Chapter 30 Chapter Twenty Six

When Edgar reluctantly acceded to their entreaties, the height of summer was nearly over, and Catherine and I set off for the first time on horseback to meet her cousin.It was a gloomy and hot day, there was no sunshine, but the sky was cloudy and rainless; we agreed to meet at the signpost at the crossroads.When we got there, however, a little shepherd boy who had been ordered to bear the letter told us: "Master Linton is just this way at the Heights; He will appreciate you if you will go a little further. " "Then Master Linton has forgotten his uncle's first prohibition," said I. "He told us to stay on the Grange, and we're about to cross it."

"Then turn around when we get to him," answered my companion, "and we'll go home." But when we got to him, not a quarter of a mile from his door, we found he had no horse with him; we were obliged to dismount, and let the horse graze.He lay on the grass, waiting for us, and didn't get up until we were but a few yards from him, and seeing him walk so languidly, and look so pale, I cried out at once,—"Why, Hope Master Heathcliff, it is not fit for you to go out for a walk this morning. How ill you look!" Catherine looked at him sadly and terrified: her lip-smacking exclamation turned into a cry of surprise; their celebration of their long absence turned into an anxious question:

Is he sicker than usual: "No—better—better!" he gasped, trembling, and took her hand as if he needed its support, while his great blue eyes looked timidly at her; The sag changed the old listless look into a haggard, wild look. "But you're sicker," insisted his cousin, "than when I last saw you; you're thinner, and—" "I'm tired," he interrupted her hastily. "It's too hot to walk, let's rest here. I'm often sick in the mornings—Papa says I'm growing fast." Catherine sat down dissatisfied, and he half-lyed beside her.

"It's kind of like heaven for you," she said, trying to cheer up. "Do you remember that we agreed to spend two days in whatever place and manner each thought most pleasant? That's as close as you can get, except for the clouds; but the grass is so soft and spongy: that's better than sunshine. Next week, if you can, we'll ride up to the Grange Park and try my way." It appeared that Linton had no memory of what she had said; evidently he was having trouble getting him to talk about anything.His disinterest in some of the things she said, his inability to do anything to make her happy, were so obvious that she could not conceal her disappointment.There has been an indescribable change in his whole person and attitude.The original violent temper, which could have been softened by caress to become delicate, has now become cold and ruthless; the willfulness of a child who troubles others for comfort is less, and what is added is a person who is really sick The kind of preoccupation with one's own bad temper, resistance to comfort, and readiness to take other people's sincere joy as an insult.Catherine saw it, as I saw it, that he considered our company a punishment rather than a pleasure; and she suggested at once and without hesitation that we should part.Unexpectedly, that suggestion roused Linton from his lethargy, and plunged him into a strange state of agitation.He glanced fearfully at the Heights, and begged her to stay at least half an hour longer.

"But I think," said Katie, "you are much more comfortable at home than sitting here; nor can I amuse you today with my stories and songs and chats: during these six months you have become Much wiser than I am; my amusements don't much amuse you now, or I'd stay if I could amuse you." "Stay and rest," he replied. "Catherine, don't think and don't say I'm ill; it's the sweltering heat that has dulled my interest; and I was walking too much for me before you came. Tell uncle I Still healthy, okay?" "I'll tell him you said so, Linton. I'm not sure you're healthy," said my lady, wondering why he insisted on saying things so clearly not true.

"And come back here next Thursday," he went on, avoiding her puzzled stare. "Thank him for allowing you to come--thank him--thank you very much, Catherine. And--and if you do meet my father and he's going to ask you about me, don't make him guess me Very clumsy. Don't look sad, like you are now—he'll be angry." "I don't care if he's angry," cried Katie, thinking he would be angry with her. "But I care," said her cousin, trembling. "Don't make him blame me, Catherine, for he is very severe." "Has he treated you harshly, Master Heathcliff?" I asked. "Has he started to get tired of indulgence, has he turned from passive hatred to active hatred?"

Linton looked at me, but made no reply: she sat beside him ten minutes more, during which his head sank sleepily on his bosom, saying nothing but the utterances of fatigue or pain. With a subdued groan, Catherine diverted herself to finding raspberries, and gave me a share of what she found: she didn't give it to him, because she saw that any further attention would annoy him. "Half an hour now, Ellen?" she whispered in my ear at last. "I don't know why we have to stay here. He's asleep, and papa should expect us to go back." "Then we must not leave him asleep," I answered, "and wait until he wakes, and be patient. You were very eager to come out, but your thoughts of poor Linton are quickly fading away!"

"Why would he want to see me?" Catherine answered. "I like his awkward temper like his before. It's better than his weird mood now. It's like he was forced to complete a task-this meeting-for fear that his father would scold him. He. But I have not come to please Mr. Heathcliff; whatever reason he may have ordered Linton to suffer. Though I am glad his health is better, he has become so unpleasant, And it's not affectionate to me, which makes me sad." "So you think he's in better health?" I said. "Yes," she answered, "he's very good at exaggerating his pain, you must know. He's not much better than he told me to tell papa, but he is."

"You don't agree with me on that," I said. "I guess he's much worse." Then Linton awoke from his stupor, and asked if any one of us had called his name. "No," said Catherine, "unless you're dreaming. I can't imagine you falling asleep outside in the morning." "I think I hear my father's voice," he panted, glancing at the fortified hilltop above us. "Do you know that no one spoke just now?" "That's right," his cousin replied. "Only Alan and I were arguing about your health. Are you really stronger, Linton, than when we parted in the winter? If so, I believe there is one point which has not been strengthened—your importance to me: say Well,—are you?"

"Yes, yes, I am stronger!" Tears welled up as he answered.Still haunted by the imaginary voice, he looked up and down for the person who made it.Katie stood up. "It's time for us to break up today," she said. "I will tell you, I am very disappointed at our meeting, though I will tell no one but you: and not because I am afraid of Mr. Heathcliff." "Hush," murmured Linton, "for God's sake, hold still! Here he comes." He seized Catherine's arm, and tried to keep her; Ni whistled, and it came like a dog. "I'll be here next Thursday," she called, jumping into the saddle. "Goodbye. Ellen!"

So we left him, and he didn't quite realize that we were going away, because he was so engrossed in anticipating his father's arrival. Before we reached home, Catherine's unhappiness had resolved into a bewildered feeling of pity and regret, mostly mingled with a vague, uneasy suspicion of the true state of Linton's body and situation, which I also had. I agree, although I advise her not to go too far, because the second outing may enable us to judge better.My master asked us to report the situation, his nephew's thanks were of course conveyed, and Miss Catty downplayed the rest: I didn't say anything about his questioning, because I didn't know what to hide and say. What came out.