Chapter 20 Chapter Sixteen

At about twelve o'clock that night, the Catherine you saw at Wuthering Heights was born: a small, thin baby who was only seven months pregnant; two hours later, the mother died, and her sanity had not fully recovered, I don't know Heathcliff leaves and does not recognize Edgar.Edgar's distraught at his loss was too painful to tell; the depth of his grief can be seen from its aftermath.Added, as far as I can see, the great annoyance that he had no heir.I bemoaned the incident, as I looked at the feeble orphan; and I cursed old Linton in my heart, for (it was only natural preference, too) that he bequeathed his fortune to his own daughter, and not to his son's daughter.That was an unwanted baby, poor thing!She would cry herself to death for the first few hours of her life, and no one bothered.We later made up for this oversight!But the helplessness she encountered when she was first born may be the same as her final outcome.

The next day—clear and breezy outside—morning slipped through the curtains of the silent room, and a pleasing and soft light fell on the couch and its occupants.Edgar Linton's head was resting on the pillow, and his eyes were closed.His youthful and pretty face was almost as dead, and almost as motionless as that of the figure beside him: but his face was the peace of great sorrow, and hers was true peace.Her countenance was soft, with closed eyelids, and smiling lips; nor could the angels of heaven be more beautiful than she seemed.I, too, was touched by the infinite serenity of her repose: never was my mind more holier than when I gazed upon the untroubled face of this holy rest.I unconsciously imitated what she had said a few hours earlier, "Incomparably above us and above all of us! Whether she is still on earth or now in heaven, her soul is now with God is with you!"

I don't know if it is my nature, but when I keep my vigils I am seldom unhappy if there are no frenzied or hopeless mourners to share the duty of the vigil with me.I see a repose which neither earth nor hell can break, and I feel a assurance of boundless, shadowless hereafter--the eternity into which they have entered--where life has infinite duration, love has infinite harmony, and joy has infinite abundance.I noticed then how much selfishness there was even in a love like Mr. Linton's, when he so deplored Catherine's happy detachment!Indeed, one could doubt whether she deserved a peaceful resting place at last, after a life of willful, fretful life.When it comes to calmly thinking about it, people can doubt it; but in front of her spirit, they can't.It kept its own tranquility, as if promising the same tranquility to those who lived with it before.

Do you believe, sir, that such a man is happy in another world?I want to know so much. I refused to answer Mrs. Ding's question, which made me feel a little sinister.She went on to say: In tracing the course of Catherine Linton's life, I am afraid we have no right to think that she was happy; but we leave her to her Maker. The owner appeared to be asleep.Soon after sunrise I ventured out of the house and sneaked out for a breath of fresh air.The servants thought I was going to shake off my drowsiness from my long vigil; in reality my chief motive was to see Heathcliff.If he had stayed all night in the larch grove, he would not have heard the commotion of the Grange; unless, perhaps, he would have heard the gallop of the messenger's horses to Gimmerton.If he had come closer, he would probably have sensed, from the flickering lights and the opening and closing of the doors outside, that something was going on inside.I want to go to him, but I am afraid to go to him.I felt compelled to tell him the terrible news, and I longed to get over it, but I didn't know what to say.There he was--at least a few yards away in the orchard, against an old poplar, hatless, his hair wet with the dew that gathered on the budding branches, and It was still dripping around him.He stood that way for a long time, for I saw a pair of thrushes not three feet from him, hopping to and fro, busily building their nest, and treating him, who was so near, as nothing more than a log.As soon as I walked by, they flew away, and he raised his eyes and spoke:

"She's dead!" he said. "I didn't wait for you to tell me. Put the handkerchief away--don't snot and cry in front of me. Damn you all! She doesn't want your tears!" I cry for her as well as for him; and we sometimes pity those who feel no pity for themselves or for others.As soon as I saw his face, I saw that he already knew the scourge; and it occurred to me foolishly that his heart was calm, and that he was still praying, for his lips were quivering, and his eyes were fixed on on the ground. "Yes, she's dead!" I replied, suppressing my sobs and drying my face. "Heaven, I hope; each of us can go there and meet her if we take the warning we deserve and turn our backs."

"Has she received her due warning, then?" asked Heathcliff, trying to sneer. "Did she die like a saint? Come on, tell me the truth about it. After all—?" He tried to utter the name, but could not; he kept his mouth shut, engaged in a silent struggle with his inner pain, and at the same time defied my sympathy with unflinching ferocity. "How did she die?" At last he spoke again—strong as he was, he wanted a place to lean on behind him; for, after the struggle, he couldn't help shaking all over, Even his fingertips were shaking. "Poor man!" thought I, "you have the same heart and nerves as the rest! Why must you hide these? Your pride cannot deceive God! You let God wring your heart and nerves, Until he forces you to cry out."

"Quiet as a lamb!" I answered loudly. "She sighed and stretched, like a child waking up, and then falling asleep; and five minutes later I felt her heart beat a little, and never again!" "And—didn't she mention me?" he asked hesitantly, as if lest the answer to his question would introduce details he could not bear to hear. "She hasn't recovered her senses at all; she hasn't known anyone since you left her!" I said. "She lay with a sweet smile on her face; her last thoughts went back to happy childhood. Her life ended in a tender dream--may she wake peacefully in another world too. Come!"

"May she wake up in pain!" he cried with terrible excitement, stamping his feet and moaning with an uncontrollable fit of passion. "Oh, she was a liar to the end! Where is she? Not there--not in heaven--not destroyed--where? Ah! You said leave my pain alone! I only want to say a prayer-- I'll repeat till my tongue freezes--Catherine Earnshaw, as long as I live; may you rest in peace too! You say I've killed you--haunt me, then! Murderer Haunted his murderer. I believe—I know ghosts roam the world. Then follow me forever—take any form—drive me mad! Just don't leave me in this abyss, I cannot find you here! O God! I cannot speak! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!"

He banged his head against the gnarled trunk; raised his eyes, and roared, not like a man, but like a wild beast dying with knives and spears.I saw several spots of blood on the bark, and his hands and forehead were covered with blood; probably what I saw had been repeated several times during the night.It was hard to arouse my sympathy—it frightened me; but I did not want to leave him just like that.However, as soon as he came to his senses and caught me looking at him, he bellowed and ordered me to go away, which I obeyed.I'm not in the position to quiet him, or comfort him! Mrs. Linton's interment was fixed for the Friday after her death; and before the funeral her coffin, still closed, strewn with flowers and fragrant leaves, lay in the great hall.Linton stood there day and night, a sleepless defender; and--a thing known to no one but me--Heathcliff spent his nights outside, At least, an equally sleepless guest.I made no contact with him: but I know he would have liked to come in if he could; and on Thursday, shortly after dark, when my master was forced to rest for an hour or two from extreme fatigue, I opened a and I, moved by his tenacity, gave him the opportunity to say a final farewell to the faded visage of his idol.He didn't miss the opportunity, he was cautious and quick; he was so cautious that he didn't make a sound, so that no one would know that he was coming.Indeed, if the drape over the dead man's face hadn't been a little messed up, and I saw a lock of pale hair on the floor, I wouldn't have noticed he had been there.It was fastened with a silver cord, and upon closer examination I judged that it had been taken from a locket which hung about Catherine's neck.Heathcliff opened the trinket, and flung out its contents, which contained a lock of his own black hair.I twisted the two locks into one strand and put them both together.

Mr. Earnshaw was, of course, invited to attend the burial of his sister's body; he made no excuses, but he never came.The tenants and servants, therefore, excepting her husband, attended the funeral, and Isabella was not invited. The villagers were surprised that Catherine was buried not under the inscribed stele of the Linton family in the chapel, nor beside the graves of her own family outside, but on a grassy slope at a corner of the cemetery, where the wall It was so low that the flowering evergreen bushes and raspberries and such were creeping up from the moor, and the peaty mound nearly buried it.Now her husband is also buried in the same place. A simple stone tablet is erected on each of their graves, and a flat gray stone is also placed at their feet as a symbol of the tomb.