Wuthering Heights

must run round to the porter's lodge. I can't scale the ramparts on this side!«
    »Stay where you are,« I answered, »I have my bundle of keys in my pocket; perhaps I may manage to open it, if not, I'll go.«
    Catherine amused herself with dancing to and fro before the door, while I tried all the large keys in succession. I had applied the last, and found that none would do; so, repeating my desire that she would remain there, I was about to hurry home as fast as I could, when an approaching sound arrested me. It was the trot of a horse; Cathy's dance stopped; and in a minute the horse stopped also.
    »Who is that?« I whispered.
    »Ellen, I wish you could open the door,« whispered back my companion, anxiously.
    »Ho, Miss Linton!« cried a deep voice, (the rider's.) »I'm glad to meet you. Don't be in haste to enter, for I have an explanation to ask and obtain.«
    »I shant speak to you, Mr. Heathcliff!« answered Catherine. »Papa says you are a wicked man, and you hate both him and me; and Ellen says the same.«
    »That is nothing to the purpose,« said Heathcliff. (He it was.) »I don't hate my son, I suppose, and it is concerning him, that I demand your attention. Yes! you have cause to blush. Two or three months since, were you not in the habit of writing to Linton? making love in play, eh? You deserved, both of you, flogging for that! You especially, the elder, and less sensitive, as it turns out. I've got your letters, and if you give me any pertness, I'll send them to your father. I presume you grew weary of the amusement, and dropped it, didn't you? Well, you dropped Linton with it, into a Slough of Despond. He was in earnest – in love – really. As true as I live, he's dying for you – breaking his heart at your fickleness, not figuratively, but actually. Though Hareton has made him a standing jest for six weeks, and I have used more serious measures, and attempted to frighten him out of his idiocy, he gets worse daily, and he'll be under the sod before summer, unless you restore him!«
    »How can you lie so glaringly to the poor child!« I called from the inside. »Pray ride on! How can you deliberately get up such paltry falsehoods? Miss Cathy, I'll knock the lock off with a stone, you wont believe that vile nonsense. You can feel in yourself, it is impossible that a person should die for love of a stranger.«
    »I was not aware there were eaves-droppers,« muttered the detected villain. »Worthy Mrs. Dean, I like you, but I don't like your double dealing,« he added, aloud. »How could
you
lie so glaringly, as to affirm I hated the ›poor child?‹ And invent bugbear stories to terrify her from my door-stones? Catherine Linton, (the very name warms me), my bonny lass, I shall be from home all this week, go and see if I have not spoken truth; do, there's a darling! Just imagine your father in my place, and Linton in yours; then think how you would value your careless lover, if he refused to stir a step to comfort you, when your father, himself, entreated him; and don't, from pure stupidity, fall into the same error. I swear, on my salvation, he's going to his grave, and none but you can save him!«
    The lock gave way, and I issued out.
    »I swear Linton is dying,« repeated Heathcliff, looking hard at me. »And grief and disappointment are hastening his death. Nelly, if you wont let her go, you can walk over yourself. But I shall not return till this time next week; and I think your master himself would scarcely object to her visiting her cousin!«
    »Come in,« said I, taking Cathy by the arm and half forcing her to re-enter, for she lingered, viewing, with troubled eyes, the features of the speaker, too stern to express his inward deceit.
    He pushed his horse close, and, bending down, observed –
    »Miss Catherine, I'll own to you that I have little patience with Linton – and Hareton and Joseph have less. I'll own he's with a harsh set. He pines for kindness, as well as love; and a kind word from you would be his best medicine. Don't mind Mrs. Dean's cruel cautions, but be generous, and contrive to see him. He dreams of you day and night, and cannot be persuaded that you don't hate him, since you neither write nor call.«
    I closed the door, and rolled a stone to assist the loosened lock in holding it; and spreading my umbrella, I drew my charge underneath, for the rain began to drive through the moaning branches of the trees, and warned us to avoid delay.
    Our hurry prevented any comment on