Chapter 17 Chapter Thirteen

Those who had fled for two months were nowhere to be seen.During these two months Mrs. Linton suffered, and overcame, the worst shock of what is called meningitis.No mother could have nursed her only child more wholeheartedly than Edgar had nursed her.Day and night he watched, patiently enduring all the troubles a man of insanity and irrationality could throw at him; —in fact, he sacrificed health and energy to save a cripple—his gratitude and joy when Catherine was pronounced out of danger; hour by hour he sat beside her, watching Gradually her health returned, and it was fancied that her psychic balance would be restored, and that she would soon be exactly as she had been.It was by this fantasy that he comforted his overly optimistic hopes.

She left her bedroom for the first time in early March of that year.In the morning Mr. Linton put a bouquet of golden saffron on her pillow.It had been a long time since she had been used to a little joyful gleam, and when she awoke and saw the flowers, she held them together with delight, and her eyes shone with delight. "These are the earliest flowers on the hill," she called. "They make me think of soft warm winds, warm sunshine, and melting snow. Edgar, is there a southerly wind outside, and is the snow nearly melting?" "The snow is almost all over here, my dear," replied her husband.

"Across the moor I see but two white spots: the sky is blue, the larks are singing, and the brooks and brooks are full. At this time last spring, Catherine, I was longing for you to come to this house; Now, I would like you to go to those hills a mile or two away: the wind blows so pleasantly, and I think it will cure you." "I'll go one more time and I won't come back," said the patient, "and then you'll leave me, and I'll stay there forever. Next spring you'll want me to come to this house again, and you'll remember the past, and I think you are happy today."

Linton spared no effort to pamper her with the tenderest caresses, and to please her with the dearest words.However, she looked at the flowers blankly, and the tears gathered on her eyelashes and ran down her cheeks, but she didn't care.We know she is really better, and are therefore convinced that her despondency, which was caused by her prolonged confinement in one place, might be relieved some of it in another place.My master told me to light a fire in the drawing-room where no one had been in or out for weeks, and put a comfortable chair in the sun by the window, and carry her downstairs.She sat for a long time, enjoying the comforting warmth.As we had expected, she was enlivened by everything around her: familiar though they were, free from the bleak associations that haunted her loathsome hospital bed.In the evening, she seemed exhausted, but I couldn't persuade her to go back to the bedroom, so I had to make the sofa in the living room as her bed before finishing the other room.In order not to be too tiring going up and down the stairs, we tidied up this room, which is the one where you are lying now—on the same floor as the living room.Soon she was better again, and could walk from room to room on Edgar's arm.Ah, I thought to myself, that she would recover with such service.And there are double reasons to wish her recovery, for another life also depends on her survival; Snatched by a stranger.

I should mention here that Isabella sent a note to her brother about six weeks after her departure, announcing her marriage to Heathcliff.The letter seemed cold and dull, but at the bottom was penciled a vague apology, and said that if her behavior had offended him, she begged his forgiveness and reconciliation: that she could not have done it then, it had happened, and now She can't go back on her word either.I believe Linton did not answer this letter.A little over two weeks later, I received a long letter from a bride who had just returned from her honeymoon, which I thought was odd.I'm going to read it now because I still have it.Any relics of the dead are precious if they were valued in life.

Dear Ellen, (so the letter begins)--I was at Wuthering Heights last night, and I heard for the first time that Catherine was, and is, very ill.I think I must never write to her, and my brother is either too angry or too sad to answer my letters to him.However, I must write a letter to someone, and the only person left for me is you. Tell Edgar I'd be willing to die if only I could see him again--I hadn't left Thrushcross Grange twenty-four hours before my heart was back there, and my heart was there till then, for him , and Catherine was full of passionate affection.Though I can't do what I want—(these words are underlined)—they don't have to expect me, they can draw whatever conclusions they want; Sound emotions.

The following words are for you alone.I want to ask you two questions: the first is— When you first lived here, how did you manage to preserve the usual human sympathy?I can't see what those around me share with me. The second question is of great concern to me, which is—— Is Heathcliff human?If yes, is he crazy?If not, is he a devil?I don't want to tell you why I'm asking this.But if you can, I beg you to explain what I am married to—that is, tell me when you come to see me.And, Alan, you must come soon.Don't write, just come, and take Edgar's word to me. Now, listen to how I am received in my new home, because I have to think that this hill is going to be my new home.If I tell you about the discomforts of life on the surface here, it's just to fool myself, and these never occupy my thoughts, except when I miss them.I should have laughed and danced with joy if I had understood that my misery was due entirely to want of comfort, and that the rest was but a fantastic dream.

The sun was already setting behind the Grange as we walked towards the moor.According to this, I think it is six o'clock.My companion stayed for half an hour, inspecting the orchard, the garden, and, perhaps, the place itself, sparing as little as possible, so that it was dark when we dismounted in the cobbled yard of the farmhouse. up.Your old colleague, the servant Joseph, came out to meet us by candlelight.He received us with a courtesy that would do his credit.His first gesture was to raise the candle to level with my face, cast a wicked sidelong glance, curl his lower lip, and turn away.Then he took the two horses, took them to the stables, and reappeared for the purpose of locking the outer gates, as if we were living in an ancient fortress.

Heathcliff stayed there talking to him, and I went into the kitchen—a dirty, untidy hole.I bet you don't recognize it anymore, it's a lot more different than it was when it was under your control.There stood by the fire a savage boy, well-built, dirty, with a Catherine look in his eyes and mouth. "Here's Edgar's nephew," I thought—"or mine. I've got to shake his hand, and—yes—I've got to kiss him. It's important to establish mutual understanding at the outset. correct." I approached him, intending to shake his fat fist, and said: "How are you my dear?"

He answered me in a language I could not understand. "Can you and I be friends, Hareton?" This was my second attempt at conversation. There came a curse, and a threat that if I didn't "fuck off," the boss would come and bite me, and that was my reward for my persistence. "Hey, Boss, baby!" whispered the little rascal, calling a mongrel bulldog from its lair in the corner. "Now, are you going?" He asked majestically. Out of love for my life, I obeyed.I stepped out of the threshold and waited for someone else to come in.Heathcliff was nowhere to be seen.As for Joseph, I followed him to the stables and asked him to accompany me in. He stared at me, grunted to himself, and then wrinkled his nose and replied:

"Me! Me! Me! Have Christians ever heard anything like that? Whispering, babbling! How do I know what you're talking about?" "I say, I want you to come with me to the house!" I cried, thinking he was deaf, but disgusted by his rudeness. "I don't! I have other things to do," he answered, going on with his work.At the same time, shaking his long and thin chin, he looked at my clothes and face with the most contempt (the clothes are too delicate, but the face, I believe he can be as miserable as he wants). I went around the yard, through a side door, and went to another door, knocking boldly, hoping that perhaps some kinder servant would appear.After a while the door was opened by a tall, formidable-looking man, without a scarf, who looked slovenly and unkempt.His face was concealed by a mass of unkempt hair that fell over his shoulders; his eyes were like ghostly Catherine's, and all beauty was destroyed. "What are you doing here?" he asked fiercely. "Who are you?" "My name is Isabella Linton," I answered. "You have seen me before, sir. I was recently married to Mr. Heathcliff, who brought me here—with your permission, I suppose." "So, is he back?" asked the hermit, leering like a hungry wolf. "Yes, we've just arrived now," I said, "but he left me by the kitchen door. I was about to go in, and your boy was standing sentinel there, and he called a bulldog to help Watching him scare me away." "It's a good thing the damned rascal does what he says!" roared my future master, peering into the darkness behind me for Heathcliff.Then he cursed freely to himself, and made a series of threatening statements about what he would do if the "devil" tricked him. I regretted having tried to go in by this second door, and before he had finished cursing I was about to slip away, but before I could do so he ordered me to go in, and shut and locked the door.There was a great fire in the room, and that was all the light in this big room, and the floor was all gray; and the pewter plate, which had once been shining when I was a little girl, always attracted me to look at it, It is now equally dull with grime and dust.I asked them if I could ask the maid to take me to my bedroom!Mr. Earnshaw made no answer.He walked up and down with his hands in his pockets, apparently completely oblivious to my presence.At this moment, he was so absent-minded, with such a cynical expression on his face, that I didn't dare to disturb him anymore. Ellen, you won't be surprised at my peculiarly unhappy feeling, as I sit by that inhospitable fire, worse than alone, remembering that four miles away I have my pleasant home, where I live in the world favorite person.And yet it's like the Atlantic separates us instead of four miles: I can't cross it!I asked myself—where could I turn for comfort?And--don't tell Edgar or Catherine--all sorrows aside, this is the main point: Despair, because I can't find anyone who can or will be my ally against Heathcliff. husband!I was almost glad for a moment to come to live at Wuthering Heights, because it was arranged so that I would never have to live alone with him.But he knows the people we get along with, and he's not afraid of them being nosy. I sat, thinking, mournfully for a while.The clock struck eight, nine, and my companion was still pacing up and down, with his head bowed upon his breast, and completely silent, except now and then a groan or a bitter sigh.I listened for a woman's voice in the room, and was so filled with wild remorse and dreary foreboding that at last I could not restrain myself from sighing aloud and weeping.I paid no attention to my public grief, until Earnshaw stopped his well-proportioned walk opposite me, and stared at me with waking wonder.Taking advantage of his recovered attention, I said aloud: "I'm tired of walking, and I want to go to bed! Where is the maid? If she won't come to see me, lead me to her!" "We don't have a maid," he replied, "you can serve yourself!" "So, where shall I sleep?" I sobbed, I had lost my pride, and my pride was overwhelmed by fatigue and embarrassment . "Joseph will show you to Heathcliff's bedroom," said he, "open the door—he's in." I was about to obey, when suddenly he caught me, and said in the strangest tone: "You'd better lock and bolt the door—don't forget!" "Okay!" I said. "But why, Mr. Earnshaw?" It never occurred to me to lock myself up with Heathcliff on purpose. "Look here!" he answered, drawing from his vest a peculiarly made pistol with a double-edged switchblade in the barrel. "That's a tempting thing for a desperate man, isn't it? I can't go upstairs without this every night, and try his door. If ever I find the door open, he'll It's over; and I must have done it if a minute ago I could have conjured up a hundred reasons to bear it: some devil made me kill him, that I might thwart my own plans. You resist that Devil, you can resist as long as you like; when the time comes, all the angels in heaven will not be able to save him!" I looked at the weapon curiously.A terrible thought occurred to me: if I had such a weapon, I could become a strong man.I took it from his hand and felt the blade.He was amazed by the momentary expression on my face: it wasn't terror, it was greed.He snatched the pistol back suspiciously, closed the knife, and hid it again. "I don't care if you tell him," he said. "Keep him on the alert and defend him. I see you know our relationship: he's in danger, but you're not alarmed." "What has Heathcliff done to you?" I asked. "What has he done to offend you, to provoke such a terrible hatred? Wouldn't it be wiser to ask him to leave this house?" "No!" burst Earnshaw. "If he proposes to leave me, he will be a dead man: and you will be a murderer if you persuade him to leave! Do I have to lose everything, with no chance of redemption? Hareton Is it to be a beggar? Oh, God! I will take it back: his gold, I want; and his blood; hell will take his soul! With that guest, hell will be better than before Ten times darker!" Ellen, you once told me about your old master's habits.He's definitely on the verge of madness: at least he was last night.I shuddered at the approach of him, and the servant's ill-bred and bad-tempered was more agreeable in comparison.He now began his gloomy pacing again, and I unbolted the door and fled into the kitchen.Joseph was bending over the fire, staring at a large cauldron hanging over the fire, and a wooden basin of oatmeal on the high-backed chair beside it.The contents of the pot began to boil, and he turned and stretched his hand towards the pot.I figured it was going to be our supper, and since I was hungry, I decided to make it edible, so I screamed, "I'll cook the porridge!" I moved the pot out of reach. Come, and take off my hat and riding clothes. "Mr. Earnshaw," I went on, "make me serve myself: that's what I'll do. I won't be a lady among you, for I'm afraid I'll starve." "Jesus!" he grunted, sitting down and stroking his ribbed socks from knee to ankle. "Fresh errands to come--I'm just getting used to two employers, and I've got another mistress. It's like time has passed and things have changed. I never thought I'd be high Going to the old place—but I suspect it's just around the corner!" His lament did not catch my attention.I cook the porridge briskly, sighing and remembering a time when everything was fun and fun, but I have to drive these memories away.It makes me sad to remember the joys of the past, and the more desperately the phantoms of the past appear, the faster I stir the porridge and drop the handfuls of oatmeal in the water.Joseph became more and more angry when he saw my cooking method. "Look!" he exclaimed. "Hareton, I don't have your porridge tonight, nothing but chunks as big as my fist. Look, there it is again! If I were you, I'd throw down the basin Look, pour out the porridge, and you're done. Boom, boom. It's kind of you to keep the pot bottom off!" I admit, when pouring the porridge in the basin, it was a mess.Four basins were prepared, and a gallon jug filled with fresh milk from the dairy, which Hareton snatched away and drank from his wide mouth.I warned him that he would drink his milk from a cup; I was sure I couldn't taste milk so dirty.The disgruntled old man was furious at this particularity, and kept telling me that "every bit of this kid" is "as good" as I am, "every bit is healthy."Wonder how I could be so conceited.Meanwhile, the little villain continued to suck, glaring at me defiantly as he slobbered into the jar. "I'm going to have dinner in the other room," I said. "Don't you have a place you could call a living room?" "The parlor!" he imitated contemptuously. "The parlour! No, we have no parlour. If you don't like our company, go to the master. If you don't like the master, we have us." "Then I'm going upstairs," I answered, "and lead me to a bedroom." I put my basin on a tray and went to get some more milk myself, and the guy stood up with a lot of muttering and walked ahead of me as I went upstairs: we went to the attic and he opened the room every now and then door, and take a look at all the rooms we pass. "There's a room here," he finally said, suddenly turning a hinge and pushing open a cracked wooden door. "It's good enough to have some porridge here. There's a heap of straw in the corner, and it's there, and it's clean. If you don't want to stain your fine silks, put your handkerchief on them." The house was a warehouse or something, with a strong smell of wheat and millet.All kinds of grain bags are piled up around, leaving a large empty space in the middle. "Why, you man," I yelled at him angrily, "this is no place to sleep. I want to see my bedroom." "Bedroom," he repeated mockingly. "You've seen all the bedrooms—it's mine." He pointed to the second attic, which differed from the first only in that the walls were empty, and there was a large, low bed with no curtains, and a dark blue quilt at one end. "Why do I want yours?" I cursed back. "I suppose Mr. Heathcliff doesn't live in the attic, does he?" "Ah! You want Master Heathcliff's room?" he exclaimed, as if making a new discovery. "Couldn't you have said it sooner? Well, I'll tell you, don't bother, it's just a room you don't see—he always locks it up, and nobody can get in it but himself. .” "You have a fine home, Joseph," I could not help saying, "and pleasant company. I feel that from the day my fate is bound to them all the best of the madness in the world Gathering up my head! But it's no use talking now—there's another room. For heaven's sake, put me somewhere!" He didn't answer the entreaty, but walked down the wooden ladder stubbornly and slowly, and stopped at the door of a room.From his stillness and the fine material of the furniture, I reckon it was the best room.There was a rug--a fine one, but the pattern had been obscured by dust.One of the fireplaces was pasted with floral paper, which had fallen into pieces.A handsome oak bed, hung with large scarlet hangings.The materials used are expensive and the style is new, but they have obviously been used carelessly: the curtain that was originally hung with flower balls has been twisted out of the hook, and the iron rod for hanging the curtain is bent at one side. arced so that the drapery dragged across the floor.The chairs were all incomplete, several of them badly broken.The deep dents made the paneling on the wall ugly.I was just about to make up my mind to go in and live, when my foolish guide announced, "This is the master's." My supper was cold by this time, I had no appetite, and my patience was exhausted.I insisted on an immediate shelter and equipment for my rest. "Where the hell are we going?" the pious elder began. "Lord bless us! Lord forgive us! What hell are you going to! You troublesome wretch! You've seen everything but Hareton's little house. There's no hole to drill in this house." La!" I was so annoyed that I threw the tray and the contents on the ground suddenly, then sat on the stairs, covered my face and burst into tears. "Alas! Alas!" cried Joseph. "Well done, Miss Catty! Well done, Miss Catty! But the master will wrestle on these pieces, and we'll see what to do. We'll see what to do. No Well learned madman! You should be slimming down from now until Christmas, just because you threw a tantrum and threw God's precious gifts on the ground! But I don't believe you if you're always so self-willed. You think Heathcliff Husband can stand such good manners? I hope he catches you right now. Hope he catches you." ① Miss Katie - this is the abbreviation of Catherine.Joseph called Miss Kitty to Isabella at this time, because Isabella's temper was the same as that of Catherine in the villa, and Joseph blurted out "Miss Kitty" in a fit of anger! So he went back to his den, cursing and taking the candle with him: leaving me in the dark.Immediately after this stupid gesture, I thought for a moment and had to admit the need to restrain my pride, swallow my anger, and pick myself up and tidy things up.Immediately there appeared an unexpected helper, Captain Lew, whom I now recognize as the son of our old Fox: he was a boy at the Grange, and my father gave him to Mr. Hindley afterwards.I figured it recognized me: it saluted my nose with the tip of its nose, and then hurried to lick the porridge.Meanwhile I fumbled step by step, picking up the broken china, and wiping the splash of milk on the banister with my handkerchief. We had hardly finished when I heard Earnshaw's step in the passage; my assistant, tail tucked, pressed against the wall, and I stole to the nearest door.The dog tried to escape, but failed; I guessed it from the sound of haste running down the stairs, and the pitiful growl.I had better luck: he went over, entered his bedroom, and closed the door.Immediately afterwards Joseph took Hareton upstairs and put him to bed.I just found out I was hiding in Hareton's house, and when the old man saw me, he said: "Now I think the hall can hold you and your arrogance. It's empty, you can keep it to yourself, God, the old man is always a third party, with such a bad guy." I happily took advantage of this cue, and no sooner had I settled into a chair by the fire than I dozed off and fell asleep. I slept soundly and soundly, although I soon lost sleep.Mr. Heathcliff woke me up.He just came in and asked me what I was doing there with his lovely manner.I told him the reason I was staying up so late—he had our house key in his pocket.The addition of ours set him off into a rage.He swore that the house was not, and never would be, mine; and that he would—but I will not repeat his words, nor describe his usual conduct: Arouse my hatred!I sometimes think he is really strange, and the strangeness reduces my fear.But, I tell you, a tiger or a viper did not arouse as much terror in me as he did.He told me that Catherine was sick, and that my brother had forced the blame; and swore to suffer me as Edgar's substitute until he could get his revenge. I hate him--I'm unlucky--I've been a fool!Don't let anyone at the Grange get the least word of it.I look forward to you every day - don't let me down! isabella