Wuthering Heights

other, on the father's side – Heathcliff married Mr. Linton's sister.«
    »I see the house at Wuthering Heights has ›Earnshaw‹ carved over the front door. Are they an old family?«
    »Very old, sir; and Hareton is the last of them, as our Miss Cathy is of us – I mean, of the Lintons. Have you been to Wuthering Heights? I beg pardon for asking; but I should like to hear how she is!«
    »Mrs. Heathcliff? she looked very well, and very handsome; yet, I think, not very happy.«
    »Oh dear, I don't wonder! And how did you like the master?«
    »A rough fellow, rather, Mrs. Dean. Is not that his character?«
    »Rough as a saw-edge, and hard as whinstone. The less you meddle with him the better.«
    »He must have had some ups and downs in life to make him such a churl. Do you know anything of his history?«
    »It's a cuckoo's, sir – I know all about it; except where he was born, and who were his parents, and how he got his money, at first – And Hareton has been cast out like an unfledged dunnock – The unfortunate lad is the only one, in all this parish, that does not guess how he has been cheated!«
    »Well, Mrs. Dean, it will be a charitable deed to tell me something of my neighbours – I feel I shall not rest, if I go to bed; so, be good enough to sit, and chat an hour.«
    »Oh, certainly, sir! I'll just fetch a little sewing, and then I'll sit as long as you please. But you've caught cold, I saw you shivering, and you must have some gruel to drive it out.«
    The worthy woman bustled off; and I crouched nearer the fire: my head felt hot, and the rest of me chill: moreover I was excited, almost to a pitch of foolishness through my nerves and brain. This caused me to feel, not uncomfortable, but rather fearful, as I am still, of serious effects from the incidents of to-day and yesterday.
    She returned presently, bringing a smoking basin, and a basket of work; and, having placed the former on the hob, drew in her seat, evidently pleased to find me so companionable.
    Before I came to live here, she commenced, waiting no further invitation to her story; I was almost always at Wuthering Heights; because, my mother had nursed Mr. Hindley Earnshaw, that was Hareton's father, and I got used to playing with the children – I ran errands too, and helped to make hay, and hung about the farm ready for anything that anybody would set me to.
    One fine summer morning – it was the beginning of harvest, I remember – Mr. Earnshaw, the old master, came down stairs, dressed for a journey; and, after he had told Joseph what was to be done during the day, he turned to Hindley, and Cathy, and me – for I sat eating my porridge, with them, and he said, speaking to his son,
    »Now my bonny man, I'm going to Liverpool, to-day ... What shall I bring you? You may choose what you like; only let it be little, for I shall walk there and back; sixty miles each way, that is a long spell!«
    Hindley named a fiddle, and then he asked Miss Cathy; she was hardly six years old, but she could ride any horse in the stable, and she chose a whip.
    He did not forget me; for he had a kind heart, though he was rather severe, sometimes. He promised to bring me a pocketful of apples, and pears, and then he kissed his children, good bye, and set off.
    It seemed a long while to us all – the three days of his absence – and often did little Cathy ask when he would be home: Mrs. Earnshaw, expected him by supper-time, on the third evening; and she put the meal off hour after hour; there were no signs of his coming, however, and at last the children got tired of running down to the gate to look – Then it grew dark, she would have had them to bed, but they begged sadly to be allowed to stay up; and, just about eleven o'clock, the door-latch was raised quietly and in stept the master. He threw himself into a chair, laughing and groaning, and bid them all stand off, for he was nearly killed – he would not have such another walk for the three kingdoms.
    »And at the end of it, to be flighted to death!« he said opening his great coat, which he held bundled up in his arms, »See here, wife; I was never so beaten with anything in my life; but you must e'en take it as a gift of God; though it's as dark almost as if it came from the devil.«
    We crowded round, and, over Miss Cathy's head, I had a peep at a dirty, ragged, black-haired child; big enough both to walk and talk – indeed, its face looked older than Catherine's – yet, when it was set on its