Wuthering Heights, Page 26

  CHAPTER XXVI

  Summer was already past its prime, when Edgar reluctantly yielded hisassent to their entreaties, and Catherine and I set out on our first rideto join her cousin. It was a close, sultry day: devoid of sunshine, butwith a sky too dappled and hazy to threaten rain: and our place ofmeeting had been fixed at the guide-stone, by the cross-roads. Onarriving there, however, a little herd-boy, despatched as a messenger,told us that,--'Maister Linton wer just o' this side th' Heights: andhe'd be mitch obleeged to us to gang on a bit further.'

  'Then Master Linton has forgot the first injunction of his uncle,' Iobserved: 'he bid us keep on the Grange land, and here we are off atonce.'

  'Well, we'll turn our horses' heads round when we reach him,' answered mycompanion; 'our excursion shall lie towards home.'

  But when we reached him, and that was scarcely a quarter of a mile fromhis own door, we found he had no horse; and we were forced to dismount,and leave ours to graze. He lay on the heath, awaiting our approach, anddid not rise till we came within a few yards. Then he walked so feebly,and looked so pale, that I immediately exclaimed,--'Why, MasterHeathcliff, you are not fit for enjoying a ramble this morning. How illyou do look!'

  Catherine surveyed him with grief and astonishment: she changed theejaculation of joy on her lips to one of alarm; and the congratulation ontheir long-postponed meeting to an anxious inquiry, whether he were worsethan usual?

  'No--better--better!' he panted, trembling, and retaining her hand as ifhe needed its support, while his large blue eyes wandered timidly overher; the hollowness round them transforming to haggard wildness thelanguid expression they once possessed.

  'But you have been worse,' persisted his cousin; 'worse than when I sawyou last; you are thinner, and--'

  'I'm tired,' he interrupted, hurriedly. 'It is too hot for walking, letus rest here. And, in the morning, I often feel sick--papa says I growso fast.'

  Badly satisfied, Cathy sat down, and he reclined beside her.

  'This is something like your paradise,' said she, making an effort atcheerfulness. 'You recollect the two days we agreed to spend in theplace and way each thought pleasantest? This is nearly yours, only thereare clouds; but then they are so soft and mellow: it is nicer thansunshine. Next week, if you can, we'll ride down to the Grange Park, andtry mine.'

  Linton did not appear to remember what she talked of and he had evidentlygreat difficulty in sustaining any kind of conversation. His lack ofinterest in the subjects she started, and his equal incapacity tocontribute to her entertainment, were so obvious that she could notconceal her disappointment. An indefinite alteration had come over hiswhole person and manner. The pettishness that might be caressed intofondness, had yielded to a listless apathy; there was less of the peevishtemper of a child which frets and teases on purpose to be soothed, andmore of the self-absorbed moroseness of a confirmed invalid, repellingconsolation, and ready to regard the good-humoured mirth of others as aninsult. Catherine perceived, as well as I did, that he held it rather apunishment, than a gratification, to endure our company; and she made noscruple of proposing, presently, to depart. That proposal, unexpectedly,roused Linton from his lethargy, and threw him into a strange state ofagitation. He glanced fearfully towards the Heights, begging she wouldremain another half-hour, at least.

  'But I think,' said Cathy, 'you'd be more comfortable at home thansitting here; and I cannot amuse you to-day, I see, by my tales, andsongs, and chatter: you have grown wiser than I, in these six months; youhave little taste for my diversions now: or else, if I could amuse you,I'd willingly stay.'

  'Stay to rest yourself,' he replied. 'And, Catherine, don't think or saythat I'm _very_ unwell: it is the heavy weather and heat that make medull; and I walked about, before you came, a great deal for me. Telluncle I'm in tolerable health, will you?'

  'I'll tell him that _you_ say so, Linton. I couldn't affirm that youare,' observed my young lady, wondering at his pertinacious assertion ofwhat was evidently an untruth.

  'And be here again next Thursday,' continued he, shunning her puzzledgaze. 'And give him my thanks for permitting you to come--my bestthanks, Catherine. And--and, if you _did_ meet my father, and he askedyou about me, don't lead him to suppose that I've been extremely silentand stupid: don't look sad and downcast, as you are doing--he'll beangry.'

  'I care nothing for his anger,' exclaimed Cathy, imagining she would beits object.

  'But I do,' said her cousin, shuddering. '_Don't_ provoke him againstme, Catherine, for he is very hard.'

  'Is he severe to you, Master Heathcliff?' I inquired. 'Has he grownweary of indulgence, and passed from passive to active hatred?'

  Linton looked at me, but did not answer; and, after keeping her seat byhis side another ten minutes, during which his head fell drowsily on hisbreast, and he uttered nothing except suppressed moans of exhaustion orpain, Cathy began to seek solace in looking for bilberries, and sharingthe produce of her researches with me: she did not offer them to him, forshe saw further notice would only weary and annoy.

  'Is it half-an-hour now, Ellen?' she whispered in my ear, at last. 'Ican't tell why we should stay. He's asleep, and papa will be wanting usback.'

  'Well, we must not leave him asleep,' I answered; 'wait till he wakes,and be patient. You were mighty eager to set off, but your longing tosee poor Linton has soon evaporated!'

  'Why did _he_ wish to see me?' returned Catherine. 'In his crossesthumours, formerly, I liked him better than I do in his present curiousmood. It's just as if it were a task he was compelled to perform--thisinterview--for fear his father should scold him. But I'm hardly going tocome to give Mr. Heathcliff pleasure; whatever reason he may have forordering Linton to undergo this penance. And, though I'm glad he'sbetter in health, I'm sorry he's so much less pleasant, and so much lessaffectionate to me.'

  'You think _he is_ better in health, then?' I said.

  'Yes,' she answered; 'because he always made such a great deal of hissufferings, you know. He is not tolerably well, as he told me to tellpapa; but he's better, very likely.'

  'There you differ with me, Miss Cathy,' I remarked; 'I should conjecturehim to be far worse.'

  Linton here started from his slumber in bewildered terror, and asked ifany one had called his name.

  'No,' said Catherine; 'unless in dreams. I cannot conceive how youmanage to doze out of doors, in the morning.'

  'I thought I heard my father,' he gasped, glancing up to the frowning nababove us. 'You are sure nobody spoke?'

  'Quite sure,' replied his cousin. 'Only Ellen and I were disputingconcerning your health. Are you truly stronger, Linton, than when weseparated in winter? If you be, I'm certain one thing is notstronger--your regard for me: speak,--are you?'

  The tears gushed from Linton's eyes as he answered, 'Yes, yes, I am!'And, still under the spell of the imaginary voice, his gaze wandered upand down to detect its owner.

  Cathy rose. 'For to-day we must part,' she said. 'And I won't concealthat I have been sadly disappointed with our meeting; though I'll mentionit to nobody but you: not that I stand in awe of Mr. Heathcliff.'

  'Hush,' murmured Linton; 'for God's sake, hush! He's coming.' And heclung to Catherine's arm, striving to detain her; but at thatannouncement she hastily disengaged herself, and whistled to Minny, whoobeyed her like a dog.

  'I'll be here next Thursday,' she cried, springing to the saddle.'Good-bye. Quick, Ellen!'

  And so we left him, scarcely conscious of our departure, so absorbed washe in anticipating his father's approach.

  Before we reached home, Catherine's displeasure softened into a perplexedsensation of pity and regret, largely blended with vague, uneasy doubtsabout Linton's actual circumstances, physical and social: in which Ipartook, though I counselled her not to say much; for a second journeywould make us better judges. My master requested an account of ourongoings. His nephew's offering of thanks was duly delivered, Miss Cathygently touching on the rest: I also threw
little light on his inquiries,for I hardly knew what to hide and what to reveal.