Chapter Chapter 28 · 第28章

On the fifth morning, or rather afternoon, a different step

approached—lighter and shorter; and, this time, the person entered the

room. It was Zillah; donned in her scarlet shawl, with a black silk

bonnet on her head, and a willow-basket swung to her arm.

“Eh, dear! Mrs. Dean!” she exclaimed. “Well! there is a talk about you

at Gimmerton. I never thought but you were sunk in the Blackhorse

marsh, and missy with you, till master told me you’d been found, and

he’d lodged you here! What! and you must have got on an island, sure?

And how long were you in the hole? Did master save you, Mrs. Dean? But

you’re not so thin—you’ve not been so poorly, have you?”

“Your master is a true scoundrel!” I replied. “But he shall answer for

it. He needn’t have raised that tale: it shall all be laid bare!”

“What do you mean?” asked Zillah. “It’s not his tale: they tell that in

the village—about your being lost in the marsh; and I calls to

Earnshaw, when I come in—‘Eh, they’s queer things, Mr. Hareton,

happened since I went off. It’s a sad pity of that likely young lass,

and cant Nelly Dean.’ He stared. I thought he had not heard aught, so I

told him the rumour. The master listened, and he just smiled to

himself, and said, ‘If they have been in the marsh, they are out now,

Zillah. Nelly Dean is lodged, at this minute, in your room. You can

tell her to flit, when you go up; here is the key. The bog-water got

into her head, and she would have run home quite flighty, but I fixed

her till she came round to her senses. You can bid her go to the Grange

at once, if she be able, and carry a message from me, that her young

lady will follow in time to attend the squire’s funeral.’”

“Mr. Edgar is not dead?” I gasped. “Oh! Zillah, Zillah!”

“No, no; sit you down, my good mistress,” she replied; “you’re right

sickly yet. He’s not dead; Doctor Kenneth thinks he may last another

day. I met him on the road and asked.”

Instead of sitting down, I snatched my outdoor things, and hastened

below, for the way was free. On entering the house, I looked about for

some one to give information of Catherine. The place was filled with

sunshine, and the door stood wide open; but nobody seemed at hand. As I

hesitated whether to go off at once, or return and seek my mistress, a

slight cough drew my attention to the hearth. Linton lay on the settle,

sole tenant, sucking a stick of sugar-candy, and pursuing my movements

with apathetic eyes. “Where is Miss Catherine?” I demanded sternly,

supposing I could frighten him into giving intelligence, by catching

him thus, alone. He sucked on like an innocent.

“Is she gone?” I said.

“No,” he replied; “she’s upstairs: she’s not to go; we won’t let her.”

“You won’t let her, little idiot!” I exclaimed. “Direct me to her room

immediately, or I’ll make you sing out sharply.”

“Papa would make you sing out, if you attempted to get there,” he

answered. “He says I’m not to be soft with Catherine: she’s my wife,

and it’s shameful that she should wish to leave me. He says she hates

me and wants me to die, that she may have my money; but she shan’t have

it: and she shan’t go home! She never shall!—she may cry, and be sick

as much as she pleases!”

He resumed his former occupation, closing his lids, as if he meant to

drop asleep.

“Master Heathcliff,” I resumed, “have you forgotten all Catherine’s

kindness to you last winter, when you affirmed you loved her, and when

she brought you books and sung you songs, and came many a time through

wind and snow to see you? She wept to miss one evening, because you

would be disappointed; and you felt then that she was a hundred times

too good to you: and now you believe the lies your father tells, though

you know he detests you both. And you join him against her. That’s fine

gratitude, is it not?”

The corner of Linton’s mouth fell, and he took the sugar-candy from his

lips.

“Did she come to Wuthering Heights because she hated you?” I continued.

“Think for yourself! As to your money, she does not even know that you

will have any. And you say she’s sick; and yet you leave her alone, up

there in a strange house! _You_ who have felt what it is to be so

neglected! You could pity your own sufferings; and she pitied them,

too; but you won’t pity hers! I shed tears, Master Heathcliff, you

see—an elderly woman, and a servant merely—and you, after pretending

such affection, and having reason to worship her almost, store every

tear you have for yourself, and lie there quite at ease. Ah! you’re a

heartless, selfish boy!”

“I can’t stay with her,” he answered crossly. “I’ll not stay by myself.

She cries so I can’t bear it. And she won’t give over, though I say

I’ll call my father. I did call him once, and he threatened to strangle

her if she was not quiet; but she began again the instant he left the

room, moaning and grieving all night long, though I screamed for

vexation that I couldn’t sleep.”

“Is Mr. Heathcliff out?” I inquired, perceiving that the wretched

creature had no power to sympathise with his cousin’s mental tortures.

“He’s in the court,” he replied, “talking to Doctor Kenneth; who says

uncle is dying, truly, at last. I’m glad, for I shall be master of the

Grange after him. Catherine always spoke of it as _her_ house. It isn’t

hers! It’s mine: papa says everything she has is mine. All her nice

books are mine; she offered to give me them, and her pretty birds, and

her pony Minny, if I would get the key of our room, and let her out;

but I told her she had nothing to give, they were all, all mine. And

then she cried, and took a little picture from her neck, and said I

should have that; two pictures in a gold case, on one side her mother,

and on the other uncle, when they were young. That was yesterday—I said

_they_ were mine, too; and tried to get them from her. The spiteful

thing wouldn’t let me: she pushed me off, and hurt me. I shrieked

out—that frightens her—she heard papa coming, and she broke the hinges

and divided the case, and gave me her mother’s portrait; the other she

attempted to hide: but papa asked what was the matter, and I explained

it. He took the one I had away, and ordered her to resign hers to me;

she refused, and he—he struck her down, and wrenched it off the chain,

and crushed it with his foot.”

“And were you pleased to see her struck?” I asked: having my designs in

encouraging his talk.

“I winked,” he answered: “I wink to see my father strike a dog or a

horse, he does it so hard. Yet I was glad at first—she deserved

punishing for pushing me: but when papa was gone, she made me come to

the window and showed me her cheek cut on the inside, against her

teeth, and her mouth filling with blood; and then she gathered up the

bits of the picture, and went and sat down with her face to the wall,

and she has never spoken to me since: and I sometimes think she can’t

speak for pain. I don’t like to think so; but she’s a naughty thing for

crying continually; and she looks so pale and wild, I’m afraid of her.”

“And you can get the key if you choose?” I said.

“Yes, when I am upstairs,” he answered; “but I can’t walk upstairs

now.”

“In what apartment is it?” I asked.

“Oh,” he cried, “I shan’t tell _you_ where it is. It is our secret.

Nobody, neither Hareton nor Zillah, is to know. There! you’ve tired

me—go away, go away!” And he turned his face on to his arm, and shut

his eyes again.

I considered it best to depart without seeing Mr. Heathcliff, and bring

a rescue for my young lady from the Grange. On reaching it, the

astonishment of my fellow-servants to see me, and their joy also, was

intense; and when they heard that their little mistress was safe, two

or three were about to hurry up and shout the news at Mr. Edgar’s door:

but I bespoke the announcement of it myself. How changed I found him,

even in those few days! He lay an image of sadness and resignation

awaiting his death. Very young he looked: though his actual age was

thirty-nine, one would have called him ten years younger, at least. He

thought of Catherine; for he murmured her name. I touched his hand, and

spoke.

“Catherine is coming, dear master!” I whispered; “she is alive and

well; and will be here, I hope, to-night.”

I trembled at the first effects of this intelligence: he half rose up,

looked eagerly round the apartment, and then sank back in a swoon. As

soon as he recovered, I related our compulsory visit, and detention at

the Heights. I said Heathcliff forced me to go in: which was not quite

true. I uttered as little as possible against Linton; nor did I

describe all his father’s brutal conduct—my intentions being to add no

bitterness, if I could help it, to his already overflowing cup.

He divined that one of his enemy’s purposes was to secure the personal

property, as well as the estate, to his son: or rather himself; yet why

he did not wait till his decease was a puzzle to my master, because

ignorant how nearly he and his nephew would quit the world together.

However, he felt that his will had better be altered: instead of

leaving Catherine’s fortune at her own disposal, he determined to put

it in the hands of trustees for her use during life, and for her

children, if she had any, after her. By that means, it could not fall

to Mr. Heathcliff should Linton die.

Having received his orders, I despatched a man to fetch the attorney,

and four more, provided with serviceable weapons, to demand my young

lady of her jailor. Both parties were delayed very late. The single

servant returned first. He said Mr. Green, the lawyer, was out when he

arrived at his house, and he had to wait two hours for his re-entrance;

and then Mr. Green told him he had a little business in the village

that must be done; but he would be at Thrushcross Grange before

morning. The four men came back unaccompanied also. They brought word

that Catherine was ill: too ill to quit her room; and Heathcliff would

not suffer them to see her. I scolded the stupid fellows well for

listening to that tale, which I would not carry to my master; resolving

to take a whole bevy up to the Heights, at daylight, and storm it

literally, unless the prisoner were quietly surrendered to us. Her

father _shall_ see her, I vowed, and vowed again, if that devil be

killed on his own door-stones in trying to prevent it!

Happily, I was spared the journey and the trouble. I had gone

downstairs at three o’clock to fetch a jug of water; and was passing

through the hall with it in my hand, when a sharp knock at the front

door made me jump. “Oh! it is Green,” I said, recollecting myself—“only

Green,” and I went on, intending to send somebody else to open it; but

the knock was repeated: not loud, and still importunately. I put the

jug on the banister and hastened to admit him myself. The harvest moon

shone clear outside. It was not the attorney. My own sweet little

mistress sprang on my neck sobbing, “Ellen, Ellen! Is papa alive?”

“Yes,” I cried: “yes, my angel, he is, God be thanked, you are safe

with us again!”

She wanted to run, breathless as she was, upstairs to Mr. Linton’s

room; but I compelled her to sit down on a chair, and made her drink,

and washed her pale face, chafing it into a faint colour with my apron.

Then I said I must go first, and tell of her arrival; imploring her to

say, she should be happy with young Heathcliff. She stared, but soon

comprehending why I counselled her to utter the falsehood, she assured

me she would not complain.

I couldn’t abide to be present at their meeting. I stood outside the

chamber-door a quarter of an hour, and hardly ventured near the bed,

then. All was composed, however: Catherine’s despair was as silent as

her father’s joy. She supported him calmly, in appearance; and he fixed

on her features his raised eyes that seemed dilating with ecstasy.

He died blissfully, Mr. Lockwood: he died so. Kissing her cheek, he

murmured,—“I am going to her; and you, darling child, shall come to

us!” and never stirred or spoke again; but continued that rapt, radiant

gaze, till his pulse imperceptibly stopped and his soul departed. None

could have noticed the exact minute of his death, it was so entirely

without a struggle.

Whether Catherine had spent her tears, or whether the grief were too

weighty to let them flow, she sat there dry-eyed till the sun rose: she

sat till noon, and would still have remained brooding over that

deathbed, but I insisted on her coming away and taking some repose. It

was well I succeeded in removing her, for at dinner-time appeared the

lawyer, having called at Wuthering Heights to get his instructions how

to behave. He had sold himself to Mr. Heathcliff: that was the cause of

his delay in obeying my master’s summons. Fortunately, no thought of

worldly affairs crossed the latter’s mind, to disturb him, after his

daughter’s arrival.

Mr. Green took upon himself to order everything and everybody about the

place. He gave all the servants but me, notice to quit. He would have

carried his delegated authority to the point of insisting that Edgar

Linton should not be buried beside his wife, but in the chapel, with

his family. There was the will, however, to hinder that, and my loud

protestations against any infringement of its directions. The funeral

was hurried over; Catherine, Mrs. Linton Heathcliff now, was suffered

to stay at the Grange till her father’s corpse had quitted it.

She told me that her anguish had at last spurred Linton to incur the

risk of liberating her. She heard the men I sent disputing at the door,

and she gathered the sense of Heathcliff’s answer. It drove her

desperate. Linton who had been conveyed up to the little parlour soon

after I left, was terrified into fetching the key before his father

re-ascended. He had the cunning to unlock and re-lock the door, without

shutting it; and when he should have gone to bed, he begged to sleep

with Hareton, and his petition was granted for once. Catherine stole

out before break of day. She dared not try the doors lest the dogs

should raise an alarm; she visited the empty chambers and examined

their windows; and, luckily, lighting on her mother’s, she got easily

out of its lattice, and on to the ground, by means of the fir-tree

close by. Her accomplice suffered for his share in the escape,

notwithstanding his timid contrivances.