Chapter: The twelve years, continued Mrs. Dean, following that dismal period were
the happiest of my life: my greatest troubles in their passage rose from
our little lady's trifling illnesses, which she had to experience in
common with all children, rich and poor.  For the rest, after the first
six months, she grew like a larch, and could walk and talk too, in her
own way, before the heath blossomed a second time over Mrs. Linton's
dust.  She was the most winning thing that ever brought sunshine into a
desolate house: a real beauty in face, with the Earnshaws' handsome dark
eyes, but the Lintons' fair skin and small features, and yellow curling
hair.  Her spirit was high, though not rough, and qualified by a heart
sensitive and lively to excess in its affections.  That capacity for
intense attachments reminded me of her mother: still she did not resemble
her: for she could be soft and mild as a dove, and she had a gentle voice
and pensive expression: her anger was never furious; her love never
fierce: it was deep and tender.  However, it must be acknowledged, she
had faults to foil her gifts.  A propensity to be saucy was one; and a
perverse will, that indulged children invariably acquire, whether they be
good tempered or cross.  If a servant chanced to vex her, it was
always--'I shall tell papa!'  And if he reproved her, even by a look, you
would have thought it a heart-breaking business: I don't believe he ever
did speak a harsh word to her.  He took her education entirely on
himself, and made it an amusement.  Fortunately, curiosity and a quick
intellect made her an apt scholar: she learned rapidly and eagerly, and
did honour to his teaching.

Till she reached the age of thirteen she had not once been beyond the
range of the park by herself.  Mr. Linton would take her with him a mile
or so outside, on rare occasions; but he trusted her to no one else.
Gimmerton was an unsubstantial name in her ears; the chapel, the only
building she had approached or entered, except her own home.  Wuthering
Heights and Mr. Heathcliff did not exist for her: she was a perfect
recluse; and, apparently, perfectly contented.  Sometimes, indeed, while
surveying the country from her nursery window, she would observe--

'Ellen, how long will it be before I can walk to the top of those hills?
I wonder what lies on the other side--is it the sea?'

'No, Miss Cathy,' I would answer; 'it is hills again, just like these.'

'And what are those golden rocks like when you stand under them?' she
once asked.

The abrupt descent of Penistone Crags particularly attracted her notice;
especially when the setting sun shone on it and the topmost heights, and
the whole extent of landscape besides lay in shadow.  I explained that
they were bare masses of stone, with hardly enough earth in their clefts
to nourish a stunted tree.

'And why are they bright so long after it is evening here?' she pursued.

'Because they are a great deal higher up than we are,' replied I; 'you
could not climb them, they are too high and steep.  In winter the frost
is always there before it comes to us; and deep into summer I have found
snow under that black hollow on the north-east side!'

'Oh, you have been on them!' she cried gleefully.  'Then I can go, too,
when I am a woman.  Has papa been, Ellen?'

'Papa would tell you, Miss,' I answered, hastily, 'that they are not
worth the trouble of visiting.  The moors, where you ramble with him, are
much nicer; and Thrushcross Park is the finest place in the world.'

'But I know the park, and I don't know those,' she murmured to herself.
'And I should delight to look round me from the brow of that tallest
point: my little pony Minny shall take me some time.'

One of the maids mentioning the Fairy Cave, quite turned her head with a
desire to fulfil this project: she teased Mr. Linton about it; and he
promised she should have the journey when she got older.  But Miss
Catherine measured her age by months, and, 'Now, am I old enough to go to
Penistone Crags?' was the constant question in her mouth.  The road
thither wound close by Wuthering Heights.  Edgar had not the heart to
pass it; so she received as constantly the answer, 'Not yet, love: not
yet.'

I said Mrs. Heathcliff lived above a dozen years after quitting her
husband.  Her family were of a delicate constitution: she and Edgar both
lacked the ruddy health that you will generally meet in these parts.  What
her last illness was, I am not certain: I conjecture, they died of the
same thing, a kind of fever, slow at its commencement, but incurable, and
rapidly consuming life towards the close.  She wrote to inform her
brother of the probable conclusion of a four-months' indisposition under
which she had suffered, and entreated him to come to her, if possible;
for she had much to settle, and she wished to bid him adieu, and deliver
Linton safely into his hands.  Her hope was that Linton might be left
with him, as he had been with her: his father, she would fain convince
herself, had no desire to assume the burden of his maintenance or
education.  My master hesitated not a moment in complying with her
request: reluctant as he was to leave home at ordinary calls, he flew to
answer this; commanding Catherine to my peculiar vigilance, in his
absence, with reiterated orders that she must not wander out of the park,
even under my escort he did not calculate on her going unaccompanied.

He was away three weeks.  The first day or two my charge sat in a corner
of the library, too sad for either reading or playing: in that quiet
state she caused me little trouble; but it was succeeded by an interval
of impatient, fretful weariness; and being too busy, and too old then, to
run up and down amusing her, I hit on a method by which she might
entertain herself.  I used to send her on her travels round the
grounds--now on foot, and now on a pony; indulging her with a patient
audience of all her real and imaginary adventures when she returned.

The summer shone in full prime; and she took such a taste for this
solitary rambling that she often contrived to remain out from breakfast
till tea; and then the evenings were spent in recounting her fanciful
tales.  I did not fear her breaking bounds; because the gates were
generally locked, and I thought she would scarcely venture forth alone,
if they had stood wide open.  Unluckily, my confidence proved misplaced.
Catherine came to me, one morning, at eight o'clock, and said she was
that day an Arabian merchant, going to cross the Desert with his caravan;
and I must give her plenty of provision for herself and beasts: a horse,
and three camels, personated by a large hound and a couple of pointers.  I
got together good store of dainties, and slung them in a basket on one
side of the saddle; and she sprang up as gay as a fairy, sheltered by her
wide-brimmed hat and gauze veil from the July sun, and trotted off with a
merry laugh, mocking my cautious counsel to avoid galloping, and come
back early.  The naughty thing never made her appearance at tea.  One
traveller, the hound, being an old dog and fond of its ease, returned;
but neither Cathy, nor the pony, nor the two pointers were visible in any
direction: I despatched emissaries down this path, and that path, and at
last went wandering in search of her myself.  There was a labourer
working at a fence round a plantation, on the borders of the grounds.  I
inquired of him if he had seen our young lady.

'I saw her at morn,' he replied: 'she would have me to cut her a hazel
switch, and then she leapt her Galloway over the hedge yonder, where it
is lowest, and galloped out of sight.'

You may guess how I felt at hearing this news.  It struck me directly she
must have started for Penistone Crags.  'What will become of her?' I
ejaculated, pushing through a gap which the man was repairing, and making
straight to the high-road.  I walked as if for a wager, mile after mile,
till a turn brought me in view of the Heights; but no Catherine could I
detect, far or near.  The Crags lie about a mile and a half beyond Mr.
Heathcliff's place, and that is four from the Grange, so I began to fear
night would fall ere I could reach them.  'And what if she should have
slipped in clambering among them,' I reflected, 'and been killed, or
broken some of her bones?'  My suspense was truly painful; and, at first,
it gave me delightful relief to observe, in hurrying by the farmhouse,
Charlie, the fiercest of the pointers, lying under a window, with swelled
head and bleeding ear.  I opened the wicket and ran to the door, knocking
vehemently for admittance.  A woman whom I knew, and who formerly lived
at Gimmerton, answered: she had been servant there since the death of Mr.
Earnshaw.

'Ah,' said she, 'you are come a-seeking your little mistress!  Don't be
frightened.  She's here safe: but I'm glad it isn't the master.'

'He is not at home then, is he?' I panted, quite breathless with quick
walking and alarm.

'No, no,' she replied: 'both he and Joseph are off, and I think they
won't return this hour or more.  Step in and rest you a bit.'

I entered, and beheld my stray lamb seated on the hearth, rocking herself
in a little chair that had been her mother's when a child.  Her hat was
hung against the wall, and she seemed perfectly at home, laughing and
chattering, in the best spirits imaginable, to Hareton--now a great,
strong lad of eighteen--who stared at her with considerable curiosity and
astonishment: comprehending precious little of the fluent succession of
remarks and questions which her tongue never ceased pouring forth.

'Very well, Miss!' I exclaimed, concealing my joy under an angry
countenance.  'This is your last ride, till papa comes back.  I'll not
trust you over the threshold again, you naughty, naughty girl!'

'Aha, Ellen!' she cried, gaily, jumping up and running to my side.  'I
shall have a pretty story to tell to-night; and so you've found me out.
Have you ever been here in your life before?'

'Put that hat on, and home at once,' said I.  'I'm dreadfully grieved at
you, Miss Cathy: you've done extremely wrong!  It's no use pouting and
crying: that won't repay the trouble I've had, scouring the country after
you.  To think how Mr. Linton charged me to keep you in; and you stealing
off so!  It shows you are a cunning little fox, and nobody will put faith
in you any more.'

'What have I done?' sobbed she, instantly checked.  'Papa charged me
nothing: he'll not scold me, Ellen--he's never cross, like you!'

'Come, come!' I repeated.  'I'll tie the riband.  Now, let us have no
petulance.  Oh, for shame!  You thirteen years old, and such a baby!'

This exclamation was caused by her pushing the hat from her head, and
retreating to the chimney out of my reach.

'Nay,' said the servant, 'don't be hard on the bonny lass, Mrs. Dean.  We
made her stop: she'd fain have ridden forwards, afeard you should be
uneasy.  Hareton offered to go with her, and I thought he should: it's a
wild road over the hills.'

Hareton, during the discussion, stood with his hands in his pockets, too
awkward to speak; though he looked as if he did not relish my intrusion.

'How long am I to wait?' I continued, disregarding the woman's
interference.  'It will be dark in ten minutes.  Where is the pony, Miss
Cathy?  And where is Phoenix?  I shall leave you, unless you be quick; so
please yourself.'

'The pony is in the yard,' she replied, 'and Phoenix is shut in there.
He's bitten--and so is Charlie.  I was going to tell you all about it;
but you are in a bad temper, and don't deserve to hear.'

I picked up her hat, and approached to reinstate it; but perceiving that
the people of the house took her part, she commenced capering round the
room; and on my giving chase, ran like a mouse over and under and behind
the furniture, rendering it ridiculous for me to pursue.  Hareton and the
woman laughed, and she joined them, and waxed more impertinent still;
till I cried, in great irritation,--'Well, Miss Cathy, if you were aware
whose house this is you'd be glad enough to get out.'

'It's _your_ father's, isn't it?' said she, turning to Hareton.

'Nay,' he replied, looking down, and blushing bashfully.

He could not stand a steady gaze from her eyes, though they were just his
own.

'Whose then--your master's?' she asked.

He coloured deeper, with a different feeling, muttered an oath, and
turned away.

'Who is his master?' continued the tiresome girl, appealing to me.  'He
talked about "our house," and "our folk."  I thought he had been the
owner's son.  And he never said Miss: he should have done, shouldn't he,
if he's a servant?'

Hareton grew black as a thunder-cloud at this childish speech.  I
silently shook my questioner, and at last succeeded in equipping her for
departure.

'Now, get my horse,' she said, addressing her unknown kinsman as she
would one of the stable-boys at the Grange.  'And you may come with me.  I
want to see where the goblin-hunter rises in the marsh, and to hear about
the _fairishes_, as you call them: but make haste!  What's the matter?
Get my horse, I say.'

'I'll see thee damned before I be _thy_ servant!' growled the lad.

'You'll see me _what_!' asked Catherine in surprise.

'Damned--thou saucy witch!' he replied.

'There, Miss Cathy! you see you have got into pretty company,' I
interposed.  'Nice words to be used to a young lady!  Pray don't begin to
dispute with him.  Come, let us seek for Minny ourselves, and begone.'

'But, Ellen,' cried she, staring fixed in astonishment, 'how dare he
speak so to me?  Mustn't he be made to do as I ask him?  You wicked
creature, I shall tell papa what you said.--Now, then!'

Hareton did not appear to feel this threat; so the tears sprang into her
eyes with indignation.  'You bring the pony,' she exclaimed, turning to
the woman, 'and let my dog free this moment!'

'Softly, Miss,' answered she addressed; 'you'll lose nothing by being
civil.  Though Mr. Hareton, there, be not the master's son, he's your
cousin: and I was never hired to serve you.'

'_He_ my cousin!' cried Cathy, with a scornful laugh.

'Yes, indeed,' responded her reprover.

'Oh, Ellen! don't let them say such things,' she pursued in great
trouble.  'Papa is gone to fetch my cousin from London: my cousin is a
gentleman's son.  That my--' she stopped, and wept outright; upset at the
bare notion of relationship with such a clown.

'Hush, hush!' I whispered; 'people can have many cousins and of all
sorts, Miss Cathy, without being any the worse for it; only they needn't
keep their company, if they be disagreeable and bad.'

'He's not--he's not my cousin, Ellen!' she went on, gathering fresh grief
from reflection, and flinging herself into my arms for refuge from the
idea.

I was much vexed at her and the servant for their mutual revelations;
having no doubt of Linton's approaching arrival, communicated by the
former, being reported to Mr. Heathcliff; and feeling as confident that
Catherine's first thought on her father's return would be to seek an
explanation of the latter's assertion concerning her rude-bred kindred.
Hareton, recovering from his disgust at being taken for a servant, seemed
moved by her distress; and, having fetched the pony round to the door, he
took, to propitiate her, a fine crooked-legged terrier whelp from the
kennel, and putting it into her hand, bid her whist! for he meant nought.
Pausing in her lamentations, she surveyed him with a glance of awe and
horror, then burst forth anew.

I could scarcely refrain from smiling at this antipathy to the poor
fellow; who was a well-made, athletic youth, good-looking in features,
and stout and healthy, but attired in garments befitting his daily
occupations of working on the farm and lounging among the moors after
rabbits and game.  Still, I thought I could detect in his physiognomy a
mind owning better qualities than his father ever possessed.  Good things
lost amid a wilderness of weeds, to be sure, whose rankness far
over-topped their neglected growth; yet, notwithstanding, evidence of a
wealthy soil, that might yield luxuriant crops under other and favourable
circumstances.  Mr. Heathcliff, I believe, had not treated him physically
ill; thanks to his fearless nature, which offered no temptation to that
course of oppression: he had none of the timid susceptibility that would
have given zest to ill-treatment, in Heathcliff's judgment.  He appeared
to have bent his malevolence on making him a brute: he was never taught
to read or write; never rebuked for any bad habit which did not annoy his
keeper; never led a single step towards virtue, or guarded by a single
precept against vice.  And from what I heard, Joseph contributed much to
his deterioration, by a narrow-minded partiality which prompted him to
flatter and pet him, as a boy, because he was the head of the old family.
And as he had been in the habit of accusing Catherine Earnshaw and
Heathcliff, when children, of putting the master past his patience, and
compelling him to seek solace in drink by what he termed their 'offald
ways,' so at present he laid the whole burden of Hareton's faults on the
shoulders of the usurper of his property.  If the lad swore, he wouldn't
correct him: nor however culpably he behaved.  It gave Joseph
satisfaction, apparently, to watch him go the worst lengths: he allowed
that the lad was ruined: that his soul was abandoned to perdition; but
then he reflected that Heathcliff must answer for it.  Hareton's blood
would be required at his hands; and there lay immense consolation in that
thought.  Joseph had instilled into him a pride of name, and of his
lineage; he would, had he dared, have fostered hate between him and the
present owner of the Heights: but his dread of that owner amounted to
superstition; and he confined his feelings regarding him to muttered
innuendoes and private comminations.  I don't pretend to be intimately
acquainted with the mode of living customary in those days at Wuthering
Heights: I only speak from hearsay; for I saw little.  The villagers
affirmed Mr. Heathcliff was _near_, and a cruel hard landlord to his
tenants; but the house, inside, had regained its ancient aspect of
comfort under female management, and the scenes of riot common in
Hindley's time were not now enacted within its walls.  The master was too
gloomy to seek companionship with any people, good or bad; and he is yet.

This, however, is not making progress with my story.  Miss Cathy rejected
the peace-offering of the terrier, and demanded her own dogs, Charlie and
Phoenix.  They came limping and hanging their heads; and we set out for
home, sadly out of sorts, every one of us.  I could not wring from my
little lady how she had spent the day; except that, as I supposed, the
goal of her pilgrimage was Penistone Crags; and she arrived without
adventure to the gate of the farm-house, when Hareton happened to issue
forth, attended by some canine followers, who attacked her train.  They
had a smart battle, before their owners could separate them: that formed
an introduction.  Catherine told Hareton who she was, and where she was
going; and asked him to show her the way: finally, beguiling him to
accompany her.  He opened the mysteries of the Fairy Cave, and twenty
other queer places.  But, being in disgrace, I was not favoured with a
description of the interesting objects she saw.  I could gather, however,
that her guide had been a favourite till she hurt his feelings by
addressing him as a servant; and Heathcliff's housekeeper hurt hers by
calling him her cousin.  Then the language he had held to her rankled in
her heart; she who was always 'love,' and 'darling,' and 'queen,' and
'angel,' with everybody at the Grange, to be insulted so shockingly by a
stranger!  She did not comprehend it; and hard work I had to obtain a
promise that she would not lay the grievance before her father.  I
explained how he objected to the whole household at the Heights, and how
sorry he would be to find she had been there; but I insisted most on the
fact, that if she revealed my negligence of his orders, he would perhaps
be so angry that I should have to leave; and Cathy couldn't bear that
prospect: she pledged her word, and kept it for my sake.  After all, she
was a sweet little girl.





A letter, edged with black, announced the day of my master's return.
Isabella was dead; and he wrote to bid me get mourning for his daughter,
and arrange a room, and other accommodations, for his youthful nephew.
Catherine ran wild with joy at the idea of welcoming her father back; and
indulged most sanguine anticipations of the innumerable excellencies of
her 'real' cousin.  The evening of their expected arrival came.  Since
early morning she had been busy ordering her own small affairs; and now
attired in her new black frock--poor thing! her aunt's death impressed
her with no definite sorrow--she obliged me, by constant worrying, to
walk with her down through the grounds to meet them.

'Linton is just six months younger than I am,' she chattered, as we
strolled leisurely over the swells and hollows of mossy turf, under
shadow of the trees.  'How delightful it will be to have him for a
playfellow!  Aunt Isabella sent papa a beautiful lock of his hair; it was
lighter than mine--more flaxen, and quite as fine.  I have it carefully
preserved in a little glass box; and I've often thought what a pleasure
it would be to see its owner.  Oh! I am happy--and papa, dear, dear papa!
Come, Ellen, let us run! come, run.'

She ran, and returned and ran again, many times before my sober footsteps
reached the gate, and then she seated herself on the grassy bank beside
the path, and tried to wait patiently; but that was impossible: she
couldn't be still a minute.

'How long they are!' she exclaimed.  'Ah, I see, some dust on the
road--they are coming!  No!  When will they be here?  May we not go a
little way--half a mile, Ellen, only just half a mile?  Do say Yes: to
that clump of birches at the turn!'

I refused staunchly.  At length her suspense was ended: the travelling
carriage rolled in sight.  Miss Cathy shrieked and stretched out her arms
as soon as she caught her father's face looking from the window.  He
descended, nearly as eager as herself; and a considerable interval
elapsed ere they had a thought to spare for any but themselves.  While
they exchanged caresses I took a peep in to see after Linton.  He was
asleep in a corner, wrapped in a warm, fur-lined cloak, as if it had been
winter.  A pale, delicate, effeminate boy, who might have been taken for
my master's younger brother, so strong was the resemblance: but there was
a sickly peevishness in his aspect that Edgar Linton never had.  The
latter saw me looking; and having shaken hands, advised me to close the
door, and leave him undisturbed; for the journey had fatigued him.  Cathy
would fain have taken one glance, but her father told her to come, and
they walked together up the park, while I hastened before to prepare the
servants.

'Now, darling,' said Mr. Linton, addressing his daughter, as they halted
at the bottom of the front steps: 'your cousin is not so strong or so
merry as you are, and he has lost his mother, remember, a very short time
since; therefore, don't expect him to play and run about with you
directly.  And don't harass him much by talking: let him be quiet this
evening, at least, will you?'

'Yes, yes, papa,' answered Catherine: 'but I do want to see him; and he
hasn't once looked out.'

The carriage stopped; and the sleeper being roused, was lifted to the
ground by his uncle.

'This is your cousin Cathy, Linton,' he said, putting their little hands
together.  'She's fond of you already; and mind you don't grieve her by
crying to-night.  Try to be cheerful now; the travelling is at an end,
and you have nothing to do but rest and amuse yourself as you please.'

'Let me go to bed, then,' answered the boy, shrinking from Catherine's
salute; and he put his fingers to remove incipient tears.

'Come, come, there's a good child,' I whispered, leading him in.  'You'll
make her weep too--see how sorry she is for you!'

I do not know whether it was sorrow for him, but his cousin put on as sad
a countenance as himself, and returned to her father.  All three entered,
and mounted to the library, where tea was laid ready.  I proceeded to
remove Linton's cap and mantle, and placed him on a chair by the table;
but he was no sooner seated than he began to cry afresh.  My master
inquired what was the matter.

'I can't sit on a chair,' sobbed the boy.

'Go to the sofa, then, and Ellen shall bring you some tea,' answered his
uncle patiently.

He had been greatly tried, during the journey, I felt convinced, by his
fretful ailing charge.  Linton slowly trailed himself off, and lay down.
Cathy carried a footstool and her cup to his side.  At first she sat
silent; but that could not last: she had resolved to make a pet of her
little cousin, as she would have him to be; and she commenced stroking
his curls, and kissing his cheek, and offering him tea in her saucer,
like a baby.  This pleased him, for he was not much better: he dried his
eyes, and lightened into a faint smile.

'Oh, he'll do very well,' said the master to me, after watching them a
minute.  'Very well, if we can keep him, Ellen.  The company of a child
of his own age will instil new spirit into him soon, and by wishing for
strength he'll gain it.'

'Ay, if we can keep him!' I mused to myself; and sore misgivings came
over me that there was slight hope of that.  And then, I thought, how
ever will that weakling live at Wuthering Heights?  Between his father
and Hareton, what playmates and instructors they'll be.  Our doubts were
presently decided--even earlier than I expected.  I had just taken the
children up-stairs, after tea was finished, and seen Linton asleep--he
would not suffer me to leave him till that was the case--I had come down,
and was standing by the table in the hall, lighting a bedroom candle for
Mr. Edgar, when a maid stepped out of the kitchen and informed me that
Mr. Heathcliff's servant Joseph was at the door, and wished to speak with
the master.

'I shall ask him what he wants first,' I said, in considerable
trepidation.  'A very unlikely hour to be troubling people, and the
instant they have returned from a long journey.  I don't think the master
can see him.'

Joseph had advanced through the kitchen as I uttered these words, and now
presented himself in the hall.  He was donned in his Sunday garments,
with his most sanctimonious and sourest face, and, holding his hat in one
hand, and his stick in the other, he proceeded to clean his shoes on the
mat.

'Good-evening, Joseph,' I said, coldly.  'What business brings you here
to-night?'

'It's Maister Linton I mun spake to,' he answered, waving me disdainfully
aside.

'Mr. Linton is going to bed; unless you have something particular to say,
I'm sure he won't hear it now,' I continued.  'You had better sit down in
there, and entrust your message to me.'

'Which is his rahm?' pursued the fellow, surveying the range of closed
doors.

I perceived he was bent on refusing my mediation, so very reluctantly I
went up to the library, and announced the unseasonable visitor, advising
that he should be dismissed till next day.  Mr. Linton had no time to
empower me to do so, for Joseph mounted close at my heels, and, pushing
into the apartment, planted himself at the far side of the table, with
his two fists clapped on the head of his stick, and began in an elevated
tone, as if anticipating opposition--

'Hathecliff has sent me for his lad, and I munn't goa back 'bout him.'

Edgar Linton was silent a minute; an expression of exceeding sorrow
overcast his features: he would have pitied the child on his own account;
but, recalling Isabella's hopes and fears, and anxious wishes for her
son, and her commendations of him to his care, he grieved bitterly at the
prospect of yielding him up, and searched in his heart how it might be
avoided.  No plan offered itself: the very exhibition of any desire to
keep him would have rendered the claimant more peremptory: there was
nothing left but to resign him.  However, he was not going to rouse him
from his sleep.

'Tell Mr. Heathcliff,' he answered calmly, 'that his son shall come to
Wuthering Heights to-morrow.  He is in bed, and too tired to go the
distance now.  You may also tell him that the mother of Linton desired
him to remain under my guardianship; and, at present, his health is very
precarious.'

'Noa!' said Joseph, giving a thud with his prop on the floor, and
assuming an authoritative air.  'Noa! that means naught.  Hathecliff maks
noa 'count o' t' mother, nor ye norther; but he'll heu' his lad; und I
mun tak' him--soa now ye knaw!'

'You shall not to-night!' answered Linton decisively.  'Walk down stairs
at once, and repeat to your master what I have said.  Ellen, show him
down.  Go--'

And, aiding the indignant elder with a lift by the arm, he rid the room
of him and closed the door.

'Varrah weell!' shouted Joseph, as he slowly drew off.  'To-morn, he's
come hisseln, and thrust _him_ out, if ye darr!'





To obviate the danger of this threat being fulfilled, Mr. Linton
commissioned me to take the boy home early, on Catherine's pony; and,
said he--'As we shall now have no influence over his destiny, good or
bad, you must say nothing of where he is gone to my daughter: she cannot
associate with him hereafter, and it is better for her to remain in
ignorance of his proximity; lest she should be restless, and anxious to
visit the Heights.  Merely tell her his father sent for him suddenly, and
he has been obliged to leave us.'

Linton was very reluctant to be roused from his bed at five o'clock, and
astonished to be informed that he must prepare for further travelling;
but I softened off the matter by stating that he was going to spend some
time with his father, Mr. Heathcliff, who wished to see him so much, he
did not like to defer the pleasure till he should recover from his late
journey.

'My father!' he cried, in strange perplexity.  'Mamma never told me I had
a father.  Where does he live?  I'd rather stay with uncle.'

'He lives a little distance from the Grange,' I replied; 'just beyond
those hills: not so far, but you may walk over here when you get hearty.
And you should be glad to go home, and to see him.  You must try to love
him, as you did your mother, and then he will love you.'

'But why have I not heard of him before?' asked Linton.  'Why didn't
mamma and he live together, as other people do?'

'He had business to keep him in the north,' I answered, 'and your
mother's health required her to reside in the south.'

'And why didn't mamma speak to me about him?' persevered the child.  'She
often talked of uncle, and I learnt to love him long ago.  How am I to
love papa?  I don't know him.'

'Oh, all children love their parents,' I said.  'Your mother, perhaps,
thought you would want to be with him if she mentioned him often to you.
Let us make haste.  An early ride on such a beautiful morning is much
preferable to an hour's more sleep.'

'Is _she_ to go with us,' he demanded, 'the little girl I saw yesterday?'

'Not now,' replied I.

'Is uncle?' he continued.

'No, I shall be your companion there,' I said.

Linton sank back on his pillow and fell into a brown study.

'I won't go without uncle,' he cried at length: 'I can't tell where you
mean to take me.'

I attempted to persuade him of the naughtiness of showing reluctance to
meet his father; still he obstinately resisted any progress towards
dressing, and I had to call for my master's assistance in coaxing him out
of bed.  The poor thing was finally got off, with several delusive
assurances that his absence should be short: that Mr. Edgar and Cathy
would visit him, and other promises, equally ill-founded, which I
invented and reiterated at intervals throughout the way.  The pure
heather-scented air, the bright sunshine, and the gentle canter of Minny,
relieved his despondency after a while.  He began to put questions
concerning his new home, and its inhabitants, with greater interest and
liveliness.

'Is Wuthering Heights as pleasant a place as Thrushcross Grange?' he
inquired, turning to take a last glance into the valley, whence a light
mist mounted and formed a fleecy cloud on the skirts of the blue.

'It is not so buried in trees,' I replied, 'and it is not quite so large,
but you can see the country beautifully all round; and the air is
healthier for you--fresher and drier.  You will, perhaps, think the
building old and dark at first; though it is a respectable house: the
next best in the neighbourhood.  And you will have such nice rambles on
the moors.  Hareton Earnshaw--that is, Miss Cathy's other cousin, and so
yours in a manner--will show you all the sweetest spots; and you can
bring a book in fine weather, and make a green hollow your study; and,
now and then, your uncle may join you in a walk: he does, frequently,
walk out on the hills.'

'And what is my father like?' he asked.  'Is he as young and handsome as
uncle?'

'He's as young,' said I; 'but he has black hair and eyes, and looks
sterner; and he is taller and bigger altogether.  He'll not seem to you
so gentle and kind at first, perhaps, because it is not his way: still,
mind you, be frank and cordial with him; and naturally he'll be fonder of
you than any uncle, for you are his own.'

'Black hair and eyes!' mused Linton.  'I can't fancy him.  Then I am not
like him, am I?'

'Not much,' I answered: not a morsel, I thought, surveying with regret
the white complexion and slim frame of my companion, and his large
languid eyes--his mother's eyes, save that, unless a morbid touchiness
kindled them a moment, they had not a vestige of her sparkling spirit.

'How strange that he should never come to see mamma and me!' he murmured.
'Has he ever seen me?  If he has, I must have been a baby.  I remember
not a single thing about him!'

'Why, Master Linton,' said I, 'three hundred miles is a great distance;
and ten years seem very different in length to a grown-up person compared
with what they do to you.  It is probable Mr. Heathcliff proposed going
from summer to summer, but never found a convenient opportunity; and now
it is too late.  Don't trouble him with questions on the subject: it will
disturb him, for no good.'

The boy was fully occupied with his own cogitations for the remainder of
the ride, till we halted before the farmhouse garden-gate.  I watched to
catch his impressions in his countenance.  He surveyed the carved front
and low-browed lattices, the straggling gooseberry-bushes and crooked
firs, with solemn intentness, and then shook his head: his private
feelings entirely disapproved of the exterior of his new abode.  But he
had sense to postpone complaining: there might be compensation within.
Before he dismounted, I went and opened the door.  It was half-past six;
the family had just finished breakfast: the servant was clearing and
wiping down the table.  Joseph stood by his master's chair telling some
tale concerning a lame horse; and Hareton was preparing for the hayfield.

'Hallo, Nelly!' said Mr. Heathcliff, when he saw me.  'I feared I should
have to come down and fetch my property myself.  You've brought it, have
you?  Let us see what we can make of it.'

He got up and strode to the door: Hareton and Joseph followed in gaping
curiosity.  Poor Linton ran a frightened eye over the faces of the three.

'Sure-ly,' said Joseph after a grave inspection, 'he's swopped wi' ye,
Maister, an' yon's his lass!'

Heathcliff, having stared his son into an ague of confusion, uttered a
scornful laugh.

'God! what a beauty! what a lovely, charming thing!' he exclaimed.
'Hav'n't they reared it on snails and sour milk, Nelly?  Oh, damn my
soul! but that's worse than I expected--and the devil knows I was not
sanguine!'

I bid the trembling and bewildered child get down, and enter.  He did not
thoroughly comprehend the meaning of his father's speech, or whether it
were intended for him: indeed, he was not yet certain that the grim,
sneering stranger was his father.  But he clung to me with growing
trepidation; and on Mr. Heathcliff's taking a seat and bidding him 'come
hither' he hid his face on my shoulder and wept.

'Tut, tut!' said Heathcliff, stretching out a hand and dragging him
roughly between his knees, and then holding up his head by the chin.
'None of that nonsense!  We're not going to hurt thee, Linton--isn't that
thy name?  Thou art thy mother's child, entirely!  Where is my share in
thee, puling chicken?'

He took off the boy's cap and pushed back his thick flaxen curls, felt
his slender arms and his small fingers; during which examination Linton
ceased crying, and lifted his great blue eyes to inspect the inspector.

'Do you know me?' asked Heathcliff, having satisfied himself that the
limbs were all equally frail and feeble.

'No,' said Linton, with a gaze of vacant fear.

'You've heard of me, I daresay?'

'No,' he replied again.

'No!  What a shame of your mother, never to waken your filial regard for
me!  You are my son, then, I'll tell you; and your mother was a wicked
slut to leave you in ignorance of the sort of father you possessed.  Now,
don't wince, and colour up!  Though it is something to see you have not
white blood.  Be a good lad; and I'll do for you.  Nelly, if you be tired
you may sit down; if not, get home again.  I guess you'll report what you
hear and see to the cipher at the Grange; and this thing won't be settled
while you linger about it.'

'Well,' replied I, 'I hope you'll be kind to the boy, Mr. Heathcliff, or
you'll not keep him long; and he's all you have akin in the wide world,
that you will ever know--remember.'

'I'll be very kind to him, you needn't fear,' he said, laughing.  'Only
nobody else must be kind to him: I'm jealous of monopolising his
affection.  And, to begin my kindness, Joseph, bring the lad some
breakfast.  Hareton, you infernal calf, begone to your work.  Yes, Nell,'
he added, when they had departed, 'my son is prospective owner of your
place, and I should not wish him to die till I was certain of being his
successor.  Besides, he's _mine_, and I want the triumph of seeing _my_
descendant fairly lord of their estates; my child hiring their children
to till their fathers' lands for wages.  That is the sole consideration
which can make me endure the whelp: I despise him for himself, and hate
him for the memories he revives!  But that consideration is sufficient:
he's as safe with me, and shall be tended as carefully as your master
tends his own.  I have a room up-stairs, furnished for him in handsome
style; I've engaged a tutor, also, to come three times a week, from
twenty miles' distance, to teach him what he pleases to learn.  I've
ordered Hareton to obey him: and in fact I've arranged everything with a
view to preserve the superior and the gentleman in him, above his
associates.  I do regret, however, that he so little deserves the
trouble: if I wished any blessing in the world, it was to find him a
worthy object of pride; and I'm bitterly disappointed with the
whey-faced, whining wretch!'

While he was speaking, Joseph returned bearing a basin of milk-porridge,
and placed it before Linton: who stirred round the homely mess with a
look of aversion, and affirmed he could not eat it. I saw the old
man-servant shared largely in his master's scorn of the child; though he
was compelled to retain the sentiment in his heart, because Heathcliff
plainly meant his underlings to hold him in honour.

'Cannot ate it?' repeated he, peering in Linton's face, and subduing his
voice to a whisper, for fear of being overheard.  'But Maister Hareton
nivir ate naught else, when he wer a little 'un; and what wer gooid
enough for him's gooid enough for ye, I's rayther think!'

'I _sha'n't_ eat it!' answered Linton, snappishly.  'Take it away.'

Joseph snatched up the food indignantly, and brought it to us.

'Is there aught ails th' victuals?' he asked, thrusting the tray under
Heathcliff's nose.

'What should ail them?' he said.

'Wah!' answered Joseph, 'yon dainty chap says he cannut ate 'em.  But I
guess it's raight!  His mother wer just soa--we wer a'most too mucky to
sow t' corn for makking her breead.'

'Don't mention his mother to me,' said the master, angrily.  'Get him
something that he can eat, that's all.  What is his usual food, Nelly?'

I suggested boiled milk or tea; and the housekeeper received instructions
to prepare some.  Come, I reflected, his father's selfishness may
contribute to his comfort.  He perceives his delicate constitution, and
the necessity of treating him tolerably.  I'll console Mr. Edgar by
acquainting him with the turn Heathcliff's humour has taken.  Having no
excuse for lingering longer, I slipped out, while Linton was engaged in
timidly rebuffing the advances of a friendly sheep-dog.  But he was too
much on the alert to be cheated: as I closed the door, I heard a cry, and
a frantic repetition of the words--

'Don't leave me!  I'll not stay here!  I'll not stay here!'

Then the latch was raised and fell: they did not suffer him to come
forth.  I mounted Minny, and urged her to a trot; and so my brief
guardianship ended.

 During the next 13 years, Catherine grows up at the Grange under the guidance of a very protective Edgar. She is not allowed to leave the grounds on her own and she is totally unaware of Wuthering Heights. However, she is an inquisitive girl and has learned about the fairy cave at Penistone Crags . She asks her father to take here there, but he is not willing to go as the road passes Wuthering Heights. Around this time, Isabella writes to Edgar informing him of her impending death. She requests that he comes to London to bring Linton back to the Grange in order to keep him out of the clutches of Heathcliff. Edgar leaves to go to London, leaving Nelly in charge of Catherine. One day Catherine goes missing and it transpires that her pony leaped the hedge and made for the Penistone Crags. Catherine ended up at Wuthering Heights where she spent the day with Hareton. They had a great time together. Nelly insists on getting Catherine back to the Grange. A servant at Wuthering Heights tells Catherine that Hareton is her cousin. Catherine in turn tells Hareton that his father is off to London to fetch her cousin back to the Grange. This further upsets Nelly and she tells Catherine not to mention their visit to Wuthering Heights to her father. Edgar returns from London with the pale, delicate Linton who greatly resembles Edgar. Catherine treats him like a pet because he is too weak to play with her. Edgar hopes that Heathcliff will allow Linton to stay at the Grange, but that night Joseph arrives, demanding to take Linton to Wuthering Heights. Edgar says that he will deliver him the next morning. Nelly takes Linton to Wuthering Heights and she tries to comfort Linton by making up falsehoods concerning his father. When he arrives, Heathcliff refers to his son as property and calls Isabella a wicked slut. Linton is distraught at being left at Wuthering Heights, pleading with Nelly not to leave him.

