CHAPTER 26
Summer was already past its prime, when Edgar yielded, and Catherine and I set out on our first ride to join her cousin. It was a day devoid of sunshine, but too hazy to threaten rain. Our place of meeting had been fixed by the cross-roads. On arriving there, however, a little herd-boy, sent as a messenger, told us: ‘Master Linton were just this side of th’ Heights: and we must go on a bit further.’
When we reached him, he was scarcely a quarter of a mile from his own door. He lay on the heath, and did not rise till we came within a few yards of him. Then he walked so feebly, and looked so pale, that I immediately exclaimed, ‘Why, Master Heathcliff, how ill you do look!’
Catherine surveyed him with grief and astonishment; anxiously she inquired whether he were worse than usual?
‘No – better – better!’ he panted, trembling, and holding her hand as if he needed its support, while his large blue eyes wandered over her with a expression of haggard wildness.
‘But you have been worse since I saw you last,’ persisted Cathy; ‘you are thinner, and—’
‘I’m tired,’ he interrupted, hurriedly. ‘It is too hot for walking; let us rest here. In the morning, I often feel sick – papa says I grow so fast.’
Dissatisfied, Cathy sat down beside him.
‘This is something like your paradise,’ said she, making an effort at cheerfulness; ‘only there are clouds; but 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 my paradise.’
Linton did not appear to remember what she talked of. He had great difficulty in holding any kind of conversation. His lack of interest was so obvious that Cathy could not conceal her disappointment. His pettishness had yielded to a listless apathy; the self-absorbed moroseness of a confirmed invalid.
Catherine saw that he endured, rather than enjoyed, our company; and she soon proposed 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. If I could amuse you, I’d willingly stay.’
‘Stay to rest,’ he replied. ‘It is the heat that make me dull; and I walked about a great deal before you came. Tell uncle I’m in good health, will you?’
‘I’ll tell him that you say so, Linton. I couldn’t affirm that you are,’ observed my young lady.
‘And be here again next Thursday,’ continued he. ‘And thank him for permitting you to come. And – and, if you did meet my father, and he asked you about me, don’t tell him I’ve been silent and stupid – he’ll be angry.’
‘I care nothing for his anger,’ exclaimed Cathy.
‘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.
Linton looked at me, but did not answer. After sitting by his side another ten minutes, while his head fell drowsily on his breast, and he uttered nothing except suppressed moans, Cathy began to look for bilberries, and share them with me: she did not offer them to him.
‘Is it half-an-hour now, Ellen?’ she whispered. ‘He’s asleep, and papa will be wanting us back.’
‘Wait till he wakes,’ I answered. ‘You were mighty eager to come, but your longing to see poor Linton has soon evaporated!’
‘Why did he wish to see me?’ returned Catherine. ‘He’s in such a strange mood. It’s as if this meeting were a task he was compelled to perform for fear his father should scold him. Though I’m glad he’s better in health, I’m sorry he’s so much less pleasant, and 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. He is not completely well, but he’s better, very likely.’
‘There you differ with me, Miss Cathy,’ I remarked; ‘I should say he is far worse.’
Linton started from his slumber in bewildered terror, and asked if anyone had called his name.
‘I thought I heard my father,’ he gasped, glancing around. ‘You are sure nobody spoke?’
‘Quite sure,’ replied his cousin. ‘Are you truly stronger, Linton, than last winter?’
The tears gushed from Linton’s eyes as he answered, ‘Yes, yes, I am!’ Still under the spell of the imaginary voice, his gaze wandered up and down to detect its owner.
Cathy rose. ‘For today 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: 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; but she hastily freed herself, and whistled to her pony.
‘I’ll be here next Thursday,’ she cried, springing to the saddle. ‘Good-bye. Quick, Ellen!’ And so we left him.
Before we reached home, Catherine’s displeasure softened into a perplexed pity, blended with vague, uneasy doubts about Linton. I shared her doubts, though I counselled her not to say much; for we should judge his state better after a second journey.
My master requested an account of our trip. His nephew’s thanks were duly delivered, but we said little else; for I hardly knew what to hide and what to reveal.