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 doorway: 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.