บทที่ บทที่ 6 · 第6章

Mr. Hindley came home to the funeral; and—a thing that amazed us, and

set the neighbours gossiping right and left—he brought a wife with him.

What she was, and where she was born, he never informed us: probably,

she had neither money nor name to recommend her, or he would scarcely

have kept the union from his father.

She was not one that would have disturbed the house much on her own

account. Every object she saw, the moment she crossed the threshold,

appeared to delight her; and every circumstance that took place about

her: except the preparing for the burial, and the presence of the

mourners. I thought she was half silly, from her behaviour while that

went on: she ran into her chamber, and made me come with her, though I

should have been dressing the children: and there she sat shivering and

clasping her hands, and asking repeatedly—“Are they gone yet?” Then she

began describing with hysterical emotion the effect it produced on her

to see black; and started, and trembled, and, at last, fell

a-weeping—and when I asked what was the matter, answered, she didn’t

know; but she felt so afraid of dying! I imagined her as little likely

to die as myself. She was rather thin, but young, and

fresh-complexioned, and her eyes sparkled as bright as diamonds. I did

remark, to be sure, that mounting the stairs made her breathe very

quick; that the least sudden noise set her all in a quiver, and that

she coughed troublesomely sometimes: but I knew nothing of what these

symptoms portended, and had no impulse to sympathise with her. We don’t

in general take to foreigners here, Mr. Lockwood, unless they take to

us first.

Young Earnshaw was altered considerably in the three years of his

absence. He had grown sparer, and lost his colour, and spoke and

dressed quite differently; and, on the very day of his return, he told

Joseph and me we must thenceforth quarter ourselves in the

back-kitchen, and leave the house for him. Indeed, he would have

carpeted and papered a small spare room for a parlour; but his wife

expressed such pleasure at the white floor and huge glowing fireplace,

at the pewter dishes and delf-case, and dog-kennel, and the wide space

there was to move about in where they usually sat, that he thought it

unnecessary to her comfort, and so dropped the intention.

She expressed pleasure, too, at finding a sister among her new

acquaintance; and she prattled to Catherine, and kissed her, and ran

about with her, and gave her quantities of presents, at the beginning.

Her affection tired very soon, however, and when she grew peevish,

Hindley became tyrannical. A few words from her, evincing a dislike to

Heathcliff, were enough to rouse in him all his old hatred of the boy.

He drove him from their company to the servants, deprived him of the

instructions of the curate, and insisted that he should labour out of

doors instead; compelling him to do so as hard as any other lad on the

farm.

Heathcliff bore his degradation pretty well at first, because Cathy

taught him what she learnt, and worked or played with him in the

fields. They both promised fair to grow up as rude as savages; the

young master being entirely negligent how they behaved, and what they

did, so they kept clear of him. He would not even have seen after their

going to church on Sundays, only Joseph and the curate reprimanded his

carelessness when they absented themselves; and that reminded him to

order Heathcliff a flogging, and Catherine a fast from dinner or

supper. But it was one of their chief amusements to run away to the

moors in the morning and remain there all day, and the after punishment

grew a mere thing to laugh at. The curate might set as many chapters as

he pleased for Catherine to get by heart, and Joseph might thrash

Heathcliff till his arm ached; they forgot everything the minute they

were together again: at least the minute they had contrived some

naughty plan of revenge; and many a time I’ve cried to myself to watch

them growing more reckless daily, and I not daring to speak a syllable,

for fear of losing the small power I still retained over the unfriended

creatures. One Sunday evening, it chanced that they were banished from

the sitting-room, for making a noise, or a light offence of the kind;

and when I went to call them to supper, I could discover them nowhere.

We searched the house, above and below, and the yard and stables; they

were invisible: and, at last, Hindley in a passion told us to bolt the

doors, and swore nobody should let them in that night. The household

went to bed; and I, too anxious to lie down, opened my lattice and put

my head out to hearken, though it rained: determined to admit them in

spite of the prohibition, should they return. In a while, I

distinguished steps coming up the road, and the light of a lantern

glimmered through the gate. I threw a shawl over my head and ran to

prevent them from waking Mr. Earnshaw by knocking. There was

Heathcliff, by himself: it gave me a start to see him alone.

“Where is Miss Catherine?” I cried hurriedly. “No accident, I hope?”

“At Thrushcross Grange,” he answered; “and I would have been there too,

but they had not the manners to ask me to stay.” “Well, you will catch

it!” I said: “you’ll never be content till you’re sent about your

business. What in the world led you wandering to Thrushcross Grange?”

“Let me get off my wet clothes, and I’ll tell you all about it, Nelly,”

he replied. I bid him beware of rousing the master, and while he

undressed and I waited to put out the candle, he continued—“Cathy and I

escaped from the wash-house to have a ramble at liberty, and getting a

glimpse of the Grange lights, we thought we would just go and see

whether the Lintons passed their Sunday evenings standing shivering in

corners, while their father and mother sat eating and drinking, and

singing and laughing, and burning their eyes out before the fire. Do

you think they do? Or reading sermons, and being catechised by their

man-servant, and set to learn a column of Scripture names, if they

don’t answer properly?” “Probably not,” I responded. “They are good

children, no doubt, and don’t deserve the treatment you receive, for

your bad conduct.” “Don’t cant, Nelly,” he said: “nonsense! We ran from

the top of the Heights to the park, without stopping—Catherine

completely beaten in the race, because she was barefoot. You’ll have to

seek for her shoes in the bog to-morrow. We crept through a broken

hedge, groped our way up the path, and planted ourselves on a

flower-plot under the drawing-room window. The light came from thence;

they had not put up the shutters, and the curtains were only half

closed. Both of us were able to look in by standing on the basement,

and clinging to the ledge, and we saw—ah! it was beautiful—a splendid

place carpeted with crimson, and crimson-covered chairs and tables, and

a pure white ceiling bordered by gold, a shower of glass-drops hanging

in silver chains from the centre, and shimmering with little soft

tapers. Old Mr. and Mrs. Linton were not there; Edgar and his sister

had it entirely to themselves. Shouldn’t they have been happy? We

should have thought ourselves in heaven! And now, guess what your good

children were doing? Isabella—I believe she is eleven, a year younger

than Cathy—lay screaming at the farther end of the room, shrieking as

if witches were running red-hot needles into her. Edgar stood on the

hearth weeping silently, and in the middle of the table sat a little

dog, shaking its paw and yelping; which, from their mutual accusations,

we understood they had nearly pulled in two between them. The idiots!

That was their pleasure! to quarrel who should hold a heap of warm

hair, and each begin to cry because both, after struggling to get it,

refused to take it. We laughed outright at the petted things; we did

despise them! When would you catch me wishing to have what Catherine

wanted? or find us by ourselves, seeking entertainment in yelling, and

sobbing, and rolling on the ground, divided by the whole room? I’d not

exchange, for a thousand lives, my condition here, for Edgar Linton’s

at Thrushcross Grange—not if I might have the privilege of flinging

Joseph off the highest gable, and painting the house-front with

Hindley’s blood!”

“Hush, hush!” I interrupted. “Still you have not told me, Heathcliff,

how Catherine is left behind?”

“I told you we laughed,” he answered. “The Lintons heard us, and with

one accord they shot like arrows to the door; there was silence, and

then a cry, ‘Oh, mamma, mamma! Oh, papa! Oh, mamma, come here. Oh,

papa, oh!’ They really did howl out something in that way. We made

frightful noises to terrify them still more, and then we dropped off

the ledge, because somebody was drawing the bars, and we felt we had

better flee. I had Cathy by the hand, and was urging her on, when all

at once she fell down. ‘Run, Heathcliff, run!’ she whispered. ‘They

have let the bull-dog loose, and he holds me!’ The devil had seized her

ankle, Nelly: I heard his abominable snorting. She did not yell out—no!

she would have scorned to do it, if she had been spitted on the horns

of a mad cow. I did, though: I vociferated curses enough to annihilate

any fiend in Christendom; and I got a stone and thrust it between his

jaws, and tried with all my might to cram it down his throat. A beast

of a servant came up with a lantern, at last, shouting—‘Keep fast,

Skulker, keep fast!’ He changed his note, however, when he saw

Skulker’s game. The dog was throttled off; his huge, purple tongue

hanging half a foot out of his mouth, and his pendent lips streaming

with bloody slaver. The man took Cathy up; she was sick: not from fear,

I’m certain, but from pain. He carried her in; I followed, grumbling

execrations and vengeance. ‘What prey, Robert?’ hallooed Linton from

the entrance. ‘Skulker has caught a little girl, sir,’ he replied; ‘and

there’s a lad here,’ he added, making a clutch at me, ‘who looks an

out-and-outer! Very like the robbers were for putting them through the

window to open the doors to the gang after all were asleep, that they

might murder us at their ease. Hold your tongue, you foul-mouthed

thief, you! you shall go to the gallows for this. Mr. Linton, sir,

don’t lay by your gun.’ ‘No, no, Robert,’ said the old fool. ‘The

rascals knew that yesterday was my rent-day: they thought to have me

cleverly. Come in; I’ll furnish them a reception. There, John, fasten

the chain. Give Skulker some water, Jenny. To beard a magistrate in his

stronghold, and on the Sabbath, too! Where will their insolence stop?

Oh, my dear Mary, look here! Don’t be afraid, it is but a boy—yet the

villain scowls so plainly in his face; would it not be a kindness to

the country to hang him at once, before he shows his nature in acts as

well as features?’ He pulled me under the chandelier, and Mrs. Linton

placed her spectacles on her nose and raised her hands in horror. The

cowardly children crept nearer also, Isabella lisping—‘Frightful thing!

Put him in the cellar, papa. He’s exactly like the son of the

fortune-teller that stole my tame pheasant. Isn’t he, Edgar?’

“While they examined me, Cathy came round; she heard the last speech,

and laughed. Edgar Linton, after an inquisitive stare, collected

sufficient wit to recognise her. They see us at church, you know,

though we seldom meet them elsewhere. ‘That’s Miss Earnshaw!’ he

whispered to his mother, ‘and look how Skulker has bitten her—how her

foot bleeds!’

“‘Miss Earnshaw? Nonsense!’ cried the dame; ‘Miss Earnshaw scouring the

country with a gipsy! And yet, my dear, the child is in mourning—surely

it is—and she may be lamed for life!’

“‘What culpable carelessness in her brother!’ exclaimed Mr. Linton,

turning from me to Catherine. ‘I’ve understood from Shielders’” (that

was the curate, sir) “‘that he lets her grow up in absolute heathenism.

But who is this? Where did she pick up this companion? Oho! I declare

he is that strange acquisition my late neighbour made, in his journey

to Liverpool—a little Lascar, or an American or Spanish castaway.’

“‘A wicked boy, at all events,’ remarked the old lady, ‘and quite unfit

for a decent house! Did you notice his language, Linton? I’m shocked

that my children should have heard it.’

“I recommenced cursing—don’t be angry, Nelly—and so Robert was ordered

to take me off. I refused to go without Cathy; he dragged me into the

garden, pushed the lantern into my hand, assured me that Mr. Earnshaw

should be informed of my behaviour, and, bidding me march directly,

secured the door again. The curtains were still looped up at one

corner, and I resumed my station as spy; because, if Catherine had

wished to return, I intended shattering their great glass panes to a

million of fragments, unless they let her out. She sat on the sofa

quietly. Mrs. Linton took off the grey cloak of the dairy-maid which we

had borrowed for our excursion, shaking her head and expostulating with

her, I suppose: she was a young lady, and they made a distinction

between her treatment and mine. Then the woman-servant brought a basin

of warm water, and washed her feet; and Mr. Linton mixed a tumbler of

negus, and Isabella emptied a plateful of cakes into her lap, and Edgar

stood gaping at a distance. Afterwards, they dried and combed her

beautiful hair, and gave her a pair of enormous slippers, and wheeled

her to the fire; and I left her, as merry as she could be, dividing her

food between the little dog and Skulker, whose nose she pinched as he

ate; and kindling a spark of spirit in the vacant blue eyes of the

Lintons—a dim reflection from her own enchanting face. I saw they were

full of stupid admiration; she is so immeasurably superior to them—to

everybody on earth, is she not, Nelly?”

“There will more come of this business than you reckon on,” I answered,

covering him up and extinguishing the light. “You are incurable,

Heathcliff; and Mr. Hindley will have to proceed to extremities, see if

he won’t.” My words came truer than I desired. The luckless adventure

made Earnshaw furious. And then Mr. Linton, to mend matters, paid us a

visit himself on the morrow, and read the young master such a lecture

on the road he guided his family, that he was stirred to look about

him, in earnest. Heathcliff received no flogging, but he was told that

the first word he spoke to Miss Catherine should ensure a dismissal;

and Mrs. Earnshaw undertook to keep her sister-in-law in due restraint

when she returned home; employing art, not force: with force she would

have found it impossible.