Soon, though, he decided to look and behave decently. I told him not to feel ashamed of his origin – why, his father can be the Emperor of China, and his mother the Queen of India! Edgar Linton was but a doll compared to him. But of course it all was spoiled.
Heathcliff's violent nature was not prepared to endure humiliation from one whom he seemed to hate, even then, as a rival. He threw a bowl of hot apple sauce into Edgar after the latter laughed at him. As a result, Heathcliff got punished, the Linton children started weeping to go home. Cathy was standing confounded, she was blushing. She blamed the Lintons at first, then tried to dinner, then cried, then asked to liberate Heathcliff. She did like the dinner and the music and the dance, though.
It was only late in the evening that she managed to talk to the boy through the door. I let the poor things converse undisturbed. When I came back, I heard her voice within. The little monkey had crept by the skylight of one garret, along the roof, into the skylight of the other. It was with the utmost difficulty I could coax her out again. When she came, Heathcliff came with her. She wanted to take him into the kitchen and feed him. He went down: I set him a stool by the fire, and offered him a quantity of good things. But he was sick and could eat little, and my attempts to entertain him were thrown away. He leant his two elbows on his knees, and his chin on his hands and remained rapt in dumb meditation. On my inquiring the subject of his thoughts, he answered gravely,
'I'm trying to settle how I shall pay Hindley back. I don't care how long I wait, if I can only do it at last. I hope he will not die before I do! Leave me alone, and I'll plan it out. While I'm thinking of that I don't feel pain.'
Well, sir, you must allow me to pass to the next summer – the summer of 1778, that is, nearly twenty-three years ago.
Chapter VIII
On the morning of a fine June day my first little nursling, and the last of the ancient Earnshaw family, was born. We were busy with the hay in a far-away field, when the girl that usually brought our breakfasts came across the meadow and up the lane, calling me as she ran.
'Oh, such a grand baby!' she panted out. 'The finest lad that ever breathed! But the doctor says Missis will die. He says she's been in a consumption these many months. You must come home directly. Nurse it, Nelly!'
When we got to Wuthering Heights, Mr. Earnshaw stood at the front door; and, as I passed in, I asked,
'How is the baby?'
'Nearly ready, Nell!' he replied, with a cheerful smile.
'And the mistress? The doctor says she's – '
'Damn the doctor!' he interrupted. 'Frances is quite right: she'll be perfectly well by this time next week. Are you going upstairs? Will you tell her that I'll come, if she promise not to talk? I left her because she did not hold her tongue. And she must – tell her Mr. Kenneth says she must be quiet.'
Poor soul! Till within a week of her death that heart never failed her; and her husband was affirming furiously that her health improved every day. She seemed to believe him; but one night, while leaning on his shoulder, and trying to get up, a fit of coughing took her – a very slight one. He raised her in his arms; she put her two hands about his neck, her face changed, and she was dead.
As the girl had anticipated, the child Hareton fell wholly into my hands. Mr. Earnshaw was contented with it. For himself, he grew desperate: his sorrow was of that kind that will not lament. He neither wept nor prayed; he cursed and defied. The servants could not bear his tyrannical and evil conduct long. Joseph and I were the only two that stayed.
The master's behaviour formed a pretty example for Catherine and Heathcliff. His treatment of the latter was enough to make a fiend of a saint. And, truly, the lad was possessed of something diabolical at that period. He delighted to witness Hindley degrading himself past redemption. Nobody decent came near us, at last; unless Edgar Linton's visits to Miss Cathy were an exception. At fifteen she was the queen of the countryside; she had no peer; and she did turn out a haughty, headstrong creature! Edgar Linton was my late master: that is his portrait over the fireplace. Can you see it?
Mrs. Dean raised the candle, and I saw a soft-featured face, resembling the young lady at the Heights, but more pensive and amiable in expression. It formed a sweet picture. The long light hair curled slightly on the temples. The eyes were large and serious; the figure almost too graceful. I did not marvel how Catherine Earnshaw forgot her first friend for such an individual. I marvelled much how he could love Catherine Earnshaw.
'A very agreeable portrait. Is it like?'
'Yes, but he looked better when he was smiled; that is his everyday countenance.'
Catherine kept up her acquaintance with the Lintons since her five-weeks' residence among them. Mr. Edgar seldom found courage to visit Wuthering Heights openly. He had a terror of Earnshaw's reputation. Catherine was torn between Heathcliff and Linton. She behaved differently with one and with the other. I laughed at her perplexities and untold troubles, but she, so proud and independent, finally, came to me to confess: there was not a soul else that might be an adviser.
Mr. Hindley went from home one afternoon, and Heathcliff had a holiday. Heathcliff reached the age of sixteen then, I think. He did not have bad features, was not stupid. But he contrived to convey an impression of inward and outward repulsiveness. He didn't study anything. He was trying to study with Catherine, but in vain. Finally he acquired a slouching gait and ignoble look; his disposition was exaggerated into an almost idiotic excess of unsociable moroseness. Catherine and he were constant companions; but he ceased to express his fondness for her in words, and recoiled with angry suspicion from her girlish caresses.
On that day he came into the house to announce his intention to do nothing, while I was assisting Miss Cathy to arrange her dress. She managed, by some means, to inform Mr. Edgar of her brother's absence, and was then preparing to receive him.
'Cathy, are you busy this afternoon?' asked Heathcliff. 'Are you going anywhere?'
She tried to hide the truth, but it was not possible. Heathcliff asked her to stay with him and ignore those 'foolish friends of hers'.
'Look at the almanack on that wall;' he pointed to a framed sheet hanging near the window, and continued, 'The crosses are for the evenings you have spent with the Lintons, the dots for those spent with me. Do you see? I've marked every day.'
'Yes – very foolish!' replied Catherine, in a peevish tone. 'And where is the sense of that?'
'To show that I take notice,' said Heathcliff.
'Must I always sit with you?' she demanded, growing more irritated. 'What good do I get? What do you talk about? You might be dumb, or a baby, for anything you say to amuse me, or for anything you do, either!'
'You never told me before that I talked too little, or that you disliked my company, Cathy!' exclaimed Heathcliff, in much agitation.
'It's no company at all, when people know nothing and say nothing,' she muttered.
Her companion rose up, but he didn't have time to express his feelings further, for young
Linton entered, his face brilliant with delight. Doubtless Catherine marked the difference between her friends, as one came in and the other went out.
The contrast between their appearance and speech was like between a bleak, hilly, coal country and a beautiful fertile valley. Mr. Earnshaw gave me orders not to leave the two alone, so I refused to go. Then Catherine tried to get rid of me, and she stamped her foot, and I went away, shaken.
Little Hareton, who followed me everywhere, and was sitting near me on the floor. He saw my tears and started crying himself. He sobbed out complaints against 'wicked aunt Cathy'. Cathy drew her fury on to his unlucky head: she seized his shoulders, and shook him till the poor child waxed livid, and Edgar thoughtlessly laid hold of her hands to deliver him.