CHAPTER 24
After three weeks I was able to quit my chamber. The first time I sat up in the evening I asked Catherine to read to me, because my eyes were weak. We were in the library: she consented, rather unwillingly; so I asked her to choose a book she liked. She read for a while; then came frequent questions.
‘Ellen, are not you tired? Hadn’t you better lie down now?’
‘No, no, dear, I’m not tired,’ I replied.
Next she began to yawn and stretch, saying, ‘Ellen, I’m tired.’
‘Stop reading 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, rubbing her eyes. The following night she seemed more impatient still; and on the third complained of a headache, and left me.
I thought her conduct odd; so I went to ask her to come and lie on the sofa, instead of upstairs in the dark. I could not find her upstairs, nor below. The servants said 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 have taken it into her head to walk about the garden. I did detect a figure creeping along the inner fence of the park; but on its emerging into the light, I recognised one of the grooms. He stood a while viewing the road through the grounds before moving away; but soon reappeared leading Miss’s pony; and there she was, walking by its side. The man took the pony stealthily across the grass towards the stable.
Cathy entered by the window of the drawing-room, and glided noiselessly up to where I waited. She closed the door gently, slipped off her snowy shoes, untied her hat, and was taking off her cloak when I suddenly rose and revealed myself. The surprise petrified her: she stood fixed.
‘My dear Miss Catherine,’ I began, ‘where have you been riding at this hour? And why did you try to deceive me by telling a tale? Where have you been?’
‘To the bottom of the park,’ she stammered. ‘I didn’t tell a tale.’
‘Oh, Catherine!’ I cried, sorrowfully. ‘You know you have been doing wrong, or you wouldn’t tell me lies. That does grieve me. I’d rather be three months ill, than hear you tell a lie.’
She sprang forward, and bursting into tears, threw her arms round my neck.
‘Ellen, I’m so afraid of you being angry,’ she said. ‘Promise not to be angry, and you shall know the truth.’
I assured her I would not scold, whatever her secret might be. I guessed it, of course. She began—
‘I’ve been to Wuthering Heights, Ellen, every day since you fell ill. I asked Michael to prepare Minny every evening, and to put her back in the stable: you mustn’t scold him either. 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: I was often wretched. Perhaps once in a week I was happy. After my first visit, I got the key of the park door from Michael. I told him how my cousin wished me to visit him, because he was sick, and couldn’t come to the Grange. Michael is fond of reading, so I gave him books, and he offered to do what I wished.
‘On my second visit Linton seemed lively; and Zillah the housekeeper made us a good fire, and told us that Joseph was out at a prayer-meeting and Hareton Earnshaw was off with his dogs, so we might do what we liked. She brought me wine and gingerbread, and seemed very good-natured, and Linton sat in the arm-chair, and I in the little rocking chair, 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.
‘But we almost quarrelled over that. He said the pleasantest manner of spending a hot July day was lying on the heather in the middle of the moors, with the bees humming dreamily about, and the larks singing overhead, and the blue sky and bright sun shining 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 thrushes, 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 grew 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.
‘Then I asked Linton to play at blindman’s buff; but he wouldn’t: there was no pleasure in it, he said; but he consented to play at ball. We found two in a cupboard, among a heap of old toys, 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, but Linton didn’t like it. I kept beating him: and he got cross again. He recovered his good humour, though, when I sang to him; and when I had to go, he begged me to come the following evening; so 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 because I wished that my father approved of my visits: but it was beautiful moonlight after tea. As I rode there, I looked forward to another happy evening. At their garden, that fellow Earnshaw met me, took my bridle, and bid me go in by the front door. He patted Minny’s neck, and said she was a bonny beast. I 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. When he opened the door, 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. “Let us hear you – you are grown clever!”
‘He spelt over by syllables, the name “Hareton Earnshaw.”
‘“And the figures?” I cried.
‘“I cannot tell them yet,” he answered.
‘“Oh, you dunce!” I said, laughing heartily.
‘The fool stared uncertainly, with a grin hovering about his lips, and a scowl gathering over his eyes. I asked him to walk away, for I came to see Linton, not him. He reddened 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.’
‘Stop, Miss Catherine, dear!’ I interrupted. ‘I shall not scold, but I don’t like your conduct there. Hareton is your cousin; and it was a praiseworthy ambition for him to wish to learn to read. Probably he did not learn merely to show off: you had made him ashamed of his ignorance, I have no doubt; and he wished to remedy it and to please you. To sneer at his attempt was very rude. If you had been brought up in his circumstances, would you be any better? He was 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 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; “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 that I mustn’t tease him, as he was ill; and I spoke softly to him. I had brought some of my nicest books: he asked me to read, and I was about to comply, when Earnshaw burst in. He advanced on us, seized Linton by the arm, and swung him off the seat.
‘“Get to thy own room!” he said, passionately. He looked furious. “
Take her there if she comes to see thee: thou shan’t keep me out of here. Begone wi’ ye both!”
‘He swore at us, and clenched his fist at me. I was afraid for a moment, and I dropped a book; he kicked it after me, and shut us out. I heard a malignant laugh by the fire, and turning, saw that odious Joseph rubbing his bony hands.
‘“He’s a grand lad! He’s getten t’ right spirit in him! He knows who should be t’ master! He made ye shift!”
‘“Where must we go?” I asked my cousin, ignoring the old wretch.
‘Linton was white and trembling. He looked frightful; for his thin face and large eyes bore an expression of powerless fury. He shook the door handle.
‘“If you don’t let me in, I’ll kill you!” he shrieked. “Devil! – I’ll kill you!”
‘Joseph laughed again.
‘“There, that’s t’ father!” he cried. “Don’t be afeard, Hareton, lad – he cannot get at thee!”
‘I tried to pull Linton away; but he shrieked, and then had 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. She came hurrying from the cow-shed, and I dragged her in. Earnshaw was taking poor Linton upstairs. Zillah and I went up after him; but he stopped me at the top of the steps, and said I must go home. I exclaimed that I would enter.
‘But Joseph locked the door, and declared I should not. I stood crying till the housekeeper reappeared. She said Linton would be better in a bit, but he couldn’t stand that shrieking; and she nearly carried me into the kitchen.
‘Ellen, I sobbed until my eyes were almost blind; and the ruffian you have such sympathy with stood opposite: every now and then saying “hush,” and denying that it was his fault. Finally, when I said that I would tell papa, and that he should be put in prison and hanged, he began blubbering himself, and hurried out. Still, I was not rid of him: when at length they made me leave, he suddenly appeared.
‘“Miss Catherine, I’m grieved,” he began, “but it’s too bad—”
‘I gave him a cut with my whip. He thundered one of his horrid curses, and I galloped home half out of my senses.
‘I didn’t go to Wuthering Heights the next evening: I wished to go, but I dreaded to hear that Linton was dead, and shuddered at the thought of meeting Hareton. On the third day I took courage, and stole off once more. I walked there, hoping to creep into the house unobserved; however, the dogs barked at me. Zillah received me, and saying “the lad was mending nicely,” showed me into a small, tidy room, where, to my joy, I beheld Linton 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 when he did open his mouth, it was to say that I had caused the uproar, and Hareton was not to blame! I got up and walked out. He said faintly; “Catherine!” but I wouldn’t turn back; and the next day I stayed at home.
‘Yet I was so miserable that when Michael came to ask if he must saddle Minny, I said “Yes.” This time I did not try to conceal my presence.
‘“Young master is in the parlour,” said Zillah. I went in; Earnshaw was there also, but he quitted the room directly. Linton sat in the great arm-chair half asleep. I began in a serious tone—
‘“As you don’t like me, Linton, and as you think I come on purpose to hurt you, this is our last meeting. Let us say good-bye; and tell Mr. Heathcliff that you have no wish to see me.”
‘“Sit down, Catherine,” he answered. “You are so much happier than I am, you ought to be better. Papa shows so much scorn of me, that I doubt my own worth; and I feel so cross and bitter, I hate everybody! I am bad in temper, and bad in spirit, almost always; and, if you choose, you may say good-bye. 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, willingly. And believe that your kindness has made me love you deeper than if I deserved your love: and though I 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. We were reconciled; 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!
‘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: sometimes with his selfishness, and sometimes with his sufferings: but I’ve learned to endure both.
‘Mr. Heathcliff avoids me: I have hardly seen him at all. Last Sunday, I heard him abusing poor Linton cruelly for his conduct of the night before. I don’t know how he knew of it, unless he listened. Linton had certainly behaved provokingly: however, it was nobody’s business but mine, and I interrupted Mr. Heathcliff by entering and telling him so. He laughed, and went away, saying he was glad I took that view. Since then, I’ve told Linton he must whisper his bitter things. Now, Ellen, you have heard all. You will not tell Papa, will you?’
‘I’ll make up my mind by tomorrow, Miss Catherine,’ I replied. ‘I’ll leave you to 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, except for her conversations with her cousin, and any mention of Hareton. Mr. Linton was alarmed and distressed. In the morning, Catherine learnt of my betrayal, and she learnt also that her secret visits were to end.
In vain she wept, and implored her father to have pity: all she got to comfort her was a promise that her father would write and allow Linton 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 character and state of health, he would have withheld even that slight consolation.