第 十四 章 · 第14章

As soon as I had perused this epistle I went to the master, and

informed him that his sister had arrived at the Heights, and sent me a

letter expressing her sorrow for Mrs. Linton’s situation, and her

ardent desire to see him; with a wish that he would transmit to her, as

early as possible, some token of forgiveness by me.

“Forgiveness!” said Linton. “I have nothing to forgive her, Ellen. You

may call at Wuthering Heights this afternoon, if you like, and say that

I am not _angry_, but I’m _sorry_ to have lost her; especially as I can

never think she’ll be happy. It is out of the question my going to see

her, however: we are eternally divided; and should she really wish to

oblige me, let her persuade the villain she has married to leave the

country.”

“And you won’t write her a little note, sir?” I asked, imploringly.

“No,” he answered. “It is needless. My communication with Heathcliff’s

family shall be as sparing as his with mine. It shall not exist!”

Mr. Edgar’s coldness depressed me exceedingly; and all the way from the

Grange I puzzled my brains how to put more heart into what he said,

when I repeated it; and how to soften his refusal of even a few lines

to console Isabella. I daresay she had been on the watch for me since

morning: I saw her looking through the lattice as I came up the garden

causeway, and I nodded to her; but she drew back, as if afraid of being

observed. I entered without knocking. There never was such a dreary,

dismal scene as the formerly cheerful house presented! I must confess,

that if I had been in the young lady’s place, I would, at least, have

swept the hearth, and wiped the tables with a duster. But she already

partook of the pervading spirit of neglect which encompassed her. Her

pretty face was wan and listless; her hair uncurled: some locks hanging

lankly down, and some carelessly twisted round her head. Probably she

had not touched her dress since yester evening. Hindley was not there.

Mr. Heathcliff sat at a table, turning over some papers in his

pocket-book; but he rose when I appeared, asked me how I did, quite

friendly, and offered me a chair. He was the only thing there that

seemed decent; and I thought he never looked better. So much had

circumstances altered their positions, that he would certainly have

struck a stranger as a born and bred gentleman; and his wife as a

thorough little slattern! She came forward eagerly to greet me, and

held out one hand to take the expected letter. I shook my head. She

wouldn’t understand the hint, but followed me to a sideboard, where I

went to lay my bonnet, and importuned me in a whisper to give her

directly what I had brought. Heathcliff guessed the meaning of her

manœuvres, and said—“If you have got anything for Isabella (as no

doubt you have, Nelly), give it to her. You needn’t make a secret of

it: we have no secrets between us.”

“Oh, I have nothing,” I replied, thinking it best to speak the truth at

once. “My master bid me tell his sister that she must not expect either

a letter or a visit from him at present. He sends his love, ma’am, and

his wishes for your happiness, and his pardon for the grief you have

occasioned; but he thinks that after this time his household and the

household here should drop intercommunication, as nothing could come of

keeping it up.”

Mrs. Heathcliff’s lip quivered slightly, and she returned to her seat

in the window. Her husband took his stand on the hearthstone, near me,

and began to put questions concerning Catherine. I told him as much as

I thought proper of her illness, and he extorted from me, by

cross-examination, most of the facts connected with its origin. I

blamed her, as she deserved, for bringing it all on herself; and ended

by hoping that he would follow Mr. Linton’s example and avoid future

interference with his family, for good or evil.

“Mrs. Linton is now just recovering,” I said; “she’ll never be like she

was, but her life is spared; and if you really have a regard for her,

you’ll shun crossing her way again: nay, you’ll move out of this

country entirely; and that you may not regret it, I’ll inform you

Catherine Linton is as different now from your old friend Catherine

Earnshaw, as that young lady is different from me. Her appearance is

changed greatly, her character much more so; and the person who is

compelled, of necessity, to be her companion, will only sustain his

affection hereafter by the remembrance of what she once was, by common

humanity, and a sense of duty!”

“That is quite possible,” remarked Heathcliff, forcing himself to seem

calm: “quite possible that your master should have nothing but common

humanity and a sense of duty to fall back upon. But do you imagine that

I shall leave Catherine to his _duty_ and _humanity_? and can you

compare my feelings respecting Catherine to his? Before you leave this

house, I must exact a promise from you that you’ll get me an interview

with her: consent, or refuse, I _will_ see her! What do you say?”

“I say, Mr. Heathcliff,” I replied, “you must not: you never shall,

through my means. Another encounter between you and the master would

kill her altogether.”

“With your aid that may be avoided,” he continued; “and should there be

danger of such an event—should he be the cause of adding a single

trouble more to her existence—why, I think I shall be justified in

going to extremes! I wish you had sincerity enough to tell me whether

Catherine would suffer greatly from his loss: the fear that she would

restrains me. And there you see the distinction between our feelings:

had he been in my place, and I in his, though I hated him with a hatred

that turned my life to gall, I never would have raised a hand against

him. You may look incredulous, if you please! I never would have

banished him from her society as long as she desired his. The moment

her regard ceased, I would have torn his heart out, and drunk his

blood! But, till then—if you don’t believe me, you don’t know me—till

then, I would have died by inches before I touched a single hair of his

head!”

“And yet,” I interrupted, “you have no scruples in completely ruining

all hopes of her perfect restoration, by thrusting yourself into her

remembrance now, when she has nearly forgotten you, and involving her

in a new tumult of discord and distress.”

“You suppose she has nearly forgotten me?” he said. “Oh, Nelly! you

know she has not! You know as well as I do, that for every thought she

spends on Linton she spends a thousand on me! At a most miserable

period of my life, I had a notion of the kind: it haunted me on my

return to the neighbourhood last summer; but only her own assurance

could make me admit the horrible idea again. And then, Linton would be

nothing, nor Hindley, nor all the dreams that ever I dreamt. Two words

would comprehend my future—_death_ and _hell_: existence, after losing

her, would be hell. Yet I was a fool to fancy for a moment that she

valued Edgar Linton’s attachment more than mine. If he loved with all

the powers of his puny being, he couldn’t love as much in eighty years

as I could in a day. And Catherine has a heart as deep as I have: the

sea could be as readily contained in that horse-trough as her whole

affection be monopolised by him. Tush! He is scarcely a degree dearer

to her than her dog, or her horse. It is not in him to be loved like

me: how can she love in him what he has not?”

“Catherine and Edgar are as fond of each other as any two people can

be,” cried Isabella, with sudden vivacity. “No one has a right to talk

in that manner, and I won’t hear my brother depreciated in silence!”

“Your brother is wondrous fond of you too, isn’t he?” observed

Heathcliff, scornfully. “He turns you adrift on the world with

surprising alacrity.”

“He is not aware of what I suffer,” she replied. “I didn’t tell him

that.”

“You have been telling him something, then: you have written, have

you?”

“To say that I was married, I did write—you saw the note.”

“And nothing since?”

“No.”

“My young lady is looking sadly the worse for her change of condition,”

I remarked. “Somebody’s love comes short in her case, obviously; whose,

I may guess; but, perhaps, I shouldn’t say.”

“I should guess it was her own,” said Heathcliff. “She degenerates into

a mere slut! She is tired of trying to please me uncommonly early.

You’d hardly credit it, but the very morrow of our wedding she was

weeping to go home. However, she’ll suit this house so much the better

for not being over nice, and I’ll take care she does not disgrace me by

rambling abroad.”

“Well, sir,” returned I, “I hope you’ll consider that Mrs. Heathcliff

is accustomed to be looked after and waited on; and that she has been

brought up like an only daughter, whom every one was ready to serve.

You must let her have a maid to keep things tidy about her, and you

must treat her kindly. Whatever be your notion of Mr. Edgar, you cannot

doubt that she has a capacity for strong attachments, or she wouldn’t

have abandoned the elegancies, and comforts, and friends of her former

home, to fix contentedly, in such a wilderness as this, with you.”

“She abandoned them under a delusion,” he answered; “picturing in me a

hero of romance, and expecting unlimited indulgences from my chivalrous

devotion. I can hardly regard her in the light of a rational creature,

so obstinately has she persisted in forming a fabulous notion of my

character and acting on the false impressions she cherished. But, at

last, I think she begins to know me: I don’t perceive the silly smiles

and grimaces that provoked me at first; and the senseless incapability

of discerning that I was in earnest when I gave her my opinion of her

infatuation and herself. It was a marvellous effort of perspicacity to

discover that I did not love her. I believed, at one time, no lessons

could teach her that! And yet it is poorly learnt; for this morning she

announced, as a piece of appalling intelligence, that I had actually

succeeded in making her hate me! A positive labour of Hercules, I

assure you! If it be achieved, I have cause to return thanks. Can I

trust your assertion, Isabella? Are you sure you hate me? If I let you

alone for half a day, won’t you come sighing and wheedling to me again?

I daresay she would rather I had seemed all tenderness before you: it

wounds her vanity to have the truth exposed. But I don’t care who knows

that the passion was wholly on one side: and I never told her a lie

about it. She cannot accuse me of showing one bit of deceitful

softness. The first thing she saw me do, on coming out of the Grange,

was to hang up her little dog; and when she pleaded for it, the first

words I uttered were a wish that I had the hanging of every being

belonging to her, except one: possibly she took that exception for

herself. But no brutality disgusted her: I suppose she has an innate

admiration of it, if only her precious person were secure from injury!

Now, was it not the depth of absurdity—of genuine idiocy, for that

pitiful, slavish, mean-minded brach to dream that I could love her?

Tell your master, Nelly, that I never, in all my life, met with such an

abject thing as she is. She even disgraces the name of Linton; and I’ve

sometimes relented, from pure lack of invention, in my experiments on

what she could endure, and still creep shamefully cringing back! But

tell him, also, to set his fraternal and magisterial heart at ease:

that I keep strictly within the limits of the law. I have avoided, up

to this period, giving her the slightest right to claim a separation;

and, what’s more, she’d thank nobody for dividing us. If she desired to

go, she might: the nuisance of her presence outweighs the gratification

to be derived from tormenting her!”

“Mr. Heathcliff,” said I, “this is the talk of a madman; your wife,

most likely, is convinced you are mad; and, for that reason, she has

borne with you hitherto: but now that you say she may go, she’ll

doubtless avail herself of the permission. You are not so bewitched,

ma’am, are you, as to remain with him of your own accord?”

“Take care, Ellen!” answered Isabella, her eyes sparkling irefully;

there was no misdoubting by their expression the full success of her

partner’s endeavours to make himself detested. “Don’t put faith in a

single word he speaks. He’s a lying fiend! a monster, and not a human

being! I’ve been told I might leave him before; and I’ve made the

attempt, but I dare not repeat it! Only, Ellen, promise you’ll not

mention a syllable of his infamous conversation to my brother or

Catherine. Whatever he may pretend, he wishes to provoke Edgar to

desperation: he says he has married me on purpose to obtain power over

him; and he sha’n’t obtain it—I’ll die first! I just hope, I pray, that

he may forget his diabolical prudence and kill me! The single pleasure

I can imagine is to die, or to see him dead!”

“There—that will do for the present!” said Heathcliff. “If you are

called upon in a court of law, you’ll remember her language, Nelly! And

take a good look at that countenance: she’s near the point which would

suit me. No; you’re not fit to be your own guardian, Isabella, now; and

I, being your legal protector, must retain you in my custody, however

distasteful the obligation may be. Go upstairs; I have something to say

to Ellen Dean in private. That’s not the way: upstairs, I tell you!

Why, this is the road upstairs, child!”

He seized, and thrust her from the room; and returned muttering—“I have

no pity! I have no pity! The more the worms writhe, the more I yearn to

crush out their entrails! It is a moral teething; and I grind with

greater energy in proportion to the increase of pain.”

“Do you understand what the word pity means?” I said, hastening to

resume my bonnet. “Did you ever feel a touch of it in your life?”

“Put that down!” he interrupted, perceiving my intention to depart.

“You are not going yet. Come here now, Nelly: I must either persuade or

compel you to aid me in fulfilling my determination to see Catherine,

and that without delay. I swear that I meditate no harm: I don’t desire

to cause any disturbance, or to exasperate or insult Mr. Linton; I only

wish to hear from herself how she is, and why she has been ill; and to

ask if anything that I could do would be of use to her. Last night I

was in the Grange garden six hours, and I’ll return there to-night; and

every night I’ll haunt the place, and every day, till I find an

opportunity of entering. If Edgar Linton meets me, I shall not hesitate

to knock him down, and give him enough to insure his quiescence while I

stay. If his servants oppose me, I shall threaten them off with these

pistols. But wouldn’t it be better to prevent my coming in contact with

them, or their master? And you could do it so easily. I’d warn you when

I came, and then you might let me in unobserved, as soon as she was

alone, and watch till I departed, your conscience quite calm: you would

be hindering mischief.”

I protested against playing that treacherous part in my employer’s

house: and, besides, I urged the cruelty and selfishness of his

destroying Mrs. Linton’s tranquillity for his satisfaction. “The

commonest occurrence startles her painfully,” I said. “She’s all

nerves, and she couldn’t bear the surprise, I’m positive. Don’t

persist, sir! or else I shall be obliged to inform my master of your

designs; and he’ll take measures to secure his house and its inmates

from any such unwarrantable intrusions!”

“In that case I’ll take measures to secure you, woman!” exclaimed

Heathcliff; “you shall not leave Wuthering Heights till to-morrow

morning. It is a foolish story to assert that Catherine could not bear

to see me; and as to surprising her, I don’t desire it: you must

prepare her—ask her if I may come. You say she never mentions my name,

and that I am never mentioned to her. To whom should she mention me if

I am a forbidden topic in the house? She thinks you are all spies for

her husband. Oh, I’ve no doubt she’s in hell among you! I guess by her

silence, as much as anything, what she feels. You say she is often

restless, and anxious-looking: is that a proof of tranquillity? You

talk of her mind being unsettled. How the devil could it be otherwise

in her frightful isolation? And that insipid, paltry creature attending

her from _duty_ and _humanity_! From _pity_ and _charity_! He might as

well plant an oak in a flower-pot, and expect it to thrive, as imagine

he can restore her to vigour in the soil of his shallow cares! Let us

settle it at once: will you stay here, and am I to fight my way to

Catherine over Linton and his footman? Or will you be my friend, as you

have been hitherto, and do what I request? Decide! because there is no

reason for my lingering another minute, if you persist in your stubborn

ill-nature!”

Well, Mr. Lockwood, I argued and complained, and flatly refused him

fifty times; but in the long run he forced me to an agreement. I

engaged to carry a letter from him to my mistress; and should she

consent, I promised to let him have intelligence of Linton’s next

absence from home, when he might come, and get in as he was able: I

wouldn’t be there, and my fellow-servants should be equally out of the

way. Was it right or wrong? I fear it was wrong, though expedient. I

thought I prevented another explosion by my compliance; and I thought,

too, it might create a favourable crisis in Catherine’s mental illness:

and then I remembered Mr. Edgar’s stern rebuke of my carrying tales;

and I tried to smooth away all disquietude on the subject, by

affirming, with frequent iteration, that that betrayal of trust, if it

merited so harsh an appellation, should be the last. Notwithstanding,

my journey homeward was sadder than my journey thither; and many

misgivings I had, ere I could prevail on myself to put the missive into

Mrs. Linton’s hand.

But here is Kenneth; I’ll go down, and tell him how much better you

are. My history is _dree_, as we say, and will serve to while away

another morning.

* * * * *

Dree, and dreary! I reflected as the good woman descended to receive

the doctor: and not exactly of the kind which I should have chosen to

amuse me. But never mind! I’ll extract wholesome medicines from Mrs.

Dean’s bitter herbs; and firstly, let me beware of the fascination that

lurks in Catherine Heathcliff’s brilliant eyes. I should be in a

curious taking if I surrendered my heart to that young person, and the

daughter turned out a second edition of the mother.