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.

 In the next twelve years, Cathy Linton grew up to be "the most winning thing that ever brought sunshine into a desolate house". She was fair like a Linton, except for her mother's dark eyes. High-spirited but gentle, she seemed to combine the good qualities of both the Lintons and the Earnshaws, though she was a little saucy because she was accustomed to getting her way. Her father kept her within the park of the Grange, but she dreamed of going to see some cliffs, Penistone Craggs, which were located not too far away on the moor. When Isabella fell ill, she wrote to Edgar to come visit her, so he was gone for three weeks. One day Cathy asked Ellen to give her some food for a ramble around the grounds--she was pretending to be an Arabian merchant going across the desert with her caravan of a pony and three dogs. She left the grounds, however, and later Ellen went after her on the road to Penistone Crags, which passed Wuthering Heights. She found Cathy safe and sound there--Heathcliff wasn't home, and the housekeeper had taken her in-- chattering to Hareton, now 18 years old. After Ellen arrived, Cathy offended Hareton by asking whether he was the master's son, and when he said he wasn't, deciding that he must be a servant. The housekeeper told Cathy that Hareton was her cousin, which made her cry. Hareton offered her a puppy to console her, which she refused. Ellen told Cathy that her father didn't want her to go to Wuthering Heights, and asked her not to tell Edgar about the incident, to which Cathy readily agreed

