“I’d rayther, by th’ haulf,hev’ ’em swearing i’ my lugs fro’h morn to neeght,nor hearken ye hahsiver!” said the tenant of the kitchen,in answer to an unheard speech of Nelly’s.“It’s a blazing shame,that I cannot oppen t’ blessed Book,but yah set up them glories to sattan,and all t’ flaysome wickednesses that iver were born into th’ warld!Oh!ye’re a raight nowt; and shoo’s another;and that poor lad ’ll be lost atween ye. Poor lad!” he added, with a groan; “he’s witched:I’m sartin on’t. Oh, Lord, judge ’em,for there’s norther law nor justice among wer rullers!”
“No!or we should be sitting in flaming fagots, I suppose,” retorted the singer. “But wisht, old man,and read your Bible like a Christian,and never mind me. This is ‘Fairy Annie’s Wedding’—a bonny tune—it goes to a dance.”
Mrs. Dean was about to recommence, when I advanced;and recognising me directly, she jumped to her feet,crying—“Why, bless you, Mr. Lockwood!How could you think of returning in this way?All’s shut up at Thrushcross Grange.You should have given us notice!”
“I’ve arranged to be accommodated there,for as long as I shall stay,” I answered.“I depart again to-morrow.And how are you transplanted here, Mrs. Dean?tell me that.”
“Zillah left, and Mr. Heathcliff wished me to come,soon after you went to London,and stay till you returned. But, step in, pray!Have you walked from Gimmerton this evening?”
“From the Grange,” I replied;“and while they make me lodging room there,I want to finish my business with your master;because I don’t think of having another opportunity in a hurry. ”
“What business, sir?” said Nelly, conducting me into the house.“He’s gone out at present, and won’t return soon.”
“About the rent,” I answered.
“Oh!then it is with Mrs. Heathcliff you must settle,” she observed; “or rather with me.She has not learnt to manage her affairs yet,and I act for her: there’s nobody else.”
I looked surprised.
“Ah!you have not heard of Heathcliff’s death, I see, ” she continued.
“Heathcliff dead!” I exclaimed, astonished. “How long ago?”
“Three months since: but sit down,and let me take your hat,and I’ll tell you all about it. Stop,you have had nothing to eat, have you?”
“I want nothing: I have ordered supper at home.You sit down too. I never dreamt of his dying!Let me hear how it came to pass.You say you don’t expect them back for some time—the young people?”
“No—I have to scold them every evening for their late rambles:but they don’t care for me. At least,have a drink of our old ale; it will do you good: you seem weary.”
She hastened to fetch it before I could refuse,and I heard Joseph asking whether “it warn’t a crying scandal that she should have followers at her time of life?And then, to get them jocks out o’ t’ maister’s cellar!He fair shaamed to ’bide still and see it.”
She did not stay to retaliate,but re-entered in a minute,bearing a reaming silver pint,whose contents I lauded with becoming earnestness.And afterwards she furnished me with the sequel of Heathcliff’s history.He had a “queer” end, as she expressed it.
* * * * *
I was summoned to Wuthering Heights,within a fortnight of your leaving us, she said;and I obeyed joyfully, for Catherine’s sake.My first interview with her grieved and shocked me:she had altered so much since our separation. Mr.Heathcliff did not explain his reasons for taking a new mind about my coming here; he only told me he wanted me, and he was tired of seeing Catherine: I must make the little parlour my sitting-room, and keep her with me. It was enough if he were obliged to see her once or twice a day. She seemed pleased at this arrangement; and, by degrees, I smuggled over a great number of books, and other articles, that had formed her amusement at the Grange; and flattered myself we should get on in tolerable comfort. The delusion did not last long. Catherine, contented at first, in a brief space grew irritable and restless. For one thing, she was forbidden to move out of the garden, and it fretted her sadly to be confined to its narrow bounds as spring drew on; for another, in following the house, I was forced to quit her frequently, and she complained of loneliness: she preferred quarrelling with Joseph in the kitchen to sitting at peace in her solitude. I did not mind their skirmishes: but Hareton was often obliged to seek the kitchen also, when the master wanted to have the house to himself; and though in the beginning she either left it at his approach, or quietly joined in my occupations, and shunned remarking or addressing him—and though he was always as sullen and silent as possible—after a while, she changed her behaviour, and became incapable of letting him alone: talking at him; commenting on his stupidity and idleness; expressing her wonder how he could endure the life he lived—how he could sit a whole evening staring into the fire, and dozing.
“He’s just like a dog, is he not, Ellen?” she once observed, “or a cart-horse?He does his work, eats his food, and sleeps eternally!What a blank, dreary mind he must have!Do you ever dream, Hareton?And, if you do, what is it about?But you can’t speak to me!”
Then she looked at him;but he would neither open his mouth nor look again.
“He’s, perhaps, dreaming now,” she continued.“He twitched his shoulder as Juno twitches hers. Ask him, Ellen.”
“Mr. Hareton will ask the master to send you upstairs,if you don’t behave!” I said. He had not only twitched his shoulder but clenched his fist,as if tempted to use it.
“I know why Hareton never speaks,when I am in the kitchen,” she exclaimed,on another occasion.“He is afraid I shall laugh at him. Ellen, what do you think?He began to teach himself to read once; and,because I laughed, he burned his books, and dropped it: was he not a fool?”
“Were not you naughty?” I said; “answer me that.”
“Perhaps I was,” she went on;“but I did not expect him to be so silly. Hareton,if I gave you a book, would you take it now?I’ll try!”
She placed one she had been perusing on his hand;he flung it off, and muttered,if she did not give over, he would break her neck.
“Well, I shall put it here,” she said,“in the table-drawer; and I’m going to bed.”