Chapter 26 Chapter Twenty Two

Summer is over, it is early autumn, and the autumn festival has passed, but the harvest was late that year, and some of our fields have not been cleared.Mr. Linton and his daughter used to go among the reapers, and while they were carrying the last bundles they lingered till evening, in the cold and damp night, when my master came down with a bad cold.The cold persisted tenaciously in his lungs, and he stayed at home all winter, hardly ever going out once. Poor Katie, who had been taken aback by her little affair, became rather morose afterward, and her father insisted that she read less and exercise more.She could no longer have him for company; I thought it my duty to make up for this defect as best I could, but my substitute was of no use.Since I could only carve out two or three hours out of my innumerable daily work to follow her, my company was clearly less desirable than his.

On an afternoon in October, or perhaps early November—a fresh, rainy afternoon, with the sound of wet dead leaves rustling on the turf and paths, and the cold blue sky half obscured by clouds— Dark gray clouds were rising swiftly from the west, heralding heavy rain—and I begged my lady to cancel her walk, as I expected heavy rain.She refused, so I had no choice but to put on a coat, and took my umbrella, and walked with her into the depths of the garden: this is the way she likes to take when she is depressed-when Mr. Edgar compares She must have been like this when he was sicker than usual, and he never admitted to himself that he was getting sicker, but Katie and I could guess from the more silent, sad look on his face than before.She walked on sullenly, and now she didn't run or jump, although the cold wind could tempt her to run, and now and then I could see her raise a hand from her face and wipe it from her face. what.I stared around, trying to distract her from her thoughts.On one side of the road was a high uneven slope, where hazels and stubby oaks stood precariously with their roots half exposed; the soil was too loose for the oaks, and the strong wind blew some of them down. Almost parallel to the ground.In summer, Miss Catherine likes to climb up these tree trunks and sit and swing on the branches two feet above the ground; every time I see her climb so high, although I like to see her lively, I also like her relaxed childlike innocence , but I still feel that I should scold her, but listening to me scolding like this, she also knows that there is no need to come down.From after-dinner to tea-time she lay in her cradle rocked by the breeze, doing nothing but singing old songs—my lullabies—to herself; or watching The birds that perched on the branches with her fed their young and caused them to fly; or leaned comfortably with their eyes closed, half thinking, half dreaming, with indescribable happiness.

"Look, miss!" I exclaimed, pointing to a hollow beneath the twisted roots of a tree. "Winter isn't here yet. There's a little flower over there, the only one left of the bluebell that covers those turf steps with the lilacs in July. Will you climb up and pluck it for Dad see?" Katie stared long and blankly at the lonely flower trembling in its hole in the earth, and finally replied--"No, I won't touch it: it looks sad, doesn't it, Ellen?" "Yes," I said, "just as skinny and dry as you. You've got no color in your face. Let's run hand in hand. You're so listless, I dare say I'll catch up with you."

"No," she said again, sauntering on, pausing now and then to look at a bit of moss, or a clump of bleached grass, or a bright orange fungus scattered among brown-colored mounds of leaves. Thoughtfully, now and then, her hand was raised to her twisted face. "Catherine, why are you crying, darling?" I asked, coming up and putting my arms around her shoulders. "You mustn't cry because Papa caught a cold; don't worry, it's not a serious illness." She could not hold back her tears now, and sobbed. "Ah, to be seriously ill," she said. "What shall I do when papa and you are gone and I am alone? I cannot forget your words, Ellen; they always ring in my ears. Till papa and you are dead Now, how life will change, how dreary the world will become."

"No one can say whether you will die before us," I replied. "It's not right to predict foreboding. We have to hope that there are many, many years to go before any of us die: the master is young, and I am strong, not yet forty-five. My mother lived to eighty, until the last A lively woman, too. Suppose Mr. Linton lives to sixty, miss, which is much more than you have lived. Isn't it foolish to mourn a calamity twenty years beforehand?" "But Aunt Isabella is younger than Pa," she said, staring up, hoping timidly for further reassurance. "Aunt Isabella doesn't have you and me to take care of her," I replied. "She's not as happy as her master, and she doesn't live as meaningfully as he does. All you need to do is serve your father well, let him see you happy, and try not to make him anxious. Remember, Katie! If you are frivolous Foolish, to have foolish, utopian feelings for the son of a man who wishes he had gone to his grave, if he decides you should separate and finds you still fretting about it, then I won't lie to you, you will pissed him off."

"Nothing troubles me in the world but my father's illness," answered my companion. "I don't care about anything else compared to Papa. And I'll never—never—oh, never do or say a word to annoy him while I'm conscious. I love him more than I love myself, Ellen; and I know this from this: Every night I pray to God that I die later than he: for I would rather be unhappy than him. And that proves I love him more than I love myself." "Well said," I replied, "but it must be proved by deeds. When he recovers from his illness, remember, don't forget the resolution you made when you were worried or frightened."

While we were talking we approached a gate leading to the road; my lady, relieved to be out into the sun again, climbed up the wall, sat on top of it, and tried to pluck some of the tops of the briar-trees which hid the side of the road. Some of the scarlet fruits that bear on it.The fruit that grew a little lower in the tree was gone, but the higher fruit was accessible only to birds, except from where Kitty was now.As she reached out to pluck the fruit, the hat fell off.Since the door was locked, she was going to climb down to pick it up.I told her to be careful, or she was going to fall, and she quickly disappeared without a trace.However, coming back is not so easy.The stone was smooth and level with cement, and the rosebushes and blackberry vines could not stand the climb.Like a fool, I didn't realize until I heard her laughing and calling out—"Ellen! You've got to get the key, or I'll have to run around to the doorman's place. I'm crawling this way." Don't go up the fence!"

"You stay there," I answered, "I have my bunch of keys in my pocket. Maybe I can figure it out; or else I'll go get it. " While I was trying all the big keys one by one, Catherine was just jumping around outside the door playing by herself.I tried the last one, and none of them worked, so I told her to stay there again.I was trying to get home as quickly as possible when an approaching voice stopped me.It was the gallop of hooves, and Katie's bouncing stopped. "Who is that?" I whispered. "Alan, I hope you can open this door," my companion whispered anxiously back.

"Hello, Miss Linton!" said a deep voice (the rider's voice), "I'm glad to meet you. Don't hurry in, for I want you to explain." "I don't want to talk to you, Mr. Heathcliff," answered Catherine. "Papa said you were a vicious man, and you hated him and me; Ellen said the same thing." "That has nothing to do with it," said Heathcliff (it was he), "I thought I didn't hate my son, it was about him that I asked your attention. Yes, you have reason to blush Didn't you still have the habit of writing to Linton two or three months ago? Playing with love, eh? Both of you deserve a caning! Especially you, being older, and it turns out you're more ruthless than he. I take your letters and if you do anything rude to me I'll send them to your father. I guess you're kidding and throw it away when you get tired of it, don't you? Okay , you've thrown Linton into 'the abyss of despair' with such diversions. And he's in love with all his heart, really. As real as I'm alive now, he's dying for you , my heart is broken at your half-heartedness: I am not figurative, but practical. Though Hareton has ridiculed him for six weeks, I have resorted to more serious measures to frighten his infatuation away. , but he's getting worse every day; he'll be in the ground before summer, unless you can save him!"

"How could you lie to the poor child so blatantly?" I yelled from inside. "Ride away, please! How can you deliberately invent such a vile lie? Miss Catty, I'll knock the lock out with stones: don't you listen to that dirty nonsense. You'll think of a man for love yourself It's impossible to die with a stranger." "I don't know of any eavesdroppers," grumbled the discovered hooligan. "Honorable Mrs. Ding, I like you, but I don't like your double-faced tactics," he said loudly again. "How can you lie so blatantly, be sure I hate the 'poor boy'? and make up fantastic stories to scare her away from my door? Catherine Linton (even the name warms my heart), I My dear girl, I'm not at home for a week now; go and see if I'm telling the truth: go, that's good darling! Just imagine your father in my place, and Linton in yours ;then consider what you will think of your fickle lover when your father himself comes to ask your lover to come, and your lover refuses to take a step to comfort you. Foolish, to fall into that mistake. I swear by the Savior, he is going to his grave, and no one can save him but you!"

The lock opened and I rushed out. "I swear Linton is dying," repeated Heathcliff, looking pitilessly at me. "Sorrow and disappointment hastened his early death. If you won't let her go, Nelly, you can go and see for yourself. And I won't be back until this time next week; and I don't think your master himself will object to Lin's Miss Dun, let's go see her cousin." "Come in," I said, taking Kitty's arm, and half-drawing her in; for she lingered, watching the speaker's face with troubled eyes, which were too serious to reveal what was in him. insidious. He drew his horse closer, stooped, and said— "Miss Catherine, I confess to you that I have scarcely any patience with Linton, and Hareton and Joseph have even less patience than I. I admit he was with a rough company. He yearned for kindness, and Love; a kind word from your mouth would be his best medicine. Never mind Mrs. I can't believe you don't hate him, because you neither write nor see him." I closed the door, and pushed a stone against it, for the lock had been knocked.I opened my umbrella and drew my ward under it, and the rain began to fall through the wailing boughs, warning us that we should not delay any longer.As we ran home, we were in such a hurry that we had no time to talk about meeting Heathcliff just now.But I instinctively saw that Catherine's heart was now covered with a double cloud of darkness.Her face was so sad it didn't resemble hers; she evidently thought that everything she had heard was true. The owner had gone to rest before we came in.Kitty went quietly to see him in his room, but he was asleep.She came back and asked me to sit with her in the study.We had tea together; after this she lay down on the rug and told me not to talk because she was tired, and I took a book and pretended to read it.When she thought I was concentrating on reading, she began her silent sobbing.At the time, that seemed to be her favorite boredom remedy.I let her enjoy herself a while, and then went to exhort her: I laughed heartily at all that Heathcliff said about his son, as if I was sure she would agree.well!I am incapable of canceling the effect of his words; and that is what he intended. "You may be right, Ellen," she answered, "but I shall never be at ease till I know the truth. I must tell Linton that it is not my fault that I do not write, and that I shall let him know Will have a change of heart." What was the use of anger and protest against her foolish credulity?We parted badly that night; but the next day I walked the Wuthering Heights road beside the stubborn young mistress' pony.I could not bear to see her suffer, could not bear to see her pale weeping face and melancholy eyes: I resigned, in the feeble hope that Linton would prove Heathcliff by his reception of us. The story is fabricated.