第 十五 章 · 第15章

Another week over—and I am so many days nearer health, and spring! I

have now heard all my neighbour’s history, at different sittings, as

the housekeeper could spare time from more important occupations. I’ll

continue it in her own words, only a little condensed. She is, on the

whole, a very fair narrator, and I don’t think I could improve her

style.

* * * * *

In the evening, she said, the evening of my visit to the Heights, I

knew, as well as if I saw him, that Mr. Heathcliff was about the place;

and I shunned going out, because I still carried his letter in my

pocket, and didn’t want to be threatened or teased any more. I had made

up my mind not to give it till my master went somewhere, as I could not

guess how its receipt would affect Catherine. The consequence was, that

it did not reach her before the lapse of three days. The fourth was

Sunday, and I brought it into her room after the family were gone to

church. There was a man servant left to keep the house with me, and we

generally made a practice of locking the doors during the hours of

service; but on that occasion the weather was so warm and pleasant that

I set them wide open, and, to fulfil my engagement, as I knew who would

be coming, I told my companion that the mistress wished very much for

some oranges, and he must run over to the village and get a few, to be

paid for on the morrow. He departed, and I went upstairs.

Mrs. Linton sat in a loose white dress, with a light shawl over her

shoulders, in the recess of the open window, as usual. Her thick, long

hair had been partly removed at the beginning of her illness, and now

she wore it simply combed in its natural tresses over her temples and

neck. Her appearance was altered, as I had told Heathcliff; but when

she was calm, there seemed unearthly beauty in the change. The flash of

her eyes had been succeeded by a dreamy and melancholy softness; they

no longer gave the impression of looking at the objects around her:

they appeared always to gaze beyond, and far beyond—you would have said

out of this world. Then, the paleness of her face—its haggard aspect

having vanished as she recovered flesh—and the peculiar expression

arising from her mental state, though painfully suggestive of their

causes, added to the touching interest which she awakened;

and—invariably to me, I know, and to any person who saw her, I should

think—refuted more tangible proofs of convalescence, and stamped her as

one doomed to decay.

A book lay spread on the sill before her, and the scarcely perceptible

wind fluttered its leaves at intervals. I believe Linton had laid it

there: for she never endeavoured to divert herself with reading, or

occupation of any kind, and he would spend many an hour in trying to

entice her attention to some subject which had formerly been her

amusement. She was conscious of his aim, and in her better moods

endured his efforts placidly, only showing their uselessness by now and

then suppressing a wearied sigh, and checking him at last with the

saddest of smiles and kisses. At other times, she would turn petulantly

away, and hide her face in her hands, or even push him off angrily; and

then he took care to let her alone, for he was certain of doing no

good.

Gimmerton chapel bells were still ringing; and the full, mellow flow of

the beck in the valley came soothingly on the ear. It was a sweet

substitute for the yet absent murmur of the summer foliage, which

drowned that music about the Grange when the trees were in leaf. At

Wuthering Heights it always sounded on quiet days following a great

thaw or a season of steady rain. And of Wuthering Heights Catherine was

thinking as she listened: that is, if she thought or listened at all;

but she had the vague, distant look I mentioned before, which expressed

no recognition of material things either by ear or eye.

“There’s a letter for you, Mrs. Linton,” I said, gently inserting it in

one hand that rested on her knee. “You must read it immediately,

because it wants an answer. Shall I break the seal?” “Yes,” she

answered, without altering the direction of her eyes. I opened it—it

was very short. “Now,” I continued, “read it.” She drew away her hand,

and let it fall. I replaced it in her lap, and stood waiting till it

should please her to glance down; but that movement was so long delayed

that at last I resumed—“Must I read it, ma’am? It is from Mr.

Heathcliff.”

There was a start and a troubled gleam of recollection, and a struggle

to arrange her ideas. She lifted the letter, and seemed to peruse it;

and when she came to the signature she sighed: yet still I found she

had not gathered its import, for, upon my desiring to hear her reply,

she merely pointed to the name, and gazed at me with mournful and

questioning eagerness.

“Well, he wishes to see you,” said I, guessing her need of an

interpreter. “He’s in the garden by this time, and impatient to know

what answer I shall bring.”

As I spoke, I observed a large dog lying on the sunny grass beneath

raise its ears as if about to bark, and then smoothing them back,

announce, by a wag of the tail, that some one approached whom it did

not consider a stranger. Mrs. Linton bent forward, and listened

breathlessly. The minute after a step traversed the hall; the open

house was too tempting for Heathcliff to resist walking in: most likely

he supposed that I was inclined to shirk my promise, and so resolved to

trust to his own audacity. With straining eagerness Catherine gazed

towards the entrance of her chamber. He did not hit the right room

directly: she motioned me to admit him, but he found it out ere I could

reach the door, and in a stride or two was at her side, and had her

grasped in his arms.

He neither spoke nor loosed his hold for some five minutes, during

which period he bestowed more kisses than ever he gave in his life

before, I daresay: but then my mistress had kissed him first, and I

plainly saw that he could hardly bear, for downright agony, to look

into her face! The same conviction had stricken him as me, from the

instant he beheld her, that there was no prospect of ultimate recovery

there—she was fated, sure to die.

“Oh, Cathy! Oh, my life! how can I bear it?” was the first sentence he

uttered, in a tone that did not seek to disguise his despair. And now

he stared at her so earnestly that I thought the very intensity of his

gaze would bring tears into his eyes; but they burned with anguish:

they did not melt.

“What now?” said Catherine, leaning back, and returning his look with a

suddenly clouded brow: her humour was a mere vane for constantly

varying caprices. “You and Edgar have broken my heart, Heathcliff! And

you both come to bewail the deed to me, as if you were the people to be

pitied! I shall not pity you, not I. You have killed me—and thriven on

it, I think. How strong you are! How many years do you mean to live

after I am gone?”

Heathcliff had knelt on one knee to embrace her; he attempted to rise,

but she seized his hair, and kept him down.

“I wish I could hold you,” she continued, bitterly, “till we were both

dead! I shouldn’t care what you suffered. I care nothing for your

sufferings. Why shouldn’t you suffer? I do! Will you forget me? Will

you be happy when I am in the earth? Will you say twenty years hence,

‘That’s the grave of Catherine Earnshaw? I loved her long ago, and was

wretched to lose her; but it is past. I’ve loved many others since: my

children are dearer to me than she was; and, at death, I shall not

rejoice that I am going to her: I shall be sorry that I must leave

them!’ Will you say so, Heathcliff?”

“Don’t torture me till I’m as mad as yourself,” cried he, wrenching his

head free, and grinding his teeth.

The two, to a cool spectator, made a strange and fearful picture. Well

might Catherine deem that heaven would be a land of exile to her,

unless with her mortal body she cast away her moral character also. Her

present countenance had a wild vindictiveness in its white cheek, and a

bloodless lip and scintillating eye; and she retained in her closed

fingers a portion of the locks she had been grasping. As to her

companion, while raising himself with one hand, he had taken her arm

with the other; and so inadequate was his stock of gentleness to the

requirements of her condition, that on his letting go I saw four

distinct impressions left blue in the colourless skin.

“Are you possessed with a devil,” he pursued, savagely, “to talk in

that manner to me when you are dying? Do you reflect that all those

words will be branded in my memory, and eating deeper eternally after

you have left me? You know you lie to say I have killed you: and,

Catherine, you know that I could as soon forget you as my existence! Is

it not sufficient for your infernal selfishness, that while you are at

peace I shall writhe in the torments of hell?”

“I shall not be at peace,” moaned Catherine, recalled to a sense of

physical weakness by the violent, unequal throbbing of her heart, which

beat visibly and audibly under this excess of agitation. She said

nothing further till the paroxysm was over; then she continued, more

kindly—

“I’m not wishing you greater torment than I have, Heathcliff. I only

wish us never to be parted: and should a word of mine distress you

hereafter, think I feel the same distress underground, and for my own

sake, forgive me! Come here and kneel down again! You never harmed me

in your life. Nay, if you nurse anger, that will be worse to remember

than my harsh words! Won’t you come here again? Do!”

Heathcliff went to the back of her chair, and leant over, but not so

far as to let her see his face, which was livid with emotion. She bent

round to look at him; he would not permit it: turning abruptly, he

walked to the fireplace, where he stood, silent, with his back towards

us. Mrs. Linton’s glance followed him suspiciously: every movement woke

a new sentiment in her. After a pause and a prolonged gaze, she

resumed; addressing me in accents of indignant disappointment:—

“Oh, you see, Nelly, he would not relent a moment to keep me out of the

grave. _That_ is how I’m loved! Well, never mind. That is not _my_

Heathcliff. I shall love mine yet; and take him with me: he’s in my

soul. And,” added she musingly, “the thing that irks me most is this

shattered prison, after all. I’m tired of being enclosed here. I’m

wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there:

not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for it through the

walls of an aching heart: but really with it, and in it. Nelly, you

think you are better and more fortunate than I; in full health and

strength: you are sorry for me—very soon that will be altered. I shall

be sorry for _you_. I shall be incomparably beyond and above you all. I

_wonder_ he won’t be near me!” She went on to herself. “I thought he

wished it. Heathcliff, dear! you should not be sullen now. Do come to

me, Heathcliff.”

In her eagerness she rose and supported herself on the arm of the

chair. At that earnest appeal he turned to her, looking absolutely

desperate. His eyes, wide and wet, at last flashed fiercely on her; his

breast heaved convulsively. An instant they held asunder, and then how

they met I hardly saw, but Catherine made a spring, and he caught her,

and they were locked in an embrace from which I thought my mistress

would never be released alive: in fact, to my eyes, she seemed directly

insensible. He flung himself into the nearest seat, and on my

approaching hurriedly to ascertain if she had fainted, he gnashed at

me, and foamed like a mad dog, and gathered her to him with greedy

jealousy. I did not feel as if I were in the company of a creature of

my own species: it appeared that he would not understand, though I

spoke to him; so I stood off, and held my tongue, in great perplexity.

A movement of Catherine’s relieved me a little presently: she put up

her hand to clasp his neck, and bring her cheek to his as he held her;

while he, in return, covering her with frantic caresses, said wildly—

“You teach me now how cruel you’ve been—cruel and false. _Why_ did you

despise me? _Why_ did you betray your own heart, Cathy? I have not one

word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. Yes, you

may kiss me, and cry; and wring out my kisses and tears: they’ll blight

you—they’ll damn you. You loved me—then what _right_ had you to leave

me? What right—answer me—for the poor fancy you felt for Linton?

Because misery and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or

Satan could inflict would have parted us, _you_, of your own will, did

it. I have not broken your heart—_you_ have broken it; and in breaking

it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me that I am strong. Do

I want to live? What kind of living will it be when you—oh, God! would

_you_ like to live with your soul in the grave?”

“Let me alone. Let me alone,” sobbed Catherine. “If I’ve done wrong,

I’m dying for it. It is enough! You left me too: but I won’t upbraid

you! I forgive you. Forgive me!”

“It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and feel those

wasted hands,” he answered. “Kiss me again; and don’t let me see your

eyes! I forgive what you have done to me. I love _my_ murderer—but

_yours_! How can I?”

They were silent—their faces hid against each other, and washed by each

other’s tears. At least, I suppose the weeping was on both sides; as it

seemed Heathcliff _could_ weep on a great occasion like this.

I grew very uncomfortable, meanwhile; for the afternoon wore fast away,

the man whom I had sent off returned from his errand, and I could

distinguish, by the shine of the western sun up the valley, a concourse

thickening outside Gimmerton chapel porch.

“Service is over,” I announced. “My master will be here in half an

hour.”

Heathcliff groaned a curse, and strained Catherine closer: she never

moved.

Ere long I perceived a group of the servants passing up the road

towards the kitchen wing. Mr. Linton was not far behind; he opened the

gate himself and sauntered slowly up, probably enjoying the lovely

afternoon that breathed as soft as summer.

“Now he is here,” I exclaimed. “For heaven’s sake, hurry down! You’ll

not meet any one on the front stairs. Do be quick; and stay among the

trees till he is fairly in.”

“I must go, Cathy,” said Heathcliff, seeking to extricate himself from

his companion’s arms. “But if I live, I’ll see you again before you are

asleep. I won’t stray five yards from your window.”

“You must not go!” she answered, holding him as firmly as her strength

allowed. “You _shall_ not, I tell you.”

“For one hour,” he pleaded earnestly.

“Not for one minute,” she replied.

“I _must_—Linton will be up immediately,” persisted the alarmed

intruder.

He would have risen, and unfixed her fingers by the act—she clung fast,

gasping: there was mad resolution in her face.

“No!” she shrieked. “Oh, don’t, don’t go. It is the last time! Edgar

will not hurt us. Heathcliff, I shall die! I shall die!”

“Damn the fool! There he is,” cried Heathcliff, sinking back into his

seat. “Hush, my darling! Hush, hush, Catherine! I’ll stay. If he shot

me so, I’d expire with a blessing on my lips.”

And there they were fast again. I heard my master mounting the

stairs—the cold sweat ran from my forehead: I was horrified.

“Are you going to listen to her ravings?” I said, passionately. “She

does not know what she says. Will you ruin her, because she has not wit

to help herself? Get up! You could be free instantly. That is the most

diabolical deed that ever you did. We are all done for—master,

mistress, and servant.”

I wrung my hands, and cried out; and Mr. Linton hastened his step at

the noise. In the midst of my agitation, I was sincerely glad to

observe that Catherine’s arms had fallen relaxed, and her head hung

down.

“She’s fainted, or dead,” I thought: “so much the better. Far better

that she should be dead, than lingering a burden and a misery-maker to

all about her.”

Edgar sprang to his unbidden guest, blanched with astonishment and

rage. What he meant to do I cannot tell; however, the other stopped all

demonstrations, at once, by placing the lifeless-looking form in his

arms.

“Look there!” he said. “Unless you be a fiend, help her first—then you

shall speak to me!”

He walked into the parlour, and sat down. Mr. Linton summoned me, and

with great difficulty, and after resorting to many means, we managed to

restore her to sensation; but she was all bewildered; she sighed, and

moaned, and knew nobody. Edgar, in his anxiety for her, forgot her

hated friend. I did not. I went, at the earliest opportunity, and

besought him to depart; affirming that Catherine was better, and he

should hear from me in the morning how she passed the night.

“I shall not refuse to go out of doors,” he answered; “but I shall stay

in the garden: and, Nelly, mind you keep your word to-morrow. I shall

be under those larch-trees. Mind! or I pay another visit, whether

Linton be in or not.”

He sent a rapid glance through the half-open door of the chamber, and,

ascertaining that what I stated was apparently true, delivered the

house of his luckless presence.