Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Charlotte, Emily, Anne Brontë (Illustrated) (312 page)

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!”