CHAPTER XXIX
The evening after the funeral, my young lady and I were seated in the library; now musing1 mournfully—one of us despairingly—on our loss, now venturing conjectures2 as to the gloomy future.
We had just agreed the best destiny which could await Catherine would be a permission to continue resident at the Grange; at least during Linton’s life: he being allowed to join her there, and I to remain as housekeeper3. That seemed rather too favourable4 an arrangement to be hoped for; and yet I did hope, and began to cheer up under the prospect5 of retaining my home and my employment, and, above all, my beloved young mistress; when a servant—one of the discarded ones, not yet departed—rushed hastily in, and said “that devil Heathcliff” was coming through the court: should he fasten the door in his face?
If we had been mad enough to order that proceeding6, we had not time. He made no ceremony of knocking or announcing his name: he was master, and availed himself of the master’s privilege to walk straight in, without saying a word. The sound of our informant’s voice directed him to the library; he entered and motioning him out, shut the door.
It was the same room into which he had been ushered7, as a guest, eighteen years before: the same moon shone through the window; and the same autumn landscape lay outside. We had not yet lighted a candle, but all the apartment was visible, even to the portraits on the wall: the splendid head of Mrs. Linton, and the graceful8 one of her husband. Heathcliff advanced to the hearth9. Time had little altered his person either. There was the same man: his dark face rather sallower and more composed, his frame a stone or two heavier, perhaps, and no other difference. Catherine had risen with an impulse to dash out, when she saw him.
“Stop!” he said, arresting her by the arm. “No more runnings away! Where would you go? I’m come to fetch you home; and I hope you’ll be a dutiful daughter and not encourage my son to further disobedience. I was embarrassed how to punish him when I discovered his part in the business: he’s such a cobweb, a pinch would annihilate10 him; but you’ll see by his look that he has received his due! I brought him down one evening, the day before yesterday, and just set him in a chair, and never touched him afterwards. I sent Hareton out, and we had the room to ourselves. In two hours, I called Joseph to carry him up again; and since then my presence is as potent11 on his nerves as a ghost; and I fancy he sees me often, though I am not near. Hareton says he wakes and shrieks12 in the night by the hour together, and calls you to protect him from me; and, whether you like your precious mate, or not, you must come: he’s your concern now; I yield all my interest in him to you.”
“Why not let Catherine continue here,” I pleaded, “and send Master Linton to her? As you hate them both, you’d not miss them: they can only be a daily plague to your unnatural13 heart.”
“I’m seeking a tenant14 for the Grange,” he answered; “and I want my children about me, to be sure. Besides, that lass owes me her services for her bread. I’m not going to nurture15 her in luxury and idleness after Linton is gone. Make haste and get ready, now; and don’t oblige me to compel you.”
“I shall,” said Catherine. “Linton is all I have to love in the world, and though you have done what you could to make him hateful to me, and me to him, you cannot make us hate each other. And I defy you to hurt him when I am by, and I defy you to frighten me!”
“You are a boastful champion,” replied Heathcliff; “but I don’t like you well enough to hurt him: you shall get the full benefit of the torment16, as long as it lasts. It is not I who will make him hateful to you—it is his own sweet spirit. He’s as bitter as gall17 at your desertion and its consequences: don’t expect thanks for this noble devotion. I heard him draw a pleasant picture to Zillah of what he would do if he were as strong as I: the inclination18 is there, and his very weakness will sharpen his wits to find a substitute for strength.”
“I know he has a bad nature,” said Catherine: “he’s your son. But I’m glad I’ve a better, to forgive it; and I know he loves me, and for that reason I love him. Mr. Heathcliff, you have nobody to love you; and, however miserable19 you make us, we shall still have the revenge of thinking that your cruelty arises from your greater misery20. You are miserable, are you not? Lonely, like the devil, and envious21 like him? Nobody loves you—nobody will cry for you when you die! I wouldn’t be you!”
Catherine spoke22 with a kind of dreary23 triumph: she seemed to have made up her mind to enter into the spirit of her future family, and draw pleasure from the griefs of her enemies.
“You shall be sorry to be yourself presently,” said her father-in-law, “if you stand there another minute. Begone, witch, and get your things!”
She scornfully withdrew. In her absence I began to beg for Zillah’s place at the Heights, offering to resign mine to her; but he would suffer it on no account. He bid me be silent; and then, for the first time, allowed himself a glance round the room and a look at the pictures. Having studied Mrs. Linton’s, he said—“I shall have that home. Not because I need it, but—” He turned abruptly24 to the fire, and continued, with what, for lack of a better word, I must call a smile—“I’ll tell you what I did yesterday! I got the sexton, who was digging Linton’s grave, to remove the earth off her coffin25 lid, and I opened it. I thought, once, I would have stayed there: when I saw her face again—it is hers yet!—he had hard work to stir me; but he said it would change if the air blew on it, and so I struck one side of the coffin loose, and covered it up: not Linton’s side, damn him! I wish he’d been soldered26 in lead. And I bribed27 the sexton to pull it away when I’m laid there, and slide mine out too; I’ll have it made so: and then by the time Linton gets to us he’ll not know which is which!”
“You were very wicked, Mr. Heathcliff!” I exclaimed; “were you not ashamed to disturb the dead?”
“I disturbed nobody, Nelly,” he replied; “and I gave some ease to myself. I shall be a great deal more comfortable now; and you’ll have a better chance of keeping me underground, when I get there. Disturbed her? No! she has disturbed me, night and day, through eighteen years—incessantly—remorselessly—till yesternight; and yesternight I was tranquil28. I dreamt I was sleeping the last sleep by that sleeper29, with my heart stopped and my cheek frozen against hers.”
“And if she had been dissolved into earth, or worse, what would you have dreamt of then?” I said.
“Of dissolving with her, and being more happy still!” he answered. “Do you suppose I dread30 any change of that sort? I expected such a transformation31 on raising the lid, but I’m better pleased that it should not commence till I share it. Besides, unless I had received a distinct impression of her passionless features, that strange feeling would hardly have been removed. It began oddly. You know I was wild after she died; and eternally, from dawn to dawn, praying her to return to me her spirit! I have a strong faith in ghosts: I have a conviction that they can, and do, exist among us! The day she was buried, there came a fall of snow. In the evening I went to the churchyard. It blew bleak32 as winter—all round was solitary33. I didn’t fear that her fool of a husband would wander up the glen so late; and no one else had business to bring them there. Being alone, and conscious two yards of loose earth was the sole barrier between us, I said to myself—‘I’ll have her in my arms again! If she be cold, I’ll think it is this north wind that chills me; and if she be motionless, it is sleep.’ I got a spade from the tool-house, and began to delve34 with all my might—it scraped the coffin; I fell to work with my hands; the wood commenced cracking about the screws; I was on the point of attaining35 my object, when it seemed that I heard a sigh from some one above, close at the edge of the grave, and bending down. ‘If I can only get this off,’ I muttered, ‘I wish they may shovel36 in the earth over us both!’ and I wrenched37 at it more desperately38 still. There was another sigh, close at my ear. I appeared to feel the warm breath of it displacing the sleet-laden wind. I knew no living thing in flesh and blood was by; but, as certainly as you perceive the approach to some substantial body in the dark, though it cannot be discerned, so certainly I felt that Cathy was there: not under me, but on the earth. A sudden sense of relief flowed from my heart through every limb. I relinquished39 my labour of agony, and turned consoled at once: unspeakably consoled. Her presence was with me: it remained while I re-filled the grave, and led me home. You may laugh, if you will; but I was sure I should see her there. I was sure she was with me, and I could not help talking to her. Having reached the Heights, I rushed eagerly to the door. It was fastened; and, I remember, that accursed Earnshaw and my wife opposed my entrance. I remember stopping to kick the breath out of him, and then hurrying upstairs, to my room and hers. I looked round impatiently—I felt her by me—I could almost see her, and yet I could not! I ought to have sweat blood then, from the anguish40 of my yearning—from the fervour of my supplications to have but one glimpse! I had not one. She showed herself, as she often was in life, a devil to me! And, since then, sometimes more and sometimes less, I’ve been the sport of that intolerable torture! Infernal! keeping my nerves at such a stretch that, if they had not resembled catgut, they would long ago have relaxed to the feebleness of Linton’s. When I sat in the house with Hareton, it seemed that on going out I should meet her; when I walked on the moors41 I should meet her coming in. When I went from home I hastened to return; she must be somewhere at the Heights, I was certain! And when I slept in her chamber—I was beaten out of that. I couldn’t lie there; for the moment I closed my eyes, she was either outside the window, or sliding back the panels, or entering the room, or even resting her darling head on the same pillow as she did when a child; and I must open my lids to see. And so I opened and closed them a hundred times a night—to be always disappointed! It racked me! I’ve often groaned42 aloud, till that old rascal43 Joseph no doubt believed that my conscience was playing the fiend inside of me. Now, since I’ve seen her, I’m pacified—a little. It was a strange way of killing44: not by inches, but by fractions of hairbreadths, to beguile45 me with the spectre of a hope through eighteen years!”
Mr. Heathcliff paused and wiped his forehead; his hair clung to it, wet with perspiration46; his eyes were fixed47 on the red embers of the fire, the brows not contracted, but raised next the temples; diminishing the grim aspect of his countenance48, but imparting a peculiar49 look of trouble, and a painful appearance of mental tension towards one absorbing subject. He only half addressed me, and I maintained silence. I didn’t like to hear him talk! After a short period he resumed his meditation50 on the picture, took it down and leant it against the sofa to contemplate51 it at better advantage; and while so occupied Catherine entered, announcing that she was ready, when her pony52 should be saddled.
“Send that over to-morrow,” said Heathcliff to me; then turning to her, he added: “You may do without your pony: it is a fine evening, and you’ll need no ponies53 at Wuthering Heights; for what journeys you take, your own feet will serve you. Come along.”
“Good-bye, Ellen!” whispered my dear little mistress. As she kissed me, her lips felt like ice. “Come and see me, Ellen; don’t forget.”
“Take care you do no such thing, Mrs. Dean!” said her new father. “When I wish to speak to you I’ll come here. I want none of your prying54 at my house!”
He signed her to precede him; and casting back a look that cut my heart, she obeyed. I watched them, from the window, walk down the garden. Heathcliff fixed Catherine’s arm under his: though she disputed the act at first evidently; and with rapid strides he hurried her into the alley55, whose trees concealed56 them.
1 musing [ˈmju:zɪŋ] 第8级 | |
n. 沉思,冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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2 conjectures [kənˈdʒektʃəz] 第9级 | |
推测,猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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3 housekeeper [ˈhaʊski:pə(r)] 第8级 | |
n.管理家务的主妇,女管家 | |
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4 favourable [ˈfeɪvərəbl] 第8级 | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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5 prospect [ˈprɒspekt] 第7级 | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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6 proceeding [prəˈsi:dɪŋ] 第7级 | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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7 ushered [ˈʌʃəd] 第8级 | |
v.引,领,陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8 graceful [ˈgreɪsfl] 第7级 | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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9 hearth [hɑ:θ] 第9级 | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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10 annihilate [əˈnaɪəleɪt] 第9级 | |
vt.使无效;毁灭;取消;vi.湮灭;湮没 | |
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11 potent [ˈpəʊtnt] 第7级 | |
adj.强有力的,有权势的;有效力的 | |
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12 shrieks [ʃri:ks] 第7级 | |
n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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13 unnatural [ʌnˈnætʃrəl] 第9级 | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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14 tenant [ˈtenənt] 第7级 | |
n.承租人;房客;佃户;vt.租借,租用 | |
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15 nurture [ˈnɜ:tʃə(r)] 第7级 | |
n.养育,照顾,教育;滋养,营养品;vt.养育,给与营养物,教养,扶持 | |
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16 torment [ˈtɔ:ment] 第7级 | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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17 gall [gɔ:l] 第11级 | |
vt.使烦恼,使焦躁,难堪;vi.被磨伤;n.磨难 | |
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18 inclination [ˌɪnklɪˈneɪʃn] 第7级 | |
n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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19 miserable [ˈmɪzrəbl] 第7级 | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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20 misery [ˈmɪzəri] 第7级 | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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21 envious [ˈenviəs] 第8级 | |
adj.嫉妒的,羡慕的 | |
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22 spoke [spəʊk] 第11级 | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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23 dreary [ˈdrɪəri] 第8级 | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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24 abruptly [ə'brʌptlɪ] 第7级 | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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25 coffin [ˈkɒfɪn] 第8级 | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
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26 soldered [ˈsɔdəd] 第11级 | |
v.(使)焊接,焊合( solder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27 bribed [braibd] 第7级 | |
v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 );向(某人)行贿,贿赂 | |
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28 tranquil [ˈtræŋkwɪl] 第7级 | |
adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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29 sleeper [ˈsli:pə(r)] 第7级 | |
n.睡眠者,卧车,卧铺 | |
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30 dread [dred] 第7级 | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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31 transformation [ˌtrænsfəˈmeɪʃn] 第7级 | |
n.变化;改造;转变 | |
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32 bleak [bli:k] 第7级 | |
adj.(天气)阴冷的;凄凉的;暗淡的 | |
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33 solitary [ˈsɒlətri] 第7级 | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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34 delve [delv] 第10级 | |
vi. 钻研;探究;挖 vt. 钻研;探究;挖 n. 穴;洞 | |
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35 attaining [əˈteinɪŋ] 第7级 | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的现在分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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36 shovel [ˈʃʌvl] 第8级 | |
n.铁锨,铲子,一铲之量;v.铲,铲出 | |
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37 wrenched [rentʃt] 第7级 | |
v.(猛力地)扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 );扭伤;使感到痛苦;使悲痛 | |
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38 desperately ['despərətlɪ] 第8级 | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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39 relinquished [rɪˈlɪŋkwɪʃt] 第8级 | |
交出,让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 ); 放弃 | |
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40 anguish [ˈæŋgwɪʃ] 第7级 | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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41 moors [mʊəz] 第9级 | |
v.停泊,系泊(船只)( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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42 groaned [ɡrəund] 第7级 | |
v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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43 rascal [ˈrɑ:skl] 第9级 | |
n.流氓;不诚实的人 | |
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44 killing [ˈkɪlɪŋ] 第9级 | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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45 beguile [bɪˈgaɪl] 第10级 | |
vt.欺骗,消遣 | |
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46 perspiration [ˌpɜ:spəˈreɪʃn] 第9级 | |
n.汗水;出汗 | |
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47 fixed [fɪkst] 第8级 | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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48 countenance [ˈkaʊntənəns] 第9级 | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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49 peculiar [pɪˈkju:liə(r)] 第7级 | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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50 meditation [ˌmedɪˈteɪʃn] 第8级 | |
n.熟虑,(尤指宗教的)默想,沉思,(pl.)冥想录 | |
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51 contemplate [ˈkɒntəmpleɪt] 第7级 | |
vt.盘算,计议;周密考虑;注视,凝视 | |
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52 pony [ˈpəʊni] 第8级 | |
adj.小型的;n.小马 | |
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53 ponies [ˈpəuniz] 第8级 | |
矮种马,小型马( pony的名词复数 ); £25 25 英镑 | |
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54 prying ['praɪɪŋ] 第9级 | |
adj.爱打听的v.打听,刺探(他人的私事)( pry的现在分词 );撬开 | |
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