“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 upstairs 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 upstairs,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 a 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 gripe, 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 farmhouse,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.”