“It’s my secret. But if you will not mock at me, I’ll explain it: I can’t do it distinctly;but I’ll give you a feeling of how I feel.”
She seated herself by me again: her countenance grew sadder and graver, and her clasped hands trembled.
“Nelly, do you never dream queer dreams?” she said, suddenly, after some minutes’ reflection.
“Yes, now and then,” I answered.
“And so do I. I’ve dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after,and changed my ideas: they’ve gone through and through me, like wine through water,and altered the colour of my mind. And this is one:I’m going to tell it—but take care not to smile at any part of it.”
“Oh!don’t, Miss Catherine!” I cried. “We’re dismal enough without conjuring up ghosts and visions to perplex us. Come, come, be merry and like yourself!Look at little Hareton!_he’s_ dreaming nothing dreary. How sweetly he smiles in his sleep!”
“Yes; and how sweetly his father curses in his solitude!You remember him, I daresay, when he was just such another as that chubby thing:nearly as young and innocent. However, Nelly, I shall oblige you to listen: it’s not long;and I’ve no power to be merry to-night.”
“I won’t hear it, I won’t hear it!” I repeated, hastily.
I was superstitious about dreams then, and am still;and Catherine had an unusual gloom in her aspect,that made me dread something from which I might shape a prophecy,and foresee a fearful catastrophe. She was vexed, but she did not proceed.Apparently taking up another subject, she recommenced in a short time.
“If I were in heaven, Nelly, I should be extremely miserable.”
“Because you are not fit to go there,” I answered. “All sinners would be miserable in heaven.”
“But it is not for that. I dreamt once that I was there.”
“I tell you I won’t hearken to your dreams, Miss Catherine!I’ll go to bed,” I interrupted again.
She laughed, and held me down; for I made a motion to leave my chair.
“This is nothing,” cried she: “I was only going to say that heaven did not seem to be my home;and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth;and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights;where I woke sobbing for joy. That will do to explain my secret, as well as the other.I’ve no more business to marry Edgar Linton than I have to be in heaven;and if the wicked man in there had not brought Heathcliff so low, I shouldn’t have thought of it.It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him: and that,not because he’s handsome, Nelly, but because he’s more myself than I am.Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same;and Linton’s is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire.”
Ere this speech ended I became sensible of Heathcliff’s presence. Having noticed a slight movement,I turned my head, and saw him rise from the bench, and steal out noiselessly.He had listened till he heard Catherine say it would degrade her to marry him,and then he stayed to hear no further. My companion, sitting on the ground,was prevented by the back of the settle from remarking his presence or departure; but I started, and bade her hush!
“Why?” she asked, gazing nervously round.
“Joseph is here,” I answered, catching opportunely the roll of his cartwheels up the road;“and Heathcliff will come in with him. I’m not sure whether he were not at the door this moment.”
“Oh, he couldn’t overhear me at the door!” said she. “Give me Hareton, while you get the supper, and when it is ready ask me to sup with you.I want to cheat my uncomfortable conscience,and be convinced that Heathcliff has no notion of these things. He has not, has he?He does not know what being in love is!”
“I see no reason that he should not know, as well as you,” I returned; “and if _you_ are his choice,he’ll be the most unfortunate creature that ever was born!As soon as you become Mrs. Linton, he loses friend, and love, and all!Have you considered how you’ll bear the separation,and how he’ll bear to be quite deserted in the world?Because, Miss Catherine—”
“He quite deserted!we separated!” she exclaimed, with an accent of indignation. “Who is to separate us, pray?They’ll meet the fate of Milo!Not as long as I live, Ellen: for no mortal creature.Every Linton on the face of the earth might melt into nothing before I could consent to forsake Heathcliff.Oh, that’s not what I intend—that’s not what I mean!I shouldn’t be Mrs. Linton were such a price demanded!He’ll be as much to me as he has been all his lifetime. Edgar must shake off his antipathy,and tolerate him, at least. He will, when he learns my true feelings towards him. Nelly,I see now you think me a selfish wretch;but did it never strike you that if Heathcliff and I married, we should be beggars?whereas, if I marry Linton I can aid Heathcliff to rise, and place him out of my brother’s power.”
“With your husband’s money, Miss Catherine?” I asked. “You’ll find him not so pliable as you calculate upon: and, though I’m hardly a judge,I think that’s the worst motive you’ve given yet for being the wife of young Linton.”
“It is not,” retorted she; “it is the best!The others were the satisfaction of my whims: and for Edgar’s sake, too, to satisfy him.This is for the sake of one who comprehends in his person my feelings to Edgar and myself.I cannot express it; but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is or should be an existence of yours beyond you.What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained here?My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff’s miseries,and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself.If all else perished, and _he_ remained, _I_ should still continue to be; and if all else remained,and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger:I should not seem a part of it. My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods:time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees.My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight,but necessary. Nelly, I _am_ Heathcliff!He’s always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself,but as my own being. So don’t talk of our separation again: it is impracticable; and—”
She paused, and hid her face in the folds of my gown; but I jerked it forcibly away. I was out of patience with her folly!
“If I can make any sense of your nonsense, Miss,” I said,“it only goes to convince me that you are ignorant of the duties you undertake in marrying;or else that you are a wicked, unprincipled girl. But trouble me with no more secrets: I’ll not promise to keep them.”
“You’ll keep that?” she asked, eagerly.
“No, I’ll not promise,” I repeated.
She was about to insist, when the entrance of Joseph finished our conversation;and Catherine removed her seat to a corner, and nursed Hareton, while I made the supper.After it was cooked, my fellow-servant and I began to quarrel who should carry some to Mr. Hindley;and we didn’t settle it till all was nearly cold.Then we came to the agreement that we would let him ask, if he wanted any;for we feared particularly to go into his presence when he had been some time alone.
“And how isn’t that nowt comed in fro’ th’ field, be this time?What is he about?girt idle seeght!” demanded the old man, looking round for Heathcliff.
“I’ll call him,” I replied. “He’s in the barn, I’ve no doubt.”
I went and called, but got no answer. On returning,I whispered to Catherine that he had heard a good part of what she said, I was sure;and told how I saw him quit the kitchen just as she complained of her brother’s conduct regarding him.She jumped up in a fine fright, flung Hareton on to the settle,and ran to seek for her friend herself; not taking leisure to consider why she was so flurried,or how her talk would have affected him.She was absent such a while that Joseph proposed we should wait no longer.He cunningly conjectured they were staying away in order to avoid hearing his protracted blessing.They were “ill eneugh for ony fahl manners,” he affirmed.And on their behalf he added that night a special prayer to the usual quarter-of-an-hour’s supplication before meat,and would have tacked another to the end of the grace,had not his young mistress broken in upon him with a hurried command that he must run down the road,and, wherever Heathcliff had rambled, find and make him re-enter directly!
“I want to speak to him, and I _must_, before I go upstairs,” she said. “And the gate is open:he is somewhere out of hearing; for he would not reply,though I shouted at the top of the fold as loud as I could.”
Joseph objected at first; she was too much in earnest, however, to suffer contradiction;and at last he placed his hat on his head, and walked grumbling forth. Meantime,Catherine paced up and down the floor, exclaiming—“I wonder where he is—I wonder where he _can_ be!What did I say, Nelly?I’ve forgotten. Was he vexed at my bad humour this afternoon?Dear!tell me what I’ve said to grieve him?I do wish he’d come. I do wish he would!”
“What a noise for nothing!” I cried, though rather uneasy myself. “What a trifle scares you!It’s surely no great cause of alarm that Heathcliff should take a moonlight saunter on the moors,or even lie too sulky to speak to us in the hay-loft. I’ll engage he’s lurking there. See if I don’t ferret him out!”
I departed to renew my search; its result was disappointment, and Joseph’s quest ended in the same.
“Yon lad gets war und war!” observed he on re-entering. “He’s left th’ gate at t’ full swing,and Miss’s pony has trodden dahn two rigs o’ corn, and plottered through, raight o’er into t’ meadow!Hahsomdiver, t’ maister ’ull play t’ devil to-morn, and he’ll do weel.He’s patience itsseln wi’ sich careless, offald craters—patience itsseln he is!Bud he’ll not be soa allus—yah’s see, all on ye!Yah mun’n’t drive him out of his heead for nowt!”
“Have you found Heathcliff, you ass?” interrupted Catherine. “Have you been looking for him, as I ordered?”
“I sud more likker look for th’ horse,” he replied. “It ’ud be to more sense.Bud I can look for norther horse nur man of a neeght loike this—as black as t’ chimbley!und Heathcliff’s noan t’ chap to coom at _my_ whistle—happen he’ll be less hard o’ hearing wi’ _ye_!”
It _was_ a very dark evening for summer: the clouds appeared inclined to thunder,and I said we had better all sit down; the approaching rain would be certain to bring him home without further trouble.However, Catherine would not be persuaded into tranquillity. She kept wandering to and fro,from the gate to the door, in a state of agitation which permitted no repose;and at length took up a permanent situation on one side of the wall, near the road: where,heedless of my expostulations and the growling thunder,and the great drops that began to plash around her, she remained, calling at intervals,and then listening, and then crying outright. She beat Hareton, or any child, at a good passionate fit of crying.
About midnight, while we still sat up, the storm came rattling over the Heights in full fury.There was a violent wind, as well as thunder,and either one or the other split a tree off at the corner of the building:a huge bough fell across the roof, and knocked down a portion of the east chimney-stack,sending a clatter of stones and soot into the kitchen-fire.We thought a bolt had fallen in the middle of us; and Joseph swung on to his knees,beseeching the Lord to remember the patriarchs Noah and Lot, and, as in former times,spare the righteous, though he smote the ungodly.I felt some sentiment that it must be a judgment on us also. The Jonah, in my mind, was Mr.Earnshaw; and I shook the handle of his den that I might ascertain if he were yet living.He replied audibly enough, in a fashion which made my companion vociferate,more clamorously than before, that a wide distinction might be drawn between saints like himself and sinners like his master.But the uproar passed away in twenty minutes, leaving us all unharmed; excepting Cathy,who got thoroughly drenched for her obstinacy in refusing to take shelter,and standing bonnetless and shawlless to catch as much water as she could with her hair and clothes.She came in and lay down on the settle, all soaked as she was, turning her face to the back, and putting her hands before it.
“Well, Miss!” I exclaimed, touching her shoulder; “you are not bent on getting your death, are you?Do you know what o’clock it is?Half-past twelve. Come, come to bed!there’s no use waiting any longer on that foolish boy: he’ll be gone to Gimmerton,and he’ll stay there now. He guesses we shouldn’t wait for him till this late hour: at least,he guesses that only Mr. Hindley would be up;and he’d rather avoid having the door opened by the master.”
“Nay, nay, he’s noan at Gimmerton,” said Joseph.“I’s niver wonder but he’s at t’ bothom of a bog-hoile. This visitation worn’t for nowt,and I wod hev’ ye to look out, Miss—yah muh be t’ next. Thank Hivin for all!All warks togither for gooid to them as is chozzen, and piked out fro’ th’ rubbidge!Yah knaw whet t’ Scripture ses.” And he began quoting several texts,referring us to chapters and verses where we might find them.
I, having vainly begged the wilful girl to rise and remove her wet things,left him preaching and her shivering, and betook myself to bed with little Hareton,who slept as fast as if everyone had been sleeping round him.I heard Joseph read on a while afterwards; then I distinguished his slow step on the ladder, and then I dropped asleep.
Coming down somewhat later than usual, I saw, by the sunbeams piercing the chinks of the shutters,Miss Catherine still seated near the fireplace. The house-door was ajar, too;light entered from its unclosed windows; Hindley had come out, and stood on the kitchen hearth, haggard and drowsy.
“What ails you, Cathy?” he was saying when I entered: “you look as dismal as a drowned whelp. Why are you so damp and pale, child?”
“I’ve been wet,” she answered reluctantly, “and I’m cold, that’s all.”
“Oh, she is naughty!” I cried, perceiving the master to be tolerably sober.“She got steeped in the shower of yesterday evening, and there she has sat the night through, and I couldn’t prevail on her to stir.”
Mr. Earnshaw stared at us in surprise. “The night through,” he repeated. “What kept her up?not fear of the thunder, surely?That was over hours since.”
Neither of us wished to mention Heathcliff’s absence, as long as we could conceal it; so I replied,I didn’t know how she took it into her head to sit up; and she said nothing.The morning was fresh and cool; I threw back the lattice,and presently the room filled with sweet scents from the garden;but Catherine called peevishly to me, “Ellen, shut the window. I’m starving!” And her teeth chattered as she shrank closer to the almost extinguished embers.
“She’s ill,” said Hindley, taking her wrist; “I suppose that’s the reason she would not go to bed. Damn it!I don’t want to be troubled with more sickness here. What took you into the rain?”
“Running after t’ lads, as usuald!” croaked Joseph, catching an opportunity from our hesitation to thrust in his evil tongue.“If I war yah, maister, I’d just slam t’ boards i’ their faces all on ’em, gentle and simple!Never a day ut yah’re off, but yon cat o’ Linton comes sneaking hither; and Miss Nelly, shoo’s a fine lass!shoo sits watching for ye i’ t’ kitchen; and as yah’re in at one door, he’s out at t’other; and,then, wer grand lady goes a-courting of her side!It’s bonny behaviour, lurking amang t’ fields, after twelve o’ t’ night, wi’ that fahl, flaysome divil of a gipsy, Heathcliff!They think _I’m_ blind; but I’m noan: nowt ut t’ soart!—I seed young Linton boath coming and going, and I seed _yah_” (directing his discourse to me), “yah gooid fur nowt, slattenly witch!nip up and bolt into th’ house, t’ minute yah heard t’ maister’s horse-fit clatter up t’ road.”
“Silence, eavesdropper!” cried Catherine; “none of your insolence before me!Edgar Linton came yesterday by chance, Hindley; and it was _I_ who told him to be off:because I knew you would not like to have met him as you were.”
“You lie, Cathy, no doubt,” answered her brother, “and you are a confounded simpleton!But never mind Linton at present: tell me, were you not with Heathcliff last night?Speak the truth, now. You need not be afraid of harming him: though I hate him as much as ever,he did me a good turn a short time since that will make my conscience tender of breaking his neck.To prevent it, I shall send him about his business this very morning; and after he’s gone,I’d advise you all to look sharp: I shall only have the more humour for you.”
“I never saw Heathcliff last night,” answered Catherine, beginning to sob bitterly:“and if you do turn him out of doors, I’ll go with him. But, perhaps,you’ll never have an opportunity: perhaps, he’s gone.” Here she burst into uncontrollable grief,and the remainder of her words were inarticulate.
Hindley lavished on her a torrent of scornful abuse, and bade her get to her room immediately, or she shouldn’t cry for nothing!I obliged her to obey; and I shall never forget what a scene she acted when we reached her chamber:it terrified me. I thought she was going mad, and I begged Joseph to run for the doctor.It proved the commencement of delirium: Mr. Kenneth, as soon as he saw her,pronounced her dangerously ill; she had a fever. He bled her,and he told me to let her live on whey and water-gruel,and take care she did not throw herself downstairs or out of the window; and then he left:for he had enough to do in the parish, where two or three miles was the ordinary distance between cottage and cottage.
Though I cannot say I made a gentle nurse, and Joseph and the master were no better,and though our patient was as wearisome and headstrong as a patient could be,she weathered it through. Old Mrs. Linton paid us several visits, to be sure,and set things to rights, and scolded and ordered us all; and when Catherine was convalescent,she insisted on conveying her to Thrushcross Grange: for which deliverance we were very grateful.But the poor dame had reason to repent of her kindness: she and her husband both took the fever,and died within a few days of each other.
Our young lady returned to us saucier and more passionate, and haughtier than ever.Heathcliff had never been heard of since the evening of the thunder-storm; and, one day,I had the misfortune, when she had provoked me exceedingly,to lay the blame of his disappearance on her: where indeed it belonged, as she well knew.From that period, for several months, she ceased to hold any communication with me,save in the relation of a mere servant. Joseph fell under a ban also: he _would_ speak his mind,and lecture her all the same as if she were a little girl; and she esteemed herself a woman,and our mistress, and thought that her recent illness gave her a claim to be treated with consideration.Then the doctor had said that she would not bear crossing much; she ought to have her own way;and it was nothing less than murder in her eyes for any one to presume to stand up and contradict her.From Mr. Earnshaw and his companions she kept aloof; and tutored by Kenneth,and serious threats of a fit that often attended her rages,her brother allowed her whatever she pleased to demand,and generally avoided aggravating her fiery temper.He was rather _too_ indulgent in humouring her caprices; not from affection, but from pride:he wished earnestly to see her bring honour to the family by an alliance with the Lintons,and as long as she let him alone she might trample on us like slaves, for aught he cared!Edgar Linton, as multitudes have been before and will be after him, was infatuated:and believed himself the happiest man alive on the day he led her to Gimmerton Chapel,three years subsequent to his father’s death.
Much against my inclination, I was persuaded to leave Wuthering Heights and accompany her here.Little Hareton was nearly five years old, and I had just begun to teach him his letters.We made a sad parting; but Catherine’s tears were more powerful than ours. When I refused to go,and when she found her entreaties did not move me, she went lamenting to her husband and brother.The former offered me munificent wages; the latter ordered me to pack up:he wanted no women in the house, he said, now that there was no mistress; and as to Hareton,the curate should take him in hand, by-and-by. And so I had but one choice left:to do as I was ordered. I told the master he got rid of all decent people only to run to ruin a little faster;I kissed Hareton, said good-by; and since then he has been a stranger:and it’s very queer to think it, but I’ve no doubt he has completely forgotten all about Ellen Dean,and that he was ever more than all the world to her and she to him!
* * * * *
At this point of the housekeeper’s story she chanced to glance towards the time-piece over the chimney;and was in amazement on seeing the minute-hand measure half-past one.She would not hear of staying a second longer: in truth,I felt rather disposed to defer the sequel of her narrative myself.And now that she is vanished to her rest, and I have meditated for another hour or two,I shall summon courage to go also, in spite of aching laziness of head and limbs.
CHAPTER X
A charming introduction to a hermit’s life!Four weeks’ torture, tossing, and sickness!Oh, these bleak winds and bitter northern skies, and impassable roads, and dilatory country surgeons!And oh, this dearth of the human physiognomy!and, worse than all, the terrible intimation of Kenneth that I need not expect to be out of doors till spring!
Mr. Heathcliff has just honoured me with a call.About seven days ago he sent me a brace of grouse—the last of the season. Scoundrel!He is not altogether guiltless in this illness of mine; and that I had a great mind to tell him. But, alas!how could I offend a man who was charitable enough to sit at my bedside a good hour,and talk on some other subject than pills and draughts, blisters and leeches?This is quite an easy interval. I am too weak to read;yet I feel as if I could enjoy something interesting. Why not have up Mrs. Dean to finish her tale?I can recollect its chief incidents, as far as she had gone. Yes: I remember her hero had run off,and never been heard of for three years; and the heroine was married. I’ll ring:she’ll be delighted to find me capable of talking cheerfully. Mrs. Dean came.
“It wants twenty minutes, sir, to taking the medicine,” she commenced.
“Away, away with it!” I replied; “I desire to have—”
“The doctor says you must drop the powders.”
“With all my heart!Don’t interrupt me. Come and take your seat here.Keep your fingers from that bitter phalanx of vials.Draw your knitting out of your pocket—that will do—now continue the history of Mr. Heathcliff,from where you left off, to the present day. Did he finish his education on the Continent, and come back a gentleman?or did he get a sizar’s place at college, or escape to America,and earn honours by drawing blood from his foster-country?or make a fortune more promptly on the English highways?”
“He may have done a little in all these vocations, Mr. Lockwood;but I couldn’t give my word for any. I stated before that I didn’t know how he gained his money;neither am I aware of the means he took to raise his mind from the savage ignorance into which it was sunk:but, with your leave, I’ll proceed in my own fashion, if you think it will amuse and not weary you. Are you feeling better this morning?”
“Much.”
“That’s good news.”
* * * * *
I got Miss Catherine and myself to Thrushcross Grange; and, to my agreeable disappointment,she behaved infinitely better than I dared to expect. She seemed almost over-fond of Mr. Linton;and even to his sister she showed plenty of affection.They were both very attentive to her comfort, certainly.It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn.There were no mutual concessions: one stood erect, and the others yielded:and who _can_ be ill-natured and bad-tempered when they encounter neither opposition nor indifference?I observed that Mr. Edgar had a deep-rooted fear of ruffling her humour. He concealed it from her;but if ever he heard me answer sharply,or saw any other servant grow cloudy at some imperious order of hers,he would show his trouble by a frown of displeasure that never darkened on his own account.He many a time spoke sternly to me about my pertness;and averred that the stab of a knife could not inflict a worse pang than he suffered at seeing his lady vexed.Not to grieve a kind master, I learned to be less touchy; and, for the space of half a year,the gunpowder lay as harmless as sand, because no fire came near to explode it.Catherine had seasons of gloom and silence now and then:they were respected with sympathising silence by her husband,who ascribed them to an alteration in her constitution, produced by her perilous illness;as she was never subject to depression of spirits before.The return of sunshine was welcomed by answering sunshine from him.I believe I may assert that they were really in possession of deep and growing happiness.
It ended. Well, we _must_ be for ourselves in the long run;the mild and generous are only more justly selfish than the domineering;and it ended when circumstances caused each to feel that the one’s interest was not the chief consideration in the other’s thoughts.On a mellow evening in September, I was coming from the garden with a heavy basket of apples which I had been gathering.It had got dusk, and the moon looked over the high wall of the court,causing undefined shadows to lurk in the corners of the numerous projecting portions of the building.I set my burden on the house-steps by the kitchen-door, and lingered to rest,and drew in a few more breaths of the soft, sweet air; my eyes were on the moon,and my back to the entrance, when I heard a voice behind me say,—“Nelly, is that you?”
It was a deep voice, and foreign in tone;yet there was something in the manner of pronouncing my name which made it sound familiar.I turned about to discover who spoke, fearfully; for the doors were shut,and I had seen nobody on approaching the steps. Something stirred in the porch; and, moving nearer,I distinguished a tall man dressed in dark clothes, with dark face and hair.He leant against the side, and held his fingers on the latch as if intending to open for himself. “Who can it be?” I thought. “Mr. Earnshaw?Oh, no!The voice has no resemblance to his.”
“I have waited here an hour,” he resumed, while I continued staring;“and the whole of that time all round has been as still as death. I dared not enter. You do not know me?Look, I’m not a stranger!”
A ray fell on his features; the cheeks were sallow, and half covered with black whiskers;the brows lowering, the eyes deep-set and singular. I remembered the eyes.
“What!” I cried, uncertain whether to regard him as a worldly visitor, and I raised my hands in amazement. “What!you come back?Is it really you?Is it?”
“Yes, Heathcliff,” he replied, glancing from me up to the windows,which reflected a score of glittering moons, but showed no lights from within. “Are they at home?where is she?Nelly, you are not glad!you needn’t be so disturbed. Is she here?Speak!I want to have one word with her—your mistress. Go,and say some person from Gimmerton desires to see her.”
“How will she take it?” I exclaimed. “What will she do?The surprise bewilders me—it will put her out of her head!And you _are_ Heathcliff!But altered!Nay, there’s no comprehending it. Have you been for a soldier?”
“Go and carry my message,” he interrupted, impatiently. “I’m in hell till you do!”
He lifted the latch, and I entered; but when I got to the parlour where Mr. and Mrs. Linton were,I could not persuade myself to proceed.At length I resolved on making an excuse to ask if they would have the candles lighted, and I opened the door.
They sat together in a window whose lattice lay back against the wall, and displayed,beyond the garden trees, and the wild green park, the valley of Gimmerton,with a long line of mist winding nearly to its top (for very soon after you pass the chapel,as you may have noticed, the sough that runs from the marshes joins a beck which follows the bend of the glen).Wuthering Heights rose above this silvery vapour; but our old house was invisible;it rather dips down on the other side. Both the room and its occupants,and the scene they gazed on, looked wondrously peaceful.I shrank reluctantly from performing my errand; and was actually going away leaving it unsaid,after having put my question about the candles, when a sense of my folly compelled me to return,and mutter, “A person from Gimmerton wishes to see you ma’am.”
“What does he want?” asked Mrs. Linton.
“I did not question him,” I answered.
“Well, close the curtains, Nelly,” she said; “and bring up tea. I’ll be back again directly.”
She quitted the apartment; Mr. Edgar inquired, carelessly, who it was.
“Some one mistress does not expect,” I replied. “That Heathcliff—you recollect him,sir—who used to live at Mr. Earnshaw’s.”
“What!the gipsy—the ploughboy?” he cried. “Why did you not say so to Catherine?”
“Hush!you must not call him by those names, master,” I said. “She’d be sadly grieved to hear you.She was nearly heartbroken when he ran off. I guess his return will make a jubilee to her.”