weather, and make a green hollow your study; and,
now and then, your uncle may join you in a walk: he does, frequently,
walk out on the hills.'
'And what is my father like?' he asked.  'Is he as young and handsome as
uncle?'
'He's as young,' said I; 'but he has black hair and eyes, and looks
sterner; and he is taller and bigger altogether.  He'll not seem to you
so gentle and kind at first, perhaps, because it is not his way: still,
mind you, be frank and cordial with him; and naturally he'll be fonder of
you than any uncle, for you are his own.'
'Black hair and eyes!' mused Linton.  'I can't fancy him.  Then I am not
like him, am I?'
'Not much,' I answered: not a morsel, I thought, surveying with regret
the white complexion and slim frame of my companion, and his large
languid eyes--his mother's eyes, save that, unless a morbid touchiness
kindled them a moment, they had not a vestige of her sparkling spirit.
'How strange that he should never come to see mamma and me!' he murmured.
'Has he ever seen me?  If he has, I must have been a baby.  I remember
not a single thing about him!'
'Why, Master Linton,' said I, 'three hundred miles is a great distance;
and ten years seem very different in length to a grown-up person compared
with what they do to you.  It is probable Mr. Heathcliff proposed going
from summer to summer, but never found a convenient opportunity; and now
it is too late.  Don't trouble him with questions on the subject: it will
disturb him, for no good.'
The boy was fully occupied with his own cogitations for the remainder of
the ride, till we halted before the farmhouse garden-gate.  I watched to
catch his impressions in his countenance.  He surveyed the carved front
and low-browed lattices, the straggling gooseberry-bushes and crooked
firs, with solemn intentness, and then shook his head: his private
feelings entirely disapproved of the exterior of his new abode.  But he
had sense to postpone complaining: there might be compensation within.
Before he dismounted, I went and opened the door.  It was half-past six;
the family had just finished breakfast: the servant was clearing and
wiping down the table.  Joseph stood by his master's chair telling some
tale concerning a lame horse; and Hareton was preparing for the hayfield.
'Hallo, Nelly!' said Mr. Heathcliff, when he saw me.  'I feared I should
have to come down and fetch my property myself.  You've brought it, have
you?  Let us see what we can make of it.'
He got up and strode to the door: Hareton and Joseph followed in gaping
curiosity.  Poor Linton ran a frightened eye over the faces of the three.
'Sure-ly,' said Joseph after a grave inspection, 'he's swopped wi' ye,
Maister, an' yon's his lass!'
Heathcliff, having stared his son into an ague of confusion, uttered a
scornful laugh.
'God! what a beauty! what a lovely, charming thing!' he exclaimed.
'Hav'n't they reared it on snails and sour milk, Nelly?  Oh, damn my
soul! but that's worse than I expected--and the devil knows I was not
sanguine!'
I bid the trembling and bewildered child get down, and enter.  He did not
thoroughly comprehend the meaning of his father's speech, or whether it
were intended for him: indeed, he was not yet certain that the grim,
sneering stranger was his father.  But he clung to me with growing
trepidation; and on Mr. Heathcliff's taking a seat and bidding him 'come
hither' he hid his face on my shoulder and wept.
'Tut, tut!' said Heathcliff, stretching out a hand and dragging him
roughly between his knees, and then holding up his head by the chin.
'None of that nonsense!  We're not going to hurt thee, Linton--isn't that
thy name?  Thou art thy mother's child, entirely!  Where is my share in
thee, puling chicken?'
He took off the boy's cap and pushed back his thick flaxen curls, felt
his slender arms and his small fingers; during which examination Linton
ceased crying, and lifted his great blue eyes to inspect the inspector.
'Do you know me?' asked Heathcliff, having satisfied himself that the
limbs were all equally frail and feeble.
'No,' said Linton, with a gaze of vacant fear.
'You've heard of me, I daresay?'
'No,' he replied again.
'No!  What a shame of your mother, never to waken your filial regard for
me!  You are my son, then, I'll tell you; and your mother was a wicked
slut to leave you in ignorance of the sort of father you possessed.  Now,
don't wince, and colour up!  Though it is something to see you have not
white blood.  Be a good lad; and I'll do for you.  Nelly, if you be tired
you may sit down; if not, get home again.  I guess you'll report what you
hear and see to the cipher at the Grange; and this thing won't be settled
while you linger about it.'
'Well,' replied I, 'I hope you'll be kind to the boy, Mr. Heathcliff, or
you'll not keep him long; and he's all you have akin in the wide world,
that you will ever know--remember.'
'I'll be very kind to him, you needn't fear,' he said, laughing.  'Only
nobody else must be kind to him: I'm jealous of monopolising his
affection.  And, to begin my kindness, Joseph, bring the lad some
breakfast.  Hareton, you infernal calf, begone to your work.  Yes, Nell,'
he added, when they had departed, 'my son is prospective owner of your
place, and I should not wish him to die till I was certain of being his
successor.  Besides, he's _mine_, and I want the triumph of seeing _my_
descendant fairly lord of their estates; my child hiring their children
to till their fathers' lands for wages.  That is the sole consideration
which can make me endure the whelp: I despise him for himself, and hate
him for the memories he revives!  But that consideration is sufficient:
he's as safe with me, and shall be tended as carefully as your master
tends his own.  I have a room up-stairs, furnished for him in handsome
style; I've engaged a tutor, also, to come three times a week, from
twenty miles' distance, to teach him what he pleases to learn.  I've
ordered Hareton to obey him: and in fact I've arranged everything with a
view to preserve the superior and the gentleman in him, above his
associates.  I do regret, however, that he so little deserves the
trouble: if I wished any blessing in the world, it was to find him a
worthy object of pride; and I'm bitterly disappointed with the
whey-faced, whining wretch!'
While he was speaking, Joseph returned bearing a basin of milk-porridge,
and placed it before Linton: who stirred round the homely mess with a
look of aversion, and affirmed he could not eat it. I saw the old
man-servant shared largely in his master's scorn of the child; though he
was compelled to retain the sentiment in his heart, because Heathcliff
plainly meant his underlings to hold him in honour.
'Cannot ate it?' repeated he, peering in Linton's face, and subduing his
voice to a whisper, for fear of being overheard.  'But Maister Hareton
nivir ate naught else, when he wer a little 'un; and what wer gooid
enough for him's gooid enough for ye, I's rayther think!'
'I _sha'n't_ eat it!' answered Linton, snappishly.  'Take it away.'
Joseph snatched up the food indignantly, and brought it to us.
'Is there aught ails th' victuals?' he asked, thrusting the tray under
Heathcliff's nose.
'What should ail them?' he said.
'Wah!' answered Joseph, 'yon dainty chap says he cannut ate 'em.  But I
guess it's raight!  His mother wer just soa--we wer a'most too mucky to
sow t' corn for makking her breead.'
'Don't mention his mother to me,' said the master, angrily.  'Get him
something that he can eat, that's all.  What is his usual food, Nelly?'
I suggested boiled milk or tea; and the housekeeper received instructions
to prepare some.  Come, I reflected, his father's selfishness may
contribute to his comfort.  He perceives his delicate constitution, and
the necessity of treating him tolerably.  I'll console Mr. Edgar by
acquainting him with the turn Heathcliff's humour has taken.  Having no
excuse for lingering longer, I slipped out, while Linton was engaged in
timidly rebuffing the advances of a friendly sheep-dog.  But he was too
much on the alert to be cheated: as I closed the door, I heard a cry, and
a frantic repetition of the words--
'Don't leave me!  I'll not stay here!  I'll not stay here!'
Then the latch was raised and fell: they did not suffer him to come
forth.  I mounted Minny, and urged her to a trot; and so my brief
guardianship ended.
CHAPTER XXI
We had sad work with little Cathy that day: she rose in high glee, eager
to join her cousin, and such passionate tears and lamentations followed
the news of his departure that Edgar himself was obliged to soothe her,
by affirming he should come back soon: he added, however, 'if I can get
him'; and there were no hopes of that.  This promise poorly pacified her;
but time was more potent; and though still at intervals she inquired of
her father when Linton would return, before she did see him again his
features had waxed so dim in her memory that she did not recognise him.
When I chanced to encounter the housekeeper of Wuthering Heights, in
paying business visits to Gimmerton, I used to ask how the young master
got on; for he lived almost as secluded as Catherine herself, and was
never to be seen.  I could gather from her that he continued in weak
health, and was a tiresome inmate.  She said Mr. Heathcliff seemed to
dislike him ever longer and worse, though he took some trouble to conceal
it: he had an antipathy to the sound of his voice, and could not do at
all with his sitting in the same room with him many minutes together.
There seldom passed much talk between them: Linton learnt his lessons and
spent his evenings in a small apartment they called the parlour: or else
lay in bed all day: for he was constantly getting coughs, and colds, and
aches, and pains of some sort.
'And I never know such a fainthearted creature,' added the woman; 'nor
one so careful of hisseln. He _will_ go on, if I leave the window open a
bit late in the evening. Oh! it's killing, a breath of night air! And he
must have a fire in the middle of summer; and Joseph's bacca-pipe is
poison; and he must always have sweets and dainties, and always milk,
milk for ever--heeding naught how the rest of us are pinched in winter;
and there he'll sit, wrapped in his furred cloak in his chair by the
fire, with some toast and water or other slop on the hob to sip at; and
if Hareton, for pity, comes to amuse him--Hareton is not bad-natured,
though he's rough--they're sure to part, one swearing and the other
crying. I believe the master would relish Earnshaw's thrashing him to a
mummy, if he were not his son; and I'm certain he would be fit to turn
him out of doors, if he knew half the nursing he gives hisseln. But then
he won't go into danger of temptation: he never enters the parlour, and
should Linton show those ways in the house where he is, he sends him
up-stairs directly.'
I divined, from this account, that utter lack of sympathy had rendered
young Heathcliff selfish and disagreeable, if he were not so originally;
and my interest in him, consequently, decayed: though still I was moved
with a sense of grief at his lot, and a wish that he had been left with
us.  Mr. Edgar encouraged me to gain information: he thought a great deal
about him, I fancy, and would have run some risk to see him; and he told
me once to ask the housekeeper whether he ever came into the village?  She
said he had only been twice, on horseback, accompanying his father; and
both times he pretended to be quite knocked up for three or four days
afterwards.  That housekeeper left, if I recollect rightly, two years
after he came; and another, whom I did not know, was her successor; she
lives there still.
Time wore on at the Grange in its former pleasant way till Miss Cathy
reached sixteen.  On the anniversary of her birth we never manifested any
signs of rejoicing, because it was also the anniversary of my late
mistress's death.  Her father invariably spent that day alone in the
library; and walked, at dusk, as far as Gimmerton kirkyard, where he
would frequently prolong his stay beyond midnight.  Therefore Catherine
was thrown on her own resources for amusement.  This twentieth of March
was a beautiful spring day, and when her father had retired, my young
lady came down dressed for going out, and said she asked to have a ramble
on the edge of the moor with me: Mr. Linton had given her leave, if we
went only a short distance and were back within the hour.
'So make haste, Ellen!' she cried.  'I know where I wish to go; where a
colony of moor-game are settled: I want to see whether they have made
their nests yet.'
'That must be a good distance up,' I answered; 'they don't breed on the
edge of the moor.'
'No, it's not,' she said.  'I've gone very near with papa.'
I put on my bonnet and sallied out, thinking nothing more of the matter.
She bounded before me, and returned to my side, and was off again like a
young greyhound; and, at first, I found plenty of entertainment in
listening to the larks singing far and near, and enjoying the sweet, warm
sunshine; and watching her, my pet and my delight, with her golden
ringlets flying loose behind, and her bright cheek, as soft and pure in
its bloom as a wild rose, and her eyes radiant with cloudless pleasure.
She was a happy creature, and an angel, in those days.  It's a pity she
could not be content.
'Well,' said I, 'where are your moor-game, Miss Cathy?  We should be at
them: the Grange park-fence is a great way off now.'
'Oh, a little further--only a little further, Ellen,' was her answer,
continually.  'Climb to that hillock, pass that bank, and by the time you
reach the other side I shall have raised the birds.'
But there were so many hillocks and banks to climb and pass, that, at
length, I began to be weary, and told her we must halt, and retrace our
steps.  I shouted to her, as she had outstripped me a long way; she
either did not hear or did not regard, for she still sprang on, and I was
compelled to follow.  Finally, she dived into a hollow; and before I came
in sight of her again, she was two miles nearer Wuthering Heights than
her own home; and I beheld a couple of persons arrest her, one of whom I
felt convinced was Mr. Heathcliff himself.
Cathy had been caught in the fact of plundering, or, at least, hunting
out the nests of the grouse.  The Heights were Heathcliff's land, and he
was reproving the poacher.
'I've neither taken any nor found any,' she said, as I toiled to them,
expanding her hands in corroboration of the statement.  'I didn't mean to
take them; but papa told me there were quantities up here, and I wished
to see the eggs.'
Heathcliff glanced at me with an ill-meaning smile, expressing his
acquaintance with the party, and, consequently, his malevolence towards
it, and demanded who 'papa' was?
'Mr. Linton of Thrushcross Grange,' she replied.  'I thought you did not
know me, or you wouldn't have spoken in that way.'
'You suppose papa is highly esteemed and respected, then?' he said,
sarcastically.
'And what are you?' inquired Catherine, gazing curiously on the speaker.
'That man I've seen before.  Is he your son?'
She pointed to Hareton, the other individual, who had gained nothing but
increased bulk and strength by the addition of two years to his age: he
seemed as awkward and rough as ever.
'Miss Cathy,' I interrupted, 'it will be three hours instead of one that
we are out, presently.  We really must go back.'
'No, that man is not my son,' answered Heathcliff, pushing me aside.  'But
I have one, and you have seen him before too; and, though your nurse is
in a hurry, I think both you and she would be the better for a little
rest.  Will you just turn this nab of heath, and walk into my house?
You'll get home earlier for the ease; and you shall receive a kind
welcome.'
I whispered Catherine that she mustn't, on any account, accede to the
proposal: it was entirely out of the question.
'Why?' she asked, aloud.  'I'm tired of running, and the ground is dewy:
I can't sit here.  Let us go, Ellen.  Besides, he says I have seen his
son.  He's mistaken, I think; but I guess where he lives: at the
farmhouse I visited in coming from Penistone Crags.  Don't you?'
'I do.  Come, Nelly, hold your tongue--it will be a treat for her to look
in on us.  Hareton, get forwards with the lass.  You shall walk with me,
Nelly.'
'No, she's not going to any such place,' I cried, struggling to release
my arm, which he had seized: but she was almost at the door-stones
already, scampering round the brow at full speed.  Her appointed
companion did not pretend to escort her: he shied off by the road-side,
and vanished.
'Mr. Heathcliff, it's very wrong,' I continued: 'you know you mean no
good.  And there she'll see Linton, and all will be told as soon as ever
we return; and I shall have the blame.'
'I want her to see Linton,' he answered; 'he's looking better these few
days; it's not often he's fit to be seen.  And we'll soon persuade her to
keep the visit secret: where is the harm of it?'
'The harm of it is, that her father would hate me if he found I suffered
her to enter your house; and I am convinced you have a bad design in
encouraging her to do so,' I replied.
'My design is as honest as possible.  I'll inform you of its whole
scope,' he said.  'That the two cousins may fall in love, and get
married.  I'm acting generously to your master: his young chit has no
expectations, and should she second my wishes she'll be provided for at
once as joint successor with Linton.'
'If Linton died,' I answered, 'and his life is quite uncertain, Catherine
would be the heir.'
'No, she would not,' he said.  'There is no clause in the will to secure
it so: his property would go to me; but, to prevent disputes, I desire
their union, and am resolved to bring it about.'
'And I'm resolved she shall never approach your house with me again,' I
returned, as we reached the gate, where Miss Cathy waited our coming.
Heathcliff bade me be quiet; and, preceding us up the path, hastened to
open the door.  My young lady gave him several looks, as if she could not
exactly make up her mind what to think of him; but now he smiled when he
met her eye, and softened his voice in addressing her; and I was foolish
enough to imagine the memory of her mother might disarm him from desiring
her injury.  Linton stood on the hearth.  He had been out walking in the
fields, for his cap was on, and he was calling to Joseph to bring him dry
shoes.  He had grown tall of his age, still wanting some months of
sixteen.  His features were pretty yet, and his eye and complexion
brighter than I remembered them, though with merely temporary lustre
borrowed from the salubrious air and genial sun.
'Now, who is that?' asked Mr. Heathcliff, turning to Cathy.  'Can you
tell?'
'Your son?' she said, having doubtfully surveyed, first one and then the
other.
'Yes, yes,' answered he: 'but is this the only time you have beheld him?
Think!  Ah! you have a short memory.  Linton, don't you recall your
cousin, that you used to tease us so with wishing to see?'
'What, Linton!' cried Cathy, kindling into joyful surprise at the name.
'Is that little Linton?  He's taller than I am!  Are you Linton?'
The youth stepped forward, and acknowledged himself: she kissed him
fervently, and they gazed with wonder at the change time had wrought in
the appearance of each.  Catherine had reached her full height; her
figure was both plump and slender, elastic as steel, and her whole aspect
sparkling with health and spirits.  Linton's looks and movements were
very languid, and his form extremely slight; but there was a grace in his
manner that mitigated these defects, and rendered him not unpleasing.
After exchanging numerous marks of fondness with him, his cousin went to
Mr. Heathcliff, who lingered by the door, dividing his attention between
the objects inside and those that lay without: pretending, that is, to
observe the latter, and really noting the former alone.
'And you are my uncle, then!' she cried, reaching up to salute him.  'I
thought I liked you, though you were cross at first.  Why don't you visit
at the Grange with Linton?  To live all these years such close
neighbours, and never see us, is odd: what have you done so for?'
'I visited it once or twice too often before you were born,' he answered.
'There--damn it!  If you have any kisses to spare, give them to Linton:
they are thrown away on me.'
'Naughty Ellen!' exclaimed Catherine, flying to attack me next with her
lavish caresses.  'Wicked Ellen! to try to hinder me from entering.  But
I'll take this walk every morning in future: may I, uncle? and sometimes
bring papa.  Won't you be glad to see us?'
'Of course,' replied the uncle, with a hardly suppressed grimace,
resulting from his deep aversion to both the proposed visitors.  'But
stay,' he continued, turning towards the young lady.  'Now I think of it,
I'd better tell you.  Mr. Linton has a prejudice against me: we
quarrelled at one time of our lives, with unchristian ferocity; and, if
you mention coming here to him, he'll put a veto on your visits
altogether.  Therefore, you must not mention it, unless you be careless
of seeing your cousin hereafter: you may come, if you will, but you must
not mention it.'
'Why did you quarrel?' asked Catherine, considerably crestfallen.
'He thought me too poor to wed his sister,' answered Heathcliff, 'and was
grieved that I got her: his pride was hurt, and he'll never forgive it.'
'That's wrong!' said the young lady: 'some time I'll tell him so.  But
Linton and I have no share in your quarrel.  I'll not come here, then; he
shall come to the Grange.'
'It will be too far for me,' murmured her cousin: 'to walk four miles
would kill me.  No, come here, Miss Catherine, now and then: not every
morning, but once or twice a week.'
The father launched towards his son a glance of bitter contempt.
'I am afraid, Nelly, I shall lose my labour,' he muttered to me.  'Miss
Catherine, as the ninny calls her, will discover his value, and send him
to the devil.  Now, if it had been Hareton!--Do you know that, twenty
times a day, I covet Hareton, with all his degradation?  I'd have loved
the lad had he been some one else.  But I think he's safe from _her_
love.  I'll pit him against that paltry creature, unless it bestir itself
briskly.  We calculate it will scarcely last till it is eighteen.  Oh,
confound the vapid thing!  He's absorbed in drying his feet, and never
looks at her.--Linton!'
'Yes, father,' answered the boy.
'Have you nothing to show your cousin anywhere about, not even a rabbit
or a weasel's nest?  Take her into the garden, before you change your
shoes; and into the stable to see your horse.'
'Wouldn't you rather sit here?' asked Linton, addressing Cathy in a tone
which expressed reluctance to move again.
'I don't know,' she replied, casting a longing look to the door, and
evidently eager to be active.
He kept his seat, and shrank closer to the fire.  Heathcliff rose, and
went into the kitchen, and from thence to the yard, calling out for
Hareton.  Hareton responded, and presently the two re-entered.  The young
man had been washing himself, as was visible by the glow on his cheeks
and his wetted hair.
'Oh, I'll ask _you_, uncle,' cried Miss Cathy, recollecting the
housekeeper's assertion.  'That is not my cousin, is he?'
'Yes,' he, replied, 'your mother's nephew.  Don't you like him!'
Catherine looked queer.
'Is he not a handsome lad?' he continued.
The uncivil little thing stood on tiptoe, and whispered a sentence in
Heathcliff's ear.  He laughed; Hareton darkened: I perceived he was very
sensitive to suspected slights, and had obviously a dim notion of his
inferiority.  But his master or guardian chased the frown by exclaiming--
'You'll be the favourite among us, Hareton!  She says you are a--What was
it?  Well, something very flattering.  Here! you go with her round the
farm.  And behave like a gentleman, mind!  Don't use any bad words; and
don't stare when the young lady is not looking at you, and be ready to
hide your face when she is; and, when you speak, say your words slowly,
and keep your hands out of your pockets.  Be off, and entertain her as
nicely as you can.'
He watched the couple walking past the window.  Earnshaw had his
countenance completely averted from his companion.  He seemed studying
the familiar landscape with a stranger's and an artist's interest.
Catherine took a sly look at him, expressing small admiration.  She then
turned her attention to seeking out objects of amusement for herself, and
tripped merrily on, lilting a tune to supply the lack of conversation.
'I've tied his tongue,' observed Heathcliff.  'He'll not venture a single
syllable all the time!  Nelly, you recollect me at his age--nay, some
years younger.  Did I ever look so stupid: so "gaumless," as Joseph calls
it?'
'Worse,' I replied, 'because more sullen with it.'
'I've a pleasure in him,' he continued, reflecting aloud. 'He has
satisfied my expectations. If he were a born fool I should not enjoy it
half so much. But he's no fool; and I can sympathise with all his
feelings, having felt them myself. I know what he suffers now, for
instance, exactly: it is merely a beginning of what he shall suffer,
though. And he'll never be able to emerge from his bathos of coarseness
and ignorance. I've got him faster than his scoundrel of a father
secured me, and lower; for he takes a pride in his brutishness. I've
taught him to scorn everything extra-animal as silly and weak. Don't you
think Hindley would be proud of his son, if he could see him? almost as
proud as I am of mine. But there's this difference; one is gold put to
the use of paving-stones, and the other is tin polished to ape a service
of silver. _Mine_ has nothing valuable about it; yet I shall have the
merit of making it go as far as such poor stuff can go. _His_ had
first-rate qualities, and they are lost: rendered worse than unavailing.
I have nothing to regret; he would have more than any but I are aware
of. And the best of it is, Hareton is damnably fond of me! You'll own
that I've outmatched Hindley there. If the dead villain could rise from
his grave to abuse me for his offspring's wrongs, I should have the fun
of seeing the said offspring fight him back again, indignant that he
should dare to rail at the one friend he has in the world!'
Heathcliff chuckled a fiendish laugh at the idea.  I made no reply,
because I saw that he expected none.  Meantime, our young companion, who
sat too removed from us to hear what was said, began to evince symptoms
of uneasiness, probably repenting that he had denied himself the treat of
Catherine's society for fear of a little fatigue.  His father remarked
the restless glances wandering to the window, and the hand irresolutely
extended towards his cap.
'Get up, you idle boy!' he exclaimed, with assumed heartiness.
'Away after them! they are just at the corner, by the stand of hives.'
Linton gathered his energies, and left the hearth.  The lattice was open,
and, as he stepped out, I heard Cathy inquiring of her unsociable
attendant what was that inscription over the door? Hareton stared up, and
scratched his head like a true clown.
'It's some damnable writing,' he answered.  'I cannot read it.'
'Can't read it?' cried Catherine; 'I can read it: it's English.  But I
want to know why it is there.'
Linton giggled: the first appearance of mirth he had exhibited.
'He does not know his letters,' he said to his cousin.  'Could you
believe in the existence of such a colossal dunce?'
'Is he all as he should be?' asked Miss Cathy, seriously; 'or is he
simple: not right?  I've questioned him twice now, and each time he
looked so stupid I think he does not understand me.  I can hardly
understand him, I'm sure!'
Linton repeated his laugh, and glanced at Hareton tauntingly; who
certainly did not seem quite clear of comprehension at that moment.
'There's nothing the matter but laziness; is there, Earnshaw?' he said.
'My cousin fancies you are an idiot.  There you experience the
consequence of scorning "book-larning," as you would say.  Have you
noticed, Catherine, his frightful Yorkshire pronunciation?'
'Why, where the devil is the use on't?' growled Hareton, more ready in
answering his daily companion.  He was about to enlarge further, but the
two youngsters broke into a noisy fit of merriment: my giddy miss being
delighted to discover that she might turn his strange talk to matter of
amusement.
'Where is the use of the devil in that sentence?' tittered Linton.  'Papa
told you not to say any bad words, and you can't open your mouth without
one.  Do try to behave like a gentleman, now do!'
'If thou weren't more a lass than a lad, I'd fell thee this minute, I
would; pitiful lath of a crater!' retorted the angry boor, retreating,
while his face burnt with mingled rage and mortification! for he was
conscious of being insulted, and embarrassed how to resent it.
Mr. Heathcliff having overheard the conversation, as well as I, smiled
when he saw him go; but immediately afterwards cast a look of singular
aversion on the flippant pair, who remained chattering in the door-way:
the boy finding animation enough while discussing Hareton's faults and
deficiencies, and relating anecdotes of his goings on; and the girl
relishing his pert and spiteful sayings, without considering the
ill-nature they evinced.  I began to dislike, more than to compassionate
Linton, and to excuse his father in some measure for holding him cheap.
We stayed till afternoon: I could not tear Miss Cathy away sooner; but
happily my master had not quitted his apartment, and remained ignorant of
our prolonged absence.  As we walked home, I would fain have enlightened
my charge on the characters of the people we had quitted: but she got it
into her head that I was prejudiced against them.
'Aha!' she cried, 'you take papa's side, Ellen: you are partial I know;
or else you wouldn't have cheated me so many years into the notion that
Linton lived a long way from here.  I'm really extremely angry; only I'm
so pleased I can't show it!  But you must hold your tongue about _my_
uncle; he's my uncle, remember; and I'll scold papa for quarrelling with
him.'
And so she ran on, till I relinquished the endeavour to convince her of
her mistake.  She did not mention the visit that night, because she did
not see Mr. Linton.  Next day it all came out, sadly to my chagrin; and
still I was not altogether sorry: I thought the burden of directing and
warning would be more efficiently borne by him than me.  But he was too
timid in giving satisfactory reasons for his wish that she should shun
connection with the household of the Heights, and Catherine liked good
reasons for every restraint that harassed her petted will.
'Papa!' she exclaimed, after the morning's salutations, 'guess whom I saw
yesterday, in my walk on the moors.  Ah, papa, you started! you've not
done right, have you, now?  I saw--but listen, and you shall hear how I
found you out; and Ellen, who is in league with you, and yet pretended to
pity me so, when I kept hoping, and was always disappointed about
Linton's coming back!'
She gave a faithful account of her excursion and its consequences; and my
master, though he cast more than one reproachful look at me, said nothing
till she had concluded.  Then he drew her to him, and asked if she knew
why he had concealed Linton's near neighbourhood from her?  Could she
think it was to deny her a pleasure that she might harmlessly enjoy?
'It was because you disliked Mr. Heathcliff,' she answered.
'Then you believe I care more for my own feelings than yours, Cathy?' he
said.  'No, it was not because I disliked Mr. Heathcliff, but because Mr.
Heathcliff dislikes me; and is a most diabolical man, delighting to wrong
and ruin those he hates, if they give him the slightest opportunity.  I
knew that you could not keep up an acquaintance with your cousin without
being brought into contact with him; and I knew he would detest you on my
account; so for your own good, and nothing else, I took precautions that
you should not see Linton again.  I meant to explain this some time as
you grew older, and I'm sorry I delayed it.'
'But Mr. Heathcliff was quite cordial, papa,' observed Catherine, not at
all convinced; 'and he didn't object to our seeing each other: he said I
might come to his house when I pleased; only I must not tell you, because
you had quarrelled with him, and would not forgive him for marrying aunt
Isabella.  And you won't.  _You_ are the one to be blamed: he is willing
to let us be friends, at least; Linton and I; and you are not.'
My master, perceiving that she would not take his word for her
uncle-in-law's evil disposition, gave a hasty sketch of his conduct to
Isabella, and the manner in which Wuthering Heights became his property.
He could not bear to discourse long upon the topic; for though he spoke
little of it, he still felt the same horror and detestation of his
ancient enemy that had occupied his heart ever since Mrs. Linton's
death. 'She might have been living yet, if it had not been for him!' was
his constant bitter reflection; and, in his eyes, Heathcliff seemed a
murderer. Miss Cathy--conversant with no bad deeds except her own slight
acts of disobedience, injustice, and passion, arising from hot temper
and thoughtlessness, and repented of on the day they were committed--was
amazed at the blackness of spirit that could brood on and cover revenge
for years, and deliberately prosecute its plans without a visitation of
remorse. She appeared so deeply impressed and shocked at this new view
of human nature--excluded from all her studies and all her ideas till
now--that Mr. Edgar deemed it unnecessary to pursue the subject. He
merely added: 'You will know hereafter, darling, why I wish you to avoid
his house and family; now return to your old employments and amusements,
and think no more about them.'
Catherine kissed her father, and sat down quietly to her lessons for a
couple of hours, according to custom; then she accompanied him into the
grounds, and the whole day passed as usual: but in the evening, when she
had retired to her room, and I went to help her to undress, I found her
crying, on her knees by the bedside.
'Oh, fie, silly child!' I exclaimed.  'If you had any real griefs you'd
be ashamed to waste a tear on this little contrariety.  You never had one
shadow of substantial sorrow, Miss Catherine.  Suppose, for a minute,
that master and I were dead, and you were by yourself in the world: how
would you feel, then?  Compare the present occasion with such an
affliction as that, and be thankful for the friends you have, instead of
coveting more.'
'I'm not crying for myself, Ellen,' she answered, 'it's for him.  He
expected to see me again to-morrow, and there he'll be so disappointed:
and he'll wait for me, and I sha'n't come!'
'Nonsense!' said I, 'do you imagine he has thought as much of you as you
have of him?  Hasn't he Hareton for a companion?  Not one in a hundred
would weep at losing a relation they had just seen twice, for two
afternoons.  Linton will conjecture how it is, and trouble himself no
further about you.'
'But may I not write a note to tell him why I cannot come?' she asked,
rising to her feet.  'And just send those books I promised to lend him?
His books are not as nice as mine, and he wanted to have them extremely,
when I told him how interesting they were.  May I not, Ellen?'
'No, indeed! no, indeed!' replied I with decision.  'Then he would write
to you, and there'd never be an end of it.  No, Miss Catherine, the
acquaintance must be dropped entirely: so papa expects, and I shall see
that it is done.'
'But how can one little note--?' she recommenced, putting on an imploring
countenance.
'Silence!' I interrupted.  'We'll not begin with your little notes.  Get
into bed.'
She threw at me a very naughty look, so naughty that I would not kiss her
good-night at first: I covered her up, and shut her door, in great
displeasure; but, repenting half-way, I returned softly, and lo! there
was Miss standing at the table with a bit of blank paper before her and a
pencil in her hand, which she guiltily slipped out of sight on my
entrance.
'You'll get nobody to take that, Catherine,' I said, 'if you write it;
and at present I shall put out your candle.'
I set the extinguisher on the flame, receiving as I did so a slap on my
hand and a petulant 'cross thing!'  I then quitted her again, and she
drew the bolt in one of her worst, most peevish humours.  The letter was
finished and forwarded to its destination by a milk-fetcher who came from
the village; but that I didn't learn till some time afterwards.  Weeks
passed on, and Cathy recovered her temper; though she grew wondrous fond
of stealing off to corners by herself and often, if I came near her
suddenly while reading, she would start and bend over the book, evidently
desirous to hide it; and I detected edges of loose paper sticking out
beyond the leaves.  She also got a trick of coming down early in the
morning and lingering about the kitchen, as if she were expecting the
arrival of something; and she had a small drawer in a cabinet in the
library, which she would trifle over for hours, and whose key she took
special care to remove when she left it.
One day, as she inspected this drawer, I observed that the playthings and
trinkets which recently formed its contents were transmuted into bits of
folded paper.  My curiosity and suspicions were roused; I determined to
take a peep at her mysterious treasures; so, at night, as soon as she and
my master were safe upstairs, I searched, and readily found among my
house keys one that would fit the lock.  Having opened, I emptied the
whole contents into my apron, and took them with me to examine at leisure
in my own chamber.  Though I could not but suspect, I was still surprised
to discover that they were a mass of correspondence--daily almost, it
must have been--from Linton Heathcliff: answers to documents forwarded by
her.  The earlier dated were embarrassed and short; gradually, however,
they expanded into copious love-letters, foolish, as the age of the
writer rendered natural, yet with touches here and there which I thought
were borrowed from a more experienced source.  Some of them struck me as
singularly odd compounds of ardour and flatness; commencing in strong
feeling, and concluding in the affected, wordy style that a schoolboy
might use to a fancied, incorporeal sweetheart.  Whether they satisfied
Cathy I don't know; but they appeared very worthless trash to me.  After
turning over as many as I thought proper, I tied them in a handkerchief
and set them aside, relocking the vacant drawer.
Following her habit, my young lady descended early, and visited the
kitchen: I watched her go to the door, on the arrival of a certain little
boy; and, while the dairymaid filled his can, she tucked something into
his jacket pocket, and plucked something out.  I went round by the
garden, and laid wait for the messenger; who fought valorously to defend
his trust, and we spilt the milk between us; but I succeeded in
abstracting the epistle; and, threatening serious consequences if he did
not look sharp home, I remained under the wall and perused Miss Cathy's
affectionate composition.  It was more simple and more eloquent than her
cousin's: very pretty and very silly.  I shook my head, and went
meditating into the house.  The day being wet, she could not divert
herself with rambling about the park; so, at the conclusion of her
morning studies, she resorted to the solace of the drawer.  Her father
sat reading at the table; and I, on purpose, had sought a bit of work in
some unripped fringes of the window-curtain, keeping my eye steadily
fixed on her proceedings.  Never did any bird flying back to a plundered
nest, which it had left brimful of chirping young ones, express more
complete despair, in its anguished cries and flutterings, than she by her
single 'Oh!' and the change that transfigured her late happy countenance.
Mr. Linton looked up.
'What is the matter, love?  Have you hurt yourself?' he said.
His tone and look assured her _he_ had not been the discoverer of the
hoard.
'No, papa!' she gasped.  'Ellen! Ellen! come up-stairs--I'm sick!'
I obeyed her summons, and accompanied her out.
'Oh, Ellen! you have got them,' she commenced immediately, dropping on
her knees, when we were enclosed alone.  'Oh, give them to me, and I'll
never, never do so again!  Don't tell papa.  You have not told papa,
Ellen? say you have not?  I've been exceedingly naughty, but I won't do
it any more!'
With a grave severity in my manner I bade her stand up.
'So,' I exclaimed, 'Miss Catherine, you are tolerably far on, it seems:
you may well be ashamed of them!  A fine bundle of trash you study in
your leisure hours, to be sure: why, it's good enough to be printed!  And
what do you suppose the master will think when I display it before him?  I
hav'n't shown it yet, but you needn't imagine I shall keep your
ridiculous secrets.  For shame! and you must have led the way in writing
such absurdities: he would not have thought of beginning, I'm certain.'
'I didn't!  I didn't!' sobbed Cathy, fit to break her heart.  'I didn't
once think of loving him till--'
'_Loving_!' cried I, as scornfully as I could utter the word.  '_Loving_!
Did anybody ever hear the like!  I might just as well talk of loving the
miller who comes once a year to buy our corn.  Pretty loving, indeed! and
both times together you have seen Linton hardly four hours in your life!
Now here is the babyish trash.  I'm going with it to the library; and
we'll see what your father says to such _loving_.'
She sprang at her precious epistles, but I held them above my head; and
then she poured out further frantic entreaties that I would burn them--do
anything rather than show them.  And being really fully as much inclined
to laugh as scold--for I esteemed it all girlish vanity--I at length
relented in a measure, and asked,--'If I consent to burn them, will you
promise faithfully neither to send nor receive a letter again, nor a book
(for I perceive you have sent him books), nor locks of hair, nor rings,
nor playthings?'
'We don't send playthings,' cried Catherine, her pride overcoming her
shame.
'Nor anything at all, then, my lady?' I said.  'Unless you will, here I
go.'
'I promise, Ellen!' she cried, catching my dress.  'Oh, put them in the
fire, do, do!'
But when I proceeded to open a place with the poker the sacrifice was too
painful to be borne.  She earnestly supplicated that I would spare her
one or two.
'One or two, Ellen, to keep for Linton's sake!'
I unknotted the handkerchief, and commenced dropping them in from an
angle, and the flame curled up the chimney.
'I will have one, you cruel wretch!' she screamed, darting her hand into
the fire, and drawing forth some half-consumed fragments, at the expense
of her fingers.
'Very well--and I will have some to exhibit to papa!'  I answered,
shaking back the rest into the bundle, and turning anew to the door.
She emptied her blackened pieces into the flames, and motioned me to
finish the immolation.  It was done; I stirred up the ashes, and interred
them under a shovelful of coals; and she mutely, and with a sense of
intense injury, retired to her private apartment.  I descended to tell my
master that the young lady's qualm of sickness was almost gone, but I
judged it best for her to lie down a while.  She wouldn't dine; but she
reappeared at tea, pale, and red about the eyes, and marvellously subdued
in outward aspect.  Next morning I answered the letter by a slip of
paper, inscribed, 'Master Heathcliff is requested to send no more notes
to Miss Linton, as she will not receive them.'  And, henceforth, the
little boy came with vacant pockets.
CHAPTER XXII
Summer drew to an end, and early autumn: it was past Michaelmas, but the
harvest was late that year, and a few of our fields were still uncleared.
Mr. Linton and his daughter would frequently walk out among the reapers;
at the carrying of the last sheaves they stayed till dusk, and the
evening happening to be chill and damp, my master caught a bad cold, that
settled obstinately on his lungs, and confined him indoors throughout the
whole of the winter, nearly without intermission.
Poor Cathy, frightened from her little romance, had been considerably
sadder and duller since its abandonment; and her father insisted on her
reading less, and taking more exercise.  She had his companionship no
longer; I esteemed it a duty to supply its lack, as much as possible,
with mine: an inefficient substitute; for I could only spare two or three
hours, from my numerous diurnal occupations, to follow her footsteps, and
then my society was obviously less desirable than his.
On an afternoon in October, or the beginning of November--a fresh watery
afternoon, when the turf and paths were rustling with moist, withered
leaves, and the cold blue sky was half hidden by clouds--dark grey
streamers, rapidly mounting from the west, and boding abundant rain--I
requested my young lady to forego her ramble, because I was certain of
showers.  She refused; and I unwillingly donned a cloak, and took my
umbrella to accompany her on a stroll to the bottom of the park: a formal
walk which she generally affected if low-spirited--and that she
invariably was when Mr. Edgar had been worse than ordinary, a thing never
known from his confession, but guessed both by her and me from his
increased silence and the melancholy of his countenance.  She went sadly
on: there was no running or bounding now, though the chill wind might
well have tempted her to race.  And often, from the side of my eye, I
could detect her raising a hand, and brushing something off her cheek.  I
gazed round for a means of diverting her thoughts.  On one side of the
road rose a high, rough bank, where hazels and stunted oaks, with their
roots half exposed, held uncertain tenure: the soil was too loose for the
latter; and strong winds had blown some nearly horizontal.  In summer
Miss Catherine delighted to climb along these trunks, and sit in the
branches, swinging twenty feet above the ground; and I, pleased with her
agility and her light, childish heart, still considered it proper to
scold every time I caught her at such an elevation, but so that she knew
there was no necessity for descending.  From dinner to tea she would lie
in her breeze-rocked cradle, doing nothing except singing old songs--my
nursery lore--to herself, or watching the birds, joint tenants, feed and
entice their young ones to fly: or nestling with closed lids, half
thinking, half dreaming, happier than words can express.
'Look, Miss!' I exclaimed, pointing to a nook under the roots of one
twisted tree.  'Winter is not here yet.  There's a little flower up
yonder, the last bud from the multitude of bluebells that clouded those
turf steps in July with a lilac mist.  Will you clamber up, and pluck it
to show to papa?'  Cathy stared a long time at the lonely blossom
trembling in its earthy shelter, and replied, at length--'No, I'll not
touch it: but it looks melancholy, does it not, Ellen?'
'Yes,' I observed, 'about as starved and suckless as you: your cheeks are
bloodless; let us take hold of hands and run.  You're so low, I daresay I
shall keep up with you.'
'No,' she repeated, and continued sauntering on, pausing at intervals to
muse over a bit of moss, or a tuft of blanched grass, or a fungus
spreading its bright orange among the heaps of brown foliage; and, ever
and anon, her hand was lifted to her averted face.
'Catherine, why are you crying, love?' I asked, approaching and putting
my arm over her shoulder.  'You mustn't cry because papa has a cold; be
thankful it is nothing worse.'
She now put no further restraint on her tears; her breath was stifled by
sobs.
'Oh, it will be something worse,' she said.  'And what shall I do when
papa and you leave me, and I am by myself?  I can't forget your words,
Ellen; they are always in my ear.  How life will be changed, how dreary
the world will be, when papa and you are dead.'
'None can tell whether you won't die before us,' I replied.  'It's wrong
to anticipate evil.  We'll hope there are years and years to come before
any of us go: master is young, and I am strong, and hardly forty-five.  My
mother lived till eighty, a canty dame to the last.  And suppose Mr.
Linton were spared till he saw sixty, that would be more years than you
have counted, Miss.  And would it not be foolish to mourn a calamity
above twenty years beforehand?'
'But Aunt Isabella was younger than papa,' she remarked, gazing up with
timid hope to seek further consolation.
'Aunt Isabella had not you and me to nurse her,' I replied.  'She wasn't
as happy as Master: she hadn't as much to live for.  All you need do, is
to wait well on your father, and cheer him by letting him see you
cheerful; and avoid giving him anxiety on any subject: mind that, Cathy!
I'll not disguise but you might kill him if you were wild and reckless,
and cherished a foolish, fanciful affection for the son of a person who
would be glad to have him in his grave; and allowed him to discover that
you fretted over the separation he has judged it expedient to make.'
'I fret about nothing on earth except papa's illness,' answered my
companion.  'I care for nothing in comparison with papa.  And I'll
never--never--oh, never, while I have my senses, do an act or say a word
to vex him.  I love him better than myself, Ellen; and I know it by this:
I pray every night that I may live after him; because I would rather be
miserable than that he should be: that proves I love him better than
myself.'
'Good words,' I replied.  'But deeds must prove it also; and after he is
well, remember you don't forget resolutions formed in the hour of fear.'
As we talked, we neared a door that opened on the road; and my young
lady, lightening into sunshine again, climbed up and seated herself on
the top of the wall, reaching over to gather some hips that bloomed
scarlet on the summit branches of the wild-rose trees shadowing the
highway side: the lower fruit had disappeared, but only birds could touch
the upper, except from Cathy's present station.  In stretching to pull
them, her hat fell off; and as the door was locked, she proposed
scrambling down to recover it.  I bid her be cautious lest she got a
fall, and she nimbly disappeared.  But the return was no such easy
matter: the stones were smooth and neatly cemented, and the rose-bushes
and black-berry stragglers could yield no assistance in re-ascending.  I,
like a fool, didn't recollect that, till I heard her laughing and
exclaiming--'Ellen! you'll have to fetch the key, or else I must run
round to the porter's lodge.  I can't scale the ramparts on this side!'
'Stay where you are,' I answered; 'I have my bundle of keys in my pocket:
perhaps I may manage to open it; if not, I'll go.'
Catherine amused herself with dancing to and fro before the door, while I
tried all the large keys in succession.  I had applied the last, and
found that none would do; so, repeating my desire that she would remain
there, I was about to hurry home as fast as I could, when an approaching
sound arrested me.  It was the trot of a horse; Cathy's dance stopped
also.
'Who is that?' I whispered.
'Ellen, I wish you could open the door,' whispered back my companion,
anxiously.
'Ho, Miss Linton!' cried a deep voice (the rider's), 'I'm glad to meet
you.  Don't be in haste to enter, for I have an explanation to ask and
obtain.'
'I sha'n't speak to you, Mr. Heathcliff,' answered Catherine.  'Papa says
you are a wicked man, and you hate both him and me; and Ellen says the
same.'
'That is nothing to the purpose,' said Heathcliff.  (He it was.)  'I
don't hate my son, I suppose; and it is concerning him that I demand your
attention.  Yes; you have cause to blush.  Two or three months since,
were you not in the habit of writing to Linton? making love in play, eh?
You deserved, both of you, flogging for that!  You especially, the elder;
and less sensitive, as it turns out.  I've got your letters, and if you
give me any pertness I'll send them to your father.  I presume you grew
weary of the amusement and dropped it, didn't you?  Well, you dropped
Linton with it into a Slough of Despond.  He was in earnest: in love,
really.  As true as I live, he's dying for you; breaking his heart at
your fickleness: not figuratively, but actually.  Though Hareton has made
him a standing jest for six weeks, and I have used more serious measures,
and attempted to frighten him out of his idiotcy, he gets worse daily;
and he'll be under the sod before summer, unless you restore him!'
'How can you lie so glaringly to the poor child?' I called from the
inside.  'Pray ride on!  How can you deliberately get up such paltry
falsehoods?  Miss Cathy, I'll knock the lock off with a stone: you won't
believe that vile nonsense.  You can feel in yourself it is impossible
that a person should die for love of a stranger.'
'I was not aware there were eavesdroppers,' muttered the detected
villain. 'Worthy Mrs. Dean, I like you, but I don't like your
double-dealing,' he added aloud. 'How could _you_ lie so glaringly as to
affirm I hated the "poor child"? and invent bugbear stories to terrify
her from my door-stones? Catherine Linton (the very name warms me), my
bonny lass, I shall be from home all this week; go and see if have not
spoken truth: do, there's a darling! Just imagine your father in my
place, and Linton in yours; then think how you would value your careless
lover if he refused to stir a step to comfort you, when your father
himself entreated him; and don't, from pure stupidity, fall into the
same error. I swear, on my salvation, he's going to his grave, and none
but you can save him!'
The lock gave way and I issued out.
'I swear Linton is dying,' repeated Heathcliff, looking hard at me.  'And
grief and disappointment are hastening his death.  Nelly, if you won't
let her go, you can walk over yourself.  But I shall not return till this
time next week; and I think your master himself would scarcely object to
her visiting her cousin.'
'Come in,' said I, taking Cathy by the arm and half forcing her to
re-enter; for she lingered, viewing with troubled eyes the features of
the speaker, too stern to express his inward deceit.
He pushed his horse close, and, bending down, observed--'Miss Catherine,
I'll own to you that I have little patience with Linton; and Hareton and
Joseph have less.  I'll own that he's with a harsh set.  He pines for
kindness, as well as love; and a kind word from you would be his best
medicine.  Don't mind Mrs. Dean's cruel cautions; but be generous, and
contrive to see him.  He dreams of you day and night, and cannot be
persuaded that you don't hate him, since you neither write nor call.'
I closed the door, and rolled a stone to assist the loosened lock in
holding it; and spreading my umbrella, I drew my charge underneath: for
the rain began to drive through the moaning branches of the trees, and
warned us to avoid delay.  Our hurry prevented any comment on the
encounter with Heathcliff, as we stretched towards home; but I divined
instinctively that Catherine's heart was clouded now in double darkness.
Her features were so sad, they did not seem hers: she evidently regarded
what she had heard as every syllable true.
The master had retired to rest before we came in.  Cathy stole to his
room to inquire how he was; he had fallen asleep.  She returned, and
asked me to sit with her in the library.  We took our tea together; and
afterwards she lay down on the rug, and told me not to talk, for she was
weary.  I got a book, and pretended to read.  As soon as she supposed me
absorbed in my occupation, she recommenced her silent weeping: it
appeared, at present, her favourite diversion.  I suffered her to enjoy
it a while; then I expostulated: deriding and ridiculing all Mr.
Heathcliff's assertions about his son, as if I were certain she would
coincide.  Alas!  I hadn't skill to counteract the effect his account had
produced: it was just what he intended.
'You may be right, Ellen,' she answered; 'but I shall never feel at ease
till I know.  And I must tell Linton it is not my fault that I don't
write, and convince him that I shall not change.'
What use were anger and protestations against her silly credulity?  We
parted that night--hostile; but next day beheld me on the road to
Wuthering Heights, by the side of my wilful young mistress's pony.  I
couldn't bear to witness her sorrow: to see her pale, dejected
countenance, and heavy eyes: and I yielded, in the faint hope that Linton
himself might prove, by his reception of us, how little of the tale was
founded on fact.
CHAPTER XXIII
The rainy night had ushered in a misty morning--half frost, half
drizzle--and temporary brooks crossed our path--gurgling from the
uplands.  My feet were thoroughly wetted; I was cross and low; exactly
the humour suited for making the most of these disagreeable things.  We
entered the farm-house by the kitchen way, to ascertain whether Mr.
Heathcliff were really absent: because I put slight faith in his own
affirmation.
Joseph seemed sitting in a sort of elysium alone, beside a roaring fire;
a quart of ale on the table near him, bristling with large pieces of
toasted oat-cake; and his black, short pipe in his mouth.  Catherine ran
to the hearth to warm herself.  I asked if the master was in?  My
question remained so long unanswered, that I thought the old man had
grown deaf, and repeated it louder.
'Na--ay!' he snarled, or rather screamed through his nose.  'Na--ay! yah
muh goa back whear yah coom frough.'
'Joseph!' cried a peevish voice, simultaneously with me, from the inner
room.  'How often am I to call you?  There are only a few red ashes now.
Joseph! come this moment.'
Vigorous puffs, and a resolute stare into the grate, declared he had no
ear for this appeal.  The housekeeper and Hareton were invisible; one
gone on an errand, and the other at his work, probably.  We knew Linton's
tones, and entered.
'Oh, I hope you'll die in a garret, starved to death!' said the boy,
mistaking our approach for that of his negligent attendant.
He stopped on observing his error: his cousin flew to him.
'Is that you, Miss Linton?' he said, raising his head from the arm of the
great chair, in which he reclined.  'No--don't kiss me: it takes my
breath.  Dear me!  Papa said you would call,' continued he, after
recovering a little from Catherine's embrace; while she stood by looking
very contrite.  'Will you shut the door, if you please? you left it open;
and those--those _detestable_ creatures won't bring coals to the fire.
It's so cold!'
I stirred up the cinders, and fetched a scuttleful myself.  The invalid
complained of being covered with ashes; but he had a tiresome cough, and
looked feverish and ill, so I did not rebuke his temper.
'Well, Linton,' murmured Catherine, when his corrugated brow relaxed,
'are you glad to see me?  Can I do you any good?'
'Why didn't you come before?' he asked.  'You should have come, instead
of writing.  It tired me dreadfully writing those long letters.  I'd far
rather have talked to you.  Now, I can neither bear to talk, nor anything
else.  I wonder where Zillah is!  Will you' (looking at me) 'step into
the kitchen and see?'
I had received no thanks for my other service; and being unwilling to run
to and fro at his behest, I replied--'Nobody is out there but Joseph.'
'I want to drink,' he exclaimed fretfully, turning away.  'Zillah is
constantly gadding off to Gimmerton since papa went: it's miserable!  And
I'm obliged to come down here--they resolved never to hear me up-stairs.'
'Is your father attentive to you, Master Heathcliff?' I asked, perceiving
Catherine to be checked in her friendly advances.
'Attentive?  He makes them a little more attentive at least,' he cried.
'The wretches!  Do you know, Miss Linton, that brute Hareton laughs at
me!  I hate him! indeed, I hate them all: they are odious beings.'
Cathy began searching for some water; she lighted on a pitcher in the
dresser, filled a tumbler, and brought it.  He bid her add a spoonful of
wine from a bottle on the table; and having swallowed a small portion,
appeared more tranquil, and said she was very kind.
'And are you glad to see me?' asked she, reiterating her former question
and pleased to detect the faint dawn of a smile.
'Yes, I am.  It's something new to hear a voice like yours!' he replied.
'But I have been vexed, because you wouldn't come.  And papa swore it was
owing to me: he called me a pitiful, shuffling, worthless thing; and said
you despised me; and if he had been in my place, he would be more the
master of the Grange than your father by this time.  But you don't
despise me, do you, Miss--?'
'I wish you would say Catherine, or Cathy,' interrupted my young lady.
'Despise you?  No!  Next to papa and Ellen, I love you better than
anybody living.  I don't love Mr. Heathcliff, though; and I dare not come
when he returns: will he stay away many days?'
'Not many,' answered Linton; 'but he goes on to the moors frequently,
since the shooting season commenced; and you might spend an hour or two
with me in his absence.  Do say you will.  I think I should not be
peevish with you: you'd not provoke me, and you'd always be ready to help
me, wouldn't you?'
'Yes,' said Catherine, stroking his long soft hair: 'if I could only get
papa's consent, I'd spend half my time with you.  Pretty Linton!  I wish
you were my brother.'
'And then you would like me as well as your father?' observed he, more
cheerfully.  'But papa says you would love me better than him and all the
world, if you were my wife; so I'd rather you were that.'
'No, I should never love anybody better than papa,' she returned gravely.
'And people hate their wives, sometimes; but not their sisters and
brothers: and if you were the latter, you would live with us, and papa
would be as fond of you as he is of me.'
Linton denied that people ever hated their wives; but Cathy affirmed they
did, and, in her wisdom, instanced his own father's aversion to her aunt.
I endeavoured to stop her thoughtless tongue.  I couldn't succeed till
everything she knew was out.  Master Heathcliff, much irritated, asserted
her relation was false.
'Papa told me; and papa does not tell falsehoods,' she answered pertly.
'_My_ papa scorns yours!' cried Linton.  'He calls him a sneaking fool.'
'Yours is a wicked man,' retorted Catherine; 'and you are very naughty to
dare to repeat what he says.  He must be wicked to have made Aunt
Isabella leave him as she did.'
'She didn't leave him,' said the boy; 'you sha'n't contradict me.'
'She did,' cried my young lady.
'Well, I'll tell you something!' said Linton.  'Your mother hated your
father: now then.'
'Oh!' exclaimed Catherine, too enraged to continue.
'And she loved mine,' added he.
'You little liar!  I hate you now!' she panted, and her face grew red
with passion.
'She did! she did!' sang Linton, sinking into the recess of his chair,
and leaning back his head to enjoy the agitation of the other disputant,
who stood behind.
'Hush, Master Heathcliff!' I said; 'that's your father's tale, too, I
suppose.'
'It isn't: you hold your tongue!' he answered.  'She did, she did,
Catherine! she did, she did!'
Cathy, beside herself, gave the chair a violent push, and caused him to
fall against one arm.  He was immediately seized by a suffocating cough
that soon ended his triumph.  It lasted so long that it frightened even
me.  As to his cousin, she wept with all her might, aghast at the
mischief she had done: though she said nothing.  I held him till the fit
exhausted itself.  Then he thrust me away, and leant his head down
silently.  Catherine quelled her lamentations also, took a seat opposite,
and looked solemnly into the fire.
'How do you feel now, Master Heathcliff?' I inquired, after waiting ten
minutes.
'I wish _she_ felt as I do,' he replied: 'spiteful, cruel thing! Hareton
never touches me: he never struck me in his life. And I was better
to-day: and there--' his voice died in a whimper.
'_I_ didn't strike you!' muttered Cathy, chewing her lip to prevent
another burst of emotion.
He sighed and moaned like one under great suffering, and kept it up for a
quarter of an hour; on purpose to distress his cousin apparently, for
whenever he caught a stifled sob from her he put renewed pain and pathos
into the inflexions of his voice.
'I'm sorry I hurt you, Linton,' she said at length, racked beyond
endurance.  'But I couldn't have been hurt by that little push, and I had
no idea that you could, either: you're not much, are you, Linton?  Don't
let me go home thinking I've done you harm.  Answer! speak to me.'
'I can't speak to you,' he murmured; 'you've hurt me so that I shall lie
awake all night choking with this cough.  If you had it you'd know what
it was; but _you'll_ be comfortably asleep while I'm in agony, and nobody
near me.  I wonder how you would like to pass those fearful nights!'  And
he began to wail aloud, for very pity of himself.
'Since you are in the habit of passing dreadful nights,' I said, 'it
won't be Miss who spoils your ease: you'd be the same had she never come.
However, she shall not disturb you again; and perhaps you'll get quieter
when we leave you.'
'Must I go?' asked Catherine dolefully, bending over him.  'Do you want
me to go, Linton?'
'You can't alter what you've done,' he replied pettishly, shrinking from
her, 'unless you alter it for the worse by teasing me into a fever.'
'Well, then, I must go?' she repeated.
'Let me alone, at least,' said he; 'I can't bear your talking.'
She lingered, and resisted my persuasions to departure a tiresome while;
but as he neither looked up nor spoke, she finally made a movement to the
door, and I followed.  We were recalled by a scream.  Linton had slid
from his seat on to the hearthstone, and lay writhing in the mere
perverseness of an indulged plague of a child, determined to be as
grievous and harassing as it can.  I thoroughly gauged his disposition
from his behaviour, and saw at once it would be folly to attempt
humouring him.  Not so my companion: she ran back in terror, knelt down,
and cried, and soothed, and entreated, till he grew quiet from lack of
breath: by no means from compunction at distressing her.
'I shall lift him on to the settle,' I said, 'and he may roll about as he
pleases: we can't stop to watch him.  I hope you are satisfied, Miss
Cathy, that you are not the person to benefit him; and that his condition
of health is not occasioned by attachment to you.  Now, then, there he
is!  Come away: as soon as he knows there is nobody by to care for his
nonsense, he'll be glad to lie still.'
She placed a cushion under his head, and offered him some water; he
rejected the latter, and tossed uneasily on the former, as if it were a
stone or a block of wood.  She tried to put it more comfortably.
'I can't do with that,' he said; 'it's not high enough.'
Catherine brought another to lay above it.
'That's too high,' murmured the provoking thing.
'How must I arrange it, then?' she asked despairingly.
He twined himself up to her, as she half knelt by the settle, and
converted her shoulder into a support.
'No, that won't do,' I said.  'You'll be content with the cushion, Master
Heathcliff.  Miss has wasted too much time on you already: we cannot
remain five minutes longer.'
'Yes, yes, we can!' replied Cathy.  'He's good and patient now.  He's
beginning to think I shall have far greater misery than he will to-night,
if I believe he is the worse for my visit: and then I dare not come
again.  Tell the truth about it, Linton; for I musn't come, if I have
hurt you.'
'You must come, to cure me,' he answered.  'You ought to come, because
you have hurt me: you know you have extremely!  I was not as ill when you
entered as I am at present--was I?'
'But you've made yourself ill by crying and being in a passion.--I didn't
do it all,' said his cousin.  'However, we'll be friends now.  And you
want me: you would wish to see me sometimes, really?'
'I told you I did,' he replied impatiently.  'Sit on the settle and let
me lean on your knee.  That's as mamma used to do, whole afternoons
together.  Sit quite still and don't talk: but you may sing a song, if
you can sing; or you may say a nice long interesting ballad--one of those
you promised to teach me; or a story.  I'd rather have a ballad, though:
begin.'
Catherine repeated the longest she could remember.  The employment
pleased both mightily.  Linton would have another, and after that
another, notwithstanding my strenuous objections; and so they went on
until the clock struck twelve, and we heard Hareton in the court,
returning for his dinner.
'And to-morrow, Catherine, will you be here to-morrow?' asked young
Heathcliff, holding her frock as she rose reluctantly.
'No,' I answered, 'nor next day neither.'  She, however, gave a different
response evidently, for his forehead cleared as she stooped and whispered
in his ear.
'You won't go to-morrow, recollect, Miss!' I commenced, when we were out
of the house.  'You are not dreaming of it, are you?'
She smiled.
'Oh, I'll take good care,' I continued: 'I'll have that lock mended, and
you can escape by no way else.'
'I can get over the wall,' she said laughing.  'The Grange is not a
prison, Ellen, and you are not my gaoler.  And besides, I'm almost
seventeen: I'm a woman.  And I'm certain Linton would recover quickly if
he had me to look after him.  I'm older than he is, you know, and wiser:
less childish, am I not?  And he'll soon do as I direct him, with some
slight coaxing.  He's a pretty little darling when he's good.  I'd make
such a pet of him, if he were mine.  We should never quarrel, should we
after we were used to each other?  Don't you like him, Ellen?'
'Like him!' I exclaimed.  'The worst-tempered bit of a sickly slip that
ever struggled into its teens.  Happily, as Mr. Heathcliff conjectured,
he'll not win twenty.  I doubt whether he'll see spring, indeed.  And
small loss to his family whenever he drops off.  And lucky it is for us
that his father took him: the kinder he was treated, the more tedious and
selfish he'd be.  I'm glad you have no chance of having him for a
husband, Miss Catherine.'
My companion waxed serious at hearing this speech.  To speak of his death
so regardlessly wounded her feelings.
'He's younger than I,' she answered, after a protracted pause of
meditation, 'and he ought to live the longest: he will--he must live as
long as I do.  He's as strong now as when he first came into the north;
I'm positive of that.  It's only a cold that ails him, the same as papa
has.  You say papa will get better, and why shouldn't he?'
'Well, well,' I cried, 'after all, we needn't trouble ourselves; for
listen, Miss,--and mind, I'll keep my word,--if you attempt going to
Wuthering Heights again, with or without me, I shall inform Mr. Linton,
and, unless he allow it, the intimacy with your cousin must not be
revived.'
'It has been revived,' muttered Cathy, sulkily.
'Must not be continued, then,' I said.
'We'll see,' was her reply, and she set off at a gallop, leaving me to
toil in the rear.
We both reached home before our dinner-time; my master supposed we had
been wandering through the park, and therefore he demanded no explanation
of our absence.  As soon as I entered I hastened to change my soaked
shoes and stockings; but sitting such awhile at the Heights had done the
mischief.  On the succeeding morning I was laid up, and during three
weeks I remained incapacitated for attending to my duties: a calamity
never experienced prior to that period, and never, I am thankful to say,
since.
My little mistress behaved like an angel in coming to wait on me, and
cheer my solitude; the confinement brought me exceedingly low.  It is
wearisome, to a stirring active body: but few have slighter reasons for
complaint than I had.  The moment Catherine left Mr. Linton's room she
appeared at my bedside.  Her day was divided between us; no amusement
usurped a minute: she neglected her meals, her studies, and her play; and
she was the fondest nurse that ever watched.  She must have had a warm
heart, when she loved her father so, to give so much to me.  I said her
days were divided between us; but the master retired early, and I
generally needed nothing after six o'clock, thus the evening was her own.
Poor thing!  I never considered what she did with herself after tea.  And
though frequently, when she looked in to bid me good-night, I remarked a
fresh colour in her cheeks and a pinkness over her slender fingers,
instead of fancying the line borrowed from a cold ride across the moors,
I laid it to the charge of a hot fire in the library.
CHAPTER XXIV
At the close of three weeks I was able to quit my chamber and move about
the house.  And on the first occasion of my sitting up in the evening I
asked Catherine to read to me, because my eyes were weak.  We were in the
library, the master having gone to bed: she consented, rather
unwillingly, I fancied; and imagining my sort of books did not suit her,
I bid her please herself in the choice of what she perused.  She selected
one of her own favourites, and got forward steadily about an hour; then
came frequent questions.
'Ellen, are not you tired?  Hadn't you better lie down now?  You'll be
sick, keeping up so long, Ellen.'
'No, no, dear, I'm not tired,' I returned, continually.
Perceiving me immovable, she essayed another method of showing her
disrelish for her occupation.  It changed to yawning, and stretching,
and--
'Ellen, I'm tired.'
'Give over then and talk,' I answered.
That was worse: she fretted and sighed, and looked at her watch till
eight, and finally went to her room, completely overdone with sleep;
judging by her peevish, heavy look, and the constant rubbing she
inflicted on her eyes.  The following night she seemed more impatient
still; and on the third from recovering my company she complained of a
headache, and left me.  I thought her conduct odd; and having remained
alone a long while, I resolved on going and inquiring whether she were
better, and asking her to come and lie on the sofa, instead of up-stairs
in the dark.  No Catherine could I discover up-stairs, and none below.
The servants affirmed they had not seen her.  I listened at Mr. Edgar's
door; all was silence.  I returned to her apartment, extinguished my
candle, and seated myself in the window.
The moon shone bright; a sprinkling of snow covered the ground, and I
reflected that she might, possibly, have taken it into her head to walk
about the garden, for refreshment.  I did detect a figure creeping along
the inner fence of the park; but it was not my young mistress: on its
emerging into the light, I recognised one of the grooms.  He stood a
considerable period, viewing the carriage-road through the grounds; then
started off at a brisk pace, as if he had detected something, and
reappeared presently, leading Miss's pony; and there she was, just
dismounted, and walking by its side.  The man took his charge stealthily
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 too, 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 up-stairs 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 up-stairs.  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, and declared I
should do "no sich stuff," and asked me whether I were "bahn to be as mad
as him."  I stood crying till the housekeeper reappeared.  She affirmed
he would be better in a bit, but he couldn't do with that shrieking and
din; and she took me, and nearly carried me into the house.
'Ellen, I was ready to tear my hair off my head!  I sobbed and wept so
that my eyes were almost blind; and the ruffian you have such sympathy
with stood opposite: presuming every now and then to bid me "wisht," and
denying that it was his fault; and, finally, frightened by my assertions
that I would tell papa, and that he should be put in prison and hanged,
he commenced blubbering himself, and hurried out to hide his cowardly
agitation.  Still, I was not rid of him: when at length they compelled me
to depart, and I had got some hundred yards off the premises, he suddenly
issued from the shadow of the road-side, and checked Minny and took hold
of me.
'"Miss Catherine, I'm ill grieved," he began, "but it's rayther too bad--"
'I gave him a cut with my whip, thinking perhaps he would murder me.  He
let go, thundering one of his horrid curses, and I galloped home more
than half out of my senses.
'I didn't bid you good-night that evening, and I didn't go to Wuthering
Heights the next: I wished to go exceedingly; but I was strangely
excited, and dreaded to hear that Linton was dead, sometimes; and
sometimes shuddered at the thought of encountering Hareton.  On the third
day I took courage: at least, I couldn't bear longer suspense, and stole
off once more.  I went at five o'clock, and walked; fancying I might
manage to creep into the house, and up to Linton's room, unobserved.
However, the dogs gave notice of my approach.  Zillah received me, and
saying "the lad was mending nicely," showed me into a small, tidy,
carpeted apartment, where, to my inexpressible joy, I beheld Linton laid
on a little sofa, reading one of my books.  But he would neither speak to
me nor look at me, through a whole hour, Ellen: he has such an unhappy
temper.  And what quite confounded me, when he did open his mouth, it was
to utter the falsehood that I had occasioned the uproar, and Hareton was
not to blame!  Unable to reply, except passionately, I got up and walked
from the room.  He sent after me a faint "Catherine!"  He did not reckon
on being answered so: but I wouldn't turn back; and the morrow was the
second day on which I stayed at home, nearly determined to visit him no
more.  But it was so miserable going to bed and getting up, and never
hearing anything about him, that my resolution melted into air before it
was properly formed.  It had appeared wrong to take the journey once; now
it seemed wrong to refrain.  Michael came to ask if he must saddle Minny;
I said "Yes," and considered myself doing a duty as she bore me over the
hills.  I was forced to pass the front windows to get to the court: it
was no use trying to conceal my presence.
'"Young master is in the house," said Zillah, as she saw me making for
the parlour.  I went in; Earnshaw was there also, but he quitted the room
directly.  Linton sat in the great arm-chair half asleep; walking up to
the fire, I began in a serious tone, partly meaning it to be true--
'"As you don't like me, Linton, and as you think I come on purpose to
hurt you, and pretend that I do so every time, this is our last meeting:
let us say good-bye; and tell Mr. Heathcliff that you have no wish to see
me, and that he mustn't invent any more falsehoods on the subject."
'"Sit down and take your hat off, Catherine," he answered.  "You are so
much happier than I am, you ought to be better.  Papa talks enough of my
defects, and shows enough scorn of me, to make it natural I should doubt
myself.  I doubt whether I am not altogether as worthless as he calls me,
frequently; and then I feel so cross and bitter, I hate everybody!  I am
worthless, and bad in temper, and bad in spirit, almost always; and, if
you choose, you may say good-bye: you'll get rid of an annoyance.  Only,
Catherine, do me this justice: believe that if I might be as sweet, and
as kind, and as good as you are, I would be; as willingly, and more so,
than as happy and as healthy.  And believe that your kindness has made me
love you deeper than if I deserved your love: and though I couldn't, and
cannot help showing my nature to you, I regret it and repent it; and
shall regret and repent it till I die!"
'I felt he spoke the truth; and I felt I must forgive him: and, though we
should quarrel the next moment, I must forgive him again.  We were
reconciled; but we cried, both of us, the whole time I stayed: not
entirely for sorrow; yet I _was_ sorry Linton had that distorted nature.
He'll never let his friends be at ease, and he'll never be at ease
himself!  I have always gone to his little parlour, since that night;
because his father returned the day after.
'About three times, I think, we have been merry and hopeful, as we were
the first evening; the rest of my visits were dreary and troubled: now
with his selfishness and spite, and now with his sufferings: but I've
learned to endure the former with nearly as little resentment as the
latter.  Mr. Heathcliff purposely avoids me: I have hardly seen him at
all.  Last Sunday, indeed, coming earlier than usual, I heard him abusing
poor Linton cruelly for his conduct of the night before.  I can't tell
how he knew of it, unless he listened.  Linton had certainly behaved
provokingly: however, it was the business of nobody but me, and I
interrupted Mr. Heathcliff's lecture by entering and telling him so.  He
burst into a laugh, and went away, saying he was glad I took that view of
the matter.  Since then, I've told Linton he must whisper his bitter
things.  Now, Ellen, you have heard all.  I can't be prevented from going
to Wuthering Heights, except by inflicting misery on two people; whereas,
if you'll only not tell papa, my going need disturb the tranquillity of
none.  You'll not tell, will you?  It will be very heartless, if you do.'
'I'll make up my mind on that point by to-morrow, Miss Catherine,' I
replied.  'It requires some study; and so I'll leave you to your rest,
and go think it over.'
I thought it over aloud, in my master's presence; walking straight from
her room to his, and relating the whole story: with the exception of her
conversations with her cousin, and any mention of Hareton.  Mr. Linton
was alarmed and distressed, more than he would acknowledge to me.  In the
morning, Catherine learnt my betrayal of her confidence, and she learnt
also that her secret visits were to end.  In vain she wept and writhed
against the interdict, and implored her father to have pity on Linton:
all she got to comfort her was a promise that he would write and give him
leave to come to the Grange when he pleased; but explaining that he must
no longer expect to see Catherine at Wuthering Heights.  Perhaps, had he
been aware of his nephew's disposition and state of health, he would have
seen fit to withhold even that slight consolation.
CHAPTER XXV
'These things happened last winter, sir,' said Mrs. Dean; 'hardly more
than a year ago.  Last winter, I did not think, at another twelve months'
end, I should be amusing a stranger to the family with relating them!
Yet, who knows how long you'll be a stranger?  You're too young to rest
always contented, living by yourself; and I some way fancy no one could
see Catherine Linton and not love her.  You smile; but why do you look so
lively and interested when I talk about her? and why have you asked me to
hang her picture over your fireplace? and why--?'
'Stop, my good friend!' I cried.  'It may be very possible that _I_
should love her; but would she love me?  I doubt it too much to venture
my tranquillity by running into temptation: and then my home is not here.
I'm of the busy world, and to its arms I must return.  Go on.  Was
Catherine obedient to her father's commands?'
'She was,' continued the housekeeper.  'Her affection for him was still
the chief sentiment in her heart; and he spoke without anger: he spoke in
the deep tenderness of one about to leave his treasure amid perils and
foes, where his remembered words would be the only aid that he could
bequeath to guide her.  He said to me, a few days afterwards, "I wish my
nephew would write, Ellen, or call.  Tell me, sincerely, what you think
of him: is he changed for the better, or is there a prospect of
improvement, as he grows a man?"
'"He's very delicate, sir," I replied; "and scarcely likely to reach
manhood: but this I can say, he does not resemble his father; and if Miss
Catherine had the misfortune to marry him, he would not be beyond her
control: unless she were extremely and foolishly indulgent.  However,
master, you'll have plenty of time to get acquainted with him and see
whether he would suit her: it wants four years and more to his being of
age."'
Edgar sighed; and, walking to the window, looked out towards Gimmerton
Kirk. It was a misty afternoon, but the February sun shone dimly, and we
could just distinguish the two fir-trees in the yard, and the
sparely-scattered gravestones.
'I've prayed often,' he half soliloquised, 'for the approach of what is
coming; and now I begin to shrink, and fear it.  I thought the memory of
the hour I came down that glen a bridegroom would be less sweet than the
anticipation that I was soon, in a few months, or, possibly, weeks, to be
carried up, and laid in its lonely hollow!  Ellen, I've been very happy
with my little Cathy: through winter nights and summer days she was a
living hope at my side.  But I've been as happy musing by myself among
those stones, under that old church: lying, through the long June
evenings, on the green mound of her mother's grave, and wishing--yearning
for the time when I might lie beneath it.  What can I do for Cathy?  How
must I quit her?  I'd not care one moment for Linton being Heathcliff's
son; nor for his taking her from me, if he could console her for my loss.
I'd not care that Heathcliff gained his ends, and triumphed in robbing me
of my last blessing!  But should Linton be unworthy--only a feeble tool
to his father--I cannot abandon her to him!  And, hard though it be to
crush her buoyant spirit, I must persevere in making her sad while I
live, and leaving her solitary when I die.  Darling!  I'd rather resign
her to God, and lay her in the earth before me.'
'Resign her to God as it is, sir,' I answered, 'and if we should lose
you--which may He forbid--under His providence, I'll stand her friend and
counsellor to the last.  Miss Catherine is a good girl: I don't fear that
she will go wilfully wrong; and people who do their duty are always
finally rewarded.'
Spring advanced; yet my master gathered no real strength, though he
resumed his walks in the grounds with his daughter.  To her inexperienced
notions, this itself was a sign of convalescence; and then his cheek was
often flushed, and his eyes were bright; she felt sure of his recovering.
On her seventeenth birthday, he did not visit the churchyard: it was
raining, and I observed--'You'll surely not go out to-night, sir?'
He answered,--'No, I'll defer it this year a little longer.'  He wrote
again to Linton, expressing his great desire to see him; and, had the
invalid been presentable, I've no doubt his father would have permitted
him to come.  As it was, being instructed, he returned an answer,
intimating that Mr. Heathcliff objected to his calling at the Grange; but
his uncle's kind remembrance delighted him, and he hoped to meet him
sometimes in his rambles, and personally to petition that his cousin and
he might not remain long so utterly divided.
That part of his letter was simple, and probably his own.  Heathcliff
knew he could plead eloquently for Catherine's company, then.
'I do not ask,' he said, 'that she may visit here; but am I never to see
her, because my father forbids me to go to her home, and you forbid her
to come to mine?  Do, now and then, ride with her towards the Heights;
and let us exchange a few words, in your presence!  We have done nothing
to deserve this separation; and you are not angry with me: you have no
reason to dislike me, you allow, yourself.  Dear uncle! send me a kind
note to-morrow, and leave to join you anywhere you please, except at
Thrushcross Grange.  I believe an interview would convince you that my
father's character is not mine: he affirms I am more your nephew than his
son; and though I have faults which render me unworthy of Catherine, she
has excused them, and for her sake, you should also.  You inquire after
my health--it is better; but while I remain cut off from all hope, and
doomed to solitude, or the society of those who never did and never will
like me, how can I be cheerful and well?'
Edgar, though he felt for the boy, could not consent to grant his
request; because he could not accompany Catherine.  He said, in summer,
perhaps, they might meet: meantime, he wished him to continue writing at
intervals, and engaged to give him what advice and comfort he was able by
letter; being well aware of his hard position in his family.  Linton
complied; and had he been unrestrained, would probably have spoiled all
by filling his epistles with complaints and lamentations: but his father
kept a sharp watch over him; and, of course, insisted on every line that
my master sent being shown; so, instead of penning his peculiar personal
sufferings and distresses, the themes constantly uppermost in his
thoughts, he harped on the cruel obligation of being held asunder from
his friend and love; and gently intimated that Mr. Linton must allow an
interview soon, or he should fear he was purposely deceiving him with
empty promises.
Cathy was a powerful ally at home; and between them they at length
persuaded my master to acquiesce in their having a ride or a walk
together about once a week, under my guardianship, and on the moors
nearest the Grange: for June found him still declining.  Though he had
set aside yearly a portion of his income for my young lady's fortune, he
had a natural desire that she might retain--or at least return in a short
time to--the house of her ancestors; and he considered her only prospect
of doing that was by a union with his heir; he had no idea that the
latter was failing almost as fast as himself; nor had any one, I believe:
no doctor visited the Heights, and no one saw Master Heathcliff to make
report of his condition among us.  I, for my part, began to fancy my
forebodings were false, and that he must be actually rallying, when he
mentioned riding and walking on the moors, and seemed so earnest in
pursuing his object.  I could not picture a father treating a dying child
as tyrannically and wickedly as I afterwards learned Heathcliff had
treated him, to compel this apparent eagerness: his efforts redoubling
the more imminently his avaricious and unfeeling plans were threatened
with defeat by death.
CHAPTER XXVI
Summer was already past its prime, when Edgar reluctantly yielded his
assent to their entreaties, and Catherine and I set out on our first ride
to join her cousin.  It was a close, sultry day: devoid of sunshine, but
with a sky too dappled and hazy to threaten rain: and our place of
meeting had been fixed at the guide-stone, by the cross-roads.  On
arriving there, however, a little herd-boy, despatched as a messenger,
told us that,--'Maister Linton wer just o' this side th' Heights: and
he'd be mitch obleeged to us to gang on a bit further.'
'Then Master Linton has forgot the first injunction of his uncle,' I
observed: 'he bid us keep on the Grange land, and here we are off at
once.'
'Well, we'll turn our horses' heads round when we reach him,' answered my
companion; 'our excursion shall lie towards home.'
But when we reached him, and that was scarcely a quarter of a mile from
his own door, we found he had no horse; and we were forced to dismount,
and leave ours to graze.  He lay on the heath, awaiting our approach, and
did not rise till we came within a few yards.  Then he walked so feebly,
and looked so pale, that I immediately exclaimed,--'Why, Master
Heathcliff, you are not fit for enjoying a ramble this morning.  How ill
you do look!'
Catherine surveyed him with grief and astonishment: she changed the
ejaculation of joy on her lips to one of alarm; and the congratulation on
their long-postponed meeting to an anxious inquiry, whether he were worse
than usual?
'No--better--better!' he panted, trembling, and retaining her hand as if
he needed its support, while his large blue eyes wandered timidly over
her; the hollowness round them transforming to haggard wildness the
languid expression they once possessed.
'But you have been worse,' persisted his cousin; 'worse than when I saw
you last; you are thinner, and--'
'I'm tired,' he interrupted, hurriedly.  'It is too hot for walking, let
us rest here.  And, in the morning, I often feel sick--papa says I grow
so fast.'
Badly satisfied, Cathy sat down, and he reclined beside her.
'This is something like your paradise,' said she, making an effort at
cheerfulness.  'You recollect the two days we agreed to spend in the
place and way each thought pleasantest?  This is nearly yours, only there
are clouds; but then they are so soft and mellow: it is nicer than
sunshine.  Next week, if you can, we'll ride down to the Grange Park, and
try mine.'
Linton did not appear to remember what she talked of and he had evidently
great difficulty in sustaining any kind of conversation.  His lack of
interest in the subjects she started, and his equal incapacity to
contribute to her entertainment, were so obvious that she could not
conceal her disappointment.  An indefinite alteration had come over his
whole person and manner.  The pettishness that might be caressed into
fondness, had yielded to a listless apathy; there was less of the peevish
temper of a child which frets and teases on purpose to be soothed, and
more of the self-absorbed moroseness of a confirmed invalid, repelling
consolation, and ready to regard the good-humoured mirth of others as an
insult.  Catherine perceived, as well as I did, that he held it rather a
punishment, than a gratification, to endure our company; and she made no
scruple of proposing, presently, to depart.  That proposal, unexpectedly,
roused Linton from his lethargy, and threw him into a strange state of
agitation.  He glanced fearfully towards the Heights, begging she would
remain another half-hour, at least.
'But I think,' said Cathy, 'you'd be more comfortable at home than
sitting here; and I cannot amuse you to-day, I see, by my tales, and
songs, and chatter: you have grown wiser than I, in these six months; you
have little taste for my diversions now: or else, if I could amuse you,
I'd willingly stay.'
'Stay to rest yourself,' he replied.  'And, Catherine, don't think or say
that I'm _very_ unwell: it is the heavy weather and heat that make me
dull; and I walked about, before you came, a great deal for me.  Tell
uncle I'm in tolerable health, will you?'
'I'll tell him that _you_ say so, Linton.  I couldn't affirm that you
are,' observed my young lady, wondering at his pertinacious assertion of
what was evidently an untruth.
'And be here again next Thursday,' continued he, shunning her puzzled
gaze.  'And give him my thanks for permitting you to come--my best
thanks, Catherine.  And--and, if you _did_ meet my father, and he asked
you about me, don't lead him to suppose that I've been extremely silent
and stupid: don't look sad and downcast, as you are doing--he'll be
angry.'
'I care nothing for his anger,' exclaimed Cathy, imagining she would be
its object.
'But I do,' said her cousin, shuddering.  '_Don't_ provoke him against
me, Catherine, for he is very hard.'
'Is he severe to you, Master Heathcliff?' I inquired.  'Has he grown
weary of indulgence, and passed from passive to active hatred?'
Linton looked at me, but did not answer; and, after keeping her seat by
his side another ten minutes, during which his head fell drowsily on his
breast, and he uttered nothing except suppressed moans of exhaustion or
pain, Cathy began to seek solace in looking for bilberries, and sharing
the produce of her researches with me: she did not offer them to him, for
she saw further notice would only weary and annoy.
'Is it half-an-hour now, Ellen?' she whispered in my ear, at last.  'I
can't tell why we should stay.  He's asleep, and papa will be wanting us
back.'
'Well, we must not leave him asleep,' I answered; 'wait till he wakes,
and be patient.  You were mighty eager to set off, but your longing to
see poor Linton has soon evaporated!'
'Why did _he_ wish to see me?' returned Catherine.  'In his crossest
humours, formerly, I liked him better than I do in his present curious
mood.  It's just as if it were a task he was compelled to perform--this
interview--for fear his father should scold him.  But I'm hardly going to
come to give Mr. Heathcliff pleasure; whatever reason he may have for
ordering Linton to undergo this penance.  And, though I'm glad he's
better in health, I'm sorry he's so much less pleasant, and so much less
affectionate to me.'
'You think _he is_ better in health, then?' I said.
'Yes,' she answered; 'because he always made such a great deal of his
sufferings, you know.  He is not tolerably well, as he told me to tell
papa; but he's better, very likely.'
'There you differ with me, Miss Cathy,' I remarked; 'I should conjecture
him to be far worse.'
Linton here started from his slumber in bewildered terror, and asked if
any one had called his name.
'No,' said Catherine; 'unless in dreams.  I cannot conceive how you
manage to doze out of doors, in the morning.'
'I thought I heard my father,' he gasped, glancing up to the frowning nab
above us.  'You are sure nobody spoke?'
'Quite sure,' replied his cousin.  'Only Ellen and I were disputing
concerning your health.  Are you truly stronger, Linton, than when we
separated in winter?  If you be, I'm certain one thing is not
stronger--your regard for me: speak,--are you?'
The tears gushed from Linton's eyes as he answered, 'Yes, yes, I am!'
And, still under the spell of the imaginary voice, his gaze wandered up
and down to detect its owner.
Cathy rose.  'For to-day we must part,' she said.  'And I won't conceal
that I have been sadly disappointed with our meeting; though I'll mention
it to nobody but you: not that I stand in awe of Mr. Heathcliff.'
'Hush,' murmured Linton; 'for God's sake, hush!  He's coming.'  And he
clung to Catherine's arm, striving to detain her; but at that
announcement she hastily disengaged herself, and whistled to Minny, who
obeyed her like a dog.
'I'll be here next Thursday,' she cried, springing to the saddle.
'Good-bye. Quick, Ellen!'
And so we left him, scarcely conscious of our departure, so absorbed was
he in anticipating his father's approach.
Before we reached home, Catherine's displeasure softened into a perplexed
sensation of pity and regret, largely blended with vague, uneasy doubts
about Linton's actual circumstances, physical and social: in which I
partook, though I counselled her not to say much; for a second journey
would make us better judges.  My master requested an account of our
ongoings.  His nephew's offering of thanks was duly delivered, Miss Cathy
gently touching on the rest: I also threw little light on his inquiries,
for I hardly knew what to hide and what to reveal.
CHAPTER XXVII
Seven days glided away, every one marking its course by the henceforth
rapid alteration of Edgar Linton's state.  The havoc that months had
previously wrought was now emulated by the inroads of hours.  Catherine
we would fain have deluded yet; but her own quick spirit refused to
delude her: it divined in secret, and brooded on the dreadful
probability, gradually ripening into certainty.  She had not the heart to
mention her ride, when Thursday came round; I mentioned it for her, and
obtained permission to order her out of doors: for the library, where her
father stopped a short time daily--the brief period he could bear to sit
up--and his chamber, had become her whole world.  She grudged each moment
that did not find her bending over his pillow, or seated by his side.  Her
countenance grew wan with watching and sorrow, and my master gladly
dismissed her to what he flattered himself would be a happy change of
scene and society; drawing comfort from the hope that she would not now
be left entirely alone after his death.
He had a fixed idea, I guessed by several observations he let fall, that,
as his nephew resembled him in person, he would resemble him in mind; for
Linton's letters bore few or no indications of his defective character.
And I, through pardonable weakness, refrained from correcting the error;
asking myself what good there would be in disturbing his last moments
with information that he had neither power nor opportunity to turn to
account.
We deferred our excursion till the afternoon; a golden afternoon of
August: every breath from the hills so full of life, that it seemed
whoever respired it, though dying, might revive.  Catherine's face was
just like the landscape--shadows and sunshine flitting over it in rapid
succession; but the shadows rested longer, and the sunshine was more
transient; and her poor little heart reproached itself for even that
passing forgetfulness of its cares.
We discerned Linton watching at the same spot he had selected before.  My
young mistress alighted, and told me that, as she was resolved to stay a
very little while, I had better hold the pony and remain on horseback;
but I dissented: I wouldn't risk losing sight of the charge committed to
me a minute; so we climbed the slope of heath together.  Master
Heathcliff received us with greater animation on this occasion: not the
animation of high spirits though, nor yet of joy; it looked more like
fear.
'It is late!' he said, speaking short and with difficulty.  'Is not your
father very ill?  I thought you wouldn't come.'
'_Why_ won't you be candid?' cried Catherine, swallowing her greeting.
'Why cannot you say at once you don't want me?  It is strange, Linton,
that for the second time you have brought me here on purpose, apparently
to distress us both, and for no reason besides!'
Linton shivered, and glanced at her, half supplicating, half ashamed; but
his cousin's patience was not sufficient to endure this enigmatical
behaviour.
'My father _is_ very ill,' she said; 'and why am I called from his
bedside?  Why didn't you send to absolve me from my promise, when you
wished I wouldn't keep it?  Come!  I desire an explanation: playing and
trifling are completely banished out of my mind; and I can't dance
attendance on your affectations now!'
'My affectations!' he murmured; 'what are they?  For heaven's sake,
Catherine, don't look so angry!  Despise me as much as you please; I am a
worthless, cowardly wretch: I can't be scorned enough; but I'm too mean
for your anger.  Hate my father, and spare me for contempt.'
'Nonsense!' cried Catherine in a passion.  'Foolish, silly boy!  And
there! he trembles: as if I were really going to touch him!  You needn't
bespeak contempt, Linton: anybody will have it spontaneously at your
service.  Get off!  I shall return home: it is folly dragging you from
the hearth-stone, and pretending--what do we pretend?  Let go my frock!
If I pitied you for crying and looking so very frightened, you should
spurn such pity.  Ellen, tell him how disgraceful this conduct is.  Rise,
and don't degrade yourself into an abject reptile--_don't_!'
With streaming face and an expression of agony, Linton had thrown his
nerveless frame along the ground: he seemed convulsed with exquisite
terror.
'Oh!' he sobbed, 'I cannot bear it!  Catherine, Catherine, I'm a traitor,
too, and I dare not tell you!  But leave me, and I shall be killed!
_Dear_ Catherine, my life is in your hands: and you have said you loved
me, and if you did, it wouldn't harm you.  You'll not go, then? kind,
sweet, good Catherine!  And perhaps you _will_ consent--and he'll let me
die with you!'
My young lady, on witnessing his intense anguish, stooped to raise him.
The old feeling of indulgent tenderness overcame her vexation, and she
grew thoroughly moved and alarmed.
'Consent to what?' she asked.  'To stay! tell me the meaning of this
strange talk, and I will.  You contradict your own words, and distract
me!  Be calm and frank, and confess at once all that weighs on your
heart.  You wouldn't injure me, Linton, would you?  You wouldn't let any
enemy hurt me, if you could prevent it?  I'll believe you are a coward,
for yourself, but not a cowardly betrayer of your best friend.'
'But my father threatened me,' gasped the boy, clasping his attenuated
fingers, 'and I dread him--I dread him!  I _dare_ not tell!'
'Oh, well!' said Catherine, with scornful compassion, 'keep your secret:
_I'm_ no coward.  Save yourself: I'm not afraid!'
Her magnanimity provoked his tears: he wept wildly, kissing her
supporting hands, and yet could not summon courage to speak out.  I was
cogitating what the mystery might be, and determined Catherine should
never suffer to benefit him or any one else, by my good will; when,
hearing a rustle among the ling, I looked up and saw Mr. Heathcliff
almost close upon us, descending the Heights.  He didn't cast a glance
towards my companions, though they were sufficiently near for Linton's
sobs to be audible; but hailing me in the almost hearty tone he assumed
to none besides, and the sincerity of which I couldn't avoid doubting, he
said--
'It is something to see you so near to my house, Nelly.  How are you at
the Grange?  Let us hear.  The rumour goes,' he added, in a lower tone,
'that Edgar Linton is on his death-bed: perhaps they exaggerate his
illness?'
'No; my master is dying,' I replied: 'it is true enough.  A sad thing it
will be for us all, but a blessing for him!'
'How long will he last, do you think?' he asked.
'I don't know,' I said.
'Because,' he continued, looking at the two young people, who were fixed
under his eye--Linton appeared as if he could not venture to stir or
raise his head, and Catherine could not move, on his account--'because
that lad yonder seems determined to beat me; and I'd thank his uncle to
be quick, and go before him!  Hallo! has the whelp been playing that game
long?  I _did_ give him some lessons about snivelling.  Is he pretty
lively with Miss Linton generally?'
'Lively? no--he has shown the greatest distress,' I answered.  'To see
him, I should say, that instead of rambling with his sweetheart on the
hills, he ought to be in bed, under the hands of a doctor.'
'He shall be, in a day or two,' muttered Heathcliff.  'But first--get up,
Linton!  Get up!' he shouted.  'Don't grovel on the ground there up, this
moment!'
Linton had sunk prostrate again in another paroxysm of helpless fear,
caused by his father's glance towards him, I suppose: there was nothing
else to produce such humiliation.  He made several efforts to obey, but
his little strength was annihilated for the time, and he fell back again
with a moan.  Mr. Heathcliff advanced, and lifted him to lean against a
ridge of turf.
'Now,' said he, with curbed ferocity, 'I'm getting angry and if you don't
command that paltry spirit of yours--_damn_ you! get up directly!'
'I will, father,' he panted.  'Only, let me alone, or I shall faint.  I've
done as you wished, I'm sure.  Catherine will tell you that I--that
I--have been cheerful.  Ah! keep by me, Catherine; give me your hand.'
'Take mine,' said his father; 'stand on your feet.  There now--she'll
lend you her arm: that's right, look at her.  You would imagine I was the
devil himself, Miss Linton, to excite such horror.  Be so kind as to walk
home with him, will you?  He shudders if I touch him.'
'Linton dear!' whispered Catherine, 'I can't go to Wuthering Heights:
papa has forbidden me.  He'll not harm you: why are you so afraid?'
'I can never re-enter that house,' he answered.  'I'm _not_ to re-enter
it without you!'
'Stop!' cried his father.  'We'll respect Catherine's filial scruples.
Nelly, take him in, and I'll follow your advice concerning the doctor,
without delay.'
'You'll do well,' replied I.  'But I must remain with my mistress: to
mind your son is not my business.'
'You are very stiff,' said Heathcliff, 'I know that: but you'll force me
to pinch the baby and make it scream before it moves your charity.  Come,
then, my hero.  Are you willing to return, escorted by me?'
He approached once more, and made as if he would seize the fragile being;
but, shrinking back, Linton clung to his cousin, and implored her to
accompany him, with a frantic importunity that admitted no denial.
However I disapproved, I couldn't hinder her: indeed, how could she have
refused him herself?  What was filling him with dread we had no means of
discerning; but there he was, powerless under its grip, and any addition
seemed capable of shocking him into idiotcy.  We reached the threshold;
Catherine walked in, and I stood waiting till she had conducted the
invalid to a chair, expecting her out immediately; when Mr. Heathcliff,
pushing me forward, exclaimed--'My house is not stricken with the plague,
Nelly; and I have a mind to be hospitable to-day: sit down, and allow me
to shut the door.'
He shut and locked it also.  I started.
'You shall have tea before you go home,' he added.  'I am by myself.
Hareton is gone with some cattle to the Lees, and Zillah and Joseph are
off on a journey of pleasure; and, though I'm used to being alone, I'd
rather have some interesting company, if I can get it.  Miss Linton, take
your seat by _him_.  I give you what I have: the present is hardly worth
accepting; but I have nothing else to offer.  It is Linton, I mean.  How
she does stare!  It's odd what a savage feeling I have to anything that
seems afraid of me!  Had I been born where laws are less strict and
tastes less dainty, I should treat myself to a slow vivisection of those
two, as an evening's amusement.'
He drew in his breath, struck the table, and swore to himself, 'By hell!
I hate them.'
'I am not afraid of you!' exclaimed Catherine, who could not hear the
latter part of his speech.  She stepped close up; her black eyes flashing
with passion and resolution.  'Give me that key: I will have it!' she
said.  'I wouldn't eat or drink here, if I were starving.'
Heathcliff had the key in his hand that remained on the table.  He looked
up, seized with a sort of surprise at her boldness; or, possibly,
reminded, by her voice and glance, of the person from whom she inherited
it.  She snatched at the instrument, and half succeeded in getting it out
of his loosened fingers: but her action recalled him to the present; he
recovered it speedily.
'Now, Catherine Linton,' he said, 'stand off, or I shall knock you down;
and, that will make Mrs. Dean mad.'
Regardless of this warning, she captured his closed hand and its contents
again.  'We _will_ go!' she repeated, exerting her utmost efforts to cause
the iron muscles to relax; and finding that her nails made no impression,
she applied her teeth pretty sharply.  Heathcliff glanced at me a glance
that kept me from interfering a moment.  Catherine was too intent on his
fingers to notice his face.  He opened them suddenly, and resigned the
object of dispute; but, ere she had well secured it, he seized her with
the liberated hand, and, pulling her on his knee, administered with the
other a shower of terrific slaps on both sides of the head, each
sufficient to have fulfilled his threat, had she been able to fall.
At this diabolical violence I rushed on him furiously. 'You villain!' I
began to cry, 'you villain!' A touch on the chest silenced me: I am
stout, and soon put out of breath; and, what with that and the rage, I
staggered dizzily back and felt ready to suffocate, or to burst a
blood-vessel. The scene was over in two minutes; Catherine, released,
put her two hands to her temples, and looked just as if she were not
sure whether her ears were off or on. She trembled like a reed, poor
thing, and leant against the table perfectly bewildered.
'I know how to chastise children, you see,' said the scoundrel, grimly,
as he stooped to repossess himself of the key, which had dropped to the
floor.  'Go to Linton now, as I told you; and cry at your ease!  I shall
be your father, to-morrow--all the father you'll have in a few days--and
you shall have plenty of that.  You can bear plenty; you're no weakling:
you shall have a daily taste, if I catch such a devil of a temper in your
eyes again!'
Cathy ran to me instead of Linton, and knelt down and put her burning
cheek on my lap, weeping aloud.  Her cousin had shrunk into a corner of
the settle, as quiet as a mouse, congratulating himself, I dare say, that
the correction had alighted on another than him.  Mr. Heathcliff,
perceiving us all confounded, rose, and expeditiously made the tea
himself.  The cups and saucers were laid ready.  He poured it out, and
handed me a cup.
'Wash away your spleen,' he said.  'And help your own naughty pet and
mine.  It is not poisoned, though I prepared it.  I'm going out to seek
your horses.'
Our first thought, on his departure, was to force an exit somewhere.  We
tried the kitchen door, but that was fastened outside: we looked at the
windows--they were too narrow for even Cathy's little figure.
'Master Linton,' I cried, seeing we were regularly imprisoned, 'you know
what your diabolical father is after, and you shall tell us, or I'll box
your ears, as he has done your cousin's.'
'Yes, Linton, you must tell,' said Catherine.  'It was for your sake I
came; and it will be wickedly ungrateful if you refuse.'
'Give me some tea, I'm thirsty, and then I'll tell you,' he answered.
'Mrs. Dean, go away.  I don't like you standing over me.  Now, Catherine,
you are letting your tears fall into my cup.  I won't drink that.  Give
me another.'  Catherine pushed another to him, and wiped her face.  I
felt disgusted at the little wretch's composure, since he was no longer
in terror for himself.  The anguish he had exhibited on the moor subsided
as soon as ever he entered Wuthering Heights; so I guessed he had been
menaced with an awful visitation of wrath if he failed in decoying us
there; and, that accomplished, he had no further immediate fears.
'Papa wants us to be married,' he continued, after sipping some of the
liquid.  'And he knows your papa wouldn't let us marry now; and he's
afraid of my dying if we wait; so we are to be married in the morning,
and you are to stay here all night; and, if you do as he wishes, you
shall return home next day, and take me with you.'
'Take you with her, pitiful changeling!' I exclaimed.  '_You_ marry?  Why,
the man is mad! or he thinks us fools, every one.  And do you imagine
that beautiful young lady, that healthy, hearty girl, will tie herself to
a little perishing monkey like you?  Are you cherishing the notion that
anybody, let alone Miss Catherine Linton, would have you for a husband?
You want whipping for bringing us in here at all, with your dastardly
puling tricks: and--don't look so silly, now!  I've a very good mind to
shake you severely, for your contemptible treachery, and your imbecile
conceit.'
I did give him a slight shaking; but it brought on the cough, and he took
to his ordinary resource of moaning and weeping, and Catherine rebuked
me.
'Stay all night?  No,' she said, looking slowly round.  'Ellen, I'll burn
that door down but I'll get out.'
And she would have commenced the execution of her threat directly, but
Linton was up in alarm for his dear self again.  He clasped her in his
two feeble arms sobbing:--'Won't you have me, and save me? not let me
come to the Grange?  Oh, darling Catherine! you mustn't go and leave,
after all.  You _must_ obey my father--you _must_!'
'I must obey my own,' she replied, 'and relieve him from this cruel
suspense.  The whole night!  What would he think?  He'll be distressed
already.  I'll either break or burn a way out of the house.  Be quiet!
You're in no danger; but if you hinder me--Linton, I love papa better
than you!'  The mortal terror he felt of Mr. Heathcliff's anger restored
to the boy his coward's eloquence.  Catherine was near distraught: still,
she persisted that she must go home, and tried entreaty in her turn,
persuading him to subdue his selfish agony.  While they were thus
occupied, our jailor re-entered.
'Your beasts have trotted off,' he said, 'and--now Linton! snivelling
again?  What has she been doing to you?  Come, come--have done, and get
to bed.  In a month or two, my lad, you'll be able to pay her back her
present tyrannies with a vigorous hand.  You're pining for pure love, are
you not? nothing else in the world: and she shall have you!  There, to
bed!  Zillah won't be here to-night; you must undress yourself.  Hush!
hold your noise!  Once in your own room, I'll not come near you: you
needn't fear.  By chance, you've managed tolerably.  I'll look to the
rest.'
He spoke these words, holding the door open for his son to pass, and the
latter achieved his exit exactly as a spaniel might which suspected the
person who attended on it of designing a spiteful squeeze.  The lock was
re-secured.  Heathcliff approached the fire, where my mistress and I
stood silent.  Catherine looked up, and instinctively raised her hand to
her cheek: his neighbourhood revived a painful sensation.  Anybody else
would have been incapable of regarding the childish act with sternness,
but he scowled on her and muttered--'Oh! you are not afraid of me?  Your
courage is well disguised: you seem damnably afraid!'
'I _am_ afraid now,' she replied, 'because, if I stay, papa will be
miserable: and how can I endure making him miserable--when he--when
he--Mr. Heathcliff, let _me_ go home!  I promise to marry Linton: papa
would like me to: and I love him.  Why should you wish to force me to do
what I'll willingly do of myself?'
'Let him dare to force you,' I cried.  'There's law in the land, thank
God! there is; though we be in an out-of-the-way place.  I'd inform if he
were my own son: and it's felony without benefit of clergy!'
'Silence!' said the ruffian.  'To the devil with your clamour!  I don't
want _you_ to speak.  Miss Linton, I shall enjoy myself remarkably in
thinking your father will be miserable: I shall not sleep for
satisfaction.  You could have hit on no surer way of fixing your
residence under my roof for the next twenty-four hours than informing me
that such an event would follow.  As to your promise to marry Linton,
I'll take care you shall keep it; for you shall not quit this place till
it is fulfilled.'
'Send Ellen, then, to let papa know I'm safe!' exclaimed Catherine,
weeping bitterly.  'Or marry me now.  Poor papa!  Ellen, he'll think
we're lost.  What shall we do?'
'Not he!  He'll think you are tired of waiting on him, and run off for a
little amusement,' answered Heathcliff.  'You cannot deny that you
entered my house of your own accord, in contempt of his injunctions to
the contrary.  And it is quite natural that you should desire amusement
at your age; and that you would weary of nursing a sick man, and that man
_only_ your father.  Catherine, his happiest days were over when your
days began.  He cursed you, I dare say, for coming into the world (I did,
at least); and it would just do if he cursed you as _he_ went out of it.
I'd join him.  I don't love you!  How should I?  Weep away.  As far as I
can see, it will be your chief diversion hereafter; unless Linton make
amends for other losses: and your provident parent appears to fancy he
may.  His letters of advice and consolation entertained me vastly.  In
his last he recommended my jewel to be careful of his; and kind to her
when he got her.  Careful and kind--that's paternal.  But Linton requires
his whole stock of care and kindness for himself.  Linton can play the
little tyrant well.  He'll undertake to torture any number of cats, if
their teeth be drawn and their claws pared.  You'll be able to tell his
uncle fine tales of his _kindness_, when you get home again, I assure
you.'
'You're right there!' I said; 'explain your son's character.  Show his
resemblance to yourself: and then, I hope, Miss Cathy will think twice
before she takes the cockatrice!'
'I don't much mind speaking of his amiable qualities now,' he answered;
'because she must either accept him or remain a prisoner, and you along
with her, till your master dies.  I can detain you both, quite concealed,
here.  If you doubt, encourage her to retract her word, and you'll have
an opportunity of judging!'
'I'll not retract my word,' said Catherine.  'I'll marry him within this
hour, if I may go to Thrushcross Grange afterwards.  Mr. Heathcliff,
you're a cruel man, but you're not a fiend; and you won't, from _mere_
malice, destroy irrevocably all my happiness.  If papa thought I had left
him on purpose, and if he died before I returned, could I bear to live?
I've given over crying: but I'm going to kneel here, at your knee; and
I'll not get up, and I'll not take my eyes from your face till you look
back at me!  No, don't turn away! _do look_! you'll see nothing to
provoke you.  I don't hate you.  I'm not angry that you struck me.  Have
you never loved _anybody_ in all your life, uncle? _never_?  Ah! you must
look once.  I'm so wretched, you can't help being sorry and pitying me.'
'Keep your eft's fingers off; and move, or I'll kick you!' cried
Heathcliff, brutally repulsing her.  'I'd rather be hugged by a snake.
How the devil can you dream of fawning on me?  I _detest_ you!'
He shrugged his shoulders: shook himself, indeed, as if his flesh crept
with aversion; and thrust back his chair; while I got up, and opened my
mouth, to commence a downright torrent of abuse.  But I was rendered dumb
in the middle of the first sentence, by a threat that I should be shown
into a room by myself the very next syllable I uttered.  It was growing
dark--we heard a sound of voices at the garden-gate.  Our host hurried
out instantly: _he_ had his wits about him; _we_ had not.  There was a
talk of two or three minutes, and he returned alone.
'I thought it had been your cousin Hareton,' I observed to Catherine.  'I
wish he would arrive!  Who knows but he might take our part?'
'It was three servants sent to seek you from the Grange,' said
Heathcliff, overhearing me.  'You should have opened a lattice and called
out: but I could swear that chit is glad you didn't.  She's glad to be
obliged to stay, I'm certain.'
At learning the chance we had missed, we both gave vent to our grief
without control; and he allowed us to wail on till nine o'clock.  Then he
bid us go upstairs, through the kitchen, to Zillah's chamber; and I
whispered my companion to obey: perhaps we might contrive to get through
the window there, or into a garret, and out by its skylight.  The window,
however, was narrow, like those below, and the garret trap was safe from
our attempts; for we were fastened in as before.  We neither of us lay
down: Catherine took her station by the lattice, and watched anxiously
for morning; a deep sigh being the only answer I could obtain to my
frequent entreaties that she would try to rest.  I seated myself in a
chair, and rocked to and fro, passing harsh judgment on my many
derelictions of duty; from which, it struck me then, all the misfortunes
of my employers sprang.  It was not the case, in reality, I am aware; but
it was, in my imagination, that dismal night; and I thought Heathcliff
himself less guilty than I.
At seven o'clock he came, and inquired if Miss Linton had risen.  She ran
to the door immediately, and answered, 'Yes.'  'Here, then,' he said,
opening it, and pulling her out.  I rose to follow, but he turned the
lock again.  I demanded my release.
'Be patient,' he replied; 'I'll send up your breakfast in a while.'
I thumped on the panels, and rattled the latch angrily and Catherine
asked why I was still shut up?  He answered, I must try to endure it
another hour, and they went away.  I endured it two or three hours; at
length, I heard a footstep: not Heathcliff's.
'I've brought you something to eat,' said a voice; 'oppen t' door!'
Complying eagerly, I beheld Hareton, laden with food enough to last me
all day.
'Tak' it,' he added, thrusting the tray into my hand.
'Stay one minute,' I began.
'Nay,' cried he, and retired, regardless of any prayers I could pour
forth to detain him.
And there I remained enclosed the whole day, and the whole of the next
night; and another, and another.  Five nights and four days I remained,
altogether, seeing nobody but Hareton once every morning; and he was a
model of a jailor: surly, and dumb, and deaf to every attempt at moving
his sense of justice or compassion.
CHAPTER XXVIII
On the fifth morning, or rather afternoon, a different step
approached--lighter and shorter; and, this time, the person entered the
room.  It was Zillah; donned in her scarlet shawl, with a black silk
bonnet on her head, and a willow-basket swung to her arm.
'Eh, dear!  Mrs. Dean!' she exclaimed.  'Well! there is a talk about you
at Gimmerton.  I never thought but you were sunk in the Blackhorse marsh,
and missy with you, till master told me you'd been found, and he'd lodged
you here!  What! and you must have got on an island, sure?  And how long
were you in the hole?  Did master save you, Mrs. Dean?  But you're not so
thin--you've not been so poorly, have you?'
'Your master is a true scoundrel!' I replied.  'But he shall answer for
it.  He needn't have raised that tale: it shall all be laid bare!'
'What do you mean?' asked Zillah.  'It's not his tale: they tell that in
the village--about your being lost in the marsh; and I calls to Earnshaw,
when I come in--"Eh, they's queer things, Mr. Hareton, happened since I
went off.  It's a sad pity of that likely young lass, and cant Nelly
Dean."  He stared.  I thought he had not heard aught, so I told him the
rumour.  The master listened, and he just smiled to himself, and said,
"If they have been in the marsh, they are out now, Zillah.  Nelly Dean is
lodged, at this minute, in your room.  You can tell her to flit, when you
go up; here is the key.  The bog-water got into her head, and she would
have run home quite flighty; but I fixed her till she came round to her
senses.  You can bid her go to the Grange at once, if she be able, and
carry a message from me, that her young lady will follow in time to
attend the squire's funeral."'
'Mr. Edgar is not dead?' I gasped.  'Oh! Zillah, Zillah!'
'No, no; sit you down, my good mistress,' she replied; 'you're right
sickly yet.  He's not dead; Doctor Kenneth thinks he may last another
day.  I met him on the road and asked.'
Instead of sitting down, I snatched my outdoor things, and hastened
below, for the way was free.  On entering the house, I looked about for
some one to give information of Catherine.  The place was filled with
sunshine, and the door stood wide open; but nobody seemed at hand.  As I
hesitated whether to go off at once, or return and seek my mistress, a
slight cough drew my attention to the hearth.  Linton lay on the settle,
sole tenant, sucking a stick of sugar-candy, and pursuing my movements
with apathetic eyes.  'Where is Miss Catherine?' I demanded sternly,
supposing I could frighten him into giving intelligence, by catching him
thus, alone.  He sucked on like an innocent.
'Is she gone?' I said.
'No,' he replied; 'she's upstairs: she's not to go; we won't let her.'
'You won't let her, little idiot!' I exclaimed.  'Direct me to her room
immediately, or I'll make you sing out sharply.'
'Papa would make you sing out, if you attempted to get there,' he
answered.  'He says I'm not to be soft with Catherine: she's my wife, and
it's shameful that she should wish to leave me.  He says she hates me and
wants me to die, that she may have my money; but she shan't have it: and
she shan't go home!  She never shall!--she may cry, and be sick as much
as she pleases!'
He resumed his former occupation, closing his lids, as if he meant to
drop asleep.
'Master Heathcliff,' I resumed, 'have you forgotten all Catherine's
kindness to you last winter, when you affirmed you loved her, and when
she brought you books and sung you songs, and came many a time through
wind and snow to see you?  She wept to miss one evening, because you
would be disappointed; and you felt then that she was a hundred times too
good to you: and now you believe the lies your father tells, though you
know he detests you both.  And you join him against her.  That's fine
gratitude, is it not?'
The corner of Linton's mouth fell, and he took the sugar-candy from his
lips.
'Did she come to Wuthering Heights because she hated you?' I continued.
'Think for yourself!  As to your money, she does not even know that you
will have any.  And you say she's sick; and yet you leave her alone, up
there in a strange house!  You who have felt what it is to be so
neglected!  You could pity your own sufferings; and she pitied them, too;
but you won't pity hers!  I shed tears, Master Heathcliff, you see--an
elderly woman, and a servant merely--and you, after pretending such
affection, and having reason to worship her almost, store every tear you
have for yourself, and lie there quite at ease.  Ah! you're a heartless,
selfish boy!'
'I can't stay with her,' he answered crossly.  'I'll not stay by myself.
She cries so I can't bear it.  And she won't give over, though I say I'll
call my father.  I did call him once, and he threatened to strangle her
if she was not quiet; but she began again the instant he left the room,
moaning and grieving all night long, though I screamed for vexation that
I couldn't sleep.'
'Is Mr. Heathcliff out?' I inquired, perceiving that the wretched
creature had no power to sympathize with his cousin's mental tortures.
'He's in the court,' he replied, 'talking to Doctor Kenneth; who says
uncle is dying, truly, at last.  I'm glad, for I shall be master of the
Grange after him.  Catherine always spoke of it as her house.  It isn't
hers!  It's mine: papa says everything she has is mine.  All her nice
books are mine; she offered to give me them, and her pretty birds, and
her pony Minny, if I would get the key of our room, and let her out; but
I told her she had nothing to give, they were all, all mine.  And then
she cried, and took a little picture from her neck, and said I should
have that; two pictures in a gold case, on one side her mother, and on
the other uncle, when they were young.  That was yesterday--I said they
were mine, too; and tried to get them from her.  The spiteful thing
wouldn't let me: she pushed me off, and hurt me.  I shrieked out--that
frightens her--she heard papa coming, and she broke the hinges and
divided the case, and gave me her mother's portrait; the other she
attempted to hide: but papa asked what was the matter, and I explained
it.  He took the one I had away, and ordered her to resign hers to me;
she refused, and he--he struck her down, and wrenched it off the chain,
and crushed it with his foot.'
'And were you pleased to see her struck?' I asked: having my designs in
encouraging his talk.
'I winked,' he answered: 'I wink to see my father strike a dog or a
horse, he does it so hard.  Yet I was glad at first--she deserved
punishing for pushing me: but when papa was gone, she made me come to the
window and showed me her cheek cut on the inside, against her teeth, and
her mouth filling with blood; and then she gathered up the bits of the
picture, and went and sat down with her face to the wall, and she has
never spoken to me since: and I sometimes think she can't speak for pain.
I don't like to think so; but she's a naughty thing for crying
continually; and she looks so pale and wild, I'm afraid of her.'
'And you can get the key if you choose?' I said.
'Yes, when I am up-stairs,' he answered; 'but I can't walk up-stairs
now.'
'In what apartment is it?' I asked.
'Oh,' he cried, 'I shan't tell _you_ where it is.  It is our secret.
Nobody, neither Hareton nor Zillah, is to know.  There! you've tired
me--go away, go away!'  And he turned his face on to his arm, and shut
his eyes again.
I considered it best to depart without seeing Mr. Heathcliff, and bring a
rescue for my young lady from the Grange.  On reaching it, the
astonishment of my fellow-servants to see me, and their joy also, was
intense; and when they heard that their little mistress was safe, two or
three were about to hurry up and shout the news at Mr. Edgar's door: but
I bespoke the announcement of it myself.  How changed I found him, even
in those few days!  He lay an image of sadness and resignation awaiting
his death.  Very young he looked: though his actual age was thirty-nine,
one would have called him ten years younger, at least.  He thought of
Catherine; for he murmured her name.  I touched his hand, and spoke.
'Catherine is coming, dear master!' I whispered; 'she is alive and well;
and will be here, I hope, to-night.'
I trembled at the first effects of this intelligence: he half rose up,
looked eagerly round the apartment, and then sank back in a swoon.  As
soon as he recovered, I related our compulsory visit, and detention at
the Heights.  I said Heathcliff forced me to go in: which was not quite
true.  I uttered as little as possible against Linton; nor did I describe
all his father's brutal conduct--my intentions being to add no
bitterness, if I could help it, to his already over-flowing cup.
He divined that one of his enemy's purposes was to secure the personal
property, as well as the estate, to his son: or rather himself; yet why
he did not wait till his decease was a puzzle to my master, because
ignorant how nearly he and his nephew would quit the world together.
However, he felt that his will had better be altered: instead of leaving
Catherine's fortune at her own disposal, he determined to put it in the
hands of trustees for her use during life, and for her children, if she
had any, after her.  By that means, it could not fall to Mr. Heathcliff
should Linton die.
Having received his orders, I despatched a man to fetch the attorney, and
four more, provided with serviceable weapons, to demand my young lady of
her jailor.  Both parties were delayed very late.  The single servant
returned first.  He said Mr. Green, the lawyer, was out when he arrived
at his house, and he had to wait two hours for his re-entrance; and then
Mr. Green told him he had a little business in the village that must be
done; but he would be at Thrushcross Grange before morning.  The four men
came back unaccompanied also.  They brought word that Catherine was ill:
too ill to quit her room; and Heathcliff would not suffer them to see
her.  I scolded the stupid fellows well for listening to that tale, which
I would not carry to my master; resolving to take a whole bevy up to the
Heights, at day-light, and storm it literally, unless the prisoner were
quietly surrendered to us.  Her father _shall_ see her, I vowed, and
vowed again, if that devil be killed on his own doorstones in trying to
prevent it!
Happily, I was spared the journey and the trouble.  I had gone
down-stairs at three o'clock to fetch a jug of water; and was passing
through the hall with it in my hand, when a sharp knock at the front door
made me jump.  'Oh! it is Green,' I said, recollecting myself--'only
Green,' and I went on, intending to send somebody else to open it; but
the knock was repeated: not loud, and still importunately.  I put the jug
on the banister and hastened to admit him myself.  The harvest moon shone
clear outside.  It was not the attorney.  My own sweet little mistress
sprang on my neck sobbing, 'Ellen, Ellen!  Is papa alive?'
'Yes,' I cried: 'yes, my angel, he is, God be thanked, you are safe with
us again!'
She wanted to run, breathless as she was, up-stairs to Mr. Linton's room;
but I compelled her to sit down on a chair, and made her drink, and
washed her pale face, chafing it into a faint colour with my apron.  Then
I said I must go first, and tell of her arrival; imploring her to say,
she should be happy with young Heathcliff.  She stared, but soon
comprehending why I counselled her to utter the falsehood, she assured me
she would not complain.
I couldn't abide to be present at their meeting.  I stood outside the
chamber-door a quarter of an hour, and hardly ventured near the bed,
then.  All was composed, however: Catherine's despair was as silent as
her father's joy.  She supported him calmly, in appearance; and he fixed
on her features his raised eyes that seemed dilating with ecstasy.
He died blissfully, Mr. Lockwood: he died so.  Kissing her cheek, he
murmured,--'I am going to her; and you, darling child, shall come to us!'
and never stirred or spoke again; but continued that rapt, radiant gaze,
till his pulse imperceptibly stopped and his soul departed.  None could
have noticed the exact minute of his death, it was so entirely without a
struggle.
Whether Catherine had spent her tears, or whether the grief were too
weighty to let them flow, she sat there dry-eyed till the sun rose: she
sat till noon, and would still have remained brooding over that deathbed,
but I insisted on her coming away and taking some repose.  It was well I
succeeded in removing her, for at dinner-time appeared the lawyer, having
called at Wuthering Heights to get his instructions how to behave.  He
had sold himself to Mr. Heathcliff: that was the cause of his delay in
obeying my master's summons.  Fortunately, no thought of worldly affairs
crossed the latter's mind, to disturb him, after his daughter's arrival.
Mr. Green took upon himself to order everything and everybody about the
place.  He gave all the servants but me, notice to quit.  He would have
carried his delegated authority to the point of insisting that Edgar
Linton should not be buried beside his wife, but in the chapel, with his
family.  There was the will, however, to hinder that, and my loud
protestations against any infringement of its directions.  The funeral
was hurried over; Catherine, Mrs. Linton Heathcliff now, was suffered to
stay at the Grange till her father's corpse had quitted it.
She told me that her anguish had at last spurred Linton to incur the risk
of liberating her.  She heard the men I sent disputing at the door, and
she gathered the sense of Heathcliff's answer.  It drove her desperate.
Linton who had been conveyed up to the little parlour soon after I left,
was terrified into fetching the key before his father re-ascended.  He
had the cunning to unlock and re-lock the door, without shutting it; and
when he should have gone to bed, he begged to sleep with Hareton, and his
petition was granted for once.  Catherine stole out before break of day.
She dared not try the doors lest the dogs should raise an alarm; she
visited the empty chambers and examined their windows; and, luckily,
lighting on her mother's, she got easily out of its lattice, and on to
the ground, by means of the fir-tree close by.  Her accomplice suffered
for his share in the escape, notwithstanding his timid contrivances.
CHAPTER XXIX
The evening after the funeral, my young lady and I were seated in the
library; now musing mournfully--one of us despairingly--on our loss, now
venturing conjectures as to the gloomy future.
We had just agreed the best destiny which could await Catherine would be
a permission to continue resident at the Grange; at least during Linton's
life: he being allowed to join her there, and I to remain as housekeeper.
That seemed rather too favourable an arrangement to be hoped for; and yet
I did hope, and began to cheer up under the prospect of retaining my home
and my employment, and, above all, my beloved young mistress; when a
servant--one of the discarded ones, not yet departed--rushed hastily in,
and said 'that devil Heathcliff' was coming through the court: should he
fasten the door in his face?
If we had been mad enough to order that proceeding, we had not time.  He
made no ceremony of knocking or announcing his name: he was master, and
availed himself of the master's privilege to walk straight in, without
saying a word.  The sound of our informant's voice directed him to the
library; he entered and motioning him out, shut the door.
It was the same room into which he had been ushered, as a guest, eighteen
years before: the same moon shone through the window; and the same autumn
landscape lay outside.  We had not yet lighted a candle, but all the
apartment was visible, even to the portraits on the wall: the splendid
head of Mrs. Linton, and the graceful one of her husband.  Heathcliff
advanced to the hearth.  Time had little altered his person either.  There
was the same man: his dark face rather sallower and more composed, his
frame a stone or two heavier, perhaps, and no other difference.  Catherine
had risen with an impulse to dash out, when she saw him.
'Stop!' he said, arresting her by the arm.  'No more runnings away!  Where
would you go?  I'm come to fetch you home; and I hope you'll be a dutiful
daughter and not encourage my son to further disobedience.  I was
embarrassed how to punish him when I discovered his part in the business:
he's such a cobweb, a pinch would annihilate him; but you'll see by his
look that he has received his due!  I brought him down one evening, the
day before yesterday, and just set him in a chair, and never touched him
afterwards.  I sent Hareton out, and we had the room to ourselves.  In
two hours, I called Joseph to carry him up again; and since then my
presence is as potent on his nerves as a ghost; and I fancy he sees me
often, though I am not near.  Hareton says he wakes and shrieks in the
night by the hour together, and calls you to protect him from me; and,
whether you like your precious mate, or not, you must come: he's your
concern now; I yield all my interest in him to you.'
'Why not let Catherine continue here,' I pleaded, 'and send Master Linton
to her?  As you hate them both, you'd not miss them: they can only be a
daily plague to your unnatural heart.'
'I'm seeking a tenant for the Grange,' he answered; 'and I want my
children about me, to be sure.  Besides, that lass owes me her services
for her bread.  I'm not going to nurture her in luxury and idleness after
Linton is gone.  Make haste and get ready, now; and don't oblige me to
compel you.'
'I shall,' said Catherine.  'Linton is all I have to love in the world,
and though you have done what you could to make him hateful to me, and me
to him, you cannot make us hate each other.  And I defy you to hurt him
when I am by, and I defy you to frighten me!'
'You are a boastful champion,' replied Heathcliff; 'but I don't like you
well enough to hurt him: you shall get the full benefit of the torment,
as long as it lasts.  It is not I who will make him hateful to you--it is
his own sweet spirit.  He's as bitter as gall at your desertion and its
consequences: don't expect thanks for this noble devotion.  I heard him
draw a pleasant picture to Zillah of what he would do if he were as
strong as I: the inclination is there, and his very weakness will sharpen
his wits to find a substitute for strength.'
'I know he has a bad nature,' said Catherine: 'he's your son.  But I'm
glad I've a better, to forgive it; and I know he loves me, and for that
reason I love him.  Mr. Heathcliff _you_ have _nobody_ to love you; and,
however miserable you make us, we shall still have the revenge of
thinking that your cruelty arises from your greater misery.  You _are_
miserable, are you not?  Lonely, like the devil, and envious like him?
_Nobody_ loves you--_nobody_ will cry for you when you die!  I wouldn't
be you!'
Catherine spoke with a kind of dreary triumph: she seemed to have made up
her mind to enter into the spirit of her future family, and draw pleasure
from the griefs of her enemies.
'You shall be sorry to be yourself presently,' said her father-in-law,
'if you stand there another minute.  Begone, witch, and get your things!'
She scornfully withdrew.  In her absence I began to beg for Zillah's
place at the Heights, offering to resign mine to her; but he would suffer
it on no account.  He bid me be silent; and then, for the first time,
allowed himself a glance round the room and a look at the pictures.
Having studied Mrs. Linton's, he said--'I shall have that home.  Not
because I need it, but--'  He turned abruptly to the fire, and continued,
with what, for lack of a better word, I must call a smile--'I'll tell you
what I did yesterday!  I got the sexton, who was digging Linton's grave,
to remove the earth off her coffin lid, and I opened it.  I thought,
once, I would have stayed there: when I saw her face again--it is hers
yet!--he had hard work to stir me; but he said it would change if the air
blew on it, and so I struck one side of the coffin loose, and covered it
up: not Linton's side, damn him!  I wish he'd been soldered in lead.  And
I bribed the sexton to pull it away when I'm laid there, and slide mine
out too; I'll have it made so: and then by the time Linton gets to us
he'll not know which is which!'
'You were very wicked, Mr. Heathcliff!' I exclaimed; 'were you not
ashamed to disturb the dead?'
'I disturbed nobody, Nelly,' he replied; 'and I gave some ease to myself.
I shall be a great deal more comfortable now; and you'll have a better
chance of keeping me underground, when I get there.  Disturbed her?  No!
she has disturbed me, night and day, through eighteen
years--incessantly--remorselessly--till yesternight; and yesternight I
was tranquil.  I dreamt I was sleeping the last sleep by that sleeper,
with my heart stopped and my cheek frozen against hers.'
'And if she had been dissolved into earth, or worse, what would you have
dreamt of then?' I said.
'Of dissolving with her, and being more happy still!' he answered.  'Do
you suppose I dread any change of that sort?  I expected such a
transformation on raising the lid--but I'm better pleased that it should
not commence till I share it.  Besides, unless I had received a distinct
impression of her passionless features, that strange feeling would hardly
have been removed.  It began oddly.  You know I was wild after she died;
and eternally, from dawn to dawn, praying her to return to me her spirit!
I have a strong faith in ghosts: I have a conviction that they can, and
do, exist among us!  The day she was buried, there came a fall of snow.
In the evening I went to the churchyard.  It blew bleak as winter--all
round was solitary.  I didn't fear that her fool of a husband would
wander up the glen so late; and no one else had business to bring them
there.  Being alone, and conscious two yards of loose earth was the sole
barrier between us, I said to myself--"I'll have her in my arms again!  If
she be cold, I'll think it is this north wind that chills _me_; and if
she be motionless, it is sleep."  I got a spade from the tool-house, and
began to delve with all my might--it scraped the coffin; I fell to work
with my hands; the wood commenced cracking about the screws; I was on the
point of attaining my object, when it seemed that I heard a sigh from
some one above, close at the edge of the grave, and bending down.  "If I
can only get this off," I muttered, "I wish they may shovel in the earth
over us both!" and I wrenched at it more desperately still.  There was
another sigh, close at my ear.  I appeared to feel the warm breath of it
displacing the sleet-laden wind.  I knew no living thing in flesh and
blood was by; but, as certainly as you perceive the approach to some
substantial body in the dark, though it cannot be discerned, so certainly
I felt that Cathy was there: not under me, but on the earth.  A sudden
sense of relief flowed from my heart through every limb.  I relinquished
my labour of agony, and turned consoled at once: unspeakably consoled.
Her presence was with me: it remained while I re-filled the grave, and
led me home.  You may laugh, if you will; but I was sure I should see her
there.  I was sure she was with me, and I could not help talking to her.
Having reached the Heights, I rushed eagerly to the door.  It was
fastened; and, I remember, that accursed Earnshaw and my wife opposed my
entrance.  I remember stopping to kick the breath out of him, and then
hurrying up-stairs, to my room and hers.  I looked round impatiently--I
felt her by me--I could _almost_ see her, and yet I _could not_!  I ought
to have sweat blood then, from the anguish of my yearning--from the
fervour of my supplications to have but one glimpse!  I had not one.  She
showed herself, as she often was in life, a devil to me!  And, since
then, sometimes more and sometimes less, I've been the sport of that
intolerable torture!  Infernal! keeping my nerves at such a stretch that,
if they had not resembled catgut, they would long ago have relaxed to the
feebleness of Linton's.  When I sat in the house with Hareton, it seemed
that on going out I should meet her; when I walked on the moors I should
meet her coming in.  When I went from home I hastened to return; she
_must_ be somewhere at the Heights, I was certain!  And when I slept in
her chamber--I was beaten out of that.  I couldn't lie there; for the
moment I closed my eyes, she was either outside the window, or sliding
back the panels, or entering the room, or even resting her darling head
on the same pillow as she did when a child; and I must open my lids to
see.  And so I opened and closed them a hundred times a night--to be
always disappointed!  It racked me!  I've often groaned aloud, till that
old rascal Joseph no doubt believed that my conscience was playing the
fiend inside of me.  Now, since I've seen her, I'm pacified--a little.  It
was a strange way of killing: not by inches, but by fractions of
hairbreadths, to beguile me with the spectre of a hope through eighteen
years!'
Mr. Heathcliff paused and wiped his forehead; his hair clung to it, wet
with perspiration; his eyes were fixed on the red embers of the fire, the
brows not contracted, but raised next the temples; diminishing the grim
aspect of his countenance, but imparting a peculiar look of trouble, and
a painful appearance of mental tension towards one absorbing subject.  He
only half addressed me, and I maintained silence.  I didn't like to hear
him talk!  After a short period he resumed his meditation on the picture,
took it down and leant it against the sofa to contemplate it at better
advantage; and while so occupied Catherine entered, announcing that she
was ready, when her pony should be saddled.
'Send that over to-morrow,' said Heathcliff to me; then turning to her,
he added: 'You may do without your pony: it is a fine evening, and you'll
need no ponies at Wuthering Heights; for what journeys you take, your own
feet will serve you.  Come along.'
'Good-bye, Ellen!' whispered my dear little mistress.
As she kissed me, her lips felt like ice.  'Come and see me, Ellen; don't
forget.'
'Take care you do no such thing, Mrs. Dean!' said her new father.  'When
I wish to speak to you I'll come here.  I want none of your prying at my
house!'
He signed her to precede him; and casting back a look that cut my heart,
she obeyed.  I watched them, from the window, walk down the garden.
Heathcliff fixed Catherine's arm under his: though she disputed the act
at first evidently; and with rapid strides he hurried her into the alley,
whose trees concealed them.
CHAPTER XXX
I have paid a visit to the Heights, but I have not seen her since she
left: Joseph held the door in his hand when I called to ask after her,
and wouldn't let me pass.  He said Mrs. Linton was 'thrang,' and the
master was not in.  Zillah has told me something of the way they go on,
otherwise I should hardly know who was dead and who living.  She thinks
Catherine haughty, and does not like her, I can guess by her talk.  My
young lady asked some aid of her when she first came; but Mr. Heathcliff
told her to follow her own business, and let his daughter-in-law look
after herself; and Zillah willingly acquiesced, being a narrow-minded,
selfish woman.  Catherine evinced a child's annoyance at this neglect;
repaid it with contempt, and thus enlisted my informant among her
enemies, as securely as if she had done her some great wrong.  I had a
long talk with Zillah about six weeks ago, a little before you came, one
day when we foregathered on the moor; and this is what she told me.
'The first thing Mrs. Linton did,' she said, 'on her arrival at the
Heights, was to run up-stairs, without even wishing good-evening to me
and Joseph; she shut herself into Linton's room, and remained till
morning.  Then, while the master and Earnshaw were at breakfast, she
entered the house, and asked all in a quiver if the doctor might be sent
for? her cousin was very ill.
'"We know that!" answered Heathcliff; "but his life is not worth a
farthing, and I won't spend a farthing on him."
'"But I cannot tell how to do," she said; "and if nobody will help me,
he'll die!"
'"Walk out of the room," cried the master, "and let me never hear a word
more about him!  None here care what becomes of him; if you do, act the
nurse; if you do not, lock him up and leave him."
'Then she began to bother me, and I said I'd had enough plague with the
tiresome thing; we each had our tasks, and hers was to wait on Linton:
Mr. Heathcliff bid me leave that labour to her.
'How they managed together, I can't tell.  I fancy he fretted a great
deal, and moaned hisseln night and day; and she had precious little rest:
one could guess by her white face and heavy eyes.  She sometimes came
into the kitchen all wildered like, and looked as if she would fain beg
assistance; but I was not going to disobey the master: I never dare
disobey him, Mrs. Dean; and, though I thought it wrong that Kenneth
should not be sent for, it was no concern of mine either to advise or
complain, and I always refused to meddle.  Once or twice, after we had
gone to bed, I've happened to open my door again and seen her sitting
crying on the stairs'-top; and then I've shut myself in quick, for fear
of being moved to interfere.  I did pity her then, I'm sure: still I
didn't wish to lose my place, you know.
'At last, one night she came boldly into my chamber, and frightened me
out of my wits, by saying, "Tell Mr. Heathcliff that his son is dying--I'm
sure he is, this time.  Get up, instantly, and tell him."
'Having uttered this speech, she vanished again.  I lay a quarter of an
hour listening and trembling.  Nothing stirred--the house was quiet.
'She's mistaken, I said to myself.  He's got over it.  I needn't disturb
them; and I began to doze.  But my sleep was marred a second time by a
sharp ringing of the bell--the only bell we have, put up on purpose for
Linton; and the master called to me to see what was the matter, and
inform them that he wouldn't have that noise repeated.
'I delivered Catherine's message.  He cursed to himself, and in a few
minutes came out with a lighted candle, and proceeded to their room.  I
followed.  Mrs. Heathcliff was seated by the bedside, with her hands
folded on her knees.  Her father-in-law went up, held the light to
Linton's face, looked at him, and touched him; afterwards he turned to
her.
'"Now--Catherine," he said, "how do you feel?"
'She was dumb.
'"How do you feel, Catherine?" he repeated.
'"He's safe, and I'm free," she answered: "I should feel well--but," she
continued, with a bitterness she couldn't conceal, "you have left me so
long to struggle against death alone, that I feel and see only death!  I
feel like death!"
'And she looked like it, too!  I gave her a little wine.  Hareton and
Joseph, who had been wakened by the ringing and the sound of feet, and
heard our talk from outside, now entered.  Joseph was fain, I believe, of
the lad's removal; Hareton seemed a thought bothered: though he was more
taken up with staring at Catherine than thinking of Linton.  But the
master bid him get off to bed again: we didn't want his help.  He
afterwards made Joseph remove the body to his chamber, and told me to
return to mine, and Mrs. Heathcliff remained by herself.
'In the morning, he sent me to tell her she must come down to breakfast:
she had undressed, and appeared going to sleep, and said she was ill; at
which I hardly wondered.  I informed Mr. Heathcliff, and he
replied,--"Well, let her be till after the funeral; and go up now and
then to get her what is needful; and, as soon as she seems better, tell
me."'
Cathy stayed upstairs a fortnight, according to Zillah; who visited her
twice a day, and would have been rather more friendly, but her attempts
at increasing kindness were proudly and promptly repelled.
Heathcliff went up once, to show her Linton's will.  He had bequeathed
the whole of his, and what had been her, moveable property, to his
father: the poor creature was threatened, or coaxed, into that act during
her week's absence, when his uncle died.  The lands, being a minor, he
could not meddle with.  However, Mr. Heathcliff has claimed and kept them
in his wife's right and his also: I suppose legally; at any rate,
Catherine, destitute of cash and friends, cannot disturb his possession.
'Nobody,' said Zillah, 'ever approached her door, except that once, but
I; and nobody asked anything about her.  The first occasion of her coming
down into the house was on a Sunday afternoon.  She had cried out, when I
carried up her dinner, that she couldn't bear any longer being in the
cold; and I told her the master was going to Thrushcross Grange, and
Earnshaw and I needn't hinder her from descending; so, as soon as she
heard Heathcliff's horse trot off, she made her appearance, donned in
black, and her yellow curls combed back behind her ears as plain as a
Quaker: she couldn't comb them out.
'Joseph and I generally go to chapel on Sundays:' the kirk, you know, has
no minister now, explained Mrs. Dean; and they call the Methodists' or
Baptists' place (I can't say which it is) at Gimmerton, a chapel.  'Joseph
had gone,' she continued, 'but I thought proper to bide at home.  Young
folks are always the better for an elder's over-looking; and Hareton,
with all his bashfulness, isn't a model of nice behaviour.  I let him
know that his cousin would very likely sit with us, and she had been
always used to see the Sabbath respected; so he had as good leave his
guns and bits of indoor work alone, while she stayed.  He coloured up at
the news, and cast his eyes over his hands and clothes.  The train-oil
and gunpowder were shoved out of sight in a minute.  I saw he meant to
give her his company; and I guessed, by his way, he wanted to be
presentable; so, laughing, as I durst not laugh when the master is by, I
offered to help him, if he would, and joked at his confusion.  He grew
sullen, and began to swear.
'Now, Mrs. Dean,' Zillah went on, seeing me not pleased by her manner,
'you happen think your young lady too fine for Mr. Hareton; and happen
you're right: but I own I should love well to bring her pride a peg
lower.  And what will all her learning and her daintiness do for her,
now?  She's as poor as you or I: poorer, I'll be bound: you're saying,
and I'm doing my little all that road.'
Hareton allowed Zillah to give him her aid; and she flattered him into a
good humour; so, when Catherine came, half forgetting her former insults,
he tried to make himself agreeable, by the housekeeper's account.
'Missis walked in,' she said, 'as chill as an icicle, and as high as a
princess.  I got up and offered her my seat in the arm-chair.  No, she
turned up her nose at my civility.  Earnshaw rose, too, and bid her come
to the settle, and sit close by the fire: he was sure she was starved.
'"I've been starved a month and more," she answered, resting on the word
as scornful as she could.
'And she got a chair for herself, and placed it at a distance from both
of us.  Having sat till she was warm, she began to look round, and
discovered a number of books on the dresser; she was instantly upon her
feet again, stretching to reach them: but they were too high up.  Her
cousin, after watching her endeavours a while, at last summoned courage
to help her; she held her frock, and he filled it with the first that
came to hand.
'That was a great advance for the lad.  She didn't thank him; still, he
felt gratified that she had accepted his assistance, and ventured to
stand behind as she examined them, and even to stoop and point out what
struck his fancy in certain old pictures which they contained; nor was he
daunted by the saucy style in which she jerked the page from his finger:
he contented himself with going a bit farther back and looking at her
instead of the book.  She continued reading, or seeking for something to
read.  His attention became, by degrees, quite centred in the study of
her thick silky curls: her face he couldn't see, and she couldn't see
him.  And, perhaps, not quite awake to what he did, but attracted like a
child to a candle, at last he proceeded from staring to touching; he put
out his hand and stroked one curl, as gently as if it were a bird.  He
might have stuck a knife into her neck, she started round in such a
taking.
'"Get away this moment!  How dare you touch me?  Why are you stopping
there?" she cried, in a tone of disgust.  "I can't endure you!  I'll go
upstairs again, if you come near me."
'Mr. Hareton recoiled, looking as foolish as he could do: he sat down in
the settle very quiet, and she continued turning over her volumes another
half hour; finally, Earnshaw crossed over, and whispered to me.
'"Will you ask her to read to us, Zillah?  I'm stalled of doing naught;
and I do like--I could like to hear her!  Dunnot say I wanted it, but ask
of yourseln."
'"Mr. Hareton wishes you would read to us, ma'am," I said, immediately.
"He'd take it very kind--he'd be much obliged."
'She frowned; and looking up, answered--
'"Mr. Hareton, and the whole set of you, will be good enough to
understand that I reject any pretence at kindness you have the hypocrisy
to offer!  I despise you, and will have nothing to say to any of you!
When I would have given my life for one kind word, even to see one of
your faces, you all kept off.  But I won't complain to you!  I'm driven
down here by the cold; not either to amuse you or enjoy your society."
'"What could I ha' done?" began Earnshaw.  "How was I to blame?"
'"Oh! you are an exception," answered Mrs. Heathcliff.  "I never missed
such a concern as you."
'"But I offered more than once, and asked," he said, kindling up at her
pertness, "I asked Mr. Heathcliff to let me wake for you--"
'"Be silent!  I'll go out of doors, or anywhere, rather than have your
disagreeable voice in my ear!" said my lady.
'Hareton muttered she might go to hell, for him! and unslinging his gun,
restrained himself from his Sunday occupations no longer.  He talked now,
freely enough; and she presently saw fit to retreat to her solitude: but
the frost had set in, and, in spite of her pride, she was forced to
condescend to our company, more and more.  However, I took care there
should be no further scorning at my good nature: ever since, I've been as
stiff as herself; and she has no lover or liker among us: and she does
not deserve one; for, let them say the least word to her, and she'll curl
back without respect of any one.  She'll snap at the master himself, and
as good as dares him to thrash her; and the more hurt she gets, the more
venomous she grows.'
At first, on hearing this account from Zillah, I determined to leave my
situation, take a cottage, and get Catherine to come and live with me:
but Mr. Heathcliff would as soon permit that as he would set up Hareton
in an independent house; and I can see no remedy, at present, unless she
could marry again; and that scheme it does not come within my province to
arrange.
* * * * *
Thus ended Mrs. Dean's story.  Notwithstanding the doctor's prophecy, I
am rapidly recovering strength; and though it be only the second week in
January, I propose getting out on horseback in a day or two, and riding
over to Wuthering Heights, to inform my landlord that I shall spend the
next six months in London; and, if he likes, he may look out for another
tenant to take the place after October.  I would not pass another winter
here for much.
CHAPTER XXXI
Yesterday was bright, calm, and frosty.  I went to the Heights as I
proposed: my housekeeper entreated me to bear a little note from her to
her young lady, and I did not refuse, for the worthy woman was not
conscious of anything odd in her request.  The front door stood open, but
the jealous gate was fastened, as at my last visit; I knocked and invoked
Earnshaw from among the garden-beds; he unchained it, and I entered.  The
fellow is as handsome a rustic as need be seen.  I took particular notice
of him this time; but then he does his best apparently to make the least
of his advantages.
I asked if Mr. Heathcliff were at home?  He answered, No; but he would be
in at dinner-time.  It was eleven o'clock, and I announced my intention
of going in and waiting for him; at which he immediately flung down his
tools and accompanied me, in the office of watchdog, not as a substitute
for the host.
We entered together; Catherine was there, making herself useful in
preparing some vegetables for the approaching meal; she looked more
sulky and less spirited than when I had seen her first. She hardly
raised her eyes to notice me, and continued her employment with the same
disregard to common forms of politeness as before; never returning my
bow and good-morning by the slightest acknowledgment.
'She does not seem so amiable,' I thought, 'as Mrs. Dean would persuade
me to believe.  She's a beauty, it is true; but not an angel.'
Earnshaw surlily bid her remove her things to the kitchen.  'Remove them
yourself,' she said, pushing them from her as soon as she had done; and
retiring to a stool by the window, where she began to carve figures of
birds and beasts out of the turnip-parings in her lap.  I approached her,
pretending to desire a view of the garden; and, as I fancied, adroitly
dropped Mrs. Dean's note on to her knee, unnoticed by Hareton--but she
asked aloud, 'What is that?'  And chucked it off.
'A letter from your old acquaintance, the housekeeper at the Grange,' I
answered; annoyed at her exposing my kind deed, and fearful lest it
should be imagined a missive of my own.  She would gladly have gathered
it up at this information, but Hareton beat her; he seized and put it in
his waistcoat, saying Mr. Heathcliff should look at it first.  Thereat,
Catherine silently turned her face from us, and, very stealthily, drew
out her pocket-handkerchief and applied it to her eyes; and her cousin,
after struggling awhile to keep down his softer feelings, pulled out the
letter and flung it on the floor beside her, as ungraciously as he could.
Catherine caught and perused it eagerly; then she put a few questions to
me concerning the inmates, rational and irrational, of her former home;
and gazing towards the hills, murmured in soliloquy:
'I should like to be riding Minny down there!  I should like to be
climbing up there!  Oh!  I'm tired--I'm _stalled_, Hareton!'  And she
leant her pretty head back against the sill, with half a yawn and half a
sigh, and lapsed into an aspect of abstracted sadness: neither caring nor
knowing whether we remarked her.
'Mrs. Heathcliff,' I said, after sitting some time mute, 'you are not
aware that I am an acquaintance of yours? so intimate that I think it
strange you won't come and speak to me.  My housekeeper never wearies of
talking about and praising you; and she'll be greatly disappointed if I
return with no news of or from you, except that you received her letter
and said nothing!'
She appeared to wonder at this speech, and asked,--
'Does Ellen like you?'
'Yes, very well,' I replied, hesitatingly.
'You must tell her,' she continued, 'that I would answer her letter, but
I have no materials for writing: not even a book from which I might tear
a leaf.'
'No books!' I exclaimed.  'How do you contrive to live here without them?
if I may take the liberty to inquire.  Though provided with a large
library, I'm frequently very dull at the Grange; take my books away, and
I should be desperate!'
'I was always reading, when I had them,' said Catherine; 'and Mr.
Heathcliff never reads; so he took it into his head to destroy my books.
I have not had a glimpse of one for weeks.  Only once, I searched through
Joseph's store of theology, to his great irritation; and once, Hareton, I
came upon a secret stock in your room--some Latin and Greek, and some
tales and poetry: all old friends.  I brought the last here--and you
gathered them, as a magpie gathers silver spoons, for the mere love of
stealing!  They are of no use to you; or else you concealed them in the
bad spirit that, as you cannot enjoy them, nobody else shall.  Perhaps
_your_ envy counselled Mr. Heathcliff to rob me of my treasures?  But
I've most of them written on my brain and printed in my heart, and you
cannot deprive me of those!'
Earnshaw blushed crimson when his cousin made this revelation of his
private literary accumulations, and stammered an indignant denial of her
accusations.
'Mr. Hareton is desirous of increasing his amount of knowledge,' I said,
coming to his rescue.  'He is not _envious_, but _emulous_ of your
attainments.  He'll be a clever scholar in a few years.'
'And he wants me to sink into a dunce, meantime,' answered Catherine.
'Yes, I hear him trying to spell and read to himself, and pretty blunders
he makes!  I wish you would repeat Chevy Chase as you did yesterday: it
was extremely funny.  I heard you; and I heard you turning over the
dictionary to seek out the hard words, and then cursing because you
couldn't read their explanations!'
The young man evidently thought it too bad that he should be laughed at
for his ignorance, and then laughed at for trying to remove it.  I had a
similar notion; and, remembering Mrs. Dean's anecdote of his first
attempt at enlightening the darkness in which he had been reared, I
observed,--'But, Mrs. Heathcliff, we have each had a commencement, and
each stumbled and tottered on the threshold; had our teachers scorned
instead of aiding us, we should stumble and totter yet.'
'Oh!' she replied, 'I don't wish to limit his acquirements: still, he has
no right to appropriate what is mine, and make it ridiculous to me with
his vile mistakes and mispronunciations!  Those books, both prose and
verse, are consecrated to me by other associations; and I hate to have
them debased and profaned in his mouth!  Besides, of all, he has selected
my favourite pieces that I love the most to repeat, as if out of
deliberate malice.'
Hareton's chest heaved in silence a minute: he laboured under a severe
sense of mortification and wrath, which it was no easy task to suppress.
I rose, and, from a gentlemanly idea of relieving his embarrassment, took
up my station in the doorway, surveying the external prospect as I stood.
He followed my example, and left the room; but presently reappeared,
bearing half a dozen volumes in his hands, which he threw into
Catherine's lap, exclaiming,--'Take them!  I never want to hear, or read,
or think of them again!'
'I won't have them now,' she answered.  'I shall connect them with you,
and hate them.'
She opened one that had obviously been often turned over, and read a
portion in the drawling tone of a beginner; then laughed, and threw it
from her.  'And listen,' she continued, provokingly, commencing a verse
of an old ballad in the same fashion.
But his self-love would endure no further torment: I heard, and not
altogether disapprovingly, a manual check given to her saucy tongue.  The
little wretch had done her utmost to hurt her cousin's sensitive though
uncultivated feelings, and a physical argument was the only mode he had
of balancing the account, and repaying its effects on the inflictor.  He
afterwards gathered the books and hurled them on the fire.  I read in his
countenance what anguish it was to offer that sacrifice to spleen.  I
fancied that as they consumed, he recalled the pleasure they had already
imparted, and the triumph and ever-increasing pleasure he had anticipated
from them; and I fancied I guessed the incitement to his secret studies
also.  He had been content with daily labour and rough animal enjoyments,
till Catherine crossed his path.  Shame at her scorn, and hope of her
approval, were his first prompters to higher pursuits; and instead of
guarding him from one and winning him to the other, his endeavours to
raise himself had produced just the contrary result.
'Yes that's all the good that such a brute as you can get from them!'
cried Catherine, sucking her damaged lip, and watching the conflagration
with indignant eyes.
'You'd _better_ hold your tongue, now,' he answered fiercely.
And his agitation precluded further speech; he advanced hastily to the
entrance, where I made way for him to pass.  But ere he had crossed the
door-stones, Mr. Heathcliff, coming up the causeway, encountered him, and
laying hold of his shoulder asked,--'What's to do now, my lad?'
'Naught, naught,' he said, and broke away to enjoy his grief and anger in
solitude.
Heathcliff gazed after him, and sighed.
'It will be odd if I thwart myself,' he muttered, unconscious that I was
behind him.  'But when I look for his father in his face, I find _her_
every day more!  How the devil is he so like?  I can hardly bear to see
him.'
He bent his eyes to the ground, and walked moodily in.  There was a
restless, anxious expression in his countenance.  I had never remarked
there before; and he looked sparer in person.  His daughter-in-law, on
perceiving him through the window, immediately escaped to the kitchen, so
that I remained alone.
'I'm glad to see you out of doors again, Mr. Lockwood,' he said, in reply
to my greeting; 'from selfish motives partly: I don't think I could
readily supply your loss in this desolation.  I've wondered more than
once what brought you here.'
'An idle whim, I fear, sir,' was my answer; 'or else an idle whim is
going to spirit me away.  I shall set out for London next week; and I
must give you warning that I feel no disposition to retain Thrushcross
Grange beyond the twelve months I agreed to rent it.  I believe I shall
not live there any more.'
'Oh, indeed; you're tired of being banished from the world, are you?' he
said.  'But if you be coming to plead off paying for a place you won't
occupy, your journey is useless: I never relent in exacting my due from
any one.'
'I'm coming to plead off nothing about it,' I exclaimed, considerably
irritated.  'Should you wish it, I'll settle with you now,' and I drew my
note-book from my pocket.
'No, no,' he replied, coolly; 'you'll leave sufficient behind to cover
your debts, if you fail to return: I'm not in such a hurry.  Sit down and
take your dinner with us; a guest that is safe from repeating his visit
can generally be made welcome.  Catherine! bring the things in: where are
you?'
Catherine reappeared, bearing a tray of knives and forks.
'You may get your dinner with Joseph,' muttered Heathcliff, aside, 'and
remain in the kitchen till he is gone.'
She obeyed his directions very punctually: perhaps she had no temptation
to transgress.  Living among clowns and misanthropists, she probably
cannot appreciate a better class of people when she meets them.
With Mr. Heathcliff, grim and saturnine, on the one hand, and Hareton,
absolutely dumb, on the other, I made a somewhat cheerless meal, and bade
adieu early.  I would have departed by the back way, to get a last
glimpse of Catherine and annoy old Joseph; but Hareton received orders to
lead up my horse, and my host himself escorted me to the door, so I could
not fulfil my wish.
'How dreary life gets over in that house!' I reflected, while riding down
the road.  'What a realisation of something more romantic than a fairy
tale it would have been for Mrs. Linton Heathcliff, had she and I struck
up an attachment, as her good nurse desired, and migrated together into
the stirring atmosphere of the town!'
CHAPTER XXXII
1802.--This September I was invited to devastate the moors of a friend in
the north, and on my journey to his abode, I unexpectedly came within
fifteen miles of Gimmerton.  The ostler at a roadside public-house was
holding a pail of water to refresh my horses, when a cart of very green
oats, newly reaped, passed by, and he remarked,--'Yon's frough Gimmerton,
nah!  They're allas three wick' after other folk wi' ther harvest.'
'Gimmerton?' I repeated--my residence in that locality had already grown
dim and dreamy.  'Ah!  I know.  How far is it from this?'
'Happen fourteen mile o'er th' hills; and a rough road,' he answered.
A sudden impulse seized me to visit Thrushcross Grange.  It was scarcely
noon, and I conceived that I might as well pass the night under my own
roof as in an inn.  Besides, I could spare a day easily to arrange
matters with my landlord, and thus save myself the trouble of invading
the neighbourhood again.  Having rested awhile, I directed my servant to
inquire the way to the village; and, with great fatigue to our beasts, we
managed the distance in some three hours.
I left him there, and proceeded down the valley alone.  The grey church
looked greyer, and the lonely churchyard lonelier.  I distinguished a
moor-sheep cropping the short turf on the graves.  It was sweet, warm
weather--too warm for travelling; but the heat did not hinder me from
enjoying the delightful scenery above and below: had I seen it nearer
August, I'm sure it would have tempted me to waste a month among its
solitudes.  In winter nothing more dreary, in summer nothing more divine,
than those glens shut in by hills, and those bluff, bold swells of heath.
I reached the Grange before sunset, and knocked for admittance; but the
family had retreated into the back premises, I judged, by one thin, blue
wreath, curling from the kitchen chimney, and they did not hear.  I rode
into the court.  Under the porch, a girl of nine or ten sat knitting, and
an old woman reclined on the housesteps, smoking a meditative pipe.
'Is Mrs. Dean within?' I demanded of the dame.
'Mistress Dean?  Nay!' she answered, 'she doesn't bide here: shoo's up at
th' Heights.'
'Are you the housekeeper, then?' I continued.
'Eea, aw keep th' hause,' she replied.
'Well, I'm Mr. Lockwood, the master.  Are there any rooms to lodge me in,
I wonder?  I wish to stay all night.'
'T' maister!' she cried in astonishment.  'Whet, whoiver knew yah wur
coming?  Yah sud ha' send word.  They's nowt norther dry nor mensful
abaht t' place: nowt there isn't!'
She threw down her pipe and bustled in, the girl followed, and I entered
too; soon perceiving that her report was true, and, moreover, that I had
almost upset her wits by my unwelcome apparition, I bade her be composed.
I would go out for a walk; and, meantime she must try to prepare a corner
of a sitting-room for me to sup in, and a bedroom to sleep in.  No
sweeping and dusting, only good fire and dry sheets were necessary.  She
seemed willing to do her best; though she thrust the hearth-brush into
the grates in mistake for the poker, and malappropriated several other
articles of her craft: but I retired, confiding in her energy for a
resting-place against my return.  Wuthering Heights was the goal of my
proposed excursion.  An afterthought brought me back, when I had quitted
the court.
'All well at the Heights?' I inquired of the woman.
'Eea, f'r owt ee knaw!' she answered, skurrying away with a pan of hot
cinders.
I would have asked why Mrs. Dean had deserted the Grange, but it was
impossible to delay her at such a crisis, so I turned away and made my
exit, rambling leisurely along, with the glow of a sinking sun behind,
and the mild glory of a rising moon in front--one fading, and the other
brightening--as I quitted the park, and climbed the stony by-road
branching off to Mr. Heathcliff's dwelling.  Before I arrived in sight of
it, all that remained of day was a beamless amber light along the west:
but I could see every pebble on the path, and every blade of grass, by
that splendid moon.  I had neither to climb the gate nor to knock--it
yielded to my hand.  That is an improvement, I thought.  And I noticed
another, by the aid of my nostrils; a fragrance of stocks and wallflowers
wafted on the air from amongst the homely fruit-trees.
Both doors and lattices were open; and yet, as is usually the case in a
coal-district, a fine red fire illumined the chimney: the comfort which
the eye derives from it renders the extra heat endurable.  But the house
of Wuthering Heights is so large that the inmates have plenty of space
for withdrawing out of its influence; and accordingly what inmates there
were had stationed themselves not far from one of the windows.  I could
both see them and hear them talk before I entered, and looked and
listened in consequence; being moved thereto by a mingled sense of
curiosity and envy, that grew as I lingered.
'Con-_trary_!' said a voice as sweet as a silver bell.  'That for the
third time, you dunce!  I'm not going to tell you again. Recollect, or
I'll pull your hair!'
'Contrary, then,' answered another, in deep but softened tones. 'And now,
kiss me, for minding so well.'
'No, read it over first correctly, without a single mistake.'
The male speaker began to read: he was a young man, respectably dressed
and seated at a table, having a book before him.  His handsome features
glowed with pleasure, and his eyes kept impatiently wandering from the
page to a small white hand over his shoulder, which recalled him by a
smart slap on the cheek, whenever its owner detected such signs of
inattention.  Its owner stood behind; her light, shining ringlets
blending, at intervals, with his brown looks, as she bent to superintend
his studies; and her face--it was lucky he could not see her face, or he
would never have been so steady.  I could; and I bit my lip in spite, at
having thrown away the chance I might have had of doing something besides
staring at its smiting beauty.
The task was done, not free from further blunders; but the pupil claimed
a reward, and received at least five kisses; which, however, he
generously returned.  Then they came to the door, and from their
conversation I judged they were about to issue out and have a walk on the
moors.  I supposed I should be condemned in Hareton Earnshaw's heart, if
not by his mouth, to the lowest pit in the infernal regions if I showed
my unfortunate person in his neighbourhood then; and feeling very mean
and malignant, I skulked round to seek refuge in the kitchen.  There was
unobstructed admittance on that side also; and at the door sat my old
friend Nelly Dean, sewing and singing a song; which was often interrupted
from within by harsh words of scorn and intolerance, uttered in far from
musical accents.
'I'd rayther, by th' haulf, hev' 'em swearing i' my lugs fro'h morn to
neeght, nor hearken ye hahsiver!' said the tenant of the kitchen, in
answer to an unheard speech of Nelly's.  'It's a blazing shame, that I
cannot oppen t' blessed Book, but yah set up them glories to sattan, and
all t' flaysome wickednesses that iver were born into th' warld!  Oh!
ye're a raight nowt; and shoo's another; and that poor lad 'll be lost
atween ye.  Poor lad!' he added, with a groan; 'he's witched: I'm sartin
on't.  Oh, Lord, judge 'em, for there's norther law nor justice among wer
rullers!'
'No! or we should be sitting in flaming fagots, I suppose,' retorted the
singer.  'But wisht, old man, and read your Bible like a Christian, and
never mind me.  This is "Fairy Annie's Wedding"--a bonny tune--it goes to
a dance.'
Mrs. Dean was about to recommence, when I advanced; and recognising me
directly, she jumped to her feet, crying--'Why, bless you, Mr. Lockwood!
How could you think of returning in this way?  All's shut up at
Thrushcross Grange.  You should have given us notice!'
'I've arranged to be accommodated there, for as long as I shall stay,' I
answered.  'I depart again to-morrow.  And how are you transplanted here,
Mrs. Dean? tell me that.'
'Zillah left, and Mr. Heathcliff wished me to come, soon after you went
to London, and stay till you returned.  But, step in, pray! Have you
walked from Gimmerton this evening?'
'From the Grange,' I replied; 'and while they make me lodging room there,
I want to finish my business with your master; because I don't think of
having another opportunity in a hurry.'
'What business, sir?' said Nelly, conducting me into the house. 'He's
gone out at present, and won't return soon.'
'About the rent,' I answered.
'Oh! then it is with Mrs. Heathcliff you must settle,' she observed; 'or
rather with me.  She has not learnt to manage her affairs yet, and I act
for her: there's nobody else.'
I looked surprised.
'Ah! you have not heard of Heathcliff's death, I see,' she continued.
'Heathcliff dead!' I exclaimed, astonished.  'How long ago?'
'Three months since: but sit down, and let me take your hat, and I'll
tell you all about it.  Stop, you have had nothing to eat, have you?'
'I want nothing: I have ordered supper at home.  You sit down too. I
never dreamt of his dying!  Let me hear how it came to pass.  You say you
don't expect them back for some time--the young people?'
'No--I have to scold them every evening for their late rambles: but they
don't care for me.  At least, have a drink of our old ale; it will do you
good: you seem weary.'
She hastened to fetch it before I could refuse, and I heard Joseph asking
whether 'it warn't a crying scandal that she should have followers at her
time of life?  And then, to get them jocks out o' t' maister's cellar!  He
fair shaamed to 'bide still and see it.'
She did not stay to retaliate, but re-entered in a minute, bearing a
reaming silver pint, whose contents I lauded with becoming earnestness.
And afterwards she furnished me with the sequel of Heathcliff's history.
He had a 'queer' end, as she expressed it.
I was summoned to Wuthering Heights, within a fortnight of your leaving
us, she said; and I obeyed joyfully, for Catherine's sake. My first
interview with her grieved and shocked me: she had altered so much since
our separation.  Mr. Heathcliff did not explain his reasons for taking a
new mind about my coming here; he only told me he wanted me, and he was
tired of seeing Catherine: I must make the little parlour my
sitting-room, and keep her with me. It was enough if he were obliged to
see her once or twice a day. She seemed pleased at this arrangement; and,
by degrees, I smuggled over a great number of books, and other articles,
that had formed her amusement at the Grange; and flattered myself we
should get on in tolerable comfort.  The delusion did not last long.
Catherine, contented at first, in a brief space grew irritable and
restless. For one thing, she was forbidden to move out of the garden, and
it fretted her sadly to be confined to its narrow bounds as spring drew
on; for another, in following the house, I was forced to quit her
frequently, and she complained of loneliness: she preferred quarrelling
with Joseph in the kitchen to sitting at peace in her solitude.  I did
not mind their skirmishes: but Hareton was often obliged to seek the
kitchen also, when the master wanted to have the house to himself! and
though in the beginning she either left it at his approach, or quietly
joined in my occupations, and shunned remarking or addressing him--and
though he was always as sullen and silent as possible--after a while, she
changed her behaviour, and became incapable of letting him alone: talking
at him; commenting on his stupidity and idleness; expressing her wonder
how he could endure the life he lived--how he could sit a whole evening
staring into the fire, and dozing.
'He's just like a dog, is he not, Ellen?' she once observed, 'or a
cart-horse? He does his work, eats his food, and sleeps eternally! What
a blank, dreary mind he must have! Do you ever dream, Hareton? And, if
you do, what is it about? But you can't speak to me!'
Then she looked at him; but he would neither open his mouth nor look
again.
'He's, perhaps, dreaming now,' she continued.  'He twitched his shoulder
as Juno twitches hers.  Ask him, Ellen.'
'Mr. Hareton will ask the master to send you up-stairs, if you don't
behave!' I said.  He had not only twitched his shoulder but clenched his
fist, as if tempted to use it.
'I know why Hareton never speaks, when I am in the kitchen,' she
exclaimed, on another occasion.  'He is afraid I shall laugh at him.
Ellen, what do you think?  He began to teach himself to read once; and,
because I laughed, he burned his books, and dropped it: was he not a
fool?'
'Were not you naughty?' I said; 'answer me that.'
'Perhaps I was,' she went on; 'but I did not expect him to be so silly.
Hareton, if I gave you a book, would you take it now?  I'll try!'
She placed one she had been perusing on his hand; he flung it off, and
muttered, if she did not give over, he would break her neck.
'Well, I shall put it here,' she said, 'in the table-drawer; and I'm
going to bed.'
Then she whispered me to watch whether he touched it, and departed.  But
he would not come near it; and so I informed her in the morning, to her
great disappointment.  I saw she was sorry for his persevering sulkiness
and indolence: her conscience reproved her for frightening him off
improving himself: she had done it effectually.  But her ingenuity was at
work to remedy the injury: while I ironed, or pursued other such
stationary employments as I could not well do in the parlour, she would
bring some pleasant volume and read it aloud to me.  When Hareton was
there, she generally paused in an interesting part, and left the book
lying about: that she did repeatedly; but he was as obstinate as a mule,
and, instead of snatching at her bait, in wet weather he took to smoking
with Joseph; and they sat like automatons, one on each side of the fire,
the elder happily too deaf to understand her wicked nonsense, as he would
have called it, the younger doing his best to seem to disregard it.  On
fine evenings the latter followed his shooting expeditions, and Catherine
yawned and sighed, and teased me to talk to her, and ran off into the
court or garden the moment I began; and, as a last resource, cried, and
said she was tired of living: her life was useless.
Mr. Heathcliff, who grew more and more disinclined to society, had almost
banished Earnshaw from his apartment.  Owing to an accident at the
commencement of March, he became for some days a fixture in the kitchen.
His gun burst while out on the hills by himself; a splinter cut his arm,
and he lost a good deal of blood before he could reach home.  The
consequence was that, perforce, he was condemned to the fireside and
tranquillity, till he made it up again.  It suited Catherine to have him
there: at any rate, it made her hate her room up-stairs more than ever:
and she would compel me to find out business below, that she might
accompany me.
On Easter Monday, Joseph went to Gimmerton fair with some cattle; and, in
the afternoon, I was busy getting up linen in the kitchen.  Earnshaw sat,
morose as usual, at the chimney corner, and my little mistress was
beguiling an idle hour with drawing pictures on the window-panes, varying
her amusement by smothered bursts of songs, and whispered ejaculations,
and quick glances of annoyance and impatience in the direction of her
cousin, who steadfastly smoked, and looked into the grate.  At a notice
that I could do with her no longer intercepting my light, she removed to
the hearthstone.  I bestowed little attention on her proceedings, but,
presently, I heard her begin--'I've found out, Hareton, that I want--that
I'm glad--that I should like you to be my cousin now, if you had not
grown so cross to me, and so rough.'
Hareton returned no answer.
'Hareton, Hareton, Hareton! do you hear?' she continued.
'Get off wi' ye!' he growled, with uncompromising gruffness.
'Let me take that pipe,' she said, cautiously advancing her hand and
abstracting it from his mouth.
Before he could attempt to recover it, it was broken, and behind the
fire.  He swore at her and seized another.
'Stop,' she cried, 'you must listen to me first; and I can't speak while
those clouds are floating in my face.'
'Will you go to the devil!' he exclaimed, ferociously, 'and let me be!'
'No,' she persisted, 'I won't: I can't tell what to do to make you talk
to me; and you are determined not to understand.  When I call you stupid,
I don't mean anything: I don't mean that I despise you.  Come, you shall
take notice of me, Hareton: you are my cousin, and you shall own me.'
'I shall have naught to do wi' you and your mucky pride, and your damned
mocking tricks!' he answered.  'I'll go to hell, body and soul, before I
look sideways after you again.  Side out o' t' gate, now, this minute!'
Catherine frowned, and retreated to the window-seat chewing her lip, and
endeavouring, by humming an eccentric tune, to conceal a growing tendency
to sob.
'You should be friends with your cousin, Mr. Hareton,' I interrupted,
'since she repents of her sauciness.  It would do you a great deal of
good: it would make you another man to have her for a companion.'
'A companion!' he cried; 'when she hates me, and does not think me fit to
wipe her shoon!  Nay, if it made me a king, I'd not be scorned for
seeking her good-will any more.'
'It is not I who hate you, it is you who hate me!' wept Cathy, no longer
disguising her trouble.  'You hate me as much as Mr. Heathcliff does, and
more.'
'You're a damned liar,' began Earnshaw: 'why have I made him angry, by
taking your part, then, a hundred times? and that when you sneered at and
despised me, and--Go on plaguing me, and I'll step in yonder, and say you
worried me out of the kitchen!'
'I didn't know you took my part,' she answered, drying her eyes; 'and I
was miserable and bitter at everybody; but now I thank you, and beg you
to forgive me: what can I do besides?'
She returned to the hearth, and frankly extended her hand.  He blackened
and scowled like a thunder-cloud, and kept his fists resolutely clenched,
and his gaze fixed on the ground.  Catherine, by instinct, must have
divined it was obdurate perversity, and not dislike, that prompted this
dogged conduct; for, after remaining an instant undecided, she stooped
and impressed on his cheek a gentle kiss.  The little rogue thought I had
not seen her, and, drawing back, she took her former station by the
window, quite demurely.  I shook my head reprovingly, and then she
blushed and whispered--'Well! what should I have done, Ellen?  He
wouldn't shake hands, and he wouldn't look: I must show him some way that
I like him--that I want to be friends.'
Whether the kiss convinced Hareton, I cannot tell: he was very careful,
for some minutes, that his face should not be seen, and when he did raise
it, he was sadly puzzled where to turn his eyes.
Catherine employed herself in wrapping a handsome book neatly in white
paper, and having tied it with a bit of ribbon, and addressed it to 'Mr.
Hareton Earnshaw,' she desired me to be her ambassadress, and convey the
present to its destined recipient.
'And tell him, if he'll take it, I'll come and teach him to read it
right,' she said; 'and, if he refuse it, I'll go upstairs, and never
tease him again.'
I carried it, and repeated the message; anxiously watched by my employer.
Hareton would not open his fingers, so I laid it on his knee.  He did not
strike it off, either.  I returned to my work.  Catherine leaned her head
and arms on the table, till she heard the slight rustle of the covering
being removed; then she stole away, and quietly seated herself beside her
cousin.  He trembled, and his face glowed: all his rudeness and all his
surly harshness had deserted him: he could not summon courage, at first,
to utter a syllable in reply to her questioning look, and her murmured
petition.
'Say you forgive me, Hareton, do.  You can make me so happy by speaking
that little word.'
He muttered something inaudible.
'And you'll be my friend?' added Catherine, interrogatively.
'Nay, you'll be ashamed of me every day of your life,' he answered; 'and
the more ashamed, the more you know me; and I cannot bide it.'
'So you won't be my friend?' she said, smiling as sweet as honey, and
creeping close up.
I overheard no further distinguishable talk, but, on looking round again,
I perceived two such radiant countenances bent over the page of the
accepted book, that I did not doubt the treaty had been ratified on both
sides; and the enemies were, thenceforth, sworn allies.
The work they studied was full of costly pictures; and those and their
position had charm enough to keep them unmoved till Joseph came home.  He,
poor man, was perfectly aghast at the spectacle of Catherine seated on
the same bench with Hareton Earnshaw, leaning her hand on his shoulder;
and confounded at his favourite's endurance of her proximity: it affected
him too deeply to allow an observation on the subject that night.  His
emotion was only revealed by the immense sighs he drew, as he solemnly
spread his large Bible on the table, and overlaid it with dirty
bank-notes from his pocket-book, the produce of the day's transactions.
At length he summoned Hareton from his seat.
'Tak' these in to t' maister, lad,' he said, 'and bide there.  I's gang
up to my own rahm.  This hoile's neither mensful nor seemly for us: we
mun side out and seearch another.'
'Come, Catherine,' I said, 'we must "side out" too: I've done my ironing.
Are you ready to go?'
'It is not eight o'clock!' she answered, rising unwillingly.
'Hareton, I'll leave this book upon the chimney-piece, and I'll bring
some more to-morrow.'
'Ony books that yah leave, I shall tak' into th' hahse,' said Joseph,
'and it'll be mitch if yah find 'em agean; soa, yah may plase yerseln!'
Cathy threatened that his library should pay for hers; and, smiling as
she passed Hareton, went singing up-stairs: lighter of heart, I venture
to say, than ever she had been under that roof before; except, perhaps,
during her earliest visits to Linton.
The intimacy thus commenced grew rapidly; though it encountered temporary
interruptions.  Earnshaw was not to be civilized with a wish, and my
young lady was no philosopher, and no paragon of patience; but both their
minds tending to the same point--one loving and desiring to esteem, and
the other loving and desiring to be esteemed--they contrived in the end
to reach it.
You see, Mr. Lockwood, it was easy enough to win Mrs. Heathcliff's heart.
But now, I'm glad you did not try.  The crown of all my wishes will be
the union of those two.  I shall envy no one on their wedding day: there
won't be a happier woman than myself in England!
CHAPTER XXXIII
On the morrow of that Monday, Earnshaw being still unable to follow his
ordinary employments, and therefore remaining about the house, I speedily
found it would be impracticable to retain my charge beside me, as
heretofore.  She got downstairs before me, and out into the garden, where
she had seen her cousin performing some easy work; and when I went to bid
them come to breakfast, I saw she had persuaded him to clear a large
space of ground from currant and gooseberry bushes, and they were busy
planning together an importation of plants from the Grange.
I was terrified at the devastation which had been accomplished in a brief
half-hour; the black-currant trees were the apple of Joseph's eye, and
she had just fixed her choice of a flower-bed in the midst of them.
'There!  That will be all shown to the master,' I exclaimed, 'the minute
it is discovered.  And what excuse have you to offer for taking such
liberties with the garden?  We shall have a fine explosion on the head of
it: see if we don't!  Mr. Hareton, I wonder you should have no more wit
than to go and make that mess at her bidding!'
'I'd forgotten they were Joseph's,' answered Earnshaw, rather puzzled;
'but I'll tell him I did it.'
We always ate our meals with Mr. Heathcliff.  I held the mistress's post
in making tea and carving; so I was indispensable at table.  Catherine
usually sat by me, but to-day she stole nearer to Hareton; and I
presently saw she would have no more discretion in her friendship than
she had in her hostility.
'Now, mind you don't talk with and notice your cousin too much,' were my
whispered instructions as we entered the room.  'It will certainly annoy
Mr. Heathcliff, and he'll be mad at you both.'
'I'm not going to,' she answered.
The minute after, she had sidled to him, and was sticking primroses in
his plate of porridge.
He dared not speak to her there: he dared hardly look; and yet she went
on teasing, till he was twice on the point of being provoked to laugh.  I
frowned, and then she glanced towards the master: whose mind was occupied
on other subjects than his company, as his countenance evinced; and she
grew serious for an instant, scrutinizing him with deep gravity.
Afterwards she turned, and recommenced her nonsense; at last, Hareton
uttered a smothered laugh.  Mr. Heathcliff started; his eye rapidly
surveyed our faces, Catherine met it with her accustomed look of
nervousness and yet defiance, which he abhorred.
'It is well you are out of my reach,' he exclaimed.  'What fiend
possesses you to stare back at me, continually, with those infernal eyes?
Down with them! and don't remind me of your existence again.  I thought I
had cured you of laughing.'
'It was me,' muttered Hareton.
'What do you say?' demanded the master.
Hareton looked at his plate, and did not repeat the confession.  Mr.
Heathcliff looked at him a bit, and then silently resumed his breakfast
and his interrupted musing.  We had nearly finished, and the two young
people prudently shifted wider asunder, so I anticipated no further
disturbance during that sitting: when Joseph appeared at the door,
revealing by his quivering lip and furious eyes that the outrage
committed on his precious shrubs was detected.  He must have seen Cathy
and her cousin about the spot before he examined it, for while his jaws
worked like those of a cow chewing its cud, and rendered his speech
difficult to understand, he began:--
'I mun hev' my wage, and I mun goa!  I _hed_ aimed to dee wheare I'd
sarved fur sixty year; and I thowt I'd lug my books up into t' garret,
and all my bits o' stuff, and they sud hev' t' kitchen to theirseln; for
t' sake o' quietness.  It wur hard to gie up my awn hearthstun, but I
thowt I _could_ do that!  But nah, shoo's taan my garden fro' me, and by
th' heart, maister, I cannot stand it!  Yah may bend to th' yoak an ye
will--I noan used to 't, and an old man doesn't sooin get used to new
barthens.  I'd rayther arn my bite an' my sup wi' a hammer in th' road!'
'Now, now, idiot!' interrupted Heathcliff, 'cut it short!  What's your
grievance?  I'll interfere in no quarrels between you and Nelly.  She may
thrust you into the coal-hole for anything I care.'
'It's noan Nelly!' answered Joseph.  'I sudn't shift for Nelly--nasty ill
nowt as shoo is.  Thank God! _shoo_ cannot stale t' sowl o' nob'dy!  Shoo
wer niver soa handsome, but what a body mud look at her 'bout winking.
It's yon flaysome, graceless quean, that's witched our lad, wi' her bold
een and her forrard ways--till--Nay! it fair brusts my heart!  He's
forgotten all I've done for him, and made on him, and goan and riven up a
whole row o' t' grandest currant-trees i' t' garden!' and here he
lamented outright; unmanned by a sense of his bitter injuries, and
Earnshaw's ingratitude and dangerous condition.
'Is the fool drunk?' asked Mr. Heathcliff.  'Hareton, is it you he's
finding fault with?'
'I've pulled up two or three bushes,' replied the young man; 'but I'm
going to set 'em again.'
'And why have you pulled them up?' said the master.
Catherine wisely put in her tongue.
'We wanted to plant some flowers there,' she cried.  'I'm the only person
to blame, for I wished him to do it.'
'And who the devil gave _you_ leave to touch a stick about the place?'
demanded her father-in-law, much surprised.  'And who ordered _you_ to
obey her?' he added, turning to Hareton.
The latter was speechless; his cousin replied--'You shouldn't grudge a
few yards of earth for me to ornament, when you have taken all my land!'
'Your land, insolent slut!  You never had any,' said Heathcliff.
'And my money,' she continued; returning his angry glare, and meantime
biting a piece of crust, the remnant of her breakfast.
'Silence!' he exclaimed.  'Get done, and begone!'
'And Hareton's land, and his money,' pursued the reckless thing.  'Hareton
and I are friends now; and I shall tell him all about you!'
The master seemed confounded a moment: he grew pale, and rose up, eyeing
her all the while, with an expression of mortal hate.
'If you strike me, Hareton will strike you,' she said; 'so you may as
well sit down.'
'If Hareton does not turn you out of the room, I'll strike him to hell,'
thundered Heathcliff.  'Damnable witch! dare you pretend to rouse him
against me?  Off with her!  Do you hear?  Fling her into the kitchen!
I'll kill her, Ellen Dean, if you let her come into my sight again!'
Hareton tried, under his breath, to persuade her to go.
'Drag her away!' he cried, savagely.  'Are you staying to talk?'  And he
approached to execute his own command.
'He'll not obey you, wicked man, any more,' said Catherine; 'and he'll
soon detest you as much as I do.'
'Wisht! wisht!' muttered the young man, reproachfully; 'I will not hear
you speak so to him.  Have done.'
'But you won't let him strike me?' she cried.
'Come, then,' he whispered earnestly.
It was too late: Heathcliff had caught hold of her.
'Now, _you_ go!' he said to Earnshaw.  'Accursed witch! this time she has
provoked me when I could not bear it; and I'll make her repent it for
ever!'
He had his hand in her hair; Hareton attempted to release her locks,
entreating him not to hurt her that once.  Heathcliff's black eyes
flashed; he seemed ready to tear Catherine in pieces, and I was just
worked up to risk coming to the rescue, when of a sudden his fingers
relaxed; he shifted his grasp from her head to her arm, and gazed
intently in her face.  Then he drew his hand over his eyes, stood a
moment to collect himself apparently, and turning anew to Catherine,
said, with assumed calmness--'You must learn to avoid putting me in a
passion, or I shall really murder you some time!  Go with Mrs. Dean, and
keep with her; and confine your insolence to her ears.  As to Hareton
Earnshaw, if I see him listen to you, I'll send him seeking his bread
where he can get it!  Your love will make him an outcast and a beggar.
Nelly, take her; and leave me, all of you!  Leave me!'
I led my young lady out: she was too glad of her escape to resist; the
other followed, and Mr. Heathcliff had the room to himself till dinner.  I
had counselled Catherine to dine up-stairs; but, as soon as he perceived
her vacant seat, he sent me to call her.  He spoke to none of us, ate
very little, and went out directly afterwards, intimating that he should
not return before evening.
The two new friends established themselves in the house during his
absence; where I heard Hareton sternly check his cousin, on her offering
a revelation of her father-in-law's conduct to his father.  He said he
wouldn't suffer a word to be uttered in his disparagement: if he were the
devil, it didn't signify; he would stand by him; and he'd rather she
would abuse himself, as she used to, than begin on Mr. Heathcliff.
Catherine was waxing cross at this; but he found means to make her hold
her tongue, by asking how she would like _him_ to speak ill of her
father?  Then she comprehended that Earnshaw took the master's reputation
home to himself; and was attached by ties stronger than reason could
break--chains, forged by habit, which it would be cruel to attempt to
loosen.  She showed a good heart, thenceforth, in avoiding both
complaints and expressions of antipathy concerning Heathcliff; and
confessed to me her sorrow that she had endeavoured to raise a bad spirit
between him and Hareton: indeed, I don't believe she has ever breathed a
syllable, in the latter's hearing, against her oppressor since.
When this slight disagreement was over, they were friends again, and as
busy as possible in their several occupations of pupil and teacher.  I
came in to sit with them, after I had done my work; and I felt so soothed
and comforted to watch them, that I did not notice how time got on.  You
know, they both appeared in a measure my children: I had long been proud
of one; and now, I was sure, the other would be a source of equal
satisfaction.  His honest, warm, and intelligent nature shook off rapidly
the clouds of ignorance and degradation in which it had been bred; and
Catherine's sincere commendations acted as a spur to his industry.  His
brightening mind brightened his features, and added spirit and nobility
to their aspect: I could hardly fancy it the same individual I had beheld
on the day I discovered my little lady at Wuthering Heights, after her
expedition to the Crags.  While I admired and they laboured, dusk drew
on, and with it returned the master.  He came upon us quite unexpectedly,
entering by the front way, and had a full view of the whole three, ere we
could raise our heads to glance at him.  Well, I reflected, there was
never a pleasanter, or more harmless sight; and it will be a burning
shame to scold them.  The red fire-light glowed on their two bonny heads,
and revealed their faces animated with the eager interest of children;
for, though he was twenty-three and she eighteen, each had so much of
novelty to feel and learn, that neither experienced nor evinced the
sentiments of sober disenchanted maturity.
They lifted their eyes together, to encounter Mr. Heathcliff: perhaps you
have never remarked that their eyes are precisely similar, and they are
those of Catherine Earnshaw.  The present Catherine has no other likeness
to her, except a breadth of forehead, and a certain arch of the nostril
that makes her appear rather haughty, whether she will or not.  With
Hareton the resemblance is carried farther: it is singular at all times,
_then_ it was particularly striking; because his senses were alert, and
his mental faculties wakened to unwonted activity.  I suppose this
resemblance disarmed Mr. Heathcliff: he walked to the hearth in evident
agitation; but it quickly subsided as he looked at the young man: or, I
should say, altered its character; for it was there yet.  He took the
book from his hand, and glanced at the open page, then returned it
without any observation; merely signing Catherine away: her companion
lingered very little behind her, and I was about to depart also, but he
bid me sit still.
'It is a poor conclusion, is it not?' he observed, having brooded awhile
on the scene he had just witnessed: 'an absurd termination to my violent
exertions?  I get levers and mattocks to demolish the two houses, and
train myself to be capable of working like Hercules, and when everything
is ready and in my power, I find the will to lift a slate off either roof
has vanished!  My old enemies have not beaten me; now would be the
precise time to revenge myself on their representatives: I could do it;
and none could hinder me.  But where is the use?  I don't care for
striking: I can't take the trouble to raise my hand!  That sounds as if I
had been labouring the whole time only to exhibit a fine trait of
magnanimity.  It is far from being the case: I have lost the faculty of
enjoying their destruction, and I am too idle to destroy for nothing.
'Nelly, there is a strange change approaching; I'm in its shadow at
present.  I take so little interest in my daily life that I hardly
remember to eat and drink.  Those two who have left the room are the only
objects which retain a distinct material appearance to me; and that
appearance causes me pain, amounting to agony.  About _her_ I won't
speak; and I don't desire to think; but I earnestly wish she were
invisible: her presence invokes only maddening sensations.  _He_ moves me
differently: and yet if I could do it without seeming insane, I'd never
see him again!  You'll perhaps think me rather inclined to become so,' he
added, making an effort to smile, 'if I try to describe the thousand
forms of past associations and ideas he awakens or embodies.  But you'll
not talk of what I tell you; and my mind is so eternally secluded in
itself, it is tempting at last to turn it out to another.
'Five minutes ago Hareton seemed a personification of my youth, not a
human being; I felt to him in such a variety of ways, that it would have
been impossible to have accosted him rationally.  In the first place, his
startling likeness to Catherine connected him fearfully with her.  That,
however, which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my imagination,
is actually the least: for what is not connected with her to me? and what
does not recall her?  I cannot look down to this floor, but her features
are shaped in the flags!  In every cloud, in every tree--filling the air
at night, and caught by glimpses in every object by day--I am surrounded
with her image!  The most ordinary faces of men and women--my own
features--mock me with a resemblance.  The entire world is a dreadful
collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her!
Well, Hareton's aspect was the ghost of my immortal love; of my wild
endeavours to hold my right; my degradation, my pride, my happiness, and
my anguish--
'But it is frenzy to repeat these thoughts to you: only it will let you
know why, with a reluctance to be always alone, his society is no
benefit; rather an aggravation of the constant torment I suffer: and it
partly contributes to render me regardless how he and his cousin go on
together.  I can give them no attention any more.'
'But what do you mean by a _change_, Mr. Heathcliff?' I said, alarmed at
his manner: though he was neither in danger of losing his senses, nor
dying, according to my judgment: he was quite strong and healthy; and, as
to his reason, from childhood he had a delight in dwelling on dark
things, and entertaining odd fancies.  He might have had a monomania on
the subject of his departed idol; but on every other point his wits were
as sound as mine.
'I shall not know that till it comes,' he said; 'I'm only half conscious
of it now.'
'You have no feeling of illness, have you?' I asked.
'No, Nelly, I have not,' he answered.
'Then you are not afraid of death?' I pursued.
'Afraid?  No!' he replied.  'I have neither a fear, nor a presentiment,
nor a hope of death.  Why should I?  With my hard constitution and
temperate mode of living, and unperilous occupations, I ought to, and
probably _shall_, remain above ground till there is scarcely a black hair
on my head.  And yet I cannot continue in this condition!  I have to
remind myself to breathe--almost to remind my heart to beat!  And it is
like bending back a stiff spring: it is by compulsion that I do the
slightest act not prompted by one thought; and by compulsion that I
notice anything alive or dead, which is not associated with one universal
idea.  I have a single wish, and my whole being and faculties are
yearning to attain it.  They have yearned towards it so long, and so
unwaveringly, that I'm convinced it will be reached--and soon--because it
has devoured my existence: I am swallowed up in the anticipation of its
fulfilment.  My confessions have not relieved me; but they may account
for some otherwise unaccountable phases of humour which I show.  O God!
It is a long fight; I wish it were over!'
He began to pace the room, muttering terrible things to himself, till I
was inclined to believe, as he said Joseph did, that conscience had
turned his heart to an earthly hell.  I wondered greatly how it would
end.  Though he seldom before had revealed this state of mind, even by
looks, it was his habitual mood, I had no doubt: he asserted it himself;
but not a soul, from his general bearing, would have conjectured the
fact.  You did not when you saw him, Mr. Lockwood: and at the period of
which I speak, he was just the same as then; only fonder of continued
solitude, and perhaps still more laconic in company.
CHAPTER XXXIV
For some days after that evening Mr. Heathcliff shunned meeting us at
meals; yet he would not consent formally to exclude Hareton and Cathy.  He
had an aversion to yielding so completely to his feelings, choosing
rather to absent himself; and eating once in twenty-four hours seemed
sufficient sustenance for him.
One night, after the family were in bed, I heard him go downstairs, and
out at the front door.  I did not hear him re-enter, and in the morning I
found he was still away.  We were in April then: the weather was sweet
and warm, the grass as green as showers and sun could make it, and the
two dwarf apple-trees near the southern wall in full bloom.  After
breakfast, Catherine insisted on my bringing a chair and sitting with my
work under the fir-trees at the end of the house; and she beguiled
Hareton, who had perfectly recovered from his accident, to dig and
arrange her little garden, which was shifted to that corner by the
influence of Joseph's complaints.  I was comfortably revelling in the
spring fragrance around, and the beautiful soft blue overhead, when my
young lady, who had run down near the gate to procure some primrose roots
for a border, returned only half laden, and informed us that Mr.
Heathcliff was coming in.  'And he spoke to me,' she added, with a
perplexed countenance.
'What did he say?' asked Hareton.
'He told me to begone as fast as I could,' she answered.  'But he looked
so different from his usual look that I stopped a moment to stare at
him.'
'How?' he inquired.
'Why, almost bright and cheerful.  No, _almost_ nothing--_very much_
excited, and wild, and glad!' she replied.
'Night-walking amuses him, then,' I remarked, affecting a careless
manner: in reality as surprised as she was, and anxious to ascertain the
truth of her statement; for to see the master looking glad would not be
an every-day spectacle.  I framed an excuse to go in.  Heathcliff stood
at the open door; he was pale, and he trembled: yet, certainly, he had a
strange joyful glitter in his eyes, that altered the aspect of his whole
face.
'Will you have some breakfast?' I said.  'You must be hungry, rambling
about all night!'  I wanted to discover where he had been, but I did not
like to ask directly.
'No, I'm not hungry,' he answered, averting his head, and speaking rather
contemptuously, as if he guessed I was trying to divine the occasion of
his good humour.
I felt perplexed: I didn't know whether it were not a proper opportunity
to offer a bit of admonition.
'I don't think it right to wander out of doors,' I observed, 'instead of
being in bed: it is not wise, at any rate this moist season.  I daresay
you'll catch a bad cold or a fever: you have something the matter with
you now!'
'Nothing but what I can bear,' he replied; 'and with the greatest
pleasure, provided you'll leave me alone: get in, and don't annoy me.'
I obeyed: and, in passing, I noticed he breathed as fast as a cat.
'Yes!' I reflected to myself, 'we shall have a fit of illness.  I cannot
conceive what he has been doing.'
That noon he sat down to dinner with us, and received a heaped-up plate
from my hands, as if he intended to make amends for previous fasting.
'I've neither cold nor fever, Nelly,' he remarked, in allusion to my
morning's speech; 'and I'm ready to do justice to the food you give me.'
He took his knife and fork, and was going to commence eating, when the
inclination appeared to become suddenly extinct.  He laid them on the
table, looked eagerly towards the window, then rose and went out.  We saw
him walking to and fro in the garden while we concluded our meal, and
Earnshaw said he'd go and ask why he would not dine: he thought we had
grieved him some way.
'Well, is he coming?' cried Catherine, when her cousin returned.
'Nay,' he answered; 'but he's not angry: he seemed rarely pleased indeed;
only I made him impatient by speaking to him twice; and then he bid me be
off to you: he wondered how I could want the company of anybody else.'
I set his plate to keep warm on the fender; and after an hour or two he
re-entered, when the room was clear, in no degree calmer: the same
unnatural--it was unnatural--appearance of joy under his black brows; the
same bloodless hue, and his teeth visible, now and then, in a kind of
smile; his frame shivering, not as one shivers with chill or weakness,
but as a tight-stretched cord vibrates--a strong thrilling, rather than
trembling.
I will ask what is the matter, I thought; or who should?  And I
exclaimed--'Have you heard any good news, Mr. Heathcliff?  You look
uncommonly animated.'
'Where should good news come from to me?' he said.  'I'm animated with
hunger; and, seemingly, I must not eat.'
'Your dinner is here,' I returned; 'why won't you get it?'
'I don't want it now,' he muttered, hastily: 'I'll wait till supper.  And,
Nelly, once for all, let me beg you to warn Hareton and the other away
from me.  I wish to be troubled by nobody: I wish to have this place to
myself.'
'Is there some new reason for this banishment?' I inquired.  'Tell me why
you are so queer, Mr. Heathcliff?  Where were you last night?  I'm not
putting the question through idle curiosity, but--'
'You are putting the question through very idle curiosity,' he
interrupted, with a laugh.  'Yet I'll answer it.  Last night I was on the
threshold of hell.  To-day, I am within sight of my heaven.  I have my
eyes on it: hardly three feet to sever me!  And now you'd better go!
You'll neither see nor hear anything to frighten you, if you refrain from
prying.'
Having swept the hearth and wiped the table, I departed; more perplexed
than ever.
He did not quit the house again that afternoon, and no one intruded on
his solitude; till, at eight o'clock, I deemed it proper, though
unsummoned, to carry a candle and his supper to him.  He was leaning
against the ledge of an open lattice, but not looking out: his face was
turned to the interior gloom.  The fire had smouldered to ashes; the room
was filled with the damp, mild air of the cloudy evening; and so still,
that not only the murmur of the beck down Gimmerton was distinguishable,
but its ripples and its gurgling over the pebbles, or through the large
stones which it could not cover.  I uttered an ejaculation of discontent
at seeing the dismal grate, and commenced shutting the casements, one
after another, till I came to his.
'Must I close this?' I asked, in order to rouse him; for he would not
stir.
The light flashed on his features as I spoke.  Oh, Mr. Lockwood, I cannot
express what a terrible start I got by the momentary view!  Those deep
black eyes!  That smile, and ghastly paleness!  It appeared to me, not
Mr. Heathcliff, but a goblin; and, in my terror, I let the candle bend
towards the wall, and it left me in darkness.
'Yes, close it,' he replied, in his familiar voice.  'There, that is pure
awkwardness!  Why did you hold the candle horizontally?  Be quick, and
bring another.'
I hurried out in a foolish state of dread, and said to Joseph--'The
master wishes you to take him a light and rekindle the fire.'  For I
dared not go in myself again just then.
Joseph rattled some fire into the shovel, and went: but he brought it
back immediately, with the supper-tray in his other hand, explaining that
Mr. Heathcliff was going to bed, and he wanted nothing to eat till
morning.  We heard him mount the stairs directly; he did not proceed to
his ordinary chamber, but turned into that with the panelled bed: its
window, as I mentioned before, is wide enough for anybody to get through;
and it struck me that he plotted another midnight excursion, of which he
had rather we had no suspicion.
'Is he a ghoul or a vampire?' I mused.  I had read of such hideous
incarnate demons.  And then I set myself to reflect how I had tended him
in infancy, and watched him grow to youth, and followed him almost
through his whole course; and what absurd nonsense it was to yield to
that sense of horror.  'But where did he come from, the little dark
thing, harboured by a good man to his bane?' muttered Superstition, as I
dozed into unconsciousness.  And I began, half dreaming, to weary myself
with imagining some fit parentage for him; and, repeating my waking
meditations, I tracked his existence over again, with grim variations; at
last, picturing his death and funeral: of which, all I can remember is,
being exceedingly vexed at having the task of dictating an inscription
for his monument, and consulting the sexton about it; and, as he had no
surname, and we could not tell his age, we were obliged to content
ourselves with the single word, 'Heathcliff.'  That came true: we were.
If you enter the kirkyard, you'll read, on his headstone, only that, and
the date of his death.
Dawn restored me to common sense.  I rose, and went into the garden, as
soon as I could see, to ascertain if there were any footmarks under his
window.  There were none.  'He has stayed at home,' I thought, 'and he'll
be all right to-day.'  I prepared breakfast for the household, as was my
usual custom, but told Hareton and Catherine to get theirs ere the master
came down, for he lay late.  They preferred taking it out of doors, under
the trees, and I set a little table to accommodate them.
On my re-entrance, I found Mr. Heathcliff below.  He and Joseph were
conversing about some farming business; he gave clear, minute directions
concerning the matter discussed, but he spoke rapidly, and turned his
head continually aside, and had the same excited expression, even more
exaggerated.  When Joseph quitted the room he took his seat in the place
he generally chose, and I put a basin of coffee before him.  He drew it
nearer, and then rested his arms on the table, and looked at the opposite
wall, as I supposed, surveying one particular portion, up and down, with
glittering, restless eyes, and with such eager interest that he stopped
breathing during half a minute together.
'Come now,' I exclaimed, pushing some bread against his hand, 'eat and
drink that, while it is hot: it has been waiting near an hour.'
He didn't notice me, and yet he smiled.  I'd rather have seen him gnash
his teeth than smile so.
'Mr. Heathcliff! master!' I cried, 'don't, for God's sake, stare as if
you saw an unearthly vision.'
'Don't, for God's sake, shout so loud,' he replied.  'Turn round, and
tell me, are we by ourselves?'
'Of course,' was my answer; 'of course we are.'
Still, I involuntarily obeyed him, as if I was not quite sure.  With a
sweep of his hand he cleared a vacant space in front among the breakfast
things, and leant forward to gaze more at his ease.
Now, I perceived he was not looking at the wall; for when I regarded him
alone, it seemed exactly that he gazed at something within two yards'
distance.  And whatever it was, it communicated, apparently, both
pleasure and pain in exquisite extremes: at least the anguished, yet
raptured, expression of his countenance suggested that idea.  The fancied
object was not fixed, either: his eyes pursued it with unwearied
diligence, and, even in speaking to me, were never weaned away.  I vainly
reminded him of his protracted abstinence from food: if he stirred to
touch anything in compliance with my entreaties, if he stretched his hand
out to get a piece of bread, his fingers clenched before they reached it,
and remained on the table, forgetful of their aim.
I sat, a model of patience, trying to attract his absorbed attention from
its engrossing speculation; till he grew irritable, and got up, asking
why I would not allow him to have his own time in taking his meals? and
saying that on the next occasion I needn't wait: I might set the things
down and go.  Having uttered these words he left the house, slowly
sauntered down the garden path, and disappeared through the gate.
The hours crept anxiously by: another evening came.  I did not retire to
rest till late, and when I did, I could not sleep.  He returned after
midnight, and, instead of going to bed, shut himself into the room
beneath.  I listened, and tossed about, and, finally, dressed and
descended.  It was too irksome to lie there, harassing my brain with a
hundred idle misgivings.
I distinguished Mr. Heathcliff's step, restlessly measuring the floor,
and he frequently broke the silence by a deep inspiration, resembling a
groan.  He muttered detached words also; the only one I could catch was
the name of Catherine, coupled with some wild term of endearment or
suffering; and spoken as one would speak to a person present; low and
earnest, and wrung from the depth of his soul.  I had not courage to walk
straight into the apartment; but I desired to divert him from his
reverie, and therefore fell foul of the kitchen fire, stirred it, and
began to scrape the cinders.  It drew him forth sooner than I expected.
He opened the door immediately, and said--'Nelly, come here--is it
morning?  Come in with your light.'
'It is striking four,' I answered.  'You want a candle to take up-stairs:
you might have lit one at this fire.'
'No, I don't wish to go up-stairs,' he said.  'Come in, and kindle _me_ a
fire, and do anything there is to do about the room.'
'I must blow the coals red first, before I can carry any,' I replied,
getting a chair and the bellows.
He roamed to and fro, meantime, in a state approaching distraction; his
heavy sighs succeeding each other so thick as to leave no space for
common breathing between.
'When day breaks I'll send for Green,' he said; 'I wish to make some
legal inquiries of him while I can bestow a thought on those matters, and
while I can act calmly.  I have not written my will yet; and how to leave
my property I cannot determine.  I wish I could annihilate it from the
face of the earth.'
'I would not talk so, Mr. Heathcliff,' I interposed. 'Let your will be a
while: you'll be spared to repent of your many injustices yet! I never
expected that your nerves would be disordered: they are, at present,
marvellously so, however; and almost entirely through your own fault.
The way you've passed these three last days might knock up a Titan. Do
take some food, and some repose. You need only look at yourself in a
glass to see how you require both. Your cheeks are hollow, and your eyes
blood-shot, like a person starving with hunger and going blind with loss
of sleep.'
'It is not my fault that I cannot eat or rest,' he replied.  'I assure
you it is through no settled designs.  I'll do both, as soon as I
possibly can.  But you might as well bid a man struggling in the water
rest within arms' length of the shore!  I must reach it first, and then
I'll rest.  Well, never mind Mr. Green: as to repenting of my injustices,
I've done no injustice, and I repent of nothing.  I'm too happy; and yet
I'm not happy enough.  My soul's bliss kills my body, but does not
satisfy itself.'
'Happy, master?' I cried.  'Strange happiness!  If you would hear me
without being angry, I might offer some advice that would make you
happier.'
'What is that?' he asked.  'Give it.'
'You are aware, Mr. Heathcliff,' I said, 'that from the time you were
thirteen years old you have lived a selfish, unchristian life; and
probably hardly had a Bible in your hands during all that period.  You
must have forgotten the contents of the book, and you may not have space
to search it now.  Could it be hurtful to send for some one--some
minister of any denomination, it does not matter which--to explain it,
and show you how very far you have erred from its precepts; and how unfit
you will be for its heaven, unless a change takes place before you die?'
'I'm rather obliged than angry, Nelly,' he said, 'for you remind me of
the manner in which I desire to be buried.  It is to be carried to the
churchyard in the evening.  You and Hareton may, if you please, accompany
me: and mind, particularly, to notice that the sexton obeys my directions
concerning the two coffins!  No minister need come; nor need anything be
said over me.--I tell you I have nearly attained _my_ heaven; and that of
others is altogether unvalued and uncoveted by me.'
'And supposing you persevered in your obstinate fast, and died by that
means, and they refused to bury you in the precincts of the kirk?' I
said, shocked at his godless indifference.  'How would you like it?'
'They won't do that,' he replied: 'if they did, you must have me removed
secretly; and if you neglect it you shall prove, practically, that the
dead are not annihilated!'
As soon as he heard the other members of the family stirring he retired
to his den, and I breathed freer.  But in the afternoon, while Joseph and
Hareton were at their work, he came into the kitchen again, and, with a
wild look, bid me come and sit in the house: he wanted somebody with him.
I declined; telling him plainly that his strange talk and manner
frightened me, and I had neither the nerve nor the will to be his
companion alone.
'I believe you think me a fiend,' he said, with his dismal laugh:
'something too horrible to live under a decent roof.'  Then turning to
Catherine, who was there, and who drew behind me at his approach, he
added, half sneeringly,--'Will _you_ come, chuck?  I'll not hurt you.  No!
to you I've made myself worse than the devil.  Well, there is _one_ who
won't shrink from my company!  By God! she's relentless.  Oh, damn it!
It's unutterably too much for flesh and blood to bear--even mine.'
He solicited the society of no one more.  At dusk he went into his
chamber.  Through the whole night, and far into the morning, we heard him
groaning and murmuring to himself.  Hareton was anxious to enter; but I
bid him fetch Mr. Kenneth, and he should go in and see him.  When he
came, and I requested admittance and tried to open the door, I found it
locked; and Heathcliff bid us be damned.  He was better, and would be
left alone; so the doctor went away.
The following evening was very wet: indeed, it poured down till day-dawn;
and, as I took my morning walk round the house, I observed the master's
window swinging open, and the rain driving straight in.  He cannot be in
bed, I thought: those showers would drench him through.  He must either
be up or out.  But I'll make no more ado, I'll go boldly and look.'
Having succeeded in obtaining entrance with another key, I ran to unclose
the panels, for the chamber was vacant; quickly pushing them aside, I
peeped in.  Mr. Heathcliff was there--laid on his back.  His eyes met
mine so keen and fierce, I started; and then he seemed to smile.  I could
not think him dead: but his face and throat were washed with rain; the
bed-clothes dripped, and he was perfectly still.  The lattice, flapping
to and fro, had grazed one hand that rested on the sill; no blood
trickled from the broken skin, and when I put my fingers to it, I could
doubt no more: he was dead and stark!
I hasped the window; I combed his black long hair from his forehead; I
tried to close his eyes: to extinguish, if possible, that frightful,
life-like gaze of exultation before any one else beheld it. They would
not shut: they seemed to sneer at my attempts; and his parted lips and
sharp white teeth sneered too! Taken with another fit of cowardice, I
cried out for Joseph. Joseph shuffled up and made a noise, but
resolutely refused to meddle with him.
'Th' divil's harried off his soul,' he cried, 'and he may hev' his
carcass into t' bargin, for aught I care!  Ech! what a wicked 'un he
looks, girning at death!' and the old sinner grinned in mockery.  I
thought he intended to cut a caper round the bed; but suddenly composing
himself, he fell on his knees, and raised his hands, and returned thanks
that the lawful master and the ancient stock were restored to their
rights.
I felt stunned by the awful event; and my memory unavoidably recurred to
former times with a sort of oppressive sadness.  But poor Hareton, the
most wronged, was the only one who really suffered much.  He sat by the
corpse all night, weeping in bitter earnest.  He pressed its hand, and
kissed the sarcastic, savage face that every one else shrank from
contemplating; and bemoaned him with that strong grief which springs
naturally from a generous heart, though it be tough as tempered steel.
Mr. Kenneth was perplexed to pronounce of what disorder the master died.
I concealed the fact of his having swallowed nothing for four days,
fearing it might lead to trouble, and then, I am persuaded, he did not
abstain on purpose: it was the consequence of his strange illness, not
the cause.
We buried him, to the scandal of the whole neighbourhood, as he wished.
Earnshaw and I, the sexton, and six men to carry the coffin, comprehended
the whole attendance.  The six men departed when they had let it down
into the grave: we stayed to see it covered.  Hareton, with a streaming
face, dug green sods, and laid them over the brown mould himself: at
present it is as smooth and verdant as its companion mounds--and I hope
its tenant sleeps as soundly.  But the country folks, if you ask them,
would swear on the Bible that he _walks_: there are those who speak to
having met him near the church, and on the moor, and even within this
house.  Idle tales, you'll say, and so say I.  Yet that old man by the
kitchen fire affirms he has seen two on 'em looking out of his chamber
window on every rainy night since his death:--and an odd thing happened
to me about a month ago.  I was going to the Grange one evening--a dark
evening, threatening thunder--and, just at the turn of the Heights, I
encountered a little boy with a sheep and two lambs before him; he was
crying terribly; and I supposed the lambs were skittish, and would not be
guided.
'What is the matter, my little man?' I asked.
'There's Heathcliff and a woman yonder, under t' nab,' he blubbered, 'un'
I darnut pass 'em.'
I saw nothing; but neither the sheep nor he would go on so I bid him take
the road lower down.  He probably raised the phantoms from thinking, as
he traversed the moors alone, on the nonsense he had heard his parents
and companions repeat.  Yet, still, I don't like being out in the dark
now; and I don't like being left by myself in this grim house: I cannot
help it; I shall be glad when they leave it, and shift to the Grange.
'They are going to the Grange, then?' I said.
'Yes,' answered Mrs. Dean, 'as soon as they are married, and that will be
on New Year's Day.'
'And who will live here then?'
'Why, Joseph will take care of the house, and, perhaps, a lad to keep him
company.  They will live in the kitchen, and the rest will be shut up.'
'For the use of such ghosts as choose to inhabit it?' I observed.
'No, Mr. Lockwood,' said Nelly, shaking her head.  'I believe the dead
are at peace: but it is not right to speak of them with levity.'
At that moment the garden gate swung to; the ramblers were returning.
'_They_ are afraid of nothing,' I grumbled, watching their approach
through the window.  'Together, they would brave Satan and all his
legions.'
As they stepped on to the door-stones, and halted to take a last look at
the moon--or, more correctly, at each other by her light--I felt
irresistibly impelled to escape them again; and, pressing a remembrance
into the hand of Mrs. Dean, and disregarding her expostulations at my
rudeness, I vanished through the kitchen as they opened the house-door;
and so should have confirmed Joseph in his opinion of his
fellow-servant's gay indiscretions, had he not fortunately recognised me
for a respectable character by the sweet ring of a sovereign at his feet.
My walk home was lengthened by a diversion in the direction of the kirk.
When beneath its walls, I perceived decay had made progress, even in
seven months: many a window showed black gaps deprived of glass; and
slates jutted off here and there, beyond the right line of the roof, to
be gradually worked off in coming autumn storms.
I sought, and soon discovered, the three headstones on the slope next the
moor: the middle one grey, and half buried in the heath; Edgar Linton's
only harmonized by the turf and moss creeping up its foot; Heathcliff's
still bare.
I lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the moths
fluttering among the heath and harebells, listened to the soft wind
breathing through the grass, and wondered how any one could ever imagine
unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.
[Picture: Anne Bronte from a drawing by Charlotte Bronte in the
possession of the Rev. A. B. Nicholls]
THE TENANT
OF
WILDFELL HALL
BY ANNE BRONTE
WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY MRS HUMPHREY WARD
* * * * *
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
1920
* * * * *
THIS EDITION FIRST ISSUED                                _March_, 1900
(Smith, Elder & Co.)
Reprinted                                                 _June_, 1906
Reprinted (John Murray)                              _September_, 1920
* * * * *
[All rights reserved]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PORTRAIT OF ANNE BRONTE                                 _Frontispiece_
FACSIMILE OF THE TITLE-PAGE OF THE FIRST EDITION              _p._ xxv
OF 'WILDFELL HALL'
_The following Illustrations are reproduced from photographs taken by
Mr. W. R. Bland_, _of Duffield_, _Derby_, _in conjunction with Mr. C.
Barrow Keene_, _of Derby_:
MOORLAND SCENE, HAWORTH                                _To face p._ 14
(_with water_)                                    46
(_with cottage_)                                  100
BLAKE HALL (GRASSDALE MANOR):
THE APPROACH                                                    206
FRONT                                                           222
SIDE                                                            286
INTRODUCTION
Anne Bronte serves a twofold purpose in the study of what the Brontes
wrote and were.  In the first place, her gentle and delicate presence,
her sad, short story, her hard life and early death, enter deeply into
the poetry and tragedy that have always been entwined with the memory of
the Brontes, as women and as writers; in the second, the books and poems
that she wrote serve as matter of comparison by which to test the
greatness of her two sisters.  She is the measure of their genius--like
them, yet not with them.
Many years after Anne's death her brother-in-law protested against a
supposed portrait of her, as giving a totally wrong impression of the
'dear, gentle Anne Bronte.'  'Dear' and 'gentle' indeed she seems to have
been through life, the youngest and prettiest of the sisters, with a
delicate complexion, a slender neck, and small, pleasant features.
Notwithstanding, she possessed in full the Bronte seriousness, the Bronte
strength of will.  When her father asked her at four years old what a
little child like her wanted most, the tiny creature replied--if it were
not a Bronte it would be incredible!--'Age and experience.'  When the
three children started their 'Island Plays' together in 1827, Anne, who
was then eight, chose Guernsey for her imaginary island, and peopled it
with 'Michael Sadler, Lord Bentinck, and Sir Henry Halford.'  She and
Emily were constant companions, and there is evidence that they shared a
common world of fancy from very early days to mature womanhood.  'The
Gondal Chronicles' seem to have amused them for many years, and to have
branched out into innumerable books, written in the 'tiny writing' of
which Mr. Clement Shorter has given us facsimiles.  'I am now engaged in
writing the fourth volume of Solala Vernon's Life,' says Anne at
twenty-one.  And four years later Emily says, 'The Gondals still flourish
bright as ever.  I am at present writing a work on the First War.  Anne
has been writing some articles on this and a book by Henry Sophona.  We
intend sticking firm by the rascals as long as they delight us, which I
am glad to say they do at present.'
That the author of 'Wildfell Hall' should ever have delighted in the
Gondals, should ever have written the story of Solala Vernon or Henry
Sophona, is pleasant to know.  Then, for her too, as for her sisters,
there was a moment when the power of 'making out' could turn loneliness
and disappointment into riches and content.  For a time at least, and
before a hard and degrading experience had broken the spring of her
youth, and replaced the disinterested and spontaneous pleasure that is to
be got from the life and play of imagination, by a sad sense of duty, and
an inexorable consciousness of moral and religious mission, Anne Bronte
wrote stories for her own amusement, and loved the 'rascals' she created.
But already in 1841, when we first hear of the Gondals and Solala Vernon,
the material for quite other books was in poor Anne's mind.  She was then
teaching in the family at Thorpe Green, where Branwell joined her as
tutor in 1843, and where, owing to events that are still a mystery, she
seems to have passed through an ordeal that left her shattered in health
and nerve, with nothing gained but those melancholy and repulsive
memories that she was afterwards to embody in 'Wildfell Hall.'  She
seems, indeed, to have been partly the victim of Branwell's morbid
imagination, the imagination of an opium-eater and a drunkard.  That he
was neither the conqueror nor the villain that he made his sisters
believe, all the evidence that has been gathered since Mrs. Gaskell wrote
goes to show.  But poor Anne believed his account of himself, and no
doubt saw enough evidence of vicious character in Branwell's daily life
to make the worst enormities credible.  She seems to have passed the last
months of her stay at Thorpe Green under a cloud of dread and miserable
suspicion, and was thankful to escape from her situation in the summer of
1845.  At the same moment Branwell was summarily dismissed from his
tutorship, his employer, Mr. Robinson, writing a stern letter of
complaint to Bramwell's father, concerned no doubt with the young man's
disorderly and intemperate habits.  Mrs. Gaskell says: 'The premature
deaths of two at least of the sisters--all the great possibilities of
their earthly lives snapped short--may be dated from Midsummer 1845.'
The facts as we now know them hardly bear out so strong a judgment.
There is nothing to show that Branwell's conduct was responsible in any
way for Emily's illness and death, and Anne, in the contemporary fragment
recovered by Mr. Shorter, gives a less tragic account of the matter.
'During my stay (at Thorpe Green),' she writes on July 31, 1845, 'I have
had some very unpleasant and undreamt-of experience of human nature. . . .
Branwell has . . . been a tutor at Thorpe Green, and had much
tribulation and ill-health. . . .  We hope he will be better and do
better in future.'  And at the end of the paper she says, sadly,
forecasting the coming years, 'I for my part cannot well be flatter or
older in mind than I am now.'  This is the language of disappointment and
anxiety; but it hardly fits the tragic story that Mrs. Gaskell believed.
That story was, no doubt, the elaboration of Branwell's diseased fancy
during the three years which elapsed between his dismissal from Thorpe
Green and his death.  He imagined a guilty romance with himself and his
employer's wife for characters, and he imposed the horrid story upon his
sisters.  Opium and drink are the sufficient explanations; and no time
need now be wasted upon unravelling the sordid mystery.  But the vices of
the brother, real or imaginary, have a certain importance in literature,
because of the effect they produced upon his sisters.  There can be no
question that Branwell's opium madness, his bouts of drunkenness at the
Black Bull, his violence at home, his free and coarse talk, and his
perpetual boast of guilty secrets, influenced the imagination of his
wholly pure and inexperienced sisters.  Much of 'Wuthering Heights,' and
all of 'Wildfell Hall,' show Branwell's mark, and there are many passages
in Charlotte's books also where those who know the history of the
parsonage can hear the voice of those sharp moral repulsions, those
dismal moral questionings, to which Branwell's misconduct and ruin gave
rise.  Their brother's fate was an element in the genius of Emily and
Charlotte which they were strong enough to assimilate, which may have
done them some harm, and weakened in them certain delicate or sane
perceptions, but was ultimately, by the strange alchemy of talent, far
more profitable than hurtful, inasmuch as it troubled the waters of the
soul, and brought them near to the more desperate realities of our
'frail, fall'n humankind.'
But Anne was not strong enough, her gift was not vigorous enough, to
enable her thus to transmute experience and grief.  The probability is
that when she left Thorpe Green in 1845 she was already suffering from
that religious melancholy of which Charlotte discovered such piteous
evidence among her papers after death.  It did not much affect the
writing of 'Agnes Grey,' which was completed in 1846, and reflected the
minor pains and discomforts of her teaching experience, but it combined
with the spectacle of Branwell's increasing moral and physical decay to
produce that bitter mandate of conscience under which she wrote 'The
Tenant of Wildfell Hall.'
'Hers was naturally a sensitive, reserved, and dejected nature.  She
hated her work, but would pursue it.  It was written as a warning,'--so
said Charlotte when, in the pathetic Preface of 1850, she was
endeavouring to explain to the public how a creature so gentle and so
good as Acton Bell should have written such a book as 'Wildfell Hall.'
And in the second edition of 'Wildfell Hall,' which appeared in 1848,
Anne Bronte herself justified her novel in a Preface which is reprinted
in this volume for the first time.  The little Preface is a curious
document.  It has the same determined didactic tone which pervades the
book itself, the same narrowness of view, and inflation of expression, an
inflation which is really due not to any personal egotism in the writer,
but rather to that very gentleness and inexperience which must yet nerve
itself under the stimulus of religion to its disagreeable and repulsive
task.  'I knew that such characters'--as Huntingdon and his
companions--'do exist, and if I have warned one rash youth from following
in their steps the book has not been written in vain.'  If the story has
given more pain than pleasure to 'any honest reader,' the writer 'craves
his pardon, for such was far from my intention.'  But at the same time
she cannot promise to limit her ambition to the giving of innocent
pleasure, or to the production of 'a perfect work of art.'  'Time and
talent so spent I should consider wasted and misapplied.'  God has given
her unpalatable truths to speak, and she must speak them.
The measure of misconstruction and abuse, therefore, which her book
brought upon her she bore, says her sister, 'as it was her custom to bear
whatever was unpleasant, with mild, steady patience.  She was a very
sincere and practical Christian, but the tinge of religious melancholy
communicated a sad shade to her brief, blameless life.'
In spite of misconstruction and abuse, however, 'Wildfell Hall' seems to
have attained more immediate success than anything else written by the
sisters before 1848, except 'Jane Eyre.'  It went into a second edition
within a very short time of its publication, and Messrs. Newby informed
the American publishers with whom they were negotiating that it was the
work of the same hand which had produced 'Jane Eyre,' and superior to
either 'Jane Eyre' or 'Wuthering Heights'!  It was, indeed, the sharp
practice connected with this astonishing judgment which led to the
sisters' hurried journey to London in 1848--the famous journey when the
two little ladies in black revealed themselves to Mr. Smith, and proved
to him that they were not one Currer Bell, but two Miss Brontes.  It was
Anne's sole journey to London--her only contact with a world that was not
Haworth, except that supplied by her school-life at Roehead and her two
teaching engagements.
And there was and is a considerable narrative ability, a sheer moral
energy in 'Wildfell Hall,' which would not be enough, indeed, to keep it
alive if it were not the work of a Bronte, but still betray its kinship
and source.  The scenes of Huntingdon's wickedness are less interesting
but less improbable than the country-house scenes of 'Jane Eyre'; the
story of his death has many true and touching passages; the last
love-scene is well, even in parts admirably, written.  But the book's
truth, so far as it is true, is scarcely the truth of imagination; it is
rather the truth of a tract or a report.  There can be little doubt that
many of the pages are close transcripts from Branwell's conduct and
language,--so far as Anne's slighter personality enabled her to render
her brother's temperament, which was more akin to Emily's than to her
own.  The same material might have been used by Emily or Charlotte;
Emily, as we know, did make use of it in 'Wuthering Heights'; but only
after it had passed through that ineffable transformation, that
mysterious, incommunicable heightening which makes and gives rank in
literature.  Some subtle, innate correspondence between eye and brain,
between brain and hand, was present in Emily and Charlotte, and absent in
Anne.  There is no other account to be given of this or any other case of
difference between serviceable talent and the high gifts of 'Delos' and
Patara's own Apollo.'
The same world of difference appears between her poems and those of her
playfellow and comrade, Emily.  If ever our descendants should establish
the schools for writers which are even now threatened or attempted, they
will hardly know perhaps any better than we what genius is, nor how it
can be produced.  But if they try to teach by example, then Anne and
Emily Bronte are ready to their hand.  Take the verses written by Emily
at Roehead which contain the lovely lines which I have already quoted in
an earlier 'Introduction.' {0}  Just before those lines there are two or
three verses which it is worth while to compare with a poem of Anne's
called 'Home.'  Emily was sixteen at the time of writing; Anne about
twenty-one or twenty-two.  Both sisters take for their motive the exile's
longing thought of home.  Emily's lines are full of faults, but they have
the indefinable quality--here, no doubt, only in the bud, only as a
matter of promise--which Anne's are entirely without.  From the twilight
schoolroom at Roehead, Emily turns in thought to the distant upland of
Haworth and the little stone-built house upon its crest:--
There is a spot, 'mid barren hills,
Where winter howls, and driving rain;
But, if the dreary tempest chills,
There is a light that warms again.
The house is old, the trees are bare,
Moonless above bends twilight's dome,
But what on earth is half so dear--
So longed for--as the hearth of home?
The mute bird sitting on the stone,
The dank moss dripping from the wall,
The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown,
I love them--how I love them all!
Anne's verses, written from one of the houses where she was a governess,
express precisely the same feeling, and movement of mind.  But notice the
instinctive rightness and swiftness of Emily's, the blurred weakness of
Anne's!--
For yonder garden, fair and wide,
With groves of evergreen,
Long winding walks, and borders trim,
And velvet lawns between--
Restore to me that little spot,
With gray walls compassed round,
Where knotted grass neglected lies,
And weeds usurp the ground.
Though all around this mansion high
Invites the foot to roam,
And though its halls are fair within--
Oh, give me back my Home!
A similar parallel lies between Anne's lines 'Domestic Peace,'--a sad and
true reflection of the terrible times with Branwell in 1846--and Emily's
'Wanderer from the Fold'; while in Emily's 'Last Lines,' the daring
spirit of the sister to whom the magic gift was granted separates itself
for ever from the gentle and accustomed piety of the sister to whom it
was denied.  Yet Anne's 'Last Lines'--'I hoped that with the brave and
strong'--have sweetness and sincerity; they have gained and kept a place
in English religious verse, and they must always appeal to those who love
the Brontes because, in the language of Christian faith and submission,
they record the death of Emily and the passionate affection which her
sisters bore her.
And so we are brought back to the point from which we started.  It is not
as the writer of 'Wildfell Hall,' but as the sister of Charlotte and
Emily Bronte, that Anne Bronte escapes oblivion--as the frail 'little
one,' upon whom the other two lavished a tender and protecting care, who
was a witness of Emily's death, and herself, within a few minutes of her
own farewell to life, bade Charlotte 'take courage.'
'When my thoughts turn to Anne,' said Charlotte many years earlier, 'they
always see her as a patient, persecuted stranger,--more lonely, less
gifted with the power of making friends even than I am.'  Later on,
however, this power of making friends seems to have belonged to Anne in
greater measure than to the others.  Her gentleness conquered; she was
not set apart, as they were, by the lonely and self-sufficing activities
of great powers; her Christianity, though sad and timid, was of a kind
which those around her could understand; she made no grim fight with
suffering and death as did Emily.  Emily was 'torn' from life 'conscious,
panting, reluctant,' to use Charlotte's own words; Anne's 'sufferings
were mild,' her mind 'generally serene,' and at the last 'she thanked God
that death was come, and come so gently.'  When Charlotte returned to the
desolate house at Haworth, Emily's large house-dog and Anne's little
spaniel welcomed her in 'a strange, heart-touching way,' she writes to
Mr. Williams.  She alone was left, heir to all the memories and tragedies
of the house.  She took up again the task of life and labour.  She cared
for her father; she returned to the writing of 'Shirley'; and when she
herself passed away, four years later, she had so turned those years to
account that not only all she did but all she loved had passed silently
into the keeping of fame.  Mrs. Gaskell's touching and delightful task
was ready for her, and Anne, no less than Charlotte and Emily, was sure
of England's remembrance.
MARY A. WARD.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE {1}
TO THE SECOND EDITION
While I acknowledge the success of the present work to have been greater
than I anticipated, and the praises it has elicited from a few kind
critics to have been greater than it deserved, I must also admit that
from some other quarters it has been censured with an asperity which I
was as little prepared to expect, and which my judgment, as well as my
feelings, assures me is more bitter than just.  It is scarcely the
province of an author to refute the arguments of his censors and
vindicate his own productions; but I may be allowed to make here a few
observations with which I would have prefaced the first edition, had I
foreseen the necessity of such precautions against the misapprehensions
of those who would read it with a prejudiced mind or be content to judge
it by a hasty glance.
My object in writing the following pages was not simply to amuse the
Reader; neither was it to gratify my own taste, nor yet to ingratiate
myself with the Press and the Public: I wished to tell the truth, for
truth always conveys its own moral to those who are able to receive it.
But as the priceless treasure too frequently hides at the bottom of a
well, it needs some courage to dive for it, especially as he that does so
will be likely to incur more scorn and obloquy for the mud and water into
which he has ventured to plunge, than thanks for the jewel he procures;
as, in like manner, she who undertakes the cleansing of a careless
bachelor's apartment will be liable to more abuse for the dust she raises
than commendation for the clearance she effects.  Let it not be imagined,
however, that I consider myself competent to reform the errors and abuses
of society, but only that I would fain contribute my humble quota towards
so good an aim; and if I can gain the public ear at all, I would rather
whisper a few wholesome truths therein than much soft nonsense.
As the story of 'Agnes Grey' was accused of extravagant over-colouring in
those very parts that were carefully copied from the life, with a most
scrupulous avoidance of all exaggeration, so, in the present work, I find
myself censured for depicting _con amore_, with 'a morbid love of the
coarse, if not of the brutal,' those scenes which, I will venture to say,
have not been more painful for the most fastidious of my critics to read
than they were for me to describe.  I may have gone too far; in which
case I shall be careful not to trouble myself or my readers in the same
way again; but when we have to do with vice and vicious characters, I
maintain it is better to depict them as they really are than as they
would wish to appear.  To represent a bad thing in its least offensive
light is, doubtless, the most agreeable course for a writer of fiction to
pursue; but is it the most honest, or the safest?  Is it better to reveal
the snares and pitfalls of life to the young and thoughtless traveller,
or to cover them with branches and flowers?  Oh, reader! if there were
less of this delicate concealment of facts--this whispering, 'Peace,
peace,' when there is no peace, there would be less of sin and misery to
the young of both sexes who are left to wring their bitter knowledge from
experience.
I would not be understood to suppose that the proceedings of the unhappy
scapegrace, with his few profligate companions I have here introduced,
are a specimen of the common practices of society--the case is an extreme
one, as I trusted none would fail to perceive; but I know that such
characters do exist, and if I have warned one rash youth from following
in their steps, or prevented one thoughtless girl from falling into the
very natural error of my heroine, the book has not been written in vain.
But, at the same time, if any honest reader shall have derived more pain
than pleasure from its perusal, and have closed the last volume with a
disagreeable impression on his mind, I humbly crave his pardon, for such
was far from my intention; and I will endeavour to do better another
time, for I love to give innocent pleasure.  Yet, be it understood, I
shall not limit my ambition to this--or even to producing 'a perfect work
of art': time and talents so spent, I should consider wasted and
misapplied.  Such humble talents as God has given me I will endeavour to
put to their greatest use; if I am able to amuse, I will try to benefit
too; and when I feel it my duty to speak an unpalatable truth, with the
help of God, I _will_ speak it, though it be to the prejudice of my name
and to the detriment of my reader's immediate pleasure as well as my own.
One word more, and I have done.  Respecting the author's identity, I
would have it to be distinctly understood that Acton Bell is neither
Currer nor Ellis Bell, and therefore let not his faults be attributed to
them.  As to whether the name be real or fictitious, it cannot greatly
signify to those who know him only by his works.  As little, I should
think, can it matter whether the writer so designated is a man, or a
woman, as one or two of my critics profess to have discovered.  I take
the imputation in good part, as a compliment to the just delineation of
my female characters; and though I am bound to attribute much of the
severity of my censors to this suspicion, I make no effort to refute it,
because, in my own mind, I am satisfied that if a book is a good one, it
is so whatever the sex of the author may be.  All novels are, or should
be, written for both men and women to read, and I am at a loss to
conceive how a man should permit himself to write anything that would be
really disgraceful to a woman, or why a woman should be censured for
writing anything that would be proper and becoming for a man.
_July_ 22_nd_, 1848.
[Picture: Facsimile of the Title-page of the First Edition]
CHAPTER I
You must go back with me to the autumn of 1827.
My father, as you know, was a sort of gentleman farmer in --shire; and I,
by his express desire, succeeded him in the same quiet occupation, not
very willingly, for ambition urged me to higher aims, and self-conceit
assured me that, in disregarding its voice, I was burying my talent in
the earth, and hiding my light under a bushel.  My mother had done her
utmost to persuade me that I was capable of great achievements; but my
father, who thought ambition was the surest road to ruin, and change but
another word for destruction, would listen to no scheme for bettering
either my own condition, or that of my fellow mortals.  He assured me it
was all rubbish, and exhorted me, with his dying breath, to continue in
the good old way, to follow his steps, and those of his father before
him, and let my highest ambition be to walk honestly through the world,
looking neither to the right hand nor to the left, and to transmit the
paternal acres to my children in, at least, as flourishing a condition as
he left them to me.
'Well!--an honest and industrious farmer is one of the most useful
members of society; and if I devote my talents to the cultivation of my
farm, and the improvement of agriculture in general, I shall thereby
benefit, not only my own immediate connections and dependants, but, in
some degree, mankind at large:--hence I shall not have lived in vain.'
With such reflections as these I was endeavouring to console myself, as I
plodded home from the fields, one cold, damp, cloudy evening towards the
close of October.  But the gleam of a bright red fire through the parlour
window had more effect in cheering my spirits, and rebuking my thankless
repinings, than all the sage reflections and good resolutions I had
forced my mind to frame;--for I was young then, remember--only
four-and-twenty--and had not acquired half the rule over my own spirit
that I now possess--trifling as that may be.
However, that haven of bliss must not be entered till I had exchanged my
miry boots for a clean pair of shoes, and my rough surtout for a
respectable coat, and made myself generally presentable before decent
society; for my mother, with all her kindness, was vastly particular on
certain points.
In ascending to my room I was met upon the stairs by a smart, pretty girl
of nineteen, with a tidy, dumpy figure, a round face, bright, blooming
cheeks, glossy, clustering curls, and little merry brown eyes.  I need
not tell you this was my sister Rose.  She is, I know, a comely matron
still, and, doubtless, no less lovely--in your eyes--than on the happy
day you first beheld her.  Nothing told me then that she, a few years
hence, would be the wife of one entirely unknown to me as yet, but
destined hereafter to become a closer friend than even herself, more
intimate than that unmannerly lad of seventeen, by whom I was collared in
the passage, on coming down, and well-nigh jerked off my equilibrium, and
who, in correction for his impudence, received a resounding whack over
the sconce, which, however, sustained no serious injury from the
infliction; as, besides being more than commonly thick, it was protected
by a redundant shock of short, reddish curls, that my mother called
auburn.
On entering the parlour we found that honoured lady seated in her
arm-chair at the fireside, working away at her knitting, according to her
usual custom, when she had nothing else to do.  She had swept the hearth,
and made a bright blazing fire for our reception; the servant had just
brought in the tea-tray; and Rose was producing the sugar-basin and
tea-caddy from the cupboard in the black oak side-board, that shone like
polished ebony, in the cheerful parlour twilight.
'Well! here they both are,' cried my mother, looking round upon us
without retarding the motion of her nimble fingers and glittering
needles.  'Now shut the door, and come to the fire, while Rose gets the
tea ready; I'm sure you must be starved;--and tell me what you've been
about all day;--I like to know what my children have been about.'
'I've been breaking in the grey colt--no easy business that--directing
the ploughing of the last wheat stubble--for the ploughboy has not the
sense to direct himself--and carrying out a plan for the extensive and
efficient draining of the low meadowlands.'
'That's my brave boy!--and Fergus, what have you been doing?'
'Badger-baiting.'
And here he proceeded to give a particular account of his sport, and the
respective traits of prowess evinced by the badger and the dogs; my
mother pretending to listen with deep attention, and watching his
animated countenance with a degree of maternal admiration I thought
highly disproportioned to its object.
'It's time you should be doing something else, Fergus,' said I, as soon
as a momentary pause in his narration allowed me to get in a word.
'What can I do?' replied he; 'my mother won't let me go to sea or enter
the army; and I'm determined to do nothing else--except make myself such
a nuisance to you all, that you will be thankful to get rid of me on any
terms.'
Our parent soothingly stroked his stiff, short curls.  He growled, and
tried to look sulky, and then we all took our seats at the table, in
obedience to the thrice-repeated summons of Rose.
'Now take your tea,' said she; 'and I'll tell you what I've been doing.
I've been to call on the Wilsons; and it's a thousand pities you didn't
go with me, Gilbert, for Eliza Millward was there!'
'Well! what of her?'
'Oh, nothing!--I'm not going to tell you about her;--only that she's a
nice, amusing little thing, when she is in a merry humour, and I
shouldn't mind calling her--'
'Hush, hush, my dear! your brother has no such idea!' whispered my mother
earnestly, holding up her finger.
'Well,' resumed Rose; 'I was going to tell you an important piece of news
I heard there--I have been bursting with it ever since.  You know it was
reported a month ago, that somebody was going to take Wildfell
Hall--and--what do you think?  It has actually been inhabited above a
week!--and we never knew!'
'Impossible!' cried my mother.
'Preposterous!!!' shrieked Fergus.
'It has indeed!--and by a single lady!'
'Good gracious, my dear!  The place is in ruins!'
'She has had two or three rooms made habitable; and there she lives, all
alone--except an old woman for a servant!'
'Oh, dear! that spoils it--I'd hoped she was a witch,' observed Fergus,
while carving his inch-thick slice of bread and butter.  'Nonsense,
Fergus!  But isn't it strange, mamma?'
'Strange!  I can hardly believe it.'
'But you may believe it; for Jane Wilson has seen her.  She went with her
mother, who, of course, when she heard of a stranger being in the
neighbourhood, would be on pins and needles till she had seen her and got
all she could out of her.  She is called Mrs. Graham, and she is in
mourning--not widow's weeds, but slightish mourning--and she is quite
young, they say,--not above five or six and twenty,--but so reserved!
They tried all they could to find out who she was and where she came
from, and, all about her, but neither Mrs. Wilson, with her pertinacious
and impertinent home-thrusts, nor Miss Wilson, with her skilful
manoeuvring, could manage to elicit a single satisfactory answer, or even
a casual remark, or chance expression calculated to allay their
curiosity, or throw the faintest ray of light upon her history,
circumstances, or connections.  Moreover, she was barely civil to them,
and evidently better pleased to say 'good-by,' than 'how do you do.' But
Eliza Millward says her father intends to call upon her soon, to offer
some pastoral advice, which he fears she needs, as, though she is known
to have entered the neighbourhood early last week, she did not make her
appearance at church on Sunday; and she--Eliza, that is--will beg to
accompany him, and is sure she can succeed in wheedling something out of
her--you know, Gilbert, she can do anything.  And we should call some
time, mamma; it's only proper, you know.'
'Of course, my dear.  Poor thing!  How lonely she must feel!'
'And pray, be quick about it; and mind you bring me word how much sugar
she puts in her tea, and what sort of caps and aprons she wears, and all
about it; for I don't know how I can live till I know,' said Fergus, very
gravely.
But if he intended the speech to be hailed as a master-stroke of wit, he
signally failed, for nobody laughed.  However, he was not much
disconcerted at that; for when he had taken a mouthful of bread and
butter and was about to swallow a gulp of tea, the humour of the thing
burst upon him with such irresistible force, that he was obliged to jump
up from the table, and rush snorting and choking from the room; and a
minute after, was heard screaming in fearful agony in the garden.
As for me, I was hungry, and contented myself with silently demolishing
the tea, ham, and toast, while my mother and sister went on talking, and
continued to discuss the apparent or non-apparent circumstances, and
probable or improbable history of the mysterious lady; but I must confess
that, after my brother's misadventure, I once or twice raised the cup to
my lips, and put it down again without daring to taste the contents, lest
I should injure my dignity by a similar explosion.
The next day my mother and Rose hastened to pay their compliments to the
fair recluse; and came back but little wiser than they went; though my
mother declared she did not regret the journey, for if she had not gained
much good, she flattered herself she had imparted some, and that was
better: she had given some useful advice, which, she hoped, would not be
thrown away; for Mrs. Graham, though she said little to any purpose, and
appeared somewhat self-opinionated, seemed not incapable of
reflection,--though she did not know where she had been all her life,
poor thing, for she betrayed a lamentable ignorance on certain points,
and had not even the sense to be ashamed of it.
'On what points, mother?' asked I.
'On household matters, and all the little niceties of cookery, and such
things, that every lady ought to be familiar with, whether she be
required to make a practical use of her knowledge or not.  I gave her
some useful pieces of information, however, and several excellent
receipts, the value of which she evidently could not appreciate, for she
begged I would not trouble myself, as she lived in such a plain, quiet
way, that she was sure she should never make use of them.  "No matter, my
dear," said I; "it is what every respectable female ought to know;--and
besides, though you are alone now, you will not be always so; you have
been married, and probably--I might say almost certainly--will be again."
"You are mistaken there, ma'am," said she, almost haughtily; "I am
certain I never shall."--But I told her I knew better.'
'Some romantic young widow, I suppose,' said I, 'come there to end her
days in solitude, and mourn in secret for the dear departed--but it won't
last long.'
'No, I think not,' observed Rose; 'for she didn't seem very disconsolate
after all; and she's excessively pretty--handsome rather--you must see
her, Gilbert; you will call her a perfect beauty, though you could hardly
pretend to discover a resemblance between her and Eliza Millward.'
'Well, I can imagine many faces more beautiful than Eliza's, though not
more charming.  I allow she has small claims to perfection; but then, I
maintain that, if she were more perfect, she would be less interesting.'
'And so you prefer her faults to other people's perfections?'
'Just so--saving my mother's presence.'
'Oh, my dear Gilbert, what nonsense you talk!--I know you don't mean it;
it's quite out of the question,' said my mother, getting up, and bustling
out of the room, under pretence of household business, in order to escape
the contradiction that was trembling on my tongue.
After that Rose favoured me with further particulars respecting Mrs.
Graham.  Her appearance, manners, and dress, and the very furniture of
the room she inhabited, were all set before me, with rather more
clearness and precision than I cared to see them; but, as I was not a
very attentive listener, I could not repeat the description if I would.
The next day was Saturday; and, on Sunday, everybody wondered whether or
not the fair unknown would profit by the vicar's remonstrance, and come
to church.  I confess I looked with some interest myself towards the old
family pew, appertaining to Wildfell Hall, where the faded crimson
cushions and lining had been unpressed and unrenewed so many years, and
the grim escutcheons, with their lugubrious borders of rusty black cloth,
frowned so sternly from the wall above.
And there I beheld a tall, lady-like figure, clad in black.  Her face was
towards me, and there was something in it which, once seen, invited me to
look again.  Her hair was raven black, and disposed in long glossy
ringlets, a style of coiffure rather unusual in those days, but always
graceful and becoming; her complexion was clear and pale; her eyes I
could not see, for, being bent upon her prayer-book, they were concealed
by their drooping lids and long black lashes, but the brows above were
expressive and well defined; the forehead was lofty and intellectual, the
nose, a perfect aquiline and the features, in general,
unexceptionable--only there was a slight hollowness about the cheeks and
eyes, and the lips, though finely formed, were a little too thin, a
little too firmly compressed, and had something about them that
betokened, I thought, no very soft or amiable temper; and I said in my
heart--'I would rather admire you from this distance, fair lady, than be
the partner of your home.'
Just then she happened to raise her eyes, and they met mine; I did not
choose to withdraw my gaze, and she turned again to her book, but with a
momentary, indefinable expression of quiet scorn, that was inexpressibly
provoking to me.
'She thinks me an impudent puppy,' thought I.  'Humph!--she shall change
her mind before long, if I think it worth while.'
But then it flashed upon me that these were very improper thoughts for a
place of worship, and that my behaviour, on the present occasion, was
anything but what it ought to be.  Previous, however, to directing my
mind to the service, I glanced round the church to see if any one had
been observing me;--but no,--all, who were not attending to their
prayer-books, were attending to the strange lady,--my good mother and
sister among the rest, and Mrs. Wilson and her daughter; and even Eliza
Millward was slily glancing from the corners of her eyes towards the
object of general attraction.  Then she glanced at me, simpered a little,
and blushed, modestly looked at her prayer-book, and endeavoured to
compose her features.
Here I was transgressing again; and this time I was made sensible of it
by a sudden dig in the ribs, from the elbow of my pert brother.  For the
present, I could only resent the insult by pressing my foot upon his
toes, deferring further vengeance till we got out of church.
Now, Halford, before I close this letter, I'll tell you who Eliza
Millward was: she was the vicar's younger daughter, and a very engaging
little creature, for whom I felt no small degree of partiality;--and she
knew it, though I had never come to any direct explanation, and had no
definite intention of so doing, for my mother, who maintained there was
no one good enough for me within twenty miles round, could not bear the
thoughts of my marrying that insignificant little thing, who, in addition
to her numerous other disqualifications, had not twenty pounds to call
her own.  Eliza's figure was at once slight and plump, her face small,
and nearly as round as my sister's,--complexion, something similar to
hers, but more delicate and less decidedly blooming,--nose,
retrousse,--features, generally irregular; and, altogether, she was
rather charming than pretty.  But her eyes--I must not forget those
remarkable features, for therein her chief attraction lay--in outward
aspect at least;--they were long and narrow in shape, the irids black, or
very dark brown, the expression various, and ever changing, but always
either preternaturally--I had almost said diabolically--wicked, or
irresistibly bewitching--often both.  Her voice was gentle and childish,
her tread light and soft as that of a cat:--but her manners more
frequently resembled those of a pretty playful kitten, that is now pert
and roguish, now timid and demure, according to its own sweet will.
Her sister, Mary, was several years older, several inches taller, and of
a larger, coarser build--a plain, quiet, sensible girl, who had patiently
nursed their mother, through her last long, tedious illness, and been the
housekeeper, and family drudge, from thence to the present time.  She was
trusted and valued by her father, loved and courted by all dogs, cats,
children, and poor people, and slighted and neglected by everybody else.
The Reverend Michael Millward himself was a tall, ponderous elderly
gentleman, who placed a shovel hat above his large, square,
massive-featured face, carried a stout walking-stick in his hand, and
incased his still powerful limbs in knee-breeches and gaiters,--or black
silk stockings on state occasions.  He was a man of fixed principles,
strong prejudices, and regular habits, intolerant of dissent in any
shape, acting under a firm conviction that his opinions were always
right, and whoever differed from them must be either most deplorably
ignorant, or wilfully blind.
In childhood, I had always been accustomed to regard him with a feeling
of reverential awe--but lately, even now, surmounted, for, though he had
a fatherly kindness for the well-behaved, he was a strict disciplinarian,
and had often sternly reproved our juvenile failings and peccadilloes;
and moreover, in those days, whenever he called upon our parents, we had
to stand up before him, and say our catechism, or repeat, 'How doth the
little busy bee,' or some other hymn, or--worse than all--be questioned
about his last text, and the heads of the discourse, which we never could
remember.  Sometimes, the worthy gentleman would reprove my mother for
being over-indulgent to her sons, with a reference to old Eli, or David
and Absalom, which was particularly galling to her feelings; and, very
highly as she respected him, and all his sayings, I once heard her
exclaim, 'I wish to goodness he had a son himself!  He wouldn't be so
ready with his advice to other people then;--he'd see what it is to have
a couple of boys to keep in order.'
He had a laudable care for his own bodily health--kept very early hours,
regularly took a walk before breakfast, was vastly particular about warm
and dry clothing, had never been known to preach a sermon without