“Yes, yes, we can!” replied Cathy. “He’s good and patient now.He’s beginning to think I shall have far greater misery than he will to-night,if I believe he is the worse for my visit:and then I dare not come again.Tell the truth about it, Linton; for I mustn’t come,if I have hurt you.”
“You must come, to cure me,” he answered.“You ought to come, because you have hurt me:you know you have extremely!I was not as ill when you entered as I am at present—was I?”
“But you’ve made yourself ill by crying and being in a passion.—I didn’t do it all,” said his cousin. “However, we’ll be friends now. And you want me: you would wish to see me sometimes, really?”
“I told you I did,” he replied impatiently.“Sit on the settle and let me lean on your knee.That’s as mamma used to do, whole afternoons together.Sit quite still and don’t talk:but you may sing a song, if you can sing;or you may say a nice long interesting ballad—one of those you promised to teach me; or a story. I’d rather have a ballad, though: begin.”
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 a while 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 hue 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 upstairs in the dark.No Catherine could I discover upstairs, 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.